NOW while the Perfect One dwelt by Rajagriha there came to him a message
from Kapila, from his father, the Maharaja Suddhodana, and it said this:
“My son, tidings have reached me of great things concerning you and the
fulfilment of prophecies. But of these I will not speak for it is
fitting that I should hear them from your own lips. But this I have to
say: Is it not just and right that I should see my son before I die?
Come to me.”
And when this reached the Enlightened One it was impossible that he
should doubt or hesitate, for who had more right to call upon him? And
so, preparing himself for the journey on foot with certain of his
disciples, once more he set his face to Kapila looking toward the
mountains.
And many things filled his heart, of memory and of affection, but all
now controlled and guided by divine knowledge and certitude so that he
went surrounded by peace and glad in that he carried a great gift to his
father exceeding all gold, all jewels of all kings, if so it could be
received, repaying thus the tenderness which had guarded his youth.
And when the Maharaja and the people of Kapila heard he would come, from
that day forth they watched the ways to the city that they might with
due eagerness and joy welcome the great return of their Prince. For they
said proudly:
“Our Prince who left us to seek enlightenment has now found it, and
gloriously returns!” and they thought:
“To what kingdom has the like happened?”
So journeying on foot, the Blessed One, crowned with the Ten
Perfections, at last approached Kapila, and those who were the far
outposts of the watch ran back to the next and those to the next until
it reached the city crying:
“The Prince comes! The Prince comes!”
And the Maharaja having prepared himself, surrounded by his lords and
all the neighbouring nobility, went forth along the flower-strewn ways
(for the people hurried with flowers and banners and perfumes) to meet
the great guest. And the heart of the Maharaja was hot within him and
exulted, thinking:
“He returns and the clouds are past and the sun of his glory drowns all
in its brightness, and my good days are come again.”
So they paused in the principal street of the town and there waited in
the shade, with banners and flowers making gay the blue air about them.
Then at long last moving through the streets, followed by two others,
the Maharaja and his nobles saw a young monk clad in the yellow robe,
with one shoulder bared, who in his hands carried an alms-bowl, and at
each house door stopped and silently tendered the bowl, receiving with
majesty what was given, and passing on with patience when it was
refused. And it was his son.
Then shame and love and anger contended in the heart of the Maharaja and
tore him like a whirlwind among the leaves of a tree, and he clenched
his robe across his breast and cried out aloud to Siddhartha:
“I am put to shame—to horrible shame. My son a beggar! Our race is
beaten to the earth with shame.”
And standing calmly before the angry Maharaja the Blessed One after due
salutation lifted his eyes and replied:
“Maharaj, this is the custom of our race.”
“This horrible thing is not so. Not one of our ancestors has ever begged
his bread.”
“Maharaj, you and your high race claim descent from kings,—but my
descent is far otherwise. It is from the Buddhas of ancient days, and as
they have done, begging their food from the charitable, so do I, nor can
I otherwise.”
But seeing his father still in pain from anger and sorrow, the Perfected
One spoke thus:
“Do I not know that the King’s heart bleeds with love and memory, and
that for his son’s sake he adds grief to grief? But now let these
earthly bonds of love be instantly unloosened and utterly destroyed, for
there are greater and higher. Ceasing from thought of such love, let the
King’s mind receive from me such spiritual food as no son has yet
offered to father, a gift most beautiful and wonderful.”
So leading the King by the hand they went together to the palace, the
mind of the Maharaja quieted and subdued as after a storm the billows
sink to rest.
And within the palace the Perfected One looked for Another, but she was
not there, for her very life beat against her body in agony,
remembering, remembering, and she said in her heart:
“I will not go. I cannot go. If I am of any value in his eyes, I, the
mother of his son, he will come to me. I cannot go to him.”
So, when a little time had passed, the Perfected One arose, and attended
by the two mightiest of his disciples and followed by the Maharaja went
to the Palace of his wife, and as he went, he said:
“Monks, if this lady should embrace me, do not hinder her, though it be
against the rule.”
And pacing silently beside him, the two comprehended the wisdom and
compassion of the Lord, bowing their heads.
And they entered the hall where the Princess stood unveiled, the glory
of her hair shorn, clad in a coarse robe of yellow resembling his own,
and divested of all jewels and splendours, and she stood like the marble
image of a woman as he entered, pale in the shadows.
Then, seeing him, suddenly love and manifold anguish broke in a freshet
in her heart as when the melting snows fill Rohini until she floods her
banks; and pride and love, each stabbed to the heart, strove within her,
and with piteous eyes she looked upon her Lord once so near and now so
far, as he stood calmly regarding her with a look she could not
understand, and love had the victory, and she ran to him and falling on
the ground laid her face upon his feet and embraced them weeping most
bitterly.
And there was silence, none hindering or speaking, and he looked down
upon her.
So she lay.
But after awhile remembrance returned to her and his silence and the
distance wide as heaven and earth between them, and she rose with
majesty and withdrew herself to one side and stood with bowed head while
the Maharaja declared to the Perfected One her griefs and patience and
mortifications so that she might resemble him, abjuring her bed for a
mat laid upon the ground, and the feasts of the palace for one poor meal
a day, and much more. And the Prince heard and speaking slowly, still
with his eyes upon her, said:
“This is true. Great also was the virtue of this high lady, the mother
of Rahula, virtue in a former life which I remember and she too will
remember one day with gladness. Lady, mother of my son, the way that I
have opened is open for you also. Come and hear.”
And with his eyes upon her to the last he turned and went away.
So that evening, seated by the bank of Rohini, the Perfect One taught
the Way before his own people, and they crowded to hear; and this high
lady seated, veiled so that none might see her hidden eyes, heard also,
and as she listened, illusion fell from her; she perceived the
Unchanging, the Formless, the Beautiful, and the illusory forms of this
world and the delusion of time fell from her also, and she beheld her
love no longer past and done with, but eternal as the eternity of the
Self that alone endures, and the imprisoning self which alone can suffer
died within her and left her enfranchised, and inward light shone upon
her and she knew the truth.
So also was it with the Maharaja and the Maharani Prajapati and many
more.
But on the next day the Princess Yashodara called to her son Rahula and
dressed him in his best until he shone bright and beautiful as a star,
and she laid her cheek against his, saying:
“Go now, beloved, and seek your father and ask for your inheritance.”
And he answered:
“Mother, I know of no father but the Maharaja. What father? And why
should he withhold my inheritance?”
And she said: “Go and ask. But first see, that you may know him.”
She led the boy to the window and pointed.
“That monk, clothed in the yellow robe, he whose face shines like the
sun in its strength, is your father. And he has great wealth—riches,
not to be told in words. Go, son, and demand your inheritance.”
And the boy went, wondering and desiring, and in the garden he ran
quickly and catching the robe of the Blessed One, he said:
“My father, how happy I am to be near you. O day of gladness,” and tears
of joy overflowed his eyes, seeing his father so great and beautiful.
But to test him, the Blessed One was silent, pacing toward the Nyagrodha
grove, and still the child followed, entreating for his inheritance.
Then when they reached the grove, the Perfected One turned smiling to
Sariputta the great disciple, and he said:
“Monk, what think you? For worldly wealth perishes, but this remains.
Shall I make my son heir to the Greatest? Let us admit him to the
Order.”
And it was done, and the heart of the Princess sang within her for
bliss, and henceforward the boy trod the way of Peace.
So leaving joy and tranquillity behind him and measureless content in
the soul of Yashodara, the Blessed One returned to Shravasti on the
river Rapti and there a rich merchant, Anathapindika, gave to the Order
a pleasant grove named Jetavana, and a monastery, and there during the
rains our Lord dwelt and many of his teachings and discourses were
spoken at Jetavana.
And this was the manner of his life.
The Blessed One would rise early in the morning, and that some one of
his followers might gain merit he accepted service, and water was
brought to him for ablution, and having performed this he would sit
alone until it was time to go and beg his food. Then he would put on his
tunic, girdle, and robe, and taking his bowl would enter the village or
town for alms. Sometimes alone, sometimes with other monks, many of them
men of great and noble birth. And it seemed that gentle breezes cleared
the air for him and clouds let fall rain to lay the dust, and where he
placed his foot the way was even and pleasant and flowers blossomed. And
it appeared to those who saw, that rays of radiance surrounded his
person, since he possessed the attributes of that true world which
encompasses the illusions of the false world perceived by the senses.
By all these tokens and more did the people know who approached, and
they said to each other:
“Bhagavat—the Blessed One—has now entered for alms,” and robed in
their best, with perfumes, flowers, and such offerings as they could
give, they came into the street. There, having paid their homage, some
would implore him:
“Reverend sir, let us feed ten monks,” and some, “Let us feed twenty,”
and the rich “Let us feed a hundred.” And the most fortunate would take
the bowl of the Blessed One and fill it with food.
When he had finished his meal, the Blessed One considering what was
suited to the minds of those who listened, would so teach them the Law
that many would attain to the fruit of knowledge in its different
degrees, and some in the highest—that of a clear perception in
saintship,—and having thus given his good gifts to the multitude he
would rise and return to the quiet monastery.
On his arrival there he sat in a pavilion shaded from the sun, on an
excellent Buddha-mat which had been spread for him, and there waited for
the monks to finish their meal, and when this was done he entered his
chamber and bathed his feet from the dust of travel.
Then, standing, he exhorted the assembly of monks, saying:
“Monks, diligently work out your salvation, for not often is a
Buddha—an Enlightened One—seen in the world—not often is it possible
thus to hear the Law. And if even an animal can keep the Precepts, how
much more a man.”
And at this point some would ask the Blessed One for exercises in
meditation and to each he assigned what suited best their characters.
And then all did obeisance to the Perfect One, and dispersed to the
places where they were in the habit of spending the night or day, some
to the forest, some to the foot of trees, some, in meditation, to the
heavenly places.
And the Blessed One, then entering his chamber, would, if wearied, lie
down for awhile, not sleeping but mindful and conscious and on his right
side, as a lion takes his repose. And when refreshed he rose, and sent
his gaze through the world (for to the Illuminated this is possible), to
see who it was possible he might aid.
And after this, the people of the village or town near which he might be
dwelling assembled, again in their best robes, and he, approaching with
majesty, took his seat on the Buddha-mat in the little audience hall,
and declared the doctrine to his hearers who sat before him rapt in
hearing.
And when they had made obeisance and departed it was the custom of the
Perfected One to bathe himself, and after that to assume his tunic and
girdle, and throwing his robe over his right shoulder to go into his
chamber and there fall into deep meditation, and after that was the rest
of the day given to the monks who assembled, coming from here, there,
and everywhere, to question the Blessed Lord and ask his instructions or
plead for a sermon and all this he very gladly gave, so consuming the
first watch of the night.
And during the middle watch of the night he would commune with the
blessed spirits of the Universe, they drawing very near him in the true
accord.
And the last watch of the night he divided into three parts, and weary
with much sitting he paced up and down considering many things, and in
the second part would enter his chamber and rest, and in the third,
seated, send the diamond-clear ray of his perception through the world
that he might commune with any soul who needed that communion.
And thus were spent the days of him who had attained the _Paramitas_,
the Ten Perfections.
And if there be any who would know of the ten, these are they.
Almsgiving, morality, long-suffering, manliness, meditation, mystic
insight, resolution, strength, knowledge, and skill in the choice of
means.
In all these was our Lord perfected. And above even these in Love. For
hear the teaching of the Lord:
“As a mother, even at the risk of her own life, protects her son, her
only son, so let the disciple cultivate love without measure toward all
beings. Let him cultivate toward the whole world above, below, around, a
heart of love unstinted, unmixed with differing or opposing interests.
And let a man maintain this mindful love whether he stands, walks, sits
or lies. For in all the world this state of heart is best.”
For the Lord, the Blessed One, taught that this love must increase until
the wide Universe is suffused with its radiance.
“Our mind shall not waver. No evil speech will we utter. Tender and
compassionate will we abide, loving, void of malice. And with rays of
love shall we suffuse all that is, even with love grown great and
measureless.”
And because of this high teaching many men and women attained to
Arhatship, becoming perfected saints, seeing things as they are in
themselves and not according to their illusory appearances in this world
of illusion,—and they made great songs of triumph and victory, saying
that when the Hindrances are removed from a man he is as one set free
from debt, imprisonment, and slavery.
“For when the five Hindrances are put away within him, he is a free man
and secure, and gladness springs up within him, and joy, and so
rejoicing all his frame becomes at ease, and in that peace his heart is
stayed.”
And again, this song of Right Rapture.
“It is in very bliss we dwell, we who hate not those who hate us:
Among men full of hate we dwell, who are void of hate.
It is in very bliss we dwell, we in health among the ailing.
Among men weary and sick, we continue well.
It is in very bliss we dwell, we, free from care among the careworn.
Among men tortured with unrest, we are calm.
It is in very bliss we dwell, we who have no hindrances.
We have become feeders on joy, like to the shining Gods.”
“The shining Gods.” What then are these Gods and Shining Ones? Thus have
I heard.
Surely the Gods are they who having acquired mighty merit by great good
deeds reign and shine for ages until the power of their good deeds is
exhausted. For they knew not the Nirvana and the disintegration of the
false self, and so desired Paradise as their reward, and Paradise they
have. But though it last for ages, when the power of their good deeds is
exhausted then they too must enter again by the gate of birth and humbly
learn to extinguish all desire, even though it be the desire of Heaven,
and to know that the greedy _I_ which desired these things is
non-existent, until they too, treading the Noble Eightfold Path, enter
upon the highest wisdom and attain to the Nirvana, the Peace, for this
alone is that comprehension which beholds the heavens and hells as
pictures, as illusions, as nothing,—and whoso possesses it sits above
manhood and Godhead alike, having utterly attained.
Thus it must be when ignorance is dead and wisdom made perfect, for the
vain shows of ignorance are dispersed in clear perception of the things
that are true and eternal.
When the wise man by earnestness has driven vanity far away, he has
climbed the terraced heights of wisdom, and, care-free, looks down upon
the illusory world, the careworn crowd, as he who standing upon a
mountain top watches serenely the toilers in the plain.
And a man must have what he desires, be it the Paradises that pass, or
the Peace that is eternal.