THUS have I heard.
Yet another thing, and heed it well for it was a day precious as clean
gold.
As the Lord went with his disciples, they came to the river by the
fields of Dhaniya the herdsman, a rich man who trusted in his goods, but
kindly and simple, such as the Blessed One loved. And here he stayed his
feet, smiling a little as at a thought of his own; and his disciples
stood about him, and he said this:
“Here we see great riches of beasts and pasture; surely the man owning
these good things is well content!”
And Dhaniya seeing the Holy One, drew near in his peasant’s pride and
addressed him:
“I have boiled my rice, I have milked my cows,” so said the herdsman
Dhaniya. “I dwell near the banks of the Mahi, my house is roofed, my
fire kindled. Therefore, if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
For believing his riches a strong shield he feared nothing.
“I am free from anger, free from stubbornness,” said the Blessed One,
“For one night I abide by the Mahi river. My house is unroofed, the fire
of passion is extinguished. Therefore, if thou wilt, rain, O sky!” And
he smiled.
“Gadflies are not found with me,” said the herdsman Dhaniya. “In meadows
rich with grass my cows are roaming, and well can they endure rain when
it falls. Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“I have made a raft, I have passed over to the shore of the Peace,” so
said the Blessed One. “Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“My wife is obedient!” boasted the herdsman Dhaniya. “Winning she is,
and I hear no ill of her. Therefore, if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“My mind is obedient, delivered from all worldly matters,” so said the
Blessed One. “And in me there is no ill. Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O
sky!”
“I support myself by my own riches!” so said the herdsman Dhaniya, “and
my children are healthy about me. I hear nothing wicked of them.
Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“I am no one’s servant,” so said the Perfect One, “with what I have
gained I wander through the world. For me there is no need to serve.
Therefore, if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“I have cows, I have calves!” so said the herdsman Dhaniya. “I have also
a bull as lord over the herds. Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“I have no cows, I have no calves!” so said the Happy One, “—And I have
no bull as lord over the herds. Therefore, if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“The stakes are driven in and cannot be shaken,” so said the herdsman
Dhaniya. “The ropes are new and well made: the cows cannot break them.
Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
“Having, like a bull, rent the ropes: having like an elephant broken
through the tangle,” so said the Blessed One, “I shall no more be born
to death. Therefore if thou wilt, rain, O sky!”
And he smiled as one at rest, enthroned above pain or change.
Then all at once, from a full-wombed cloud, a shower poured down,
filling both land and water. And the eyes of Dhaniya were enlightened,
and seeing the true riches of the empty hand and freed soul, the
herdsman spoke thus, bowing at the feet of the Perfect One.
“No small gain has indeed accrued to us since we have seen the Blessed
One. We take refuge in thee, O Wisest. Be thou our Master.”
“He who has cows has care with his cows,” so said the Blessed One,
concluding the matter. “But he who is free of these things has not
care.” So Dhaniya entered the Way of Peace, and taking the vow of the
householder was at rest.
And now in this of Dhaniya is a thing much to be pondered. For it is
observable that the Holy One said these words to him:
“I have passed over to Nirvana—to the Peace.” How could this be and he
yet living in the world of form? What then is the Nirvana? For, since
the departing of Him who has thus Attained, the ignorant have taught the
heresy which Sariputta the Great rebuked in the monk Yamaka,—even that
the true Nirvana is extinction, is dispersal of all that once was the
man, the ego known to himself and others, he being annihilated in death
as a flame blown out in vast darkness. Yet no, and again, not so, though
not in words may the Truth be fully told. Yet—if a man may attempt to
throw a stone at a star, this that follows may be told of the Nirvana.
They who talk of existence and non-existence are ignorant, for these are
words only. There is no existence or non-existence, but in their stead
reality and unreality, and in this world of form is unreality and in
That World, reality. So that the unreal ego which we here believe to be
the man is nothing and whether here or there has no reality but is a
compound of causes which dissolve at death, while the reality of the man
abides whether here or There. True it is that after death no longer can
it be perceived, no longer can it be guessed by the bodily senses—the
liars, the deceived, the slaves; yet in a profundity beyond all depths
of all oceans it abides. The rest is silence.
Thus, the Blessed One and they who with him attained, were in life
delivered from the illusion of the world of forms and seeing all as it
is were glad. For the true Nirvana is an extinction—not of the
eternal—but of craving, the lust of the flesh, the lust of life, and
the pride of life. And when the inward fires of lust, and hatred and
pride are extinguished, then that man has entered into the Nirvana
whether here or there. And surely this was the Lesson of Lessons, and
many a parable, many a teaching did the World-Honoured utter in all
solemnity that we might know it is the self—the individual self lurking
in a man like an ape in the boughs, clutching, greedy, foul, foolish,
that is the cause of all evil and sorrow and of his separation from the
universe of life and light that lies about him. And he must learn that
this foul and foolish chatterer is dream and illusion of the senses and
consciousness, for when this teaching is mastered we lift the true eyes
of wisdom and look about us seeing at last that the world is wholly
fair. Know this, for it is the very kernel of the nut. This is the Way
of Peace, this is the Gate of the Ten Perfections whereby we also are
perfect being One; this is the Nirvana, absolute in joy and bliss
immortal.
Be not misled. If this false belief of annihilation be accepted the
belief in the Karma and its awful justice falls to the ground, and the
Blessed One is made to utter words unreal and deceptive. It is not well
to traduce the teaching of the Blessed One, for what he taught he knew,
and where he was silent it was from knowledge too great to be uttered
save to his high initiates, and they too, knowing, were content. For a
man can but receive as he is able, and the Truth needs two servants—the
one to speak and the other to hear.
True is it that the Lord before he passed away from the world of the
senses said to the beloved Ananda, this:
“I have preached the truth, Ananda, and in respect of the Truth He who
has thus Attained had no such thing as the closed fist of the Teacher
who holds back his knowledge.”
Yes, but a man can but take what he can, and where the great saints of
the Lord knew and were content, the lesser men guessed and stumbled
blindly by excess of light and this was unavoidable for they were not
prepared, and in future lives they have learned, will learn, and they
too be content in wisdom.
Therefore when men ask the disciple of the Nirvana, and say:
“Is it annihilation? Is it the end of all, for so many teach?” reply
thus:
“It is the annihilation of ignorance and passion and all their brood. It
is the annihilation of conditioned being and of all the illusion that
fettered us. It is the rending of the painted veil of life that hides
from us the light. It is the end of all turning of the wheel of the long
pilgrimage through self-shaped dream-worlds of deception. It is the end
of grief and self-deceit. It is awakening from the dream of life, from
the crippling of the ego-self, into freedom. It is beyond all that we
call life, and death is unknown to it. It is All and One and above right
and wrong and in it are all things reconciled.
“And it is us and in us and we in it for ever.”
Open the eyes of understanding and see and know, as he the Awakened, has
taught.
And now must the story turn to the Princess Yashodara, released from
grief and grown strong in wisdom.
Musing night and day on these thoughts and this blessedness the Princess
excelled in knowledge and in her true eyes the light shone brighter and
more bright in the deep contemplation of her heart, and when in the
passing of the years the wealth of the Maharaja fell into her hands she
valued it nothing, placing it where most good and least harm could flow
from it. And with attendant princesses she walked nearly five hundred
miles, refusing all offers of assistance, that she might be near the
World-Honoured, breathing the same air, sometimes attendant upon his
teaching, sometimes sending dutifully to enquire after the health of the
monk Rahula, her son.
So, having grown old, but still eminent in the nobility of her beauty
and its calm, as she sat alone one day she remembered many of her
friends who through the Peace here to be attained had departed to that
Other. And she thought this:
“I was born on the same day as my lord, the Awakened One, and in the
regular order of things I should on the same day enter the Great Peace.
But this is an honour too great for me and far beyond my deserts, nor
can it be. I am now seventy eight years in this world of illusion, and
in two years from now, he, the Blessed One, will enter that which cannot
be named. I will therefore request permission to precede him, as the
lower should precede the great.”
So, accompanied by her attendants, the Princess went to the Vihara, the
monastery, where the Lord sat at the time with a company of disciples,
and presenting herself before him humbly asked forgiveness for any
faults she might have committed. And he replied:
“You are the most virtuous of women. But from the time you received the
Light, you have done no marvels, so that many have not known the power
that is in you, doubting whether you were indeed an Arhat. There is a
company assembled about us, who know not the Powers. Show them.”
But the Princess, doubting in her humility that this should be, doubting
whether a woman should display the beauty of her person to onlookers,
was not assured that this was well. Yet, with the insight to which time
is nothing, she spoke, rehearsing the mystery and marvel of all her
former lives, for now having vanquished rebirth she was as the traveller
who nearing the mountain top and the eternal purities sees the way by
which he has come, rejoicing in perils escaped and rest unending. And
all sat entranced, listening to the music of her voice and the marvels
she—to whom time was no more than a child’s toy cast aside—unfolded
before them. And suddenly, as she ended, the air upbore her light feet
and a marvel was done before them, for in the air she prostrated herself
before Him who has thus Attained, attributing to him the knowledge that
had guided her into bliss. And those who saw hid their faces.
And when all was concluded she retired to her own dwelling and there,
that same night, rising from contemplation to contemplation, she beheld
the Peace, being delivered for ever from all illusion, and so passed
into That which is to come.
And of her son—the monk Rahula—this also must be told:
At one time the Lord, with robe and bowl, went to Savatthi in search of
alms, and his son Rahula followed step for step, and the Blessed One,
turning, said this:
“Whatever form one bears, monk, is to be viewed with perfect wisdom and
the understanding—‘This is not mine; it is not I. This is not my true
self.’”
And Rahula answered:
“And only form, O Lord, and only form, O Happy One?”
“Form, Rahula, and sensation and perception and the tendencies and
consciousness. These also are not the true self.”
And Rahula, being thus addressed with an Instruction, would not go to
roam and beg among the people, but set aside his bowl, and sat beneath a
tree to meditate upon the Instruction. And in the evening, having ended
his calm contemplation, he sought the Blessed One and saluting him
reverently seated himself respectfully beside him and besought him to
instruct him on the discipline of meditation and training, and the
Blessed One instructed him in all the processes, even to the ruling of
the breath in inspiration and expiration so that the false senses may be
lulled and the true eye of wisdom opened, and pleased and gladdened was
the venerable Rahula with that high instruction.
And thus Rahula in time became first a great warrior for the Truth and
then a great Arhat: a perfected saint. And in what way did he become a
warrior? Even as a monk asked of the Awakened One:
“Warriors, warriors, we call ourselves, O Happy One, and in what way are
we warriors?”, and had this reply:
“We make war, monk. Therefore are we warriors?”
“And for what do we make war, O Leader?”
“For perfect virtue, for high endeavour, for sublime wisdom. To see in a
world of blindness, to be free in a world of slaves,—therefore, do we
make war.”
And when is the victory gained?—When the dark night of I-ness is
enlightened,—when the man is no longer a swimmer struggling for life in
agony against the waves, but the grey gull borne on the winds in bliss
or floating at peace on the billows of eternity.
This is the victory of the monk Rahula and of the wise.
PART IV
CHAPTER XIX
SO continued our Lord, wandering from place to place, or resting in the
season of the rains in the monasteries provided by the supporters of the
Brotherhood, and, followed by his own, he taught the Breaking of the
Fetters—and the fetters he broke are these:
The delusion of self—namely that the individual ego is real and
self-existent. For what can exist outside the Universal Self? And egoism
is the very root of death.
Doubt. For who can advance boldly, doubting the way and where he shall
set the next step?
Belief in good works and ceremonies. For what good work can open a man’s
eyes if his motive is mean, and what value have rites and ceremonies in
themselves?
Fleshly lust. By no means did the Lord command a cruel asceticism, for
this he had tried to the uttermost and having laid it aside, passed on.
No, but a joyous temperance, the child of wisdom and duty, the fosterer
of endeavour. And duty in all things, a strength by some to be attained
now, by others with patience in later lives.
Ill-will. For this is a cruel fetter, biting to the very bone of the
wretch who carries it, and it is forged indeed from the black iron of
egoism and belief in the separate ego.
And this being all accomplished the last fetters to be broken are:
The desire for separate and individual life in the world of forms we see
about us.
The desire for separate life in the formless world to which we shall
attain.
Pride—the very snarer of Divine Beings.
Self-righteousness, the womb-sister of pride.
And last, the most terrible of fetters—
Ignorance—mother of a deadly brood.
And where he went these fetters fell before him, and prison doors were
opened and they who had sat in darkness walked in light. And they
aspired to perfection for he taught that Perfection was their heritage,
if not now, then in some future life where the sown seeds of good
expanding should throw out strong arms and glorious blossom.
And they believed, and some set tottering steps in the path, and some
advanced with wings rather than feet, but all were seekers and finders.
But he compelled none, nor threatened, for by a man’s true self comes
his salvation, and seated among his own he said:
“The Tathagata—He who has thus Attained, does not think that it is he
who must lead the Brotherhood or that the Order is dependent upon him.”
Only, steadfastly pointing the way, he rejoiced that men should follow
it, casting forth his light like the sun, not compelling men to guide
their steps by it.
Nor did he teach resignation to sorrow nor its acceptance as a blessing
and discipline. Far from it. For in the clear percipience of the Lord
sorrow is ignorance and shameful.
“One thing only, monks, now as always I declare to you—sorrow and the
uprooting of sorrow.”
For what man would wander in the mist of sorrow when he may walk glad
and straight to the goal in the sunlight of wisdom. And sorrow
understood is sorrow ended.
Therefore the Lord taught understanding of sorrow, as the first need and
therefore says the wise Nagasena:
“As a boy I was admitted to the Order, and nothing did I know of the
goal. But I thought—‘These men taught by the Awakened One will teach
me.’ And they taught, and now I know with understanding the foundation
and the crown of Renunciation.”
And what the Lord taught he knew: that there is no sorrow for the wise.
And thus when he stayed at Alavi, by the cattle-path in the forest he
rested on a couch of leaves, and it so chanced that a man of Alavi as he
went through the forest saw the Exalted One sitting absorbed in
meditation, and greeting him with respect this man sat down at his side
and said:
“Master, does the World-Honoured live happily?”
And the Perfect One answered:
“It is so, young man. Of those who live happily in the world I also am
one.”
“Cold, Master, is the winter night, the time of frost is coming: rough
is the ground trodden by cattle: thin is the couch of leaves: light the
monk’s yellow robe: sharp the cutting winter wind.”
For his heart pitied the aging of the Exalted One. But he replied, again
smiling:
“It is so, young man. I live happily. Of those who live happily in the
world I also am one.”
And so it was, and with his own also. For his mendicants rejoicing said
to one another:
“We who call nothing our own, drenched with happiness, we in this world
cast out light like the radiant Gods.”
And their song was—
“Abolished is the round of birth: Completed the ascetic life;
Done what was to do.
This world of form is no more. This we know.”
And sometimes proud and learned Brahmans would come to dispute haughtily
with the Perfect One, and they, full of pride and anger, would rage and
trip in their discourse thinking to show their much learning rather than
to seek the truth. But like the waves of a muddy river lashing rock so
were they, and the Lord sat there always, answering duly, teaching duly,
clothed in serenity, his skin the colour of bright gold, his eyes bright
and calm, for he said:
“That in disputation with anyone whatsoever I could be thrown into any
confusion or embarrassment,—there is no possibility of such a thing,
and because I know of no such possibility I remain quiet and confident.
And even when I am carried here upon a bed shall my intellectual
strength remain unabated.”
And his monks said:
“Truly from the Exalted One comes all our wisdom.”
And because he was so near the Blessed One many monks would come to the
venerable Ananda and say:
“It is long, brother, since we heard a discourse from the Exalted One.
It were very good if we might hear one now.”
“Well, venerable ones, betake yourselves to the hermitage of the Brahman
Rammako. Perhaps you will get to hear a discourse from the lips of the
Exalted One.” For Ananda was wise in the ways of the Master.
Now after the Perfected One had returned from his begging-round, he
turned and said:
“Come, Ananda, let us go to the East Grove, to the terrace of the Mother
of Migara, and stay there until the evening.”
So they went, and when he had finished his meditation he turned to the
venerable Ananda:
“Come, Ananda, let us to the Old Bath and refresh our limbs.”
So they went. Then the beloved Ananda addressed the Perfected One thus:
“The hermitage of the Brahman Rammako, Master, is not far from here. It
is pleasantly situated in peaceful solitude. Good were it if the Master
should betake himself there.”
And the Blessed One signified by silence his assent. And there they
found many monks in edifying discourse. And he waited till they were
done, and cleared his throat and rapped at the knocker, and they opened
the door, and the World-Honoured entered in and seated himself and
incited and gladdened them all with great and high discourse.
So they got what they needed, for very wise was the beloved Ananda in
dealing with the Master.
Amazing indeed were the experiences of those who followed the Lord, and
not to be understood of those who have not stood face to face with Truth
and Love unveiled and terrible in beauty, and terrible also in the loves
they inspire. What can words avail?
And where he went the Awakened One strewed little precepts like flowers,
easy for a child to remember yet each an upward spiral on the Way.
“If all knew the fruits of alms-giving as I, monks, know them, most
surely they would not eat the last least mouthful without dividing it
with another.”
And they answered, “Even so, Lord,” and gave of their food, living in
peace amidst the Transient, until even its semblance should pass for
ever away. And nothing else than food had they to give, being monks.
And one asked of the learned nun Dhammadhina:
“And how, venerable Lady,—how and what has the Blessed One taught about
the arising of the false ego in the beginning of things? How came it to
be? What does he teach of this?”
“It is the lust of life that sows repeated being in successive lives.”
“And how is the annihilation of the false ego to be attained, Venerable
Lady? How has the Exalted One taught?”
“Even by the complete annihilation, rejection, and driving forth of the
lust of life—this is what was taught by the Exalted One.” So answered
the nun Dhammadhina. “Even through the breaking of any attachment to the
Transient.”
But of how Attachment began to be in the beginning of things the Lord
would not answer. The Way out, he taught; the way in concerns not at all
the man who is fleeing for his life to peace and safety from attachment
to the Transient and its illusion.
And again:
“But what follows after death? What follows after the extinction of
illusion?” the seeker asked of the learned nun Dhammadhina. And she
replied:
“Abandon the question, brother. I cannot grasp the meaning of the
question. If you will, go to the Enlightened One and ask him.”
And he went, and the Lord answered:
“Wise is Dhammadhina and mighty in understanding. My answer is hers.”
For the Unknown cannot be known until the way is built to it. Build then
the way, and knowledge will come in time. But, without words, to the
few, the very few, this knowledge has come, as has been told.
And when the nun Gotami asked him:
“Will the Exalted One teach me the very quintessence of the Law,” he
answered thus:
“Whatever teaching leads to passion and not to peace, to pride and not
to humility, to desire of much in place of little, to love of society
and not of solitude, to idleness and not to striving, to a mind of
unrest and not to a mind at peace—that, O Gotami,—note well!—that is
not the way,—that is not the teaching of the Master.”
And as they sat in the calm of the sunset and discoursed, Sariputta the
Great said this:
“I desire not life. I desire not death. I wait until my hour shall come
like a servant that waits for his wage. I await the coming of the hour,
conscious and of thoughtful mind.”
Thus steadfast in the way they continued, not cruelly mortifying the
body but in the true asceticism of the heart that cannot be tempted. For
the Awakened One said this:
“I teach asceticism inasmuch as I teach the burning away of all evil
conditions of the heart. And the true ascetic who thus lives may fitly
and rightly eat of the food that is given him in alms, of rice
pleasantly prepared and such-like, and it will do him no ill.”
So quietly and in radiance life went on as a summer day which from dewy
dawn passes through every gradation of light until the night comes,
taking the world in her net of stars and laying all to rest.
And still the Exalted One journeyed and taught, now being very aged, and
the seeds of his doctrine were carried as if by far-flying birds into
the outer lands which had never felt in this life the tread of his
blessed feet nor seen the calm of his face nor the majesty that attended
him. And taking root these seeds shot up later into mighty trees of
glorious growth.
And still he journeyed to and fro, and the people said to the monks:
“Let not the World-Honoured overweary himself, for in what are we worthy
that our well-being should cost the world its Light?”
And they answered:
“All he does is well. This also is well and could not be otherwise.”
But the beloved Ananda saw with fear that the World-Honoured moved more
slowly and with more painful effort on each journey he made. And awe and
grief possessed Ananda, seeing this, for he had not as yet attained to
perfect enlightenment,—and with many cares he compassed the Blessed and
followed him wherever he went.
CHAPTER XX
THE LAST JOURNEY
AND the Blessed One passed through Pataligama and went on to the river
and at that time Ganges was swollen and brimming, and some with him
began to seek for boats and some for basket-rafts that they might pass
over. But the Exalted One, swiftly as a powerful man could stretch out
his arm and withdraw it, vanished from the hither side of the river and
stood on the other bank with the brethren. And he uttered this verse:
“Those who cross the stormy sea
Making a firm way for their feet,
While the blinded tie their basket-rafts,
These are the wise, these are the safe and glad.”
And they passed on to the villages of Nadika and at the last the Happy
One rested at the Brick Hall, and the beloved Ananda (who tended him
always) came and sat down respectfully beside him, and having passed
through the village and heard of the deaths of several devout followers,
men and women, who had followed them formerly, he asked the Lord of
their destiny and of what had befallen them.
And naming them each and all by name, replied the Exalted One:
“Of those men and women there are some who in their first return to this
world will make an end of sorrow and illusion and return no more. And
some there are for whom having attained the highest knowledge, it is no
longer possible that they should return to mortal birth, for they are
now assured of final salvation.”
And in the Brick Hall at Nadika he taught the people, saying:
“Great is the fruit, great the advantage of earnest contemplation when
adorned with right doing. And great the fruit of high intellect adorned
with earnest contemplation. For the mind set round with intelligence is
thus delivered from sensuality, from the false ego, from delusion and
ignorance.”
And they went on to Vaisali, and from thence to Beluva, and there the
Blessed One rested in the village. And he said to the brethren:
“Mendicants, do you take up your abode round about Vaisali for the
rains, each according to his friends. For I shall enter upon the rainy
season here at Beluva.”
“So be it, Lord,” said the brethren in assent, and so it was done.
Now when the Blessed One had thus entered on the rains at Beluva there
fell upon him a sickness, and sharp pains came upon him even to death.
But mindful and self-possessed he bore them without complaint. And this
thought came into his mind:
“It would not be right for me to pass away without addressing the
disciples, without taking leave of the Order. Let me now by a strong
effort of the will bend down this sickness and keep my hold on life
until the allotted time be come.”
And he bent that sickness down and it abated.
And when he began to recover he went out of the little vihara—the
monastery, and sat down behind it on a seat spread out for him. And the
venerable Ananda went where the Blessed One was, and sat respectfully
beside him, and said this:
“I have seen, Lord, how the Blessed One suffered, and though at that
sight my body became weak as a creeper, yet I had some little comfort in
thinking that the Blessed One would not pass from existence until at
least he had left some instructions touching the Order.”
“What then, Ananda? Does the Order expect that of me? Now, He who has
thus Attained thinks not that it is he who shall lead the Order or that
it is dependent upon him. I too, Ananda, am now grown old and full of
years. My journey is drawing to its close. I have reached my sum of
days, I am turning eighty years of age. And just as a worn-out cart can
only with much additional care be made to move, so, I think, the body of
the Tathagata can only be kept going with much additional care. It is
only when ceasing to attend to any outward thing he becomes plunged in
devout meditation concerned with no material object,—it is only then
that the body of the Tathagata is at ease.”
And there was a long pause, and the venerable Ananda remained
steadfastly gazing at the Perfect One, absorbed in his words as
foreseeing the end. And the Lord resumed:
“Therefore, Ananda, be lamps unto yourselves. Betake yourselves to no
external Refuge. Hold fast to the truth as a lamp. Look not for refuge
to anyone beside yourselves. And whoever after I am dead shall be a lamp
unto themselves and holding fast to the truth look for refuge to no one
outside themselves, it is they, among my mendicants, who shall reach the
Height.”
And again the Blessed One robed himself early in the morning and taking
his bowl went into Vaisali for alms and when he returned he sat down
upon the seat prepared for him and when he had finished eating the rice
he said:
“Take up the mat, Ananda,—I will go to spend the day at the Kapila
Ketiya.”
“So be it, Lord,” said the venerable Ananda, and he followed step for
step behind the Blessed One.
And when he had come there the Blessed One sat down upon the mat spread
out for him, and the venerable Ananda took his seat respectfully beside
him. And the Blessed One said:
“Whoever, Ananda, has developed himself and ascended to the very heights
of the four paths to Power, thus transcending bodily conditions and
using these Powers for good may if he desires it, remain in the same
birth for an age, or that portion of the age which is yet to run. Now He
who has thus Attained has developed these Powers and could therefore
live on yet for an age or that portion of the age which has yet to run.”
But even though this suggestion was given by the Blessed One, the
venerable Ananda did not comprehend it, nor did he say, “Vouchsafe,
Lord, to remain! Live on for the good and happiness of the peoples, out
of pity for the world and the weal of Divine Beings and men.”
And a second time did the Blessed One say this, and yet did not the
beloved Ananda speak.
Now the Blessed One addressed him thus:
“You may leave me, Ananda, for awhile.”
And rising from his seat, Ananda saluted the Lord, and sat down at the
foot of a tree not far off, and when he was gone, the Evil One, the
Tempter, approached the Lord and stood beside him, and he said:
“Pass away now, Lord, from existence. Let the Blessed One die. For did
he not say that when the Order was established, and the lay-people, and
the truth made known, that then the time would be come? And all this is
now done, and the time is here. Pass away now, therefore, Lord. Let the
Blessed One die.”
And when he had spoken, the Blessed One said to the Evil One:
“Be happy. At the end of three months from this time the Blessed One
will die.”
Thus did the Lord deliberately and consciously reject the rest of his
possible sum of life. And there followed an earthquake and tremblings
and thunders.
And Ananda returned in haste and said:
“Wonderful and marvellous is this earthquake, Lord, and what is its
cause?”
And the Lord said:
“Of the eight causes of earthquake and tremblings, this is one—when an
Awakened One,—He who has thus Attained, consciously and deliberately
rejects the remainder of his life, then is the earth shaken.”
And, still speaking of the mastery of the Powers, the Lord continued:
“Now I call to mind, Ananda, how when I used to enter into an assembly
of many hundred nobles with discourse of religion I would instruct and
gladden them, and they would say,—‘Who may this be who thus speaks? A
man or a God?’ And having taught and gladdened them, suddenly I would
vanish away. But they knew me not even when I vanished away, and they
would say in bewilderment, ‘Who may this be who has thus vanished away?
A man, or a God?’”
And he spoke also of the eight stages of deliverance from errors of
perception, passing beyond the apprehension of form through infinite
space and infinite reason and finally beyond sensation and ideas, even
into the eighth stage of deliverance.
And having given this instruction the Lord related to the venerable
Ananda how that in three months’ time he should hear his voice no more,
and the venerable Ananda cried out vehemently:
“Vouchsafe, O Blessed One, to live. Stay with us for the weal of Divine
Beings and men.”
But the Lord answered:
“The time for making such a request is past.”
And a second and a third time Ananda entreated and the Lord replied,
saying:
“Verily, the word has gone forth from Him who has thus Attained. That
the Tathagata for the sake of living should repent of that saying can in
no wise be. Come, Ananda, let us rise and go to the Mahavana.”
And they went to the Mahavana, to the Service Hall, and he commanded
Ananda to assemble there such of the brethren as dwelt in the
neighbourhood of Vaisali. And when they were assembled the Blessed One
sat down upon his mat and addressed them. And he said:
“The truths, monks, which I have made known to you and you have
mastered, these practise, meditate, and spread abroad, that it may
continue to be for the good and happiness of great multitudes.
“Behold, monks, now I exhort you. All component things must grow old and
pass away. Work out your salvation with diligence. At the end of three
months from this time He who has thus Attained will die. My age is now
full ripe: my life draws to its close. I leave you, I depart, relying on
myself alone. Be earnest, holy, full of thought. Be steadfast in
resolve. Keep watch over your own hearts. Who wearies not, but holds
fast to the Law, shall cross this sea of life, shall make an end of
grief.”
So he spoke, and they dispersed silently.
And the Blessed One robed himself early in the morning and took his bowl
and went into Vaisali for alms and when he had eaten his meal and was
returning, he gazed steadfastly at Vaisali and he said this:
“This is the last time, Ananda, that He who has thus Attained will
behold Vaisali. Let us now go to Bhandagama.”
And they went, and the Lord rested in the village itself, and there he
addressed the brethren, saying:
“It is through ignorance of the Truths that we have had to run so long,
to wander so far in this weary road of rebirth—you and I. But when the
noble conduct of life, noble meditation, noble wisdom and noble freedom
are realized and known, then is the craving for existence rooted out,
the chain broken and we return to earth no more.”
And it was there also that he delivered the high discourse on the nature
of the Four Truths; and having done this he pressed on with the
venerable Ananda and a great company of his own to Pava. And there he
stayed in the Mango Grove of Chunda, and Chunda was a smith by family.
And when Chunda heard that the Perfect One had come to Pava and rested
in his Mango Grove, he went to him and saluted him joyfully, and with
reverence took his seat beside him, and the Blessed One gladdened him
with talk of high things. And, so gladdened, he addressed the Lord, and
said:
“May the Blessed One do me the honour of taking his meal, together with
the brethren, at my house to-morrow?”
And the Lord signified by silence his consent, and seeing he had
consented, Chunda the worker in metals, bowed before him and keeping him
on his right hand, departed.
And at the end of the night Chunda made ready in his house excellent
food, hard and soft, sweet rice and cakes and the food, found in the
earth and loved by boars, truffles, and when all was ready he announced
it to the Lord saying:
“Exalted One, the meal is ready.”
And the Blessed One robed himself and took his bowl and he and his
followers went to the dwelling-place of Chunda. And when the meal was
over, he gladdened the smith with discourse of high matters, and so rose
and departed.
But after the Blessed One had eaten of his food then fell upon him a
grievous disease, and sharp pain came upon him even to death, but he
bore it without complaint mindful and self-possessed. And to the
venerable Ananda he said:
“Come, let us go to Kusinara.”
“Even so, Lord,” said the venerable Ananda.
And they went, but as they went the Blessed One grew very weary and he
rested beneath a tree and said:
“Fold the robe and spread it for me, I pray you. I am weary, Ananda, and
I must rest awhile.”
And the robe was spread, folded fourfold, and when the World-Honoured
was seated he asked for fresh water to drink and Ananda answered:
“But, Lord, five hundred carts have just gone by across the stream and
stirred up by the wheels it has become fouled and turbid. Let us wait
for the river, cool and transparent, easy to get into. There the Blessed
One may drink and cool his limbs.”
But his thirst would not wait, and taking a bowl Ananda went down to the
stream, and when he came to it it flowed clear as light. And he thought:
“How wonderful, how marvellous is the power of Him who has thus
Attained. For this turbid stream is flowing brightly now.”
And when he returned he said:
“Great is the power of the Lord. Let the Happy One drink!”
Now at that time a young man named Pukkusa, a disciple of the Brahman
Alara, passed along the highway, and seeing the Blessed One very weary
beneath the tree he came and saluted him taking his seat respectfully
beside him, and the Holy One discoursed with him on the depths of calm
in pure contemplation and abstraction of mind from the vain shows about
us, and with every power of his mind and heart did the young man listen,
and when the great teaching was ended, he said:
“Most excellent, Lord, are the words of your mouth—most excellent. As
it were to bring a lamp into the darkness so are your words. And I, even
I, betake myself to the Blessed One as my refuge, to the Truth and the
Brotherhood. May I be accepted as a disciple!”
And the young Pukkusa presented two robes of burnished cloth of gold to
the World-Honoured, saying:
“May favour be shown and these accepted at my hand!”
“In that case, Pukkusa, offer the one to me and the other to Ananda.”
And so it was done and the young man gladdened and strengthened, rose
and bowed down and went his way.
CHAPTER XXI
NOW not long after the young man was gone the venerable Ananda placed
that glorious robe upon the Blessed One, and so placed it appeared to
dim and lose its splendour, and Ananda said:
“Lord, it is marvellous that the colour of the skin of the Blessed One
should now be so clear, so bright, beyond measure, for this robe of
burnished gold has lost its splendour in the radiance.”
“It is even so, Ananda. For on the night that He who has thus Attained
achieves supreme Enlightenment and also on the night in which he passes
away for ever leaving no residue behind, the colour of his person
becomes exceedingly bright and clear. And now this day at the third
watch of the night at Kusinara, between the twin sala trees the utter
passing away of Him who has thus Attained will take place. Come, let us
go forward.”
And when he was come to the Mango Grove by the river, he said:
“Fold a robe for me, Kundaka, for I am forespent and would lie down.”
And it was done and the Blessed One laid himself down on his right side,
and meditated, calm and self-possessed, and finally, calling to Ananda
the beloved, he said:
“Now it may happen that someone may grieve Chunda the smith, saying, ‘it
is evil to you, Chunda, and loss, that the Blessed One died after he had
eaten his last meal from your provision.’ But check this remorse,
Ananda, by saying—‘It is good and gain to you, Chunda, that this should
have been. For the very mouth of the Blessed One has told me this—There
is laid up for Chunda the smith a good Karma of long life and good
fortune and good fame and the inheritance of Heaven and sovereign
power.’ In this manner check any remorse in Chunda the smith.”
Then once more rising, the World-Honoured began again his pilgrimage of
pain, and he said:
“Come, let us go to the Sala Grove of the Malla people at Kusinara.”
And they went on.
So with the monks the Exalted One reached at last the Sala Grove of the
Mallas, and he desired that Ananda the beloved would lay a couch for him
with its head to the north between the twin sala trees that they knew.
And this was done, and the sala trees shed their dropping blossoms on
the body of the Blessed One, for so it must be with a departing Buddha.
And here, Ananda seeing that the time drew on, reverently besought the
commands of the Lord as to the disposal of his mortal body. And he
replied:
“Hinder not yourselves by honouring what remains of Him who has thus
Attained. Be zealous, I beseech you, in your own behalf: be intent on
good. There are wise men among the nobles who will do due honour to the
body of the Tathagata.”
And when he heard this Ananda could no longer endure his grief, and that
the Lord might not see his tears, he went into the monastery and stood
leaning against the door and wept, for he thought:
“Alas! I still remain but a learner, one who has not yet attained
perfection, and the Master is about to pass away from me—he who is so
kind.”
But the Blessed One called the brethren and asked:
“Where then, monks, is Ananda?”
And they told him, and he said to a certain brother:
“Go, brother, and say ‘Brother Ananda, the Master calls you.’”
And it was done and the beloved Ananda returned, and the Blessed One
said to him.
“Enough, Ananda. Do not let yourself be troubled. Do not weep. Have I
not often told you that it is in the very nature of things most near and
dear to us that we must divide ourselves from them and leave them? How
then could it be possible that anything containing within itself the
necessity of dissolution should not be dissolved? For a long time,
Ananda, have you been very near to me by acts of love, kind and good,
that never varies and is beyond all measure. And not only by acts but by
words and thoughts of love. You have done well, Ananda. Be earnest in
effort and you too shall soon be delivered and attain the perfect
percipience.”
Then the Blessed One said to the others:
“He is a wise man, monks, is Ananda. Knowing what is right he has four
marvellous qualities, for those who see him, who hear him speak or teach
are filled with joy on beholding and hearing him, and the company of the
Assembly are ill at ease when Ananda is silent.”
And later he said:
“Go now, Ananda, to the town of Kusinara and inform the people of the
Mallas that in the last watch of the night He who has thus Attained will
pass away. And say this—‘Be favourable herein, Mallas, and leave no
occasion to reproach yourselves that you did not visit the
World-Honoured in his last hours.’”
And Ananda the beloved went, robed and carrying his bowl and attended by
a member of the Order.
And, as it chanced, the Mallas were assembled in the Council Hall and
when they heard his words, they wept, they and their wives and children
saying:
“Too soon will the Blessed One die!
Too soon will the Happy One pass away.
Too soon will the Light of the World be darkened!”
And trooping out with their wives and children, these Mallas came to the
Grove of the sala trees, and Ananda considering their great number
thought:
“There is not time that they should speak singly with the Lord. But I
will present them by families.”
And this he did, causing the Mallas to stand in groups and so presented
them, saying:
“Lord, a Malla of such and such a name, with his wives, his children his
retinue and his friends, humbly bows down at the feet of the Blessed
One.” And that family with its retinue then advanced, weeping.
And after this manner were all presented during the first watch of the
night, and when it was done they retired in heavy grief.
But there was yet one work of mercy left unto the Lord. For at this time
a mendicant named Subaddha was dwelling at Kusinara, and he heard the
news that the Blessed One was about to pass away and his religious
doubts rushed into his mind and he thought:
“Seldom indeed in this world do the authentic Buddhas appear. I have
faith in the monk Gotama that he may be able to remove my uncertainty. I
will go to him.”
And he went and told his case to Ananda and he replied:
“Enough, friend Subaddha. Do not trouble Him who has thus Attained. The
Lord is weary.”
And three times he refused. But the Lord heard and he said:
“Let him come to me. He will ask from a true desire of knowledge and
will quickly understand my replies.”
So Ananda said:
“Enter in, friend Subaddha. The Blessed One gives you leave.”
And speaking respectfully that mendicant put his questions, awaiting the
answer with anxiety. And it was this: “Is the Way of the Law the only
path possible for a saint? Can that way alone produce sainthood of the
first order?”
And the Lord replied:
“Perfect saints from the first to the fourth degree are found only in
the Noble Eightfold Path.”
And when he had given the reason why only under such discipline is
perception perfected, Subaddha, hailing his words with gladness, every
doubt lost in light, besought admission as a disciple and it was granted
and the probation of four months remitted, though Subaddha himself
willingly undertook that probation. But the Lord said:
“In this case I acknowledge the difference in persons.”
And this was the last man the Lord himself received. And because it
could not be otherwise Subaddha attained light and percipience, and
became conscious that for him birth was at an end, and he became a great
Arhat. And he sat beside the Blessed One until the end.
And now the time drew on swiftly and knowing this, the Blessed One said,
while they all stood in great grief surrounding him:
“It may be, Ananda, that in some of you the thought may arise—‘Now that
the word of the Master is ended we have no Teacher.’ But this is not so.
The truths and the rules of the Order—let them be your Teacher when I
am gone. And when I am gone, Ananda, let the Order if it will, abolish
the Lesser Precepts.”
And after awhile the Blessed One spoke again, and he said:
“It may be, brethren, that there is doubt or misgiving in the mind of
some brother as to the Buddha, the Truth, the Way. Enquire freely,
monks! Do not reproach yourself afterwards with the thought,—‘We were
face to face with the Blessed One, and yet could not bring ourselves to
enquire.’”
But the brethren were silent. And again and a third time the Lord
repeated this. And in his care for them he said:
“It may be that the brethren will not question out of reverence for the
Teacher. Let one friend then communicate with another.”
And still they were silent, and the venerable Ananda said:
“It is wonderful, Lord. I have faith to believe that in this whole
Assembly of the brethren there is not one who has any doubt or misgiving
as to the Buddha, the Truth, or the Way.”
And the Blessed One, sinking yet lower into weakness, answered:
“From the fulness of faith do you speak, Ananda. But He who has thus
Attained knows of certain knowledge that in this whole Assembly there is
not one brother who has any doubt or misgiving. For even the most
backward of all these brethren knows and has seen and will be born no
more in a state of suffering and is assured of final peace.”
And by these words did the World-Honoured reassure Ananda the beloved in
whom as yet the tenderness of love crippled its wings, restraining it
from the eagle-flight of the perfected Arhat.
And Ananda knelt, hiding his face beside the sala trees where lay the
Blessed One, for he knew that the parting drew very near. And there was
a deep silence, and it was as though all the spirits of earth and air,
and the Divine Beings and the Three Worlds, the earth, the heavens, and
hells waited with them nor would lose a breath that remained. And He who
has thus Attained lay with closed eyes, submerged in calm as in a great
ocean.
And after awhile his eyelids opened and for the last time he looked upon
them and for the last time his disciples heard his voice, strong in
death.
“Behold now, brethren, I exhort you, saying—‘Decay is inherent in all
component things. Work out your own salvation with diligence.’”
And they trembled, kneeling about him.
Then the Blessed One entered into the first state of ecstasy, and,
rising from this, into the second, and so passed into the third and into
the fourth and rising from that realm of ecstasy he entered the realm of
the infinity of space, and from this he entered the realm of the
infinity of consciousness and rising from this he entered the realm of
nothingness, and beyond this the realm of neither perception nor
non-perception, and from this he arrived at the cessation of sensation
and idea.
And Ananda cried out to the great Anuruddha in an agony:
“O my Lord—O Anuruddha, the Blessed One is dead!”
And he, leaning above that Peace, said with calm:
“Nay, brother Ananda. He has entered that state where sensation and
ideas have ceased to be.”
And all veiled their faces.
And the mind of Him who has thus Attained retraced its way downward
again and passing through all the stages entered into the fourth stage
of deep meditation and passing out of this he immediately entered the
Great Peace.
And at the moment of his expiring the thunders of Heaven broke forth
roaring about them and there was a loud and terrible trembling of the
earth and the voice of Him who is the First uttered this:
“All beings in the world must lose their compound selves and
individuality, and even such a Master as this, he, unrivalled and endued
with all the powers, even he has passed into the Nirvana.”
And the voice of Indra, King of Gods, took up the tale.
“Transient are all component things.
They being born must die, and being
dead are glad to be at rest.”
And Anuruddha the Great said these words:
“When he, the Desireless, lay in peace, so ending his span of life,
resolute and with unshaken mind did he endure the pains of death,
attaining his final deliverance from the Fetters.”
But Ananda cried aloud:
“Then there was terror, then the hair rose on the head, when he who
possessed all grace—the supreme Buddha died.”
Thus spoke the Four Loves, from the highest to the lowest,—and these of
the brethren who were not yet enfranchised from the passions wept and
wailed in anguish, crying aloud:
“Too soon has the Blessed One died. Too soon has the Happy One departed.
Too soon is the World’s Light darkened.”
But the great Arhats bore their sorrow calm and self-possessed, saying:
“Transient are all earth’s things. How is it possible they should not be
dissolved?”
And all that night did the great Sariputta and Anuruddha spend in high
discourse but Ananda wept nor could be comforted.
And in the morning the great Anuruddha addressed the sorrowing Assembly.
“Enough, my brethren. Weep not nor lament. Has not the Blessed One
declared to us that it is in the very nature of things near and dear to
us that we and they must part? How then can it be possible that anything
born and thus containing within itself the necessity of dissolution
should not dissolve? Weep no more. Even the spirits would reproach us.
For they who have attained wisdom say ‘Transient indeed are all
component things. How is it possible they should not be dispersed? This
cannot be.’”
And calling to Ananda he sent him into the town of Kusinara that he
might tell the faithful Mallas that their Lord was departed and that in
their true hands should be the burning.
And they came out lamenting, having made great and costly preparation,
and they encased the body of the Lord in new cloth and folded sheets of
wool and lastly in a vessel of iron for the burning, and having clad
themselves in new garments eight chieftains of the Mallas lifted the
body, and they bore it through their little town to their own shrine,
and there in the presence of the Order with devotion and spices and
flowers and perfumes they did what was needful, and the body of the Lord
passed into grey ash, fulfilling all even to the uttermost.
“Bow down with clasped hands.
“Hard, hard is it to meet with a Buddha through hundreds of ages.”
But they knew in whose presence they had stood.
This also have I heard.
The great Ananda, casting aside the fetters of love and retaining only
its radiance, became a mighty Arhat and laid aside all sorrow.
After these things, one day it so chanced that one of the brothers sat
with Pingiya the aged Brahman, the disciple of the Lord, and Pingiya
from the fulness of his heart spoke of the Blessed One, saying:
“As he saw the Way, so he taught it, he, the very wise, the passionless,
the desireless Lord, and how should he do otherwise, for in him was no
shadow nor turning of untruth. I will praise the voice of him who was
without folly, who had left arrogance far behind. It is he only, the
Dispeller of darkness, the high Deliverer, who giveth light.”
And seeing his love, the other said:
“How then can you stay away from him even one instant, O Pingiya?”
And the old man replied:
“Not even for one instant do I stay away from him, my brother. Vigilant
day and night I see him in my mind. In reverencing him do I spend the
night, and verily I think I am not far from him.”
And he mused awhile and added this:
“I am worn out and feeble, but my heart, venerable brother, is joined to
him for ever.”
And lo, as Pingiya sat and said this word, there shone about them a
great light and Pingiya beheld the Blessed One stand there in majesty
that cannot be uttered. And he said these words:
“Strong is thy faith, O Pingiya, and it shall be made glad. Fear not.
You too shall reach that further shore, the haven of the realm of
death.”
CHAPTER XXII
AND when the burning was done, the faithful Mallas gathered the bones
and they took them to their Council Hall and surrounded them with a
lattice-work of spears and a rampart of bows, and there for seven days
they did them reverence and homage with solemn dance and music and
garlands and perfumes.
And the King of Maghada sent to beg a portion of the relics, for he
said: “The Blessed One was of the soldier caste and so too am I; I am
worthy to receive a portion and I will set over it a sacred monument and
hold a solemn feast.”
And other peoples, and among them the Sakyas of Kapila,—the Lord’s own
people—sent demanding each a portion. And the Sakyas said:
“He who has thus Attained was the pride of our race. We are worthy to
receive a portion, and we will put up a sacred monument and celebrate a
solemn feast.”
And so it was with six more peoples all demanding their portion, and the
true Mallas grew angry, for they loved the Lord, and they replied:
“The Blessed One died in our land and he is ours. We will not give away
any of the relics.”
But the wise Brahman Dona rose amongst them and said this:
“Hear, sirs, one word from me. Our Lord taught forbearance, and
gentleness was the law of his lips. Would it not be unseemly that strife
should arise over the relics of him who was in all things highest? Sirs,
let us all with one accord unite in friendly harmony to divide these
precious relics into eight portions.”
And they asked him, this being so, to undertake the division, and he
answered “Be it so,” and with scrupulous care he divided the relics,
asking for himself the vessel that he might set a monument over it.
And to the Moriya people (who too late asked their share of the precious
relics), seeing their grief they gave the embers of the pyre, and these
with all reverence they took away.
Thus is the story told of Him who cast aside earthly love and riches and
power that he might open the way to the myriads of mankind who have
trodden it after him and who will tread it until all things merge in the
unity and reconcilement of the Peace. For like a bright shining went
forth the words of the Lord unto the ends of the earth, and those
countries that have not heard shall yet hear and rejoice, for in Him
were all wisdom and all love. And Kings and Emperors have heard and
adored, and peasants looked up in gladness to see the night of sorrow
dawn into the sunrise of joy.
And for that man who desires no longer the illusions of earth,
ended—ended is the passing from death to death, the illusion of that
false self and ego being slain over whom alone death has dominion! For
the All in whom we are One is life and not death.
Yet do not think that all the appearances of this world are wholly
illusion for that was not the Teaching of the Lord. No; but he taught
that the five senses cannot see nor hear nor touch nor the dissolving
brain apprehend Absolute Truth, and that this being so there is only
relative truth for those unenlightened who see but as in a glass darkly,
while those who have attained enlightenment, as did He who has thus
Attained, behold the Truth face to face.
Therefore here we see things but as they can appear to us and not in
their true Being, and are most mistaken and deceived.
Furthermore it is a strange thing and not to be uttered in words how by
following the narrow way of right thinking and right doing is the
cleansed perception attained. But the Lord said: “Do thus and thus, and
you shall know.” And so it is.
And to the weak and poor in spirit as to the great of mind he did not
say:
“Believe this, for so it is told you” but “Do this, and little by
little, as when a man climbs a mountain the earth unfolds beneath him,
for yourselves you shall see and know, needing no testimony from
another—No, not even from the ancient scriptures, the Vedas, the
Vedanta or any Brahman nor another. For the Kingdom of Heaven is within
you. Look inward and see it and be glad.” Thus the Lord taught and so it
was.
And because this is so I who have seen many teachings of the old
writings and of the Brahmans pass away in later knowledge have never
seen one jot or one tittle of the Law pass rebuked into oblivion,
neither shall I, nor any other. Knowledge is a good thing and a great,
but all knowledge that comes through the brain and the five senses shall
be rebuked later or sooner by the majesty of the Truth and shall crumble
and pass. Only he who perceives beyond knowledge and sees beyond sight
can apprehend these matters and so sit above error, being one with the
One, and beyond that is the Nirvana, and even beyond the Nirvana it may
well be there are states inconceivable in glory.
As for the ignorant, nothing is as they think it and they move through a
world of distorted forms most alien to the Truth, just as in the lower
consciousness of insect, reptile, and beast the forms perceived by them
are still more alien from the Truth, for consciousness evolves from
lowly beginnings. And this must be so since the thing seen is shaped by
him who sees it through his own fettered consciousness, the limits of
which he can in no way escape until he reaches that perception to which
the perception of the ignorant is as the snail’s or worm’s to the man’s.
Yet let us not think that Reality is far from us. It lies about and in
us and we walk in it and see it not, and in the higher perception bright
things move about us and we of the lower perception see them no more
than the blind man the sunshine in which he sits, and they touch us with
strange instincts and visitings through the dark and we do not know, and
our heart calls them to come nearer and there is silence.
So, for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, the Blessed One
summed up all teachings of the wise men of old and those who are yet to
come, and no more can be added to it though it shall be more clearly
understood as time and knowledge join hands. Therefore walk in the Way.
And whereas there are wise men of the West who teach that there is but
one life in this world of form and illusion, one hope of development and
knowledge,—I say this: Very wise and near the Truth must be those men
of the West if one life of twenty, thirty, ninety years suffices to free
them from the fetters of ignorance and render them perfect as their
Father in Heaven (for so they phrase it) is perfect. With us this is not
so, nor yet do we hold that any of the Buddhas can pay the debt of
another nor lift his sins from his shoulders, holding that the debt
incurred must be paid by the debtor, and this for the sake of immortal
Justice and for his own sake also. For the Law is evolution in the
innermost as in the mortal body. First the lowly beginning, the seed in
black earth. Then the tender shoot, the waxing strength of trunk and
bough till they can bear the glory of expanding blossom, and last, the
perfect fruit. And in one life this cannot be. And so have all the
Buddhas taught.
Yet another thing. It was said by our Wisest that the man who truly
perceives sits above good and evil and may do what he will. Is this a
hard saying? How can it be?
It is because the Truth is now his will. It is his being; he sits in it
and it in him, and the Truth and he are one. How should such a man
think; “This is right. I will do it. This is evil; I will not do it,”
any more than he will think; “I must breathe or I shall die,”
considering each breath or heart-beat? How can sin draw him any more
than the writhing of the snake tempts to imitation the man who walks
erect? These things are the necessary laws of the beginner in the Way.
They are stages of the Noble Eightfold Path, but for the Enlightened,
they who see things as they are, laws have no meaning, for they
themselves are Law.
And this is the faith that must triumph, for Wisdom is its sceptre and
Knowledge its footstool, and the science of the schools its slave to
follow where it has led the way.
Did not the Blessed One say—“We know. He who has thus Attained has
nothing to do with theories.”
And great is the patience of the Law, for Eternity is its own and of
time it knows nothing.
And now in ending I write down a few maxims which the wise have made for
those who did not see the Face nor hear the Voice of Him who has thus
Attained, that they also may consider and attain. For these are steps on
the Way. “Let a man learn to comprehend the True Nature of the World of
Law. Then will he perceive that all things are but the production of
Mind.”
“In all living creatures there exists and has existed from the beginning
the nature of the Law. All, by this nature, contain the original essence
of Enlightenment. Wherefore birth and death and even the Nirvana itself
are transcended and become for us a dream of the night that is gone,
being lost in a greater Light.”
“To the eye of flesh, plants and trees appear to be gross matter. But to
the eye of the Buddha they are composed of minute spiritual particles.”
“Grass, trees, countries, the earth itself, all these shall wholly enter
into Enlightenment.”
“Hail to the Buddhas of the Three Worlds, who are all but One in the One
Mind.”
So I end.
With lips of clay have I told that which cannot be uttered and with
mortal thought have I set forth the Highest. And well I knew this could
not be, for it is above the flesh and the tongue cannot speak it.
Glory to the Blessed One, the Holy, the Perfect in Enlightenment!
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
occur.
A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain.
[The end of _The Splendour of Asia_ by Elizabeth Louisa Moresby (as L.
Adams Beck)]