Buddha smiled at the husband, and
when he had nothing more to say , the farmer thanked him and left. Power over time and fate. Buddha mused on this as he walked. Does a
Buddha reverse every harm? Even if he had that power , did he have the
right to change karma on a whim? In a short while he saw the first huts of a small village. As he
approached, people came out wearing suspicious and fearful looks. Some
carried pitchforks and rusty swords. They glared as Buddha passed, and in
each mind he heard the same word: Angulimala. He soon realized that this
was the name of someone they all feared. A killer . A madman. A monster . Buddha continued to the local temple, whose tiled roof was the highest
point in the village. In the shadowy cool of the inner sanctum he saw an old
priest cleaning the altar of faded flowers and burnt incense ashes. He
approached. “Namaste.”
The priest barely acknowledged him. Remote as this temple was, he
maintained the air of a Brahmin. Instead of praying beside him, Buddha sat
cross-legged before the altar and waited. The old priest threw a few fresh
flowers onto the Shiva statue and turned to leave. “Angulimala,” Buddha said. The priest got angry . “Don’ t say such a thing. This is a holy place.”Buddha said, “I think you forbid the name of Angulimala because you
fear he might hear and invade your kingdom.” The old priest squinted his
eyes, wondering if he was being mocked. “I can help,” Buddha added. This of fer was greeted with a harsh laugh. “How? Are you a warrior
monk? It wouldn’ t matter . Angulimala has killed his share of warriors. He
has powers. He exchanged his soul for them.”
“What powers?”
“He can outrun a horse. He can hide without being seen and spring
down on travelers from the tops of trees. Enough?”
“Perhaps, if any are true. I doubt that these powers have been observed
if he kills everyone he meets and the few survivors are terrified,” said
Buddha. The priest, who was bald and slightly hunched, relented slightly . “You’re right about that, stranger . Come with me. I can feed you, and with a
little food in your stomach you might stop deluding yourself that you can
help.” The old priest managed a tight smile; something deep inside had
been touched by the stranger ’s offer. They retired to the temple kitchen, and
when the stranger ’s bowl was filled with rice and lentils, the two sat outside
in the shade to eat. “As you know , anguli  means fingers,” said the priest. “T o terrify
everyone the more, this killer collects the fingers of his victims and wears
them as a necklace around his throat. V ery few know his real story , but I am
one. The monster began life as the mild son of a Brahmin family with no
money . At fourteen he was sent to school in a nearby village, with the hope
that once he was educated he could perform rites at the temple and restore
his family’ s fortunes. “But the Brahmin who ran the school was of unbalanced mind. He
accused the boy of sleeping with his wife and threw him out in disgrace.”
Buddha didn’ t detect much pity for suf fering in the old priest’ s heart, but he
genuinely felt sorry for the wronged boy .“The scandal reached home before the boy did. When he crossed the
threshold, his father beat him brutally and threw him out to fend for
himself. The family’ s hopes for restoring their fortunes were dashed. It
didn’ t matter that their son was innocent.”
As the priest recounted the tale, Buddha could see every event in his
mind. What lay ahead looked much darker . “There was nothing for him to
live for but death,” Buddha murmured. “He was born cursed, and there’ s no hope for him,” the old priest said
severely . “Did anyone try to give him hope?” asked Buddha. The priest scowled,
but their meal was over . In gratitude, Buddha bowed his head. He didn’ t
prostrate himself at the Brahmin’ s feet. This caused the old priest to keep a
moody silence as he escorted his visitor to the gate. “You’re a fool to go after him. I can see that’ s what you have in mind,”
the Brahmin said. “But if you must, here’ s a charm to protect you.” He held
out some dried herbs bundled with a prayer scribbled on a leaf. Buddha
accepted it. “Tell me one thing,” said Buddha. “Why does Angulimala kill so many
people?”
“To save himself,” the old priest replied. “The disgraced boy took to the
woods. He began to live like an animal. He ate roots and insects and
covered his body with hides. They say by chance he met a wandering
fortune-teller , who told him the curse could be lifted only by collecting a
thousand fingers and of fering them as sacrifice to Shiva. That’ s why he
wears his terrible necklace.”
“Then I must help him,” said Buddha. “Otherwise Angulimala will
show up here one day to sacrifice his necklace on your altar .”
The old priest shuddered visibly and then slammed the gate shut behind
him. THOUGHTS OF  ANGULIMALA  stayed in Buddha’ s mind that day and the next
morning. Why was he drawn to the monster? He walked deeper into the jungle to face the question. It was a blazing
afternoon when Buddha found himself on a hidden trail through the jungle. There was a rustle, then before he could turn his head, a wild beast jumped
down from the trees and crouched before him. The covering of matted hides
made Angulimala look like a giant ferocious ape baring its fangs. Buddha regarded the wild man’ s teeth, which had been crudely filed to
a point, and his necklace of withered fingers. In his left hand he carried a
long curved blade. “Namaste,” said Buddha. Angulimala growled. “I cannot save you unless you tell me how you are suf fering,” said
Buddha. “An animal doesn’ t need saving.”
The wild man showed no reaction. He could reach his prey in one leap,
so he raised his knife and with a howl sprang toward Buddha. When he
came to earth, however , his knife slashed at empty air . Buddha was
standing, as before, two paces away . Angulimala looked bewildered. “You do not have to ask for mercy or for giveness,” said Buddha. “Speak
your real name, not the monster ’s that you have assumed.”
The wild man took another leap at Buddha, and as before, when he
landed his blade swished through the air . Buddha was standing two paces
away . “I can only stop a moment,” Buddha said. “But if you want my help,
come to me.”
He turned his back on Angulimala and began slowly walking away . Behind him there was a scream of rage. One thing the old Brahmin had said
was true: Angulimala possessed enough demonic ener gy that he could
outrun a horse. He char ged at Buddha, his knife stretched out in front like a
spear . It should have taken only a few seconds to reach his prey , but Buddha
remained a step ahead. Angulimala sped up, panting as he ran. His bare feet
stirred up a cloud of dust, but he couldn’ t close the gap between himself andBuddha. This kept up for ten minutes, until the wild man fell to the ground,
clutching at his cramped legs. Buddha turned around and regarded him. “There’ s a small distance between you and me,” he said mildly . “Shall I
close it? I can.”
He reached down and touched the killer ’s matted hair , and Angulimala
began to weep. “Please tell me your real name,” Buddha ur ged. There was a
pause, and Angulimala shivered from head to toe. “Why?” he moaned. By
this he meant, Why should anyone help me? I am damned. “I will tell you, but I can’ t explain to an animal,” said Buddha. Angulimala clutched at himself, writhing on the ground. Buddha stood
quietly , letting the demonic ener gy drain away . It would take more than a
single seizure to purify the wild man, but this was a beginning. After he had
thrashed in the dust for some minutes, a name came out. “Anigha,” he said. “Look at me, Anigha,” Buddha said. “W e are brothers.”
The wild man was pacified from exhaustion, his body spent. He raised
his head as Buddha bent over to bless him. “Y ou were once a great saint,”
said Buddha. “Now you have become a great sinner . This was not a curse. The cycle of birth and rebirth has brought you full circle. The same thing
happens to everyone. It has happened to me.”
Each word he spoke caused a change in Anigha. His eyes looked far
away; he seemed to remember something deep and profound. T ears rolled
down his cheeks. “I am damned,” he said aloud, his voice becoming more
human. “No, you share the same fate as everyone,” said Buddha. “Y ou wanted
to find a way out of suf fering. The only dif ference is that you asked for the
life of a monster . You imagined that if you caused enormous suf fering, you
would be immune to it.”
The weight of Anigha’ s crimes was crushing him—he groaned.“It’s horrible to bring hell on earth,” said Budddha. “There was another
purpose, though, that no one sees.” Anigha stared in baf flement. “Y ou
hungered for the supreme truth many lifetimes ago. The gods failed you;
your vows as a monk led to nothing but deeper disappointment. So you
swore that you would not be redeemed unless the greatest sinner received
the same treatment.”
Now Anigha grasped Buddha’ s feet and was sobbing loudly as his pain
poured out. Buddha took his hands away and lifted him up. “If you are part
of me, you need nothing else to be saved,” he said. Anigha said, “But I have killed.”
“You fell into evil so that you could prove to yourself that there is a
reality that evil cannot touch. W ill you let me show it to you?”
Anigha listened quietly , then he looked down at his filthy body clothed
in bloodied hides. They were unrecognizable now as part of him. He led
Buddha to a stream and washed the dirt away . When he had washed of f as
much as he could, he came out of the water . “I will follow you anywhere,”
he said. “Angulimala is dead.”
“You will always be with me. But for the moment you need to stay
here,” said Buddha. “Devote yourself to atonement. Leave food for the
poor. Offer flowers and water at the temple gate for those who want to
make sacrifice. Help lost travelers whom you once terrified. Whatever you
do, don’ t show yourself. I will return for you very soon.”
Anigha didn’ t find it easy to let Buddha go; he still half-believed that he
was in a dream devised by a mischievous demon. After a while, though, his
exhaustion made him nod of f as the two sat under a tree talking. Buddha
arose and left quietly . He gave no thought to where he was going next. But
something had happened that he alone knew . He had altered the course of
evil with a touch and a word. He was still a new Buddha, four days out of the womb, but every
moment was bringing him greater power and more wisdom to use it well.OceanofPDF .com18
The five monks had retreated to a forest glade near Benares after they
parted from Gautama. Months passed. Now the glade was beautiful with
overhanging trees in the riotous bloom of spring. They knew Gautama must
be dead, although the subject was never raised. The five monks lived a
secluded life, but their time of extreme austerity was over and done with. Returning to a moderate life seemed sensible, but a faint gloom settled
over their existence because every forest monk wanted to reach
enlightenment. Gautama’ s failure spelled failure for them too. Therefore,
when he walked into their camp one morning, the five monks were relieved
for themselves as much as for him. After they greeted him with exclamations and expressed their joy , the
monks sat and waited for their brother to describe what had happened. It
was as if someone had returned from the dead. They expected a miracle
story . At the very least, he would describe the wonders of enlightenment. But Buddha only wanted to be with them quietly , his glance occasionally
moving from one to the other . “We mourned for you, Gautama,” Kondana, the youngest, said. “Because you knew that Gautama was no more,” said Buddha. “And
you were right.”
This was something they understood since it’ s a matter of course that
someone who reaches enlightenment has severed all connections to hisformer personality . But none of the five monks had actually met anyone
who had gotten there. “If you aren’ t Gautama, who are you?” Assaji asked. “I keep Gautama’ s body , and you can call me by his name if you like,”
said Buddha, smiling. “Y ou need some way to find me in the dark. But I am
not this body or this name. I am not a person any longer as you know it.”
“That tells me what you are not, but I still don’ t know what you are,”
said Assaji, pressing the point. Instead of replying, Buddha closed his eyes and went into samadhi,
something they had seen Gautama do a thousand times. Assaji was about to
signal that they should follow suit when Gautama unexpectedly opened his
eyes again. The monks were used to him being lost in silence for days. “Do you want to meditate alone?” Assaji asked. “W e can leave you.”
“It’s not that, dear friend,” said Buddha. “I have talked with only a few
people since I came to be awakened. One blessed me with knowledge of
good and evil. But no one has asked me who I am until now . You have
given me another blessing.”
Assaji looked confused. “How is that?” he asked. “When I closed my eyes, I saw my past lifetimes. T en thousand of them,
and I lived each one moment by moment.”
The five monks were amazed. “In the blink of an eye?” Kondana
exclaimed. Buddha smiled. “T wo blinks, if you like. W e have all been told since
childhood that the cycle of birth and rebirth has brought us back many
times. But as I went back to those lifetimes, I found that all of them were
equal. I am every life I’ve ever lived, and yet I am none of them, for I can
be here or there whenever I want.”
“Is this the knowledge that set you free?” said Assaji.“Do you ask me that because you really want to know or because you
feel worried and insecure?” asked Buddha. Assaji looked uncomfortable. “Y our feat seems superhuman,” he said. “If it takes something like that to reach enlightenment, what hope do we
have? W e’re just ordinary monks.” The others murmured in agreement. “I didn’ t return to discourage you or to awe you. Y ou asked me who I
am, and now I can tell you. I can also tell you who you are. Y ou are not the
separate self. Y ou have a name that you answer to, but you have also
answered to ten thousand other names. Which one is the real you? None of
them. Y ou identify with a set of memories. Y ou know who your father and
mother are. Y ou set your sights on a goal that you cherish. “But you have done exactly the same thing ten thousand times before. Therefore your memories, your parents, and your cherished goals are
transient. They change as swiftly as mayflies, which are born and die in a
single day .”
The five monks were riveted by Buddha’ s talk, but more than that, his
words drew them deep inside themselves. It was almost like going into
samadhi with one’ s eyes open. They saw exactly what he had described. But Assaji was still worried. “I would be wasting my life to try and unravel ten thousand past lives,”
he said. “And if you want me to renounce this lifetime as a phantom,
haven’ t I already renounced it by becoming a monk?”
“You renounced only the outer trappings,” said Buddha. “A saf fron robe
doesn’ t make you free of desire, and desire is what has kept you a prisoner .”
“You already told us that on the mountain,” Kondana said. “But in six
years we never rid ourselves of desire. Our karma still follows us and
makes us obey its commands.”
“Which is why I have come for you instead of going first to my family ,”
said Buddha. “What I ur ged you to do on the mountain was a mistake. I
want to make amends.”“You owe us nothing,” Assaji said quickly . “I’m not speaking of a debt,” said Buddha. “Debts end when karma
ends. My mistake led you into a trap. I believed that I was in a war with
desire. I despised the world and my own body , which craved all the delights
of the world.”
“Surely that’ s not a mistake,” said Assaji. “Otherwise it would be
pointless to take vows. The holy life must be dif ferent from the worldly
life.”
“What if there is no holy life?” asked Buddha. The five monks became
extremely uncomfortable, and none answered. “Y ou see,” said Buddha,
“even holiness has become food for your ego to feed on. Y ou want to be
different. Y ou want to be safe. Y ou want to have hope.”
“Why is that wrong?” asked Assaji. “Because these things are dreams that lull you,” said Buddha. “What would we see if we weren’ t dreaming?”
“Death.”
The five monks felt a chill pass over them. It seemed pointless to deny
what their brother said but hopeless to accept it. Buddha said, “Y ou are all
afraid of death, as I was, so you make up any story that will ease your fears,
and after a while you believe the story , even though it came from your own
mind.” W ithout waiting for a reply , he reached down and picked up a
handful of dust. “The answer to life and death is simple. It rests in the palm
of my hand. W atch.”
He threw the dust into the air; it remained suspended like a murky cloud
for a second before the breeze carried it away . “Consider what you just saw ,” said Buddha. “The dust holds its shape
for a fleeting moment when I throw it into the air , as the body holds its
shape for this brief lifetime. When the wind makes it disappear , where doesthe dust go? It returns to its source, the earth. In the future that same dust
allows grass to grow , and it enters a deer who eats the grass. The animal
dies and turns to dust. Now imagine that the dust comes to you and asks,
‘Who am I?’ What will you tell it? Dust is alive in a plant but dead as it lies
in the road under our feet. It moves in an animal but is still when buried in
the depths of the earth. Dust encompasses life and death at the same time. So if you answer ‘Who am I?’ with anything but a complete answer , you
have made a mistake. “I have come back to tell you that you can be whole, but only if you see
yourself that way . There is no holy life. There is no war between good and
evil. There is no sin and no redemption. None of these things matter to the
real you. But they all matter hugely to the false you, the one who believes in
the separate self. Y ou have tried to take your separate self, with all its
loneliness and anxiety and pride, to the door of enlightenment. But it will
never go through, because it is a ghost.”
As he spoke, Buddha knew that this sermon would be the first of
hundreds. It surprised him that words were so necessary . He had hoped to
heal the world with a touch or simply by existing in it. The universe had
other plans. “How can I see myself as whole,” asked Kondana, “when everything I
call ‘me’ is separate? I have only one body and one mind, those I was born
with.”
“Look at the forest,” Buddha replied. “W e walk through it every day
and believe it to be the same forest. But not a single leaf is the same as
yesterday . Every particle of soil, every plant and animal, is constantly
changing. Y ou cannot be enlightened as the separate person you see
yourself to be because that person has already disappeared, along with
everything else from yesterday .”
The five monks were astonished to hear these words. They revered
Gautama, but now his beliefs called for a revolution. If what he said was
true, then nothing that they had been taught could be true at the same time. No holy life? No war between good and evil? None of them spoke for along while. What was there to say to a man who claimed that they didn’ t
even exist? “I’ve brought agitation with me,” said Buddha. “I didn’ t mean to.” He
said this sincerely , after due consideration. He hadn’ t realized that being
awake would create such a disturbance to other people. In the blink of an eye, as quickly as he had seen ten thousand previous
lifetimes, he saw the human predicament. Everyone was asleep, totally
unconscious about their true nature. Some slept fitfully , catching scattered
glimpses of the truth. But they quickly fell asleep again. They were the
fortunate ones. The bulk of human beings had no glimpse of reality . How
could he tell them what he really wanted to say? All of you ar e Buddha. “I realize that if I stay here I will only agitate you more,” he said. “So
help me. T ogether we must devise a Dharma that will not frighten people. Beginning with you, my frightened brothers.” The five monks smiled at
this, and they began to relax a little. Buddha pointed to the trees in bloom
all around them. “The Dharma should be this beautiful, and just as
effortless,” he said. “If Nature is awake everywhere we look, then human
beings deserve the same. W aking up shouldn’ t be a struggle.”
“You struggled,” said Assaji. “Yes, and the more I did, the harder it was to wake up. I made my body
and mind into an enemy . On that road lies only death and more death. As
long as your body is your enemy , you are tied to it, and the body has no
choice but to die. Death will never be defeated until it becomes unreal.”
Years later Assaji would remember that a rainstorm began to pass
through the forest as Buddha spoke. Lightning punctuated his words and lit
up his face, which wasn’ t the fiercely zealous face of Gautama but
something unearthly and serene. They heard the patter of raindrops on the
forest canopy , which increased to a steady drumming, yet no rain fell on the
five monks, not even a stray drop sizzling in the campfire. In this way
Nature was telling them that Buddha was more than a man who had become
enlightened. They followed him devotedly after that night. FOR THE FIRST TIME  in six years Buddha’ s feet touched the road to
Kapilavastu. He traveled with the five monks, who gradually lost their
anxiety but not their awe. They ate and slept beside their master . They
bathed with him in the river , but he no longer medi tated or said prayers. One at a time he took each of his brothers aside and gave them private
instructions. They were overjoyed to be told that they were very close to
enlightenment and would achieve it very soon. There was one monk who never spoke up. His name was V appa, and he
seemed the most insecure about Gautama coming back to life. When he was
taken aside and told that he would be enlightened, V appa greeted the news
with doubt. “If what you tell me is true, I would feel something, and I
don’t,” he said. “When you dig a well, there is no sign of water until you reach it, only
rocks and dirt to move out of the way . You have removed enough; soon the
pure water will flow ,” said Buddha. But instead of being reassured, V appa
threw himself on the ground, weeping and grasping Buddha’ s feet. “It will never happen,” he moaned. “Don’ t fill me with false hope.”
“I’m not of fering hope,” said Buddha. “Y our karma brought you to me,
along with the other four . I can see that you will soon be awake.”
“Then why do I have so many impure thoughts?” asked V appa, who
was prickly and prone to outbursts of rage, so much so that the other monks
were intimidated by him. “Don’ t trust your thoughts,” said Buddha. “Y ou can’ t think yourself
awake.”
“I have stolen food when I was famished, and there were times when I
stole away from my brothers and went to women,” said V appa. “Don’ t trust your actions. They belong to the body ,” said Buddha. “Y our
body can’ t wake you up.”Vappa remained miserable, his expression hardening the more Buddha
spoke. “I should go away from here. Y ou say there is no war between good
and evil, but I feel it inside. I feel how good you are, and it only makes me
feel worse.”
Vappa’ s anguish was so genuine that Buddha felt a twinge of
temptation. He could reach out and take V appa’ s guilt from his shoulders
with a touch of the hand. But making V appa happy wasn’ t the same as
setting him free, and Buddha knew he couldn’ t touch every person on earth. He said, “I can see that you are at war inside, V appa. Y ou must believe me
when I say that you’ll never win.”
Vappa hung his head lower . “I know that. So I must go?”
“No, you misunderstand me,” Buddha said gently . “No one has ever
won the war . Good opposes evil the way the summer sun opposes winter
cold, the way light opposes darkness. They are built into the eternal scheme
of Nature.”
“But you won. Y ou are good; I feel it,” said V appa. “What you feel is the being I have inside, just as you have it,” said
Buddha. “I did not conquer evil or embrace good. I detached myself from
both.”
“How?”
“It wasn’ t difficult. Once I admitted to myself that I would never
become completely good or free from sin, something changed inside. I was
no longer distracted by the war; my attention could go somewhere else. It
went beyond my body , and I saw who I really am. I am not a warrior . I am
not a prisoner of desire. Those things come and go. I asked myself: Who is
watching the war? Who do I return to when pain is over , or when pleasure
is over? Who is content simply to be? Y ou too have felt the peace of simply
being. W ake up to that, and you will join me in being free.”
This lesson had an immense ef fect on V appa, who made it his mission
for the rest of his life to seek out the most miserable and hopeless people insociety . He was convinced that Buddha had revealed a truth that every
person could recognize: suf fering is a fixed part of life. Fleeing from pain
and running toward pleasure would never change that fact. Y et most people
spent their whole lives avoiding pain and pursuing pleasure. T o them, this
was only natural, but in reality they were becoming deeply involved in a
war they could never win. As the gates of Kapilavastu drew close, Buddha prepared the way . He
sent his presence ahead, and he could feel a growing excitement in
Yashodhara. She ordered her servants to throw away the somber saris of a
widow; she brought out old portraits of Siddhartha to show their son,
Rahula, who might be frightened to see the return of a father he knew only
in the cradle. Every day Y ashodhara performed the same ritual. She would
gather Rahula by her side and sit in the gazebo by the lotus pond, the place
where Suddhodana’ s pleasure pavilion used to stand. The old structure had
been torn down and the courtesans given honest places as serving women. Siddhartha had never visited them. It was one way he could show his
fidelity to Y ashodhara. Now she waited there to show her fidelity to him. Buddha knew that feeling his presence was not enough, though. His
wife was still young; for that matter , Siddhartha would be only thirty-five. There was time for more children. Buddha’ s presence couldn’ t reach this
part of Y ashodhara’ s nature. How could he change her mind without
crushing her? The bliss of wedded life was what she lived for . His mind was preoccupied when the five monks began to stir with
agitation. Buddha looked up the road where they were pointing. A horse
lathered with sweat and streaming with blood was running toward them in a
panicked gallop. The five monks scattered to get out of the way . It was a
powerful black stallion. None of them dared to pull Buddha from harm’ s
way; he stood his ground, and as the animal got near , it reared, slashing out
with its iron-shod front feet. For a second the huge animal balanced in
midair , thrashing. Then its hooves came to earth without hitting their tar get. The stallion trembled with pain and terror , but it didn’ t rear again and
slowly began to calm down. “What happened?” asked Assaji, pressing the cloth of his robe to the
horse’ s worst wound. “Where did this come from?”“Only one thing is possible,” said Buddha. “W ar. We’ll be in the thick
of it soon enough.”
They hadn’ t gone another mile before his prediction came true; the din
of battle could be faintly heard in the distance. “I am the cause of this,” said
Buddha. The five monks protested, but Buddha said no more. The group
had their hands full keeping the wounded stallion from bolting when he
caught the scent of death. More than once Buddha had to pause and look the
animal directly in the eye. “The only way to convince him that he doesn’ t
need to be afraid is to show him that I am not. Animals are wiser than us in
that regard. If they don’ t feel peace, they aren’ t fooled by peaceful words.”
The monks knew that Buddha did not make casual remarks. His every
utterance was dedicated to teaching them the truth. V ery soon the noise of
battle grew loud enough that they could hear steel striking against steel and
the anguished cries of dying soldiers. Buddha stopped and listened. “W ords
of peace fooled my father . Devadatta has tricked him into war .” Then he
pointed away from the conflict. “Home first.” An hour later they saw the
towers of the gates to the capital city . The road widened, and the last
hundred yards were paved with cobblestones. “Who’ s there?” a sentry cried. “One you called Siddhartha,” said Buddha. “I can’ t let anyone in who isn’ t a citizen, and I don’ t know that name,”
said the sentry , peering through a slot above them. He was young, almost a
boy. The real soldiers were all away to do the king’ s killing. “Send for Princess Y ashodhara’ s maid. She will recognize me,” said
Buddha. The sentry’ s face vanished from the top of the gate. They waited,
then the great wooden gates opened just wide enough to admit them and the
stallion. Buddha saw where his wife was. Having heard the name
Siddhartha, she sent her maid scurrying to the gates while she hurriedly
examined herself in the mirror and wrapped herself in a sari threaded with
gold.She was panting and sweating slightly when she seated herself in the
gazebo. Rahula was taking a nap, and Y ashodhara almost woke him up, but
she didn’ t want him to see her weep uncontrollably , so she came alone. The
wind was light, but whenever it turned slightly she could faintly catch the
sounds of war , which increased her anxiety . “My dear .”
She had been so distracted that he was there before she heard him. W ith
a cry , Yashodhara jumped to her feet, ran to Buddha, and threw her arms
around him. She was sensitive to his slightest response, and her heart
swelled when she felt his arms hold her without hesitation. This came as
such an enormous relief that she began to sob. A husband would have said,
“There’ s no cause for that. I’m home now . It’s all right.” Y ashodhara’ s
husband said none of those things. Buddha let go of her , and for an instant Y ashodhara felt completely
abandoned. She wanted to clutch at him, but he raised a finger in a small
gesture, and her arms fell to her sides. “Y ou are my beloved wife. It’ s your
right to embrace me,” said Buddha. “No one shall ever do that again. Not
even you.”
Yashodhara trembled. She had spent years blocking out of her mind any
image of Siddhartha as a monk. Even at that moment she kept her eyes
fixed on his face, refusing to see his saf fron robes. His features began
swimming before her , but she wasn’ t fainting—no black curtain descending
over her eyes, no cold sweat and chill moving up toward her head. Instead,
Yashodhara felt warm, and the warmth began in her heart. It radiated
outward. What was happening to her? The world disappeared from sight,
not in blackness but in the glow of a white light that had no source. She
caught one last glimpse of the sun, but it was pale compared to the light that
now filled up her whole being. Now she was certain that the light came
from this man who used to be her husband. “This is your time, Y ashodhara. Surrender and be free.”
OceanofPDF .com1 9
Buddha didn’ t spend the night in Kapilavastu but took the five monks and
headed for the battlefield. It was near sunset when they arrived at a hilltop
overlooking the fighting. In the waning light neither side was leading a
charge. Elephants and horses had been pulled back from the front. All that
remained of the din of war was the clash of swords. Foot soldiers fought in
bands with the enemy , raising dust around them. Buddha sat down on the ridge. From above, every soldier was like a
frantic puppet flailing away . Some puppets ran around, bumping into other
puppets. They bounced of f each other , then one would fall and not get up
again. Many puppets littered the field, some writhing a little, others very
still. “Are we going down there?” Kondana asked nervously . “What place is
it for monks?”
“We have no other choice,” said Buddha. “W ar is no dif ferent from
what happens every day . It’s another way that men have found to suf fer.”
“But life isn’ t always a war ,” Kondana pointed out. “Not openly ,” said Buddha. “But if men weren’ t so afraid of dying, they
would fight every day , and in their hearts their dearest wish would be to see
every enemy destroyed.” By now the light had faded, ending the skirmishes
on the field. The last thing one could see were the scavengers who crept
onto the scene to loot dead bodies. The wind carried sweet birdcalls up the
hill, mixed with moans of wounded soldiers.“Master , what you’re saying is very dark. It makes the situation
hopeless,” said Kondana. “Hope never ended a war .”
That was Buddha’ s last word for the night. He folded his robes around
him and lay on the ground. The five monks had learned that he had no
concern for where he slept or who was nearby . But they had gotten into the
habit of seeing after his comforts to the small extent he would allow . They
fetched a gourd of water to place by his side and some food brought from
the capital. They built a fire and together lay down apart from him out of
respect. Buddha usually ur ged them to sleep nearby , but they might have been
worried to see that he needed no sleep anymore. He rested his body , but his
mind remained awake all the time. Now he sent a blessing to Y ashodhara
and visited his six-year -old son, Rahula, who could hardly stay in bed with
the excitement of once more having a father . The boy had been raised to
believe secretly that Siddhartha was still alive, so he wasn’ t as wonder -
struck as the courtiers who set eyes on Buddha. Buddha repeatedly told
them that he hadn’ t come home to assume the throne, but many kept hoping
he would do so. When the sun rose and all the monks were awake, Buddha pointed to
the scene down below , where clusters of soldiers stirred around their
campfires. Some ate hurriedly , but most were tending to their horses,
sharpening their swords, and repairing ripped leather armor . “How many will die?” asked Assaji soberly . “All of them, if not today then one day ,” said Buddha curtly . The monks
had never heard a heartless remark from their master , and this astonished
them. His voice softened. “I told you that the first fact of the world is
suffering. W e can end suf fering, but not by speaking of God.” Buddha’ s arm
swept across the entire battlefield. “Which of these fighters doesn’ t believe
that God is on his side?”
“But God relieves suf fering too,” said Assaji.“Never promise such a thing,” said Buddha, shaking his head. “All this
religious talk has nothing to do with us. I will tell you how to consider any
person you meet. Look on them as being like a man whose house has
caught on fire. W ould such a man cry , ‘I’m not leaving until someone tells
me why God made this happen’? No. He runs out of a burning house as fast
as he can. The same is true of suf fering. W e must show people how to run
away from it as fast as they can. It’ s no use spending years discussing
whether someone is cursed or loved by the gods.”
The closest fighting was no more than a quarter mile away , and they
reached it in a few minutes. One horseman had chased another away from
the center of battle. He had gotten close enough to thrust a spear into his
enemy’ s mount, which had stumbled and thrown its rider . Now both
soldiers were on their feet fighting hand-to-hand; they both were
experienced enough to use a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other . As they walked closer , the monks attracted no attention—the two
soldiers were blind to everything but their struggle. Even so, the five monks
were shaken at the sight of violence. Buddha stopped for a moment to let
them regain their nerve. “When I was a warrior ,” he said, “I learned that victory could never be
achieved without weapons. W e have no weapons, but we will prevail
anyway .”
Without a word he walked directly up to the two fighters and without
hesitation strode into the space between them. “Get away , stranger ,” one soldier shouted. “If you don’ t move, you’ll be
hurt.”
“Is that possible?” said Buddha. “T ry.”
The two enemies stared at him in disbelief. “Y ou must be insane,” said
one. “Run away , monk. If I have to, I’ll slice you through with my blade.”
“That would be interesting to see,” Buddha said. His calmness was so
unnerving that the two soldiers lowered their weapons, losing the edge oftheir fighting rage. From the sidelines Assaji shouted, “If you touch him,
you are hurting a holy man. That’ s a sin.”
Buddha turned and gave him a sharp look. “None of that,” he rebuked. He shifted his attention back to the two soldiers. “Y ou both do your duty to
the gods, but that hasn’ t saved you from a lifetime of killing and fear . Why
stop now? If you are so reckless with fate that you risk meeting your dead
enemies in hell, I won’ t stop you. I invite you to run me through with your
blade. I will even for give you in advance.”
By the time he spoke the last word, the two fighters were hanging their
heads. Buddha reached out and lightly touched the daggers and swords,
which dropped to the ground. “Shame has made you lose your taste for
killing,” he said. “Go home and find a better way to live.”
“I can’ t,” said one fighter . “If I run away from battle, the king will take
away my house; there will be no food for my family .”
“I promise you that won’ t happen,” said Buddha. “Y our king is going to
disband his whole army today .”
The two soldiers were amazed and wanted to ask more questions, but
Buddha signaled to the five monks and walked on. When they looked over
their shoulders, the fighters were gone. “I’ve shown you the first way peace can prevail,” said Buddha. “Some
people can be reached by speaking to their conscience. Those are the ones
who already know that they want to find an end to suf fering. Through
conscience, guilt, and shame, they will recognize their wrong when it is told
to them.”
“How many people are like that?” asked Assaji. “Not enough.”
Next Buddha led them to where the fighting was more concentrated:
clusters of soldiers clashed in a whirling chaos of steel, horses, and shouts. For a moment Buddha stood apart. “What do you see?” he asked.“Bloodshed and carnage. Something I wouldn’ t look upon willingly ,”
said Assaji. “Look a little deeper ,” said Buddha. “These are people who cannot
listen to conscience, not because they are bad but because they are too
caught up in action. Y ou cannot preach to someone who is fighting for life
and breath, not just in war but in the ordinary struggle of existence.”
Buddha approached the fray , and a wildly flailing sword missed his
head by inches. The monks cried out, but Buddha reached out and caught
the blade in midair . He seized it from the swordsman, who turned his head
with eyes that began to bulge out. Buddha was holding the sharp edges of
the blade tight in his fist. The opposing swordsman saw his chance and
lunged at his enemy . Buddha reached out and grabbed the second sword by
the blade, wrenching it from the soldier ’s hand. The soldiers were stunned with disbelief. “Who are you?” one cried as
they fell to their knees. “I am what you need at this moment,” said Buddha. He dropped the weapons and walked deeper into the combat. As he got
nearer , the fighting calmed. Fighters held their weapons frozen in midair
like statues. Buddha seemed to cut an open swath in the battlefield as he
passed. The five monks rushed after him in his wake. “What’ s happening?” asked Assaji breathlessly . “What do you suppose?” said Buddha. “This is a miracle.”
Buddha proceeded through the entire army . “I am showing you another
way to prevail,” he said. “Sometimes you must show yourself as you really
are. People who are lost in the struggle of existence have become prisoners
of illusion. Just remember one thing: you are made of light, and when it is
fitting, you may have to prove it.”
Assaji remained baf fled by the awe that Buddha was creating among the
soldiers, some of whom actually held their hands over their eyes to shieldthem. T o Assaji, however , Buddha looked completely normal. “Why don’ t I
see the miracle?” he asked. “Because you are even more distracted than these soldiers,” said
Buddha with a smile. “Y ou keep thinking I’m here to get you killed.”
At that, Assaji suddenly found himself relaxing; he had been as tense as
a tightened wire. He exhaled deeply , and then he saw that Buddha was
surrounded by an aura of brilliant white light. The army beheld a being of
light moving through their midst, and the sight brought them to their knees. “Master , forgive me. I see now that you can save multitudes,” said
Assaji in awe. “This isn’ t salvation,” said Buddha. “Just a glimpse of reality . Everyone
is deeply asleep. It will take more than one glimpse to wake them up.”
Vappa, who had been listening close by , said, “No one will ever see me
this way .”
“Why not?” said Buddha. “I do already .”
He remained silent as they made their way through the heart of battle. On the fringes one could still hear the clash of war , but as far as the eye
could see, every soldier had laid down his weapons. It took half an hour to
cross the entire field. The tents of the generals came into view . Buddha
pointed to the highest tent pole, which flew a brilliant red and yellow
ensign. “My father .” The older generals shivered when they saw the return
of the prince from the dead; all the of ficers bowed low , then they followed
in Buddha’ s wake as he approached the royal tent. Buddha parted the tent flap and went inside. In the dim, hot interior , the
old king lay on a cot. He had fallen asleep while putting on his armor . He
was groaning and turning over restlessly , his arms thrashing. Buddha made
a gesture, and Assaji came inside. “I want you to see everything,” Buddha said. “But keep in a corner for
now. We don’ t want to overwhelm him.”Assaji backed away into the shadows. Then Buddha approached the cot
and touched his father on the shoulder . Suddhodana didn’ t start but woke up
slowly , rubbing his eyes. It took a moment for his mind to grasp what he
was seeing, and three words escaped his mouth separated by long pauses. “Who? No. Y ou!” The old king began to weep. “Don’ t be afraid, father .” Buddha embraced the old man, and they stood
together like that, while to Assaji’ s surprise Buddha himself was silently
weeping. Suddhodana recovered his speech in broken expressions. Where
did Siddhartha come from? Who had been beheaded? But more frequently
he recriminated himself for being such a fool. A sur ge of anger hardened the old king and brought a sudden burst of
energy. “Devadatta will pay for this.” he said crisply . “I have to fight. This
is no place for you. Have some men escort you back to the palace.”
Suddhodana reached for the chest plate and helmet he was putting on before
he fell asleep. He averted his eyes from his son. “I know you are a monk
now, Siddhartha, but unless we win this battle, your father will be a
beggar .” Suddhodana had never reconciled himself to his son’ s choice, and
now his only thought was that the kingdom needed a defender . Instead of
stopping him, Buddha stood aside and let the old king armor himself, pick
up his sword, and rush from the tent. “You’re going to let him fight?” asked Assaji, disbelieving. “He’ s a warrior; his nature is conflict,” said Buddha. “But two seconds ago he was weeping over you. And you were weeping
too,” said Assaji awkwardly . “That was love,” said Buddha. “Love sometimes weeps; don’ t be
ashamed of it. W ith some people, an appeal to love prevails.”
“Love didn’ t stop him from running back to fight,” said Assaji. Buddha opened the tent flap. They saw the generals trailing after
Suddhodana, who was shouting exhortations the way he used to when he
was young. Some of his staf f tried to calm him down, but he ferociouslythrew them of f. After a moment the of ficers mounted their horses or jumped
into chariots. Buddha watched them rush of f toward the left flank, where
some fighting was still raging. “What if he’ s killed?” asked Assaji anxiously . “Aren’ t you here to save
your father?”
“This is the moment of faith, when nothing seems to work,” said
Buddha, beginning to walk after the departing fighters. “Don’ t preach faith
the way it’ s usually preached, to keep people quiet and forbid them to think
on their own. That kind of faith is blind, and being blind, it is useless. Call
on faith only when the mind has given up.”
“But sometimes it’ s right to give up,” Assaji protested. “No, dear friend, that’ s not true. Never for get that all this is a dream.”
Buddha passed his gaze over the dead bodies fallen on either side, the
carrion birds picking at their remains, the fleeing horses without a rider . “Winning and losing are the same thing. Both are nothing.”
Buddha quickened his pace. Assaji summoned the other monks to catch
up. He said, “This is a profound day for us, master . We will never for get it.”
“Every day is like this,” Buddha replied. “Y ou’ll see.”
Now they arrived at the thick of the fray where Suddhodana, against the
earnest entreaties of his of ficers, was standing in his stirrups and screaming. “Come face me, coward! I am one old man, but you won’ t walk away
alive.”
From the opposing ranks came a stir , then a single horseman rode out
into the space between the two armies. It was Devadatta, fully armored with
upraised sword. “I would gladly kill you, old fool,” he shouted. “But half
your army follows me already . Surrender or watch your men be killed
before sunset.”
“Who is he?” asked Assaji.“I could give you many answers. My cousin. A lost soul. A man trapped
in a nightmare,” said Buddha. “But the truth is that he is an aspect of me.”
Raising his voice, Buddha called, “Devadatta!”
His cousin looked his way , but instead of registering surprise he laughed
harshly . “Come to see your last hope die?” he cried. “T ell your father to lay
down his arms or I’ll take the throne by force.”
Since convincing Suddhodana that his son was dead, Devadatta had
spent his time well. He raised dissent among some garrisons of the king’ s
army , offering them more fighting and gold once Suddhodana was deposed. He plotted with a neighboring king, Bimbisara, to invade the country so that
Devadatta would have overwhelming numbers on his side. “Stop, cousin, for your own sake,” Buddha said, coming nearer . “This is
a mistake.”
“Only for your family ,” said Devadatta bitterly . “You’ve held me like a
prisoner all my life.”
“Revenge isn’ t yours,” said Buddha. “Surrender , and I promise you
freedom from your pain.”
Devadatta became enraged. “Surrender to you?” he screamed. “Y ou
weak, pious fraud!” He swung his sword in a circle overhead and kicked his
horse with his spurs to make it char ge. On the other side Suddhodana had
lost the will to fight. W ithout warning, he felt his body drained of ener gy,
and he slumped in the saddle like the old man he was. Prepared to die, Suddhodana closed his eyes and prayed. He had done
that only in the Shiva temple before a battle. But he worried about his soul,
so he asked Maya to for give him for letting her die. He thanked the gods for
allowing him to live long enough to see his lost son once again. And finally ,
since he was what he was, the king prayed fervently that Devadatta would
die by violence and go directly to hell. When he opened his eyes again,
Suddhodana thought that his last prayer had come true because Devadattawas not hard upon him with his sword. Instead, the traitor was rolling in the
dust, and his mount had bolted. Confusion broke out in the ranks. The next instant made matters clear . A lone soldier had run up at the last
moment and cut the cinch to Devadatta’ s saddle, unhorsing him. That
soldier was standing over him now , ripping of f his helmet. It was Channa,
who shouted at Suddhodana, “Get out of here! I can’ t kill a whole army for
one old fool.”
Suddhodana backed up until he was safe among the ranks of his men. He watched as Devadatta leaped to his feet. The two fighters circled each
other , swords held forward. “So you still pick fights you can’ t lose,” Channa snarled. “Not today . Today , nobody becomes king without going through me.”
Devadatta lunged with his weapon, hoping for a clean kill with his first
strike. Channa stepped aside quickly , and his enemy rushed by , almost
losing his balance. W ith an arrogant smile, Channa waved for Devadatta to
come at him again. “Why waste time?” he taunted. “This low-caste scum was always the
one who would kill you. I’ll rub a little of my blood in your wounds to
make sure you get to hell.”
Devadatta had gained some control over his rage and backed of f warily . All this time the five monks stared at Buddha, waiting for him to intervene. “Master , all day you’ve shown us the things we can do,” whispered Assaji. “Why do you stand back now?”
“It only seems that I’m standing back.”
The authority in Buddha’ s voice silenced Assaji. Devadatta and Channa
continued circling each other , making tentative jabs to see if they could
catch the other of f guard. “Their whole lives have come to this moment,” said Buddha. “Y et in an
instant a life can be thrown away . Watch how easy it is.” He bent over andpicked up a round pebble. W ith a deft toss he threw it, and the pebble
landed behind Devadatta’ s right heel. He took his next step backward and
slipped on it, stumbling to one knee. Channa’ s eyes flashed toward the
spectators. He had been so intent on attacking Devadatta that he hadn’ t even
noticed Buddha among the crowd. His face flushed deep red, but in the
same instant he couldn’ t stop himself from leaping on his enemy and
pressing his sword to Devadatta’ s throat. No one would ever know if he
intended to give Devadatta a moment’ s final mercy because Suddhodana’ s
voice filled the air . “No! Hold your hand.”
Channa hesitated; he knew if he disobeyed that he would be executed. His mind was confused, having to absorb the fact of Siddhartha’ s return at
the very moment that he was revenging Siddhartha’ s death. Suddhodana
came forward. “You are forbidden to kill him,” he said with command. “Devadatta is
still a prince.”
Channa let go of Devadatta’ s head and pulled his blade away . He gave a
curt bow of obedience. This was the moment his enemy had waited for . Devadatta raised his sword and stabbed Channa in the back. The blade
pierced Channa’ s aorta, and he crumpled to the ground. Devadatta got to his
feet, panting and dripping with sweat. W ithin seconds, Suddhodana’ s men
had captured him and hauled him away . The enemy ranks stirred with
confusion, then the trumpets sounded and they beat a retreat. Suddhodana
gave orders to let them go; without Devadatta to lead them, Bimbisara’ s
men would sneak back home, and the rebels from Suddhodana’ s army had
no choice but to follow them into banishment. The only ones who remained on the field were Buddha and the five
monks, who were in shock. “W asn’t that your friend?” asked Kondana. “You caused him to be killed.”
Buddha replied, “Every single life is woven into the web of karma,
which has no beginning or end. Until you accept that every life is woven
into every other , you will never know who you really are.”
“So Channa must surrender to death today?” asked Kondana.“Death is not the point,” said Buddha. “As long as you are caught in
karma’ s web, death comes with birth. The two are inseparable. Find the part
of you that is unborn; then you will be free of birth and death together .”
As he taught them, Buddha was heading back to the royal tent. Devadatta was tied to a stake, and a hooded man began to whip him. By his
side was a broad scimitar lying on the ground. Buddha looked away and
walked into the tent. Suddhodana stood over the cot where Channa lay ,
barely breathing. “I sent orders for a physician,” Suddhodana said mournfully . “But it
should have been for a priest.”
Buddha knelt beside the cot. “What can I do for you, dear Channa?”
His words seemed to make the dying man revive. He opened his eyes
slightly , the lids fluttering. Instead of looking at Buddha, Channa pinned
Suddhodana with a bitter glance. “Y our pride has killed me,” he muttered. His words were clotted, and a trickle of blood appeared on his lips. “Look at me, not at him,” said Buddha gently . “I can’ t. I’ve sinned against you.”
“Why do you talk of sin? Do you think you’re going to die?” asked
Buddha. His voice was so calm and tender that Channa stared at him. “I’ve
come to show you the one who was never born and therefore cannot die.”
Buddha closed Channa’ s eyes. No one in the tent ever found out what
he made Channa see, but the vision created a smile of deep bliss on
Channa’ s face. He gave a muf fled, ecstatic cry , then his head fell back on
the pillow . His stillness would have been mistaken for death except for the
slight rise and fall of his chest. “How can he survive such a wound?” asked Assaji. “That’ s the one advantage of dreaming,” said Buddha. “Y ou can’ t be
killed unless you want to be. Let him decide. It’ s no one’ s dream butChanna’ s. He will do what he will do.”
Buddha gathered Suddhodana, who was so overwhelmed by the day’ s
events that he was on the ver ge of collapse, and the others and led them all
outside. The old man allowed himself to be half carried on Buddha’ s
shoulder , but he stif fened with rage when he beheld Devadatta, who had
been whipped so severely that he was unconscious. The king was about to
order that the traitor be revived so that he could witness his own execution. Then he noticed something. Everyone present was bowing on one knee to
Buddha or prostrating themselves on the ground. “Why is this?” Suddhodana asked. “Let me show you,” said Buddha. “In your heart you want to kill
Devadatta, even after he is helpless and defeated.” The old king hung his
head slightly but didn’ t deny it. Buddha said, “One who kills a killer takes
on his karma, and so the wheel of suf fering never stops. Let it stop here,
today , for you.” His father trembled, nodding almost imperceptibly . “I will
show you how to make this a kingdom of peace,” said Buddha. No one saw him do anything unusual, but it was as if the clouds passed
away from the face of the sun. The mood of war lifted; the atmosphere
became calm and pure. As they looked around, the Sakyan soldiers seemed not to recognize
where they were. Many stared at their weapons as if they had never seen
these strange implements. Buddha leaned closer to Assaji. “I begin this new age so that you can
continue it forever . Remember that.”
Devadatta was cut loose and his unconscious body carried away . He
woke up that night in his bed at the palace. His room was sealed and
guarded for three days while he contemplated what had happened to him. At first he simply felt hollow and numb. Being dedicated to evil had
supplied him with a ferocious ener gy that he couldn’ t summon back. On the
night of the third day , he tried the handle and found the door to his room
open. Cautiously , Devadatta looked up and down the corridor , which wasempty . Noises came from the great hall, and after considering whether to
run, he felt an impulse to go toward the sound. His whipping at the stake
had been so severe that it befuddled his memory , and Devadatta wasn’ t
even sure how the battle had ended or who was king. No one saw him lingering at the entrance of the hall. There was a great
celebration under way . The entire court sat at table while servants rushed
back and forth with platters of meat and saf fron rice, ripe mangoes and
honeyed berries. Suddhodana presided at the head. T o one side at a lower
table the five monks were eating rice and lentils with Buddha. The room
was filled with a quiet joy that the palace had not seen in years. Devadatta paused, examining the festivities, then turned and left. “Did you see that?” asked Assaji, who was on Buddha’ s right hand. “Yes.”
“He was your sworn enemy , and now you’re letting him leave?”
“Devadatta is the one person in the world who could never leave me,”
said Buddha. “That’ s his blessing, but he saw it as a curse. He’ s tied to me
by a rope he can never let go of.”
“Then he’ll be back?” asked Assaji, not relishing the thought. “What choice does he have?” said Buddha. “When you’re obsessed
with hatred for someone, it’ s inevitable that you will return one day as his
disciple.”
“Master , I just hope he’ s better when he comes back,” Assaji said
doubtfully . “He will still be arrogant and proud,” said Buddha. “But it won’ t matter . The fire of passion burns out eventually . Then you dig through the ashes
and discover a gem. Y ou pick it up; you look at it with disbelief. The gem
was inside you all the time. It is yours to keep forever . It is buddha. ”
OceanofPDF .comEpilogue
For a storyteller , it would be ideal if Buddha’ s life came to a spectacular
end. W e’re holding our breath for it. First came the fairy-tale beginning as a
handsome prince, then a second act with a wandering monk who goes
through all manner of trials and suf fering, reaching a brilliant climax when
enlightenment is achieved in a single night under the bodhi tree. Where did
this stunning life finally wind up? Squarely back on earth, as it turns out. Buddha lived quietly for another
forty-five years, traveling throughout northern India as a renowned teacher
before dying at the ripe old age of eighty . The cause of death was eating a
bad piece of pork, an embarrassingly humble and mundane way to depart. To satisfy our dramatic longings, we have to turn to the incidental
characters in the tale. The ones who were intimates of Siddhartha enjoyed a
warm reunion with him. His wife, Y ashodhara, and son, Rahula, became
devotees of Buddha, which seems fitting enough. They were revered to the
end of their days. Other characters had a more curious fate. The ever -
widening circle of monks around Buddha, known as the Sangha,  came to
include two misfits, his archenemy , Devadatta, and the rough-hewn warrior
Channa. According to tradition, Devadatta remained proud and resentful;
even as a disciple he caused trouble. In one famous episode Devadatta tries
to kill Buddha by starting a rockslide; in another he gets an elephant drunk
on liquor and sends it on a rampage against the Compassionate One. (Buddha deflects the danger in both cases.) As often happens, the villain of
the piece is too much fun to let go, so there are other stories of political
intrigue with a neighboring prince named Ajatashatru and more mundane
tales of Devadatta objecting to the rules Buddha laid down for his monks. A
storyteller has a hard time making much drama out of ashram politics.Following the rules didn’ t sit well with Channa, either . Having given up
his role as brave charioteer , Channa chafed at being reduced to the status of
a holy monk. His chief sin was pride. He never let anyone for get that he had
been Siddhartha’ s best friend. He treated Buddha with too much familiarity ,
causing distress among the other devotees. At a certain point Channa’ s
misbehavior became too much for even Buddha’ s tolerance. The head
disciple, Ananda, who historically was Buddha’ s cousin, was sent to
reprimand him, and from there the road divides. In one version Channa
sullenly takes his scolding and reforms. In the other , he sinks into despair
and commits suicide. But we would be wrong to be disappointed in our hero. Enlightenment
was just the beginning of Buddha’ s spiritual ascent, which was spectacular
by any measure. Buddhism caused an earthquake in the spiritual life of
India, crushing the privileges of the Brahmin caste and raising even the
despised untouchables to spiritual dignity . Buddha blew through the temples like a strong wind and with the
simplicity of genius reduced the human predicament to one key issue:
suffering. If suf fering is a constant in every life, he said, then until there’ s
an end to suf fering, enlightenment is pointless. Equally pointless is talk of
God or the gods, heaven and hell, sin, redemption, the soul, and all the rest. This was reform of the severest kind, and a lot didn’ t stick. People wanted
God. Buddha refused to speak on the subject of whether God even existed. He adamantly denied that he himself was divine. People wanted the comfort
of rituals and ceremonies. Buddha shunned ceremony . He wanted each
individual to look inside and find liberation through a personal journey that
began in the physical world and ended in Nirvana, a state of pure, eternal
consciousness. Nirvana is present in everyone, he taught, but Nirvana is like
pure water lying deep beneath the earth. Reaching it requires concentration,
devotion, and diligent work. It’s no wonder that Buddha’ s call to awakening proved so enticing and
so dif ficult. The Middle W ay, which gained its name because it was neither
too harsh nor too easy , proved very appealing, but the journey to Nirvana is
solitary and contains little in the way of entertaining scenery . Yet there was
no ar guing against the teaching. Everything Buddha preached growslogically from the First Noble T ruth, which also happens to be the first
thing Buddha said to the five monks after he became enlightened: life
contains suf fering. The next three teachings sound more like modern
psychotherapy than conventional religion:
FIRST NOBLE  TRUTH : Life contains suf fering. SECOND  NOBLE  TRUTH : Suffering has a cause, and the cause can be
known. THIRD  NOBLE  TRUTH : Suffering can be brought to an end. FOUR TH NOBLE  TRUTH : The path to end suf fering has eight parts. Now we’ve gone beyond the role of the storyteller , since these four
simple statements created an explosion of theology that spread throughout
Asia and the rest of the world. Thanks to Buddha’ s decades of teaching, a
cadre of disciples totally committed to the Buddhist path crossed the
Himalayas and journeyed everywhere it was possible for sandals to tread. The list of cultures that these ascetic wanderers revolutionized is
staggering: T ibet, Nepal, China, Japan, Korea, Sri Lanka, Thailand,
Cambodia, Burma, V ietnam, and far into Malaysia and Indonesia. In many
cases a handful of Buddhist missionaries actually created a new culture. Any outside observer can only stand back in awe. Why did people accept this new teaching so readily? Because the First
Noble T ruth was undeniable. People knew that they were suf fering, and
instead of showing a way out, their old religions gave them surrogates, in
the form of dogma, prayers, rituals, and the like. At its simplest, Buddhism
walked into the village square and said, “Here are eight things that will
open the way to peace instead of pain.” The Eightfold Path asks for each
person to change how the mind works, plucking out what is wrong,
inefficient, and superstitious, then exchanging those outworn habits for
increasing clarity . In other words, the waking-up process, which Buddha
experienced in one night, is laid out as a lifelong program:Right view or perspective
Right intention
Right speech
Right action
Right livelihood
Right ef fort
Right mindfulness
Right concentration
Some of these steps sound natural. W e all want to believe that our
actions and words are virtuous. W e don’ t want to go wrong in our ef fort and
intentions. Other parts of the path need special guidance. What is right
mindfulness? Right concentration? These aspects have their roots in the
meditation practices of Y oga, which Buddha also reformed and brought
within reach of ordinary people. As a storyteller , I didn’ t feel it was my place to spread Buddhism. That’ s best left to the modern equivalents of the wandering missionaries
who first preached Buddhism. It would be unseemly for me to step on their
toes. But I’d like to speak to you, the reader , who might be coming to
Buddha from the cold. I came to Buddha that way , and I asked the obvious
question: What can this teaching do for me? Is there something that will
open my eyes and make me more awake, right this minute? Personally , I found three things. They are known as the three Dharma
seals, or to put it in plain English, three basic facts about Being. They spoke
to me far more than the Middle W ay because of their universality , which
extends far beyond the boundaries of religion. 1. Dukkha
Life is unsatisfactory . Pleasure in the physical world is transient. Pain
inevitably follows. Therefore, nothing we experience can be deeply
satisfying. There is no resting place in change. 2. AniccaNothing is permanent. All experience is swept away in flux. Cause and
effect is endless and confusing. Therefore one can never find clarity or
permanence. 3. Anatta
The separate self is unreliable and ultimately unreal. W e apply words like
soul and personality  to something that is fleeting and ghostly . Our attempts
to make the self real never end but also never succeed. Therefore, we cling
for reassurance to an illusion. READING THIS, CAN  anyone escape being shaken to the core? Buddha wasn’ t
just a kindly teacher who wanted people to find peace. He was a radical
surgeon who examined them and said, “No wonder you feel sick. All this
unreal stuf f has filled you up, and now we have to get rid of it.” Naturally , a
lot of listeners ran back to conventional religion, and just as many ran back
into materialism, which promises that body , mind, and the physical world
are absolutely real. Why should we accept Buddha’ s word that they aren’ t?
Buddha_by_Deepak_Chopra.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        Buddha smiled at the husband, and
when he had nothing more to say, the farmer thanked him and left. Power over time and fate. Buddha mused on this as he walked. Does a
Buddha reverse every harm. Even if he had that power, did he have the
right to change karma on a whim. In a short while he saw the first huts of a small village. As he
approached, people came out wearing suspicious and fearful looks. Some
carried pitchforks and rusty swords. They glared as Buddha passed, and in
each mind he heard the same word: Angulimala. He soon realized that this
was the name of someone they all feared. A killer. A madman. A monster. Buddha continued to the local temple, whose tiled roof was the highest
point in the village. In the shadowy cool of the inner sanctum he saw an old
priest cleaning the altar of faded flowers and burnt incense ashes. He
approached. “Namaste. ”
The priest barely acknowledged him. Remote as this temple was, he
maintained the air of a Brahmin. Instead of praying beside him, Buddha sat
cross-legged before the altar and waited. The old priest threw a few fresh
flowers onto the Shiva statue and turned to leave. “Angulimala,” Buddha said. The priest got angry. “Don’ t say such a thing. This is a holy place. ”Buddha said, “I think you forbid the name of Angulimala because you
fear he might hear and invade your kingdom. ” The old priest squinted his
eyes, wondering if he was being mocked. “I can help,” Buddha added. This of fer was greeted with a harsh laugh. “How. Are you a warrior
monk. It wouldn’ t matter. Angulimala has killed his share of warriors. He
has powers. He exchanged his soul for them. ”
“What powers. ”
“He can outrun a horse. He can hide without being seen and spring
down on travelers from the tops of trees. Enough. ”
“Perhaps, if any are true. I doubt that these powers have been observed
if he kills everyone he meets and the few survivors are terrified,” said
Buddha. The priest, who was bald and slightly hunched, relented slightly. “You’re right about that, stranger. Come with me. I can feed you, and with a
little food in your stomach you might stop deluding yourself that you can
help. ” The old priest managed a tight smile; something deep inside had
been touched by the stranger ’s offer. They retired to the temple kitchen, and
when the stranger ’s bowl was filled with rice and lentils, the two sat outside
in the shade to eat. “As you know, anguli  means fingers,” said the priest. “T o terrify
everyone the more, this killer collects the fingers of his victims and wears
them as a necklace around his throat. V ery few know his real story, but I am
one. The monster began life as the mild son of a Brahmin family with no
money. At fourteen he was sent to school in a nearby village, with the hope
that once he was educated he could perform rites at the temple and restore
his family’ s fortunes. “But the Brahmin who ran the school was of unbalanced mind. He
accused the boy of sleeping with his wife and threw him out in disgrace. ”
Buddha didn’ t detect much pity for suf fering in the old priest’ s heart, but he
genuinely felt sorry for the wronged boy. “The scandal reached home before the boy did. When he crossed the
threshold, his father beat him brutally and threw him out to fend for
himself. The family’ s hopes for restoring their fortunes were dashed. It
didn’ t matter that their son was innocent. ”
As the priest recounted the tale, Buddha could see every event in his
mind. What lay ahead looked much darker. “There was nothing for him to
live for but death,” Buddha murmured. “He was born cursed, and there’ s no hope for him,” the old priest said
severely. “Did anyone try to give him hope. ” asked Buddha. The priest scowled,
but their meal was over. In gratitude, Buddha bowed his head. He didn’ t
prostrate himself at the Brahmin’ s feet. This caused the old priest to keep a
moody silence as he escorted his visitor to the gate. “You’re a fool to go after him. I can see that’ s what you have in mind,”
the Brahmin said. “But if you must, here’ s a charm to protect you. ” He held
out some dried herbs bundled with a prayer scribbled on a leaf. Buddha
accepted it. “Tell me one thing,” said Buddha. “Why does Angulimala kill so many
people. ”
“To save himself,” the old priest replied. “The disgraced boy took to the
woods. He began to live like an animal. He ate roots and insects and
covered his body with hides. They say by chance he met a wandering
fortune-teller, who told him the curse could be lifted only by collecting a
thousand fingers and of fering them as sacrifice to Shiva. That’ s why he
wears his terrible necklace. ”
“Then I must help him,” said Buddha. “Otherwise Angulimala will
show up here one day to sacrifice his necklace on your altar. ”
The old priest shuddered visibly and then slammed the gate shut behind
him. THOUGHTS OF  ANGULIMALA  stayed in Buddha’ s mind that day and the next
morning. Why was he drawn to the monster. He walked deeper into the jungle to face the question. It was a blazing
afternoon when Buddha found himself on a hidden trail through the jungle. There was a rustle, then before he could turn his head, a wild beast jumped
down from the trees and crouched before him. The covering of matted hides
made Angulimala look like a giant ferocious ape baring its fangs. Buddha regarded the wild man’ s teeth, which had been crudely filed to
a point, and his necklace of withered fingers. In his left hand he carried a
long curved blade. “Namaste,” said Buddha. Angulimala growled. “I cannot save you unless you tell me how you are suf fering,” said
Buddha. “An animal doesn’ t need saving. ”
The wild man showed no reaction. He could reach his prey in one leap,
so he raised his knife and with a howl sprang toward Buddha. When he
came to earth, however, his knife slashed at empty air. Buddha was
standing, as before, two paces away. Angulimala looked bewildered. “You do not have to ask for mercy or for giveness,” said Buddha. “Speak
your real name, not the monster ’s that you have assumed. ”
The wild man took another leap at Buddha, and as before, when he
landed his blade swished through the air. Buddha was standing two paces
away. “I can only stop a moment,” Buddha said. “But if you want my help,
come to me. ”
He turned his back on Angulimala and began slowly walking away. Behind him there was a scream of rage. One thing the old Brahmin had said
was true: Angulimala possessed enough demonic ener gy that he could
outrun a horse. He char ged at Buddha, his knife stretched out in front like a
spear. It should have taken only a few seconds to reach his prey, but Buddha
remained a step ahead. Angulimala sped up, panting as he ran. His bare feet
stirred up a cloud of dust, but he couldn’ t close the gap between himself andBuddha. This kept up for ten minutes, until the wild man fell to the ground,
clutching at his cramped legs. Buddha turned around and regarded him. “There’ s a small distance between you and me,” he said mildly. “Shall I
close it. I can. ”
He reached down and touched the killer ’s matted hair, and Angulimala
began to weep. “Please tell me your real name,” Buddha ur ged. There was a
pause, and Angulimala shivered from head to toe. “Why. ” he moaned. By
this he meant, Why should anyone help me. I am damned. “I will tell you, but I can’ t explain to an animal,” said Buddha. Angulimala clutched at himself, writhing on the ground. Buddha stood
quietly, letting the demonic ener gy drain away. It would take more than a
single seizure to purify the wild man, but this was a beginning. After he had
thrashed in the dust for some minutes, a name came out. “Anigha,” he said. “Look at me, Anigha,” Buddha said. “W e are brothers. ”
The wild man was pacified from exhaustion, his body spent. He raised
his head as Buddha bent over to bless him. “Y ou were once a great saint,”
said Buddha. “Now you have become a great sinner. This was not a curse. The cycle of birth and rebirth has brought you full circle. The same thing
happens to everyone. It has happened to me. ”
Each word he spoke caused a change in Anigha. His eyes looked far
away; he seemed to remember something deep and profound. T ears rolled
down his cheeks. “I am damned,” he said aloud, his voice becoming more
human. “No, you share the same fate as everyone,” said Buddha. “Y ou wanted
to find a way out of suf fering. The only dif ference is that you asked for the
life of a monster. You imagined that if you caused enormous suf fering, you
would be immune to it. ”
The weight of Anigha’ s crimes was crushing him—he groaned. “It’s horrible to bring hell on earth,” said Budddha. “There was another
purpose, though, that no one sees. ” Anigha stared in baf flement. “Y ou
hungered for the supreme truth many lifetimes ago. The gods failed you;
your vows as a monk led to nothing but deeper disappointment. So you
swore that you would not be redeemed unless the greatest sinner received
the same treatment. ”
Now Anigha grasped Buddha’ s feet and was sobbing loudly as his pain
poured out. Buddha took his hands away and lifted him up. “If you are part
of me, you need nothing else to be saved,” he said. Anigha said, “But I have killed. ”
“You fell into evil so that you could prove to yourself that there is a
reality that evil cannot touch. W ill you let me show it to you. ”
Anigha listened quietly, then he looked down at his filthy body clothed
in bloodied hides. They were unrecognizable now as part of him. He led
Buddha to a stream and washed the dirt away. When he had washed of f as
much as he could, he came out of the water. “I will follow you anywhere,”
he said. “Angulimala is dead. ”
“You will always be with me. But for the moment you need to stay
here,” said Buddha. “Devote yourself to atonement. Leave food for the
poor. Offer flowers and water at the temple gate for those who want to
make sacrifice. Help lost travelers whom you once terrified. Whatever you
do, don’ t show yourself. I will return for you very soon. ”
Anigha didn’ t find it easy to let Buddha go; he still half-believed that he
was in a dream devised by a mischievous demon. After a while, though, his
exhaustion made him nod of f as the two sat under a tree talking. Buddha
arose and left quietly. He gave no thought to where he was going next. But
something had happened that he alone knew. He had altered the course of
evil with a touch and a word. He was still a new Buddha, four days out of the womb, but every
moment was bringing him greater power and more wisdom to use it well. OceanofPDF. com18
The five monks had retreated to a forest glade near Benares after they
parted from Gautama. Months passed. Now the glade was beautiful with
overhanging trees in the riotous bloom of spring. They knew Gautama must
be dead, although the subject was never raised. The five monks lived a
secluded life, but their time of extreme austerity was over and done with. Returning to a moderate life seemed sensible, but a faint gloom settled
over their existence because every forest monk wanted to reach
enlightenment. Gautama’ s failure spelled failure for them too. Therefore,
when he walked into their camp one morning, the five monks were relieved
for themselves as much as for him. After they greeted him with exclamations and expressed their joy, the
monks sat and waited for their brother to describe what had happened. It
was as if someone had returned from the dead. They expected a miracle
story. At the very least, he would describe the wonders of enlightenment. But Buddha only wanted to be with them quietly, his glance occasionally
moving from one to the other. “We mourned for you, Gautama,” Kondana, the youngest, said. “Because you knew that Gautama was no more,” said Buddha. “And
you were right. ”
This was something they understood since it’ s a matter of course that
someone who reaches enlightenment has severed all connections to hisformer personality. But none of the five monks had actually met anyone
who had gotten there. “If you aren’ t Gautama, who are you. ” Assaji asked. “I keep Gautama’ s body, and you can call me by his name if you like,”
said Buddha, smiling. “Y ou need some way to find me in the dark. But I am
not this body or this name. I am not a person any longer as you know it. ”
“That tells me what you are not, but I still don’ t know what you are,”
said Assaji, pressing the point. Instead of replying, Buddha closed his eyes and went into samadhi,
something they had seen Gautama do a thousand times. Assaji was about to
signal that they should follow suit when Gautama unexpectedly opened his
eyes again. The monks were used to him being lost in silence for days. “Do you want to meditate alone.
The passage does not mention Buddha smiling at a farmer. It only mentions Buddha smiling at the husband.
Why did Buddha smile at the farmer?
The old priest told the story of Anigha's past, explaining that he was once a Brahmin's son who was accused of sleeping with the wife of the schoolmaster and was then disowned by his family. He was left to fend for himself and eventually became the killer Angulimala.
What did the old priest say about Anigha's past?
Buddha told Vappa that he should not be ashamed of having wept and that he should not give up hope. He also explained that he would never be able to escape the cycle of karma, but that he could find peace by accepting and letting go of his ego.
What did Buddha say to Vappa, who was struggling with the concept of his own identity?
The passage does not mention Buddha directly stopping the war. Instead, he walked away, and the soldiers seemed to calm down, eventually laying down their weapons.
What did Buddha do to stop the war in the battle?
The core message of Buddha's teaching was that life contains suffering, and that people must accept and let go of their ego to find peace. He also emphasized the importance of mindfulness, concentration, and self-reflection to achieve enlightenment.
What was the core message of Buddha's teaching, as stated in the passage?