The Buddha was staying at Rājagaha when he received an invitation from the city of Vesāli. During his visit, he taught the famous Ratana Sutta, a discourse that remains widely recited in Southeast Asia to this day.

Many Buddhists swear by its efficacy in protecting against evil influences. It is therefore also recited whenever there is a suspicion of haunting or an unearthly presence. Something like exorcism—but not quite.

If you actually read the sutta, there is nothing about forcefully expelling anything. Buddhism treats all beings with compassion—including beings who may haunt, disturb or frighten people.

The Ratana Sutta is popularly recited almost like a “protection spell”. It is invoked when people feel psychologically or spiritually vulnerable.

Along with the Maṅgala Sutta and Mettā Sutta, it is among the suttas commonly recited for protection, blessings, well-being and happiness.

But the story behind the Ratana Sutta is even more interesting than its modern use.

Background of the Sutta

At that time, the city of Vesāli was struck by famine, and many people died. The accumulation of corpses contributed to a pestilence. More people died, corpses were everywhere, and the people of Vesāli became increasingly fearful and unsettled.

Then rumours of ghosts and supernatural disturbances began to circulate. Some priests and non-Buddhist ascetics reportedly attributed the disaster to powerful supernatural beings who were unhappy with the people.

The situation was becoming desperate.

In ancient times, and perhaps not so differently from today, the leaders of a community facing an inexplicable disaster would naturally turn to rituals and ceremonies to calm the population and seek supernatural assistance. But the elaborate ceremonies did not solve the problem. Eventually, someone suggested inviting the Buddha.

By this time, the Buddha’s reputation had begun to spread, and the leaders of Vesāli decided to seek his help.

According to the traditional account, just before the Buddha entered Vesāli, torrential rain poured down. The water washed through the city and carried away the corpses. The streets became cleaner, the air was refreshed, and the terrible stench disappeared.

The immediate crisis began to ease. Then came the interesting part.

Upon arriving in Vesāli, the Buddha instructed Ānanda, his personal attendant, to lead the community of monks around the city while reciting the Ratana Sutta. As they walked, Ānanda sprinkled water from the Buddha’s alms bowl.

That was it.

No elaborate sacrifice.

No grand ceremony.

No expensive offerings.

Just a procession of monks, chanting a sutta and sprinkling water.

The Beginning Verse

The sutta begins:

“Whatever beings are assembled here,
terrestrial or celestial,
may they all have peace of mind,
and may they listen attentively to these words.”

It almost sounds like a summons calling everyone to a town hall meeting.

I imagine that Vesāli was on the brink of social unrest. The population would have been frightened, confused and divided in their beliefs. And the Buddha was, after all, a relatively new religious teacher. Some people might even have wondered why the leaders had invited him.

Perhaps they expected something grand. Bigger rituals. More elaborate ceremonies. Something more impressive than what had already been tried.

Instead, what appeared before them was a procession of calm-looking monks walking in single file, headed by Ānanda.

There was no fanfare.

No spectacle.

Just simplicity.

Yet there was also something dignified and powerful about the sight.

The Buddha did not begin by preaching about karma. He did not dismiss the people as superstitious. He did not tell them that their fears were foolish.

Instead, he met the people where they were.

He instructed Ānanda to recite verses addressing the supernatural beings while sprinkling water as they went through the city.

At first glance, this seems to contradict the Buddha’s teachings against superstition and attachment to rituals.

But if we examine the situation more closely, another possibility occurs to me.

Perhaps the procession was not merely about the supernatural.

Perhaps it was also about the people.

A population that genuinely believed evil forces were contributing to the epidemic was in a state of fear. They needed reassurance. They needed something they could see, hear and participate in.

The ritualistic procession may therefore have helped soothe the nerves of a population on the brink of despair.

The action might look superstitious from the outside. But if the Buddha used it as a skilful means to calm people, restore confidence and create an opportunity to introduce a deeper teaching, then perhaps the ritual was not meaningless after all.

This is what I find fascinating about the Buddha. He did not necessarily have to destroy someone’s worldview before he could help them. Sometimes, you have to enter someone’s world first.

If someone is convinced that they are possessed, perhaps you need to speak within the framework of their belief in order to reach them and help them.

Isn’t that an incredibly skilful way of benefiting an entire population?

But What Was He Actually Chanting?

Now put yourself in the shoes of an ordinary person living in Vesāli. You have witnessed the terrible famine. You have seen people dying. You have smelled the corpses. You have heard stories about ghosts and supernatural beings. You have seen grand ceremonies conducted to appease these unseen forces.

And nothing seems to have worked.

Then Gautama Buddha arrives with 500 monks. And they conduct a ritual too.

Except that this ritual is incredibly simple.

One alms bowl.

One procession.

One group of monks chanting.

Water being sprinkled as they walk.

I would probably be curious.

IT MUST BE SOME SPECIAL MANTRA.

I must hear what he is chanting.

They are repeating it over and over again while walking through the city.

So I listen.

And then I discover something rather interesting.

The Ratana Sutta is not really a magical formula for controlling supernatural beings.

Much of the sutta is praise of the Buddha, Dhamma and Saṅgha—the Triple Gem.

And this is where, to me, the story becomes particularly interesting.

At that time, Buddhism was still relatively new.

The Buddha, his teachings and the community of monks were not yet the familiar religious institutions that they would eventually become.

Yet here they were, walking through Vesāli and publicly proclaiming the qualities of the Triple Gem.

With hindsight, it almost sounds like marketing. Or an advertisement!

“Come and listen to what the Buddha has to say.”

But there is more to it than that.

The Ratana Sutta was not simply promoting the Buddha.

It was also teaching the people what is truly worthy of refuge.

Not elaborate sacrifices.

Not expensive offerings.

Not appeasing one supernatural force after another.

The refuge being presented was the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha.

The ritual therefore carried a message within the ritual.

The people might have been expecting a magical incantation.

Instead, they were introduced to the Triple Gem.

A Little Buddhist Irony?

This is where I find the scene almost ironic. Perhaps there is even a little sarcasm in it.

Previously, the leaders had already spent considerable resources trying to appease supernatural forces through elaborate rituals. Now here comes the Buddha.

No grand altar.

No elaborate sacrifice.

No complicated ceremony.

Just a bowl of water and a procession of monks.

And the monks are confidently addressing the unseen beings:

“Pay heed, all you beings.”

“Show your friendliness to humankind.”

“Protect them diligently.”

Imagine being one of the frightened people of Vesāli watching this. You might think:

These monks really seem to know what they’re doing. They seem to know how to communicate with the supernatural.

And whatever they are chanting must be powerful.

So you listen.

And what do you hear?

The Ratana Sutta.

A discourse praising the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha.

In other words, the very thing that appeared to be a ritual for protection was simultaneously becoming a lesson about where true refuge lies.

That is what makes the episode so fascinating to me. I don’t know about you, but I find the personality of the Buddha rather witty and humorous.

Without offending a population that was already on the edge of mass hysteria, he managed to educate them with compassion—and perhaps even a little humour.

Perhaps this is another dimension of skillful means.

Sometimes wisdom does not arrive by confronting people head-on.

Sometimes you walk with them.

Sometimes you give them what they think they need.

And while they are listening, you quietly show them something deeper.

May all be well and happy.