How a Monk Became Upset When His Name Was Not Called by Arahant Sāriputta (Dhammapada 95) Reflections by Bhante Dr. Chandima

1. Offence often comes from unmet expectations of recognition.

The monk felt offended when Arahant Sāriputta did not call him by name, and his irritation deepened when the edge of Sāriputta’s robe accidentally touched his—turning a small incident into inner turmoil. Feeling unseen or unacknowledged triggered his resentment. Even today, many people feel offended when they are not greeted personally, not thanked publicly, or not given special recognition. This teaches us to watch our craving for validation, because peace cannot depend on being noticed.

2. Unwatched emotions grow into harmful actions.

A small disappointment can quietly turn into resentment—and resentment into harsh words or blame. Anger rarely appears suddenly; it builds when feelings go unnoticed. If irritation is seen early, it can soften before it hardens into action. A moment of mindful pause creates space for wisdom, helping us respond with care instead of reaction, protecting both our own peace and the hearts of others.

3. True integrity does not argue—it radiates.

When questioned by the Buddha,  Arahant Sāriputta did not defend himself or accuse the other monk. He calmly spoke of his own inner qualities. This reminds us that true character does not need justification or comparison. When virtue is genuine, it shows itself through calm speech, steady presence, and consistent conduct. Integrity doesn’t shout—it quietly shines, allowing others to see the truth for themselves.

4. Calm presence can awaken conscience.

Arahant Sāriputta’s gentle composure stirred remorse in the monk far more effectively than confrontation ever could. He did not argue, shame, or demand an apology. Instead, his calm presence became a mirror, allowing the other person to see his own actions clearly.

Sometimes the most powerful response to wrongdoing is steady kindness. When we remain grounded and compassionate, we create a safe space for reflection. Such quiet dignity softens defensiveness and invites conscience to arise naturally—often leading to genuine remorse and inner change.

5. Humility matters more than being right.

When the truth became clear, the other monk asked for forgiveness first. Then Arahant Sāriputta—though completely innocent—also bowed and asked forgiveness in return, saying that if he had done anything unknowingly, he wished to be pardoned.

This is a profound teaching: spiritual maturity is not measured by how well we prove our innocence, but by how willing we are to soften our pride. Sometimes letting go of being “right” preserves peace far more than winning an argument. True humility chooses harmony over ego, relationship over reputation. In this way, lowering oneself becomes a quiet expression of wisdom—and a doorway to reconciliation.

6. Forgiveness protects the heart.

Arahant Sāriputta pardoned immediately, without hesitation. There was no replaying of the hurt, no quiet storing of resentment. His response reminds us that holding anger poisons our own mind first, long before it affects anyone else.

Forgiveness is therefore not weakness—it is wisdom. It releases the heart from burden and restores inner peace. While forgiveness may heal relationships, its deepest gift is to ourselves: freedom from bitterness, and space for clarity and compassion to arise.

7. A trained mind is vast and unmoved.

Arahant Sāriputta himself explained that his mind was like the great earth, a threshold, and still water. Just as the earth is not disturbed by what is clean or unclean thrown upon it, just as a threshold is trampled without resentment, and just as still water receives both clean and dirty things without agitation—so too his mind remained unshaken by praise or blame, kindness or harshness.

He said that whatever people may say—honour or disrespect, gentle words or abuse—he did not allow his mind to be affected. Instead, he trained himself to dwell with a mind that is vast, immeasurable, and free from ill will.

This shows what practice truly aims toward: not escaping life’s conditions, but meeting them with inner balance. A trained mind stays spacious in difficulty and humble in success—steady amid gain and loss. Such calm is not indifference; it is deep freedom of heart.

8. Real practice appears in human relationships.

This story reminds us that Dhamma is not proven only in meditation halls or quiet retreats. It is tested most clearly in moments of misunderstanding, accusation, and emotional pain—when our buttons are pushed and our views feel threatened.

How we speak, listen, forgive, and let go in these ordinary yet difficult moments reveals how deeply the teachings have been integrated. True practice shows itself not in how calm we feel alone, but in how wisely we respond when others challenge us.