She wasn’ t angry with the girl; she had only dismissed her to save the
prince from being impulsive in front of tongues that would spread rumors
throughout the palace. If he was seriously interested in Sujata, or even
casually inclined, he could summon her in private. Siddhartha sank back into a moody silence as the final touches were put
on his costume, in the form of a peacock feather dashingly stuck in his
turban and delicate white satin slippers on his feet. W ith a last frown at his
reflection, he made for the door , then turned back. “What’ s her name?” His voice was almost too low to catch. “Sujata,” said Kumbira. He repeated it under his breath. “So you
noticed one,” Kumbira said. “Finally .” Despite the small feeling of
apprehension that niggled at her , she couldn’ t help teasing him. Siddhartha
frowned, but he was too unsure of himself on these grounds to put much
into the ef fort. He reached into his robe and pressed something into
Kumbira’ s palm, a heavy coin. “Silence is golden,” he said with a shy , serious expression. Kumbira nodded, and Siddhartha left noiselessly on slippered feet. They
shared a small secret now , yet Kumbira felt inexplicably that he was
drawing away from her permanently . There was no reason why this should
be so, but she squeezed the gold coin in her hand like the memento of a lost
cause. If only she understood the boy . A PROWLING TIGER  crouching in wait or an eagle in its aerie may find it
simple to be alone, but humans don’ t. We have many ways of being alone,
and each has its peculiar complications. On the day that Siddhartha turned
eighteen, three people felt completely alone in the palace. Siddhartha wasalone because he didn’ t know who he was and couldn’ t ask anyone. The
king was alone because he feared that his project was about to fail. Devadatta was alone because he had been dragged down into private
torment without hope of rescue. These three experienced very dif ferent
forms of loneliness, yet they had one thing in common. They fought to
make sure that no one else suspected. Suddhodana stood on the ramparts watching the long train of litters,
wagons, and carts bringing his guests and their retinues to the capital. From
down below some had spotted him and waved or got down from their
conveyances to bow in salutation. He stood still, not acknowledging their
greetings. The weather was fine, the roads to Kapilavastu clear . He had sent
out a band of troops to patrol the mountain passes where bandits lurked. In
his mind this day was not a coming-of-age feast but a political event. There
would be baked peacocks draped in their feathered skins as if still alive,
saffron rice steamed with an equal weight of sesame seeds, whole kid goats
roasted in butter , betel leaves wrapped in silver foil, honey wine to drink,
rose conserve whose scent almost induced a swoon, barley beer in huge
casks as the night worn on, and women’ s flesh of fered in dark private
alcoves for dessert. But all this richness was actually a show of force. His
guests knew it. Most of them appeared on Suddhodana’ s orders, not by
invitation. He was presented with the delicate task of transferring their fear
and respect, which had been owed to him over many bloody years, to his
son. The prospect filled him with gloom. His eye shifted to the tower where Siddhartha was waiting before his
official appearance. “I don’ t want you mingling. Don’ t greet anybody , don’ t
let anyone see you. W e want them to feel awe when they first set eyes on
you. This is your stage, and you have to master it completely .”
“I will do all you ask,” Siddhartha replied. “Stop it, I don’ t want words. What good have words ever done me? This
is the first day of your future. Unless you fill them with fear, these people
will one day turn into your enemies, that I promise.”
“Fear?” Siddhartha considered the word as if it came from a foreign
tongue. “I’m not a threat. Why not keep it that way?”“Because fear is policy . It’s protection. People are either at your feet or
at your throat. It’ s up to you which one.” Suddhodana delivered these
axioms with complete conviction. “You protect me, and I’m not afraid of you,” Siddhartha reminded him. This was true. The distance between father and son had wavered over the
years, sometimes reaching a pole of complete misunderstanding. But
Siddhartha had never been afraid of his father or of what disobedience
might bring out in him. As he had grown, the prince acquired a combination
of qualities that baf fled the king: mildness alongside courage, patience
shored up by will, trust combined with sharpness of mind. Suddhodana
could never predict which one would emer ge. He was reminded every day
that two dif ferent people seemed to live inside one skin. “Hasn’ t the Brahmin taught you anything?” the king burst out
impatiently . “What I’m telling you is real, it’ s true. W ithout creating fear ,
you can’ t get respect. W ithout respect, you can’ t have peace among
potential enemies. Once it comes to bloodshed, nobody is afraid enough. Passion makes men fight to the death, and fear in battle is for gotten or
despised. It’ s useless once the swords are drawn. But fear will keep men
from getting to bloodshed, if you manage it right.”
This wasn’ t a studied speech, but it was no impulsive outburst, either . Suddhodana had planned to confront his son with the realities of a king’ s
existence. The time had to be ripe; the boy had to be old enough to accept
the lesson but not so old that he would imagine himself wiser than his
father . Suddhodana could only pray that his timing was right. He studied
Siddhartha’ s face for a reaction. “How is fear managed?” asked Siddhartha. His hesitant tone wasn’ t
encouraging, but at least he had asked the right question. “Fear should be applied like medicine,” his father replied. “Use just
enough as a remedy but not so much that it becomes a poison. Medicine
isn’t pleasant. But the pain it causes cures a greater pain.” Suddhodana had
practiced this analogy until he thought it was easy to understand and
forceful enough to be remembered.“Fate has dealt us a fortunate hand,” Suddhodana went on. “W e have
the mountains to the north and west guarding our backs. I’ve fought on that
front occasionally , but my eye keeps looking east. T o the east you have
strong kings, in Magadha and Kosala. T ogether they could overwhelm us by
sheer numbers. They are almost strong enough to do it without allying. But
they don’ t attack because I inflicted pain on them first. I bit their throats
like a small dog that can drive back a bigger one because it’ s more fierce. The big dog will remember the bite and for get that its enemy is actually
smaller .”
“You cast a spell,” Siddhartha said. It was a peculiar remark, and it
stopped his father cold. “More than a spell. I killed real men. One day you will too.”
There, I’ve said it. He had put before his son an inevitability , not simply
a possibility . “A king has never existed who didn’ t fight and kill,” he said
with emphasis. “So I’ll have to decide,” Siddhartha said. His thoughtful tone angered
the king. “No, there is nothing to decide. If you can’ t get that into your head—”
Suddhodana stopped himself. He remembered that he had the gods on his
side. However confused the prince might be, he was still young, and his
birth chart explicitly promised what lay ahead. There was no need to
intimidate or goad him. Suddhodana changed tack. “I shouldn’ t have said
that. What I meant was, if you can’ t do this for me, you are not the son I
know you to be.”
Siddhartha had accepted this milder rebuke calmly . He parted
respectfully from his father , each of them satisfied that he had been
successful in disguising how alone and abandoned he actually felt. Now , as
the king gazed gloomily toward the tower where Siddhartha was waiting,
there was no return gaze. His son had flung himself on the floor , throwing
off his suf focating robes and that absurd feathered turban. He buried his
head in a pile of pillows, trying not to think of anything at all. His miserywould have been simpler to bear if he had hated his father or wanted to
thwart his will. He had followed the dictates of his upbringing to the letter , had
mastered the martial arts and excelled in mock battles. He had felt the
exultation of downing an opponent on the field. So why did he feel like a
coward, like someone who confidently marches to the edge of a clif f, only
to find that he cannot take the last step? The last step was inevitable. Every
day of his life had led to it. Siddhartha felt a sick dread in the pit of his
stomach. THE FEAST HAD GONE ON  two full hours, the guests growing engor ged and
drunk as course followed course. Suddhodana alone drank nothing, and
when he sensed that the time was right, he raised his goblet. “In my son’ s
name I have spent half of my treasury on this day .” He paused. “I have
overseen every detail of your comfort and enjoyment. I personally
examined every woman at court, and the ugly ones were banished to my
friend Bimbisara’ s kingdom—” A burst of appreciative laughter . Suddhodana waited for it to die away . “—where they are considered the most beautiful women in the land.”
More laughter rose, this time raucous and mixed with applause. Even
Bimbisara, the powerful ruler of Magadha, smiled and clapped, though his
smile was tight and unpleasant to look on. He was one of the few guests
who had come of his own accord, no doubt for concealed reasons. When he was sure that the drunken guests were quiet and the astute
ones were paying close attention, Suddhodana said, “I’m here to confess a
precious secret, one that I have kept for half my reign.” His voice rose
dramatically . “Heed me, all of you!” He threw down his goblet with a
clatter , ending the last few scattered conversations that had continued. “After his beloved mother died, I summoned seers to Siddhartha’ s
cradle. And they told me the most incredible news. About one who was
destined to rule the world.” Suddhodana paused and let the silence return.“This soul wasn’ t destined to rule a tiny kingdom. He was going to be given
the world! Do you have any idea what that means?”
Suddhodana abandoned his throne and stepped down to his audience’ s
level. The two chained leopards that flanked him followed behind until they
reached the ends of their restraints and were jerked back. They growled,
their tails twitching lazily . “It means that it won’ t matter anymore that your lands are greater than
mine,” Suddhodana said, pointing to one of his peers, “or that your army is
twice the size of mine,” he pointed at another , “or that your father was a
damned conniving murderer who tried to seize my father ’s throne.”
The last man he pointed to recoiled. His hand dropped to the sword
belted at his waist. For a moment he battled with his better judgment. Finally he broke eye contact and took his hand from his weapon. Suddhodana walked away , smiling in triumph. “Hate me all you want,” he
invited. “Plot all you dare.” He turned back toward his throne. “My son will
swallow all your kingdoms for supper . He’ll buy and sell oceans,
continents!”
The whispers of confusion and disquiet that trailed after Suddhodana
subsided as his threats swept over the guests. Everyone was as superstitious
of the gods as Suddhodana. “Incredible?” he challenged. “No! I’ve seen it. I’ve seen all that will
unfold.”
At that moment a movement to the side caught his eye. Siddhartha was
standing in the doorway , looking resplendent in his new bejeweled coat. “Ah,” Suddhodana cried, gesturing toward his son, “here he is.” T o
himself he thought, I’ve done all I can. T ake the stage or pay the price. Siddhartha stared around him. Over the years he’d seen only a few of
these faces. He took a step into the gathering. No one reached for his hand
or made the slightest sound. He looked to his father for a sign and received
an imperceptible nod. Siddhartha forced himself to go forward, wantingnothing more than to retreat to his room. His thoughts raced; they seemed
deafeningly loud in the silence of the banquet tent. “Come!”
His father called out for him, seeing that his son this time would not
fail. Siddhartha began to notice those around him. The looks on some
people’ s faces seemed wary , but other faces were stark; they spoke of awe
and dread. What did he say to them ? Siddhartha knew that anything was possible. His father was a man of
great words when he wanted to be. Suddhodana held out his hand. “Come,
great king, come!”
Feeling strangely as if he were watching someone else’ s body moving
forward, Siddhartha felt his knees quiver , as if they would not hold. He took
another step, and then another . When he was almost to his father , the king
began clapping, slowly at first, then gaining speed. One or two guests
joined in hesitantly , but Suddhodana didn’ t stop, and others now joined in,
putting more heart into their ef forts. The clamor built. Thunderous noise
washed over the feast, drowning out all other sounds. When Siddhartha reached his father ’s side, Suddhodana gathered him in
a fierce embrace and held him tight. The king was beaming with triumph. “You’ve won your future,” he whispered. “No one else could do it but
you.” He brushed tears from his son’ s cheeks. Father , Siddhartha thought, what have you done? IN THE TUMUL T of cheering for Siddhartha, one man felt as much hatred as
the king felt joy and pride. Devadatta bolted from the tent. His hands shook
with the ef fort it took not to attack his cousin. For the first time in his life he
realized how alone he was and how hopeless his situation.The injustice of it was suf focating him. Hadn’ t he been trapped at court
for ten long years, presenting a thousand opportunities for the king to
compare his weakling son to someone who took ambition seriously? Unable
to restrain himself, Devadatta shouted, “Fools! Bastards!” But his
imprecations were drowned in the clamor of the celebration. He collided with two servants bearing trays of honey wine, figs, and
pomegranates, knocking them and their load to the ground. They cried out,
and Devadatta’ s feet slid on a brown smear of fig pulp. He righted himself,
barely noticing the havoc he’d created. Both of them were idiots. The king and his make-believe warrior prince
who would inherit the world. The prospect would have been sickening if it
weren’ t so absurd. Someone else had a stake in the evening’ s outcome. Mara had long ago
invaded Devadatta’ s mind, had colored his jaundiced perceptions and fueled
his resentment. Only one thing was missing. The captive prince had never
invited him in, had never consciously allied himself with darkness. That
might change now . Mara had the advantage, as all demons do, of knowing
just how fragile reality actually is, built by the invisible hands of
imagination and belief. As long as Mara was merely a phantom, Siddhartha could keep him
suppressed with other figments of his darker imagining. Wisps of the mind,
though toxic, are not mortal threats. Mara could not drive the boy insane;
Siddhartha did not harbor the necessary seeds of delusion. T o destroy him,
the demon needed a completely dedicated ally , a vehicle for evil who had
no thought of his own soul. Such an ally would be recklessly evil, but in
that he would not be unique. His uniqueness would lie in remaining
unmoved by Siddhartha’ s compassion; he would hate it and want it
destroyed. W ould Devadatta give him that precious opening? Watching Devadatta continue his enraged progress toward the royal
apartments, Mara decided to precipitate a crisis. He couldn’ t use brute
force, but an enticing accident opened another way . Devadatta happened to
pass by the room where a certain girl waited. She was unsuspecting andvulnerable. T o bring forth a demon in the flesh, nothing works better than
flesh itself. It was no trick at all to turn Devadatta’ s rage in the direction of lust. Mara wafted a faint perfume in his nostrils, planted an arousing image of
swelling breasts, whispered in Devadatta’ s ear that he could not rest tonight
until he forced his will on somebody whose pain would bring him pleasure. Mara pushed the small switches needed. Devadatta barely suspected that he
was being manipulated. He only knew that he had to have a woman now. The insidious mechanism, so subtle in its creation, so violent in its outcome,
was set. SUJATA ST ARED WITH LONGING  out the high open window , placed close
enough to the banquet tent that she could hear music rise and fall on the
evening breeze. By the light of torches she saw Siddhartha approach in his
resplendent outfit, and her fraught emotions made her believe that she saw
him shudder as he entered. Catching sight of him made her shudder . She
couldn’ t completely understand what this meant. She was only fifteen, but
that’s old enough to understand many things. For instance, she understood
that she must never tell anyone her real story . Kumbira had gathered Sujata with the other unmarried young women to
watch the spectacle from a distance. This would be their sole participation
until the secret hour when the men would be allowed near them. “Here’ s a cream to rub out dark spots and lime juice to tighten
wrinkles,” Kumbira said, herding them around a table like an anxious
madam whose girls must please if she wants to be paid. She had never
seduced a man herself, but she was obsessed with the tricks of seduction. Buckets of snow bundled in straw had been fetched by runners from the
mountains so the girls could dip their breasts in ice water to firm them up. “Those of you who are smart won’ t eat tonight, but if you are starving, no
onions and lots of sweet fennel seed.”
Only Sujata had held back, bored and detached from the excited
preparations. She even considered paying a lower servant to sneak radishesand onions into her room since she didn’ t want to attract any men that night. Any but one. Their toilette complete, the other ladies-in-waiting sat on
pillows near the balcony , dreamily feeding their fantasies. They wore gauzy
sleeping gowns. Bowls of food covered the low settees in the center of the
room. A few woman nibbled and gossiped lazily . Was I ever so young? Kumbira wondered. She eyed them with envy and
dislike. Scraps of conversation floated past her like eiderdown. “Did you
see what she was wearing? It might have looked good on her ten years
ago.” “Do you suppose she knows?” “Knows? Her lover beats her and
won’ t give her money for a thing.” Kumbira couldn’ t remember being like
that, ever , but she must have been. And now she knew as much about the
empire as the king himself, although it would be her head if she ever told
anyone. Kumbira watched the young girl sitting apart from the others. She ate
from a bowl of grapes, one at a time. Since she had arrived, brought to court
at night in a ramshackle wagon with torches on either side, then rushed into
the women’ s quarters without a proper introduction to anyone, Sujata had
kept her own counsel. Kumbira hoped that the girl, whoever she was, had a
strong sense of self-preservation. She must realize the danger in luring the
attentions of a prince like Siddhartha. The door curtains suddenly exploded in billows of velvet, and through
them burst Devadatta. It was too early , and Kumbira saw immediately that
he was in a state. “Hush!” she warned the girls, who had started squealing and drawing
together like startled mice. Devadatta brought danger with him, not
seduction. Kumbira strode forward, putting herself between the intruder and
her char ges. “Y ou’re not allowed in here,” she snapped. Devadatta scowled insolently . “I didn’ t come for you, hag. I want one of
them. That one.” He pointed to Sujata. Kumbira’ s first impulse was to let him take her . She couldn’ t turn him
away , not aroused and angry . If she summoned the guards, provided they
weren’ t too drunk to put up a fight, they couldn’ t lay hands on someoneprotected by the king. Perhaps it would be better if Devadatta used her and
Siddhartha found out about it. That course of action would nip the prince’ s
interest in the bud. The king wouldn’ t appreciate complications. But Sujata drew back, eyes wide with fright and her hand to her mouth. Her pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of her throat. Kumbira’ s eyes weren’ t
so old that she couldn’ t see that. She felt herself moved to protect the girl. And perhaps the prince as well. Devadatta crossed the room. The other girls parted as if they were the
wake left by his rage. He closed his fist on Sujata’ s arm. T errified, she tried
to pull away . She dared not struggle because striking a member of the royal
family would put her in peril. Her fear made Devadatta’ s eyes glint. Even
the small fight she put up brought a predator ’s smile of anticipation to his
lips. “Young prince,” Kumbira said in a level tone that she hoped wouldn’ t
provoke him. “I appreciate your lust. But not this one.”
Devadatta glared at her . “Why not?”
Leaning close, Kumbira whispered, “It’ s her day of the month.”
“You’re lying.” Devadatta studied Kumbira’ s face suspiciously . It
wasn’ t in his nature to be blocked; there would be an outlet tonight,
everything else be damned. “If she is untouchable, why is she here with
clean women?”
But Kumbira had learned two generations ago to lie. She did it with a
flat voice and no trace of defensiveness, maintaining eye contact. “She
should be isolated, yes. But I’m old and softhearted, and this being a royal
feast day—”
Devadatta cut her of f. “Softhearted as a cobra, you old whore.”
Kumbira held his gaze, not giving him any indication that she
disapproved of the way he treated her . She knew how to follow up a lie.Devadatta turned away and grabbed another girl. This one went willingly ,
even though he almost yanked her of f her feet. Sujata turned to Kumbira like someone in shock. W ithout warning, she
fell against Kumbira’ s breast, gripping her tight enough to hurt. “Thank
you,” she whispered ur gently . “Thank you a thousand times.”
The nakedness of the girl’ s feelings moved Kumbira. In her long life of
tough resilience and calculation, only Siddhartha had ever had such an
effect on her . She almost wrapped the girl, who had broken down in tears,
in her embrace. Then she caught herself and realized what she was about to do—with all
the others watching, girls who had no pity for Sujata and would be deriding
her the moment they were alone. Grabbing Sujata by the shoulders,
Kumbira pushed her away . “You think I did this for you?”
A confused look filled Sujata’ s face. She wiped away her tears with the
backs of her hands. “What kind of ninnies are they sending to court?” Kumbira demanded. She reached into her sari and took out the gold coin Siddhartha had given
her. “You’re paid for ,” Kumbira said brutally . “By the prince.”
“Oh.” Sujata’ s voice was flat and weak. “He’d never for give me if I broke our bar gain,” Kumbira added. “Not
without consulting him first.”
The room was silent. The others knew they were witnessing a choice
humiliation, fodder for backdoor gossips. Imperceptibly gaining control,
Sujata drew herself up. “In two seconds you’ve been kind and cruel to me. What am I supposed to think?”
“Think yourself lucky ,” Kumbira snapped. “T ry that.” She turned her
attention back to the others. “Now go back to your dinner , all of you. And
don’t stink up your breath,” she warned.Sujata remained standing there, her gaze locked on Kumbira. Impudent girl,  Kumbira thought. Still, she had some backbone, and the
old woman wouldn’ t want that to be totally crushed. “Y ou’ve got breasts
like a suckled sow . Go to your room and take some ice water to firm them
up with. It’ s going to be a long night.”
There was general tittering, and Sujata gasped in embarrassed hurt. She
turned and fled the room. Kumbira didn’ t watch her go. She had done
Sujata a secret kindness by driving her away , and none of the others
suspected it. Kumbira’ s role wasn’ t to bring Siddhartha and the girl
together , but at least she could keep the greedy hands of other men of f her. Kumbira walked toward the window and wished she were watching
Siddhartha in his glory . Cheers and applause rang once more from below . It
must be past midnight. She smiled and thought of how proud the old king
must be. And how drunk. THE GREA T FEAST  had wound down. The bulk of the guests had already
retired or collapsed in a stupor . It was only a few hours before dawn. Siddhartha stepped over them and left the tent without his father noticing. The king sat in a heavy drowse, his head lolling on his chest. Siddhartha
had made a show of drinking to every raucous toast but had actually sipped
very little. He needed a clear head to make good his escape. Tonight, after all the years of being kept like a nightingale in a gilded
cage, he would be free. Excitement coursed through Siddhartha. He hurried
back to his apartments and didn’ t bother lighting a candle. He’d lived all of
his life inside these rooms and could make his way around them in the dark. Moving quickly , he packed a traveling sack, rolling a few clothes inside. He
didn’ t know what to take or how much. He didn’ t want to be recognized as
the king’ s son, so he packed rough breeches and shirts that he wore in the
stables. He slid his sword through his sash and secured it at his hip. All the
travelers he’d talked to had agreed that the roads were dangerous. He’dshare the common risk of being robbed, but if his identity were ever
discovered, there would be the added one of kidnapping for ransom. He
added some bread, dried fruit, and what few coins he possessed. Inside the
palace walls he had never needed money; outside them he was genuinely
poor. The coins came from Channa and various young nobles in games of
chance or when he sold them trinkets he knew his father wouldn’ t miss. Just as he was finishing, the ponderous closing of the main gates
reverberated inside Siddhartha’ s room. He ran to the window and peered
out. Moonlight burned cool against his bare skin. Below in the central
courtyard the guards staggered to their posts, proving that the liquor had
made its way to the barracks. The new arrivals shot the bolts on the gates;
the noise was as loud as an ax splitting wood. Those portals had stood
against armies who had fought against his father , as witnessed by the
hacked scars that decorated their exterior . Siddhartha heaved the laden sack over his shoulder and fled, going
quietly down the stairs. A throbbing drummed in his ears. Only a short
distance on, he paused and heard muf fled voices through the walls. It
sounded like men ar guing. Siddhartha shifted the sack’ s weight and pressed
on. He kept his hand on his sword hilt so it wouldn’ t strike anything. Dark
shadows filled the hallway; the torches in their sconces had long guttered
out. Then a sudden movement in the shadows sent him into hiding against
the wall. Siddhartha went flat and stopped breathing. The cold stone wall
leached the warmth from his body . He watched intently for a while before
relaxing enough to start breathing again. But as he started forward, the
shifting shape returned like a shadow puppet against a dark screen. This
time he saw that it was a woman. She was slim hipped and moved quickly
on light feet. Her face and glowing eyes were visible for a fleeting second
in a bar of moonlight. Sujata? She paused as if she could hear him thinking her name. What was she
doing here? Siddhartha started to softly call out, but before he could, she
turned and ran down the hallway as if in a panic. Siddhartha’ s escape planvanished from his thoughts. He let his sack slide from his shoulder to the
floor and ran after her . As he rounded the next corner he saw the figure—he was certain now it
must be Sujata—disappear through a doorway . He followed her into the
royal gardens, not daring to call out, knowing that amours were taking place
in hidden nooks among the camellias and roses. The gardens had been
designed by his mother . Maya had intended them to be a place of eternal
fascination, and the centerpiece was an intricate knot, a maze crafted with
topiary dragons and elephants, along with fabulous sea monsters like the
magan and the mythical karaweik bird of hypnotic song. The sweet smell of
night blossoms thickened the air . Sujata paused at the entrance to the maze
and looked back over her shoulder . Her expression was inscrutable. “Wait!” Siddhartha raised his voice, more intent on the fleeing girl than
on preserving his anonymity . He tried to use the tone of command that his
father had mastered. Instead, Sujata vanished into the maze. Siddhartha was helplessly drawn; he ran toward the entrance and
ducked inside. The tall walls of the maze closed in around him, and the
darkness became more complete. He ran, listening for her footsteps, shifting
through twists and turns to follow the sounds she made. Then they stopped. If she had been as close as he thought, Siddhartha would have tripped over
her by now . Footsteps sounded to his left, on the other side of the hedge
wall. He tried to slip through the tangled growth, but the greenery was
packed too tight. “It’s me, Sujata. Stay where you are. Y ou’re safe.”
Siddhartha put his hand on the left wall of the maze. It guided him back
to the last turn, and this time he took the route he’d passed up before. At
that moment the moon disappeared behind a cloud, and in the darkness he
ran into somebody blocking the way . “Sujata?” he whispered. Her voice came back, and it was very close. “How fitting. Y ou’re lost in
the maze of your mind, and now you’re lost in this maze.”Siddhartha was startled by Sujata’ s arrogant tone, but it was definitely
her voice. “I saw you running away . Are you in trouble?”
“I’m never in trouble. I make trouble.”
Sujata’ s voice had deepened, and despite his attraction to her ,
Siddhartha instinctively took a step backward. His eyes had adjusted to the
dark, and he perceived that the figure before him was not the curved, slim-
hipped girl. “Who are you?” Siddhartha’ s hand went to the hilt of his sword, though
he wondered how much use a weapon would be against a magician, if that
was what he was confronting. Canki had told him that such beings existed
and must be countered through ritual observances that made a person
immune to spells and malevolent magic. “I can be her if that makes you more comfortable. I can be whoever you
imagine.” The shadowy figure stepped closer , and there was no doubt that
its voice was now a man’ s.
“Have you hurt her? Where is she?”
The stranger drew himself up; he smoothed his long-nailed fingers
against the sides of his robe. “How do you know I’m not her? How do we
know who anyone really is?”
“I’m going back.” Siddhartha made a move to leave, but the stranger ’s
voice spoke again with a peculiar allure. “You think that if I take her shape she must be in danger? Y ou could be
right. The greatest danger she faces right now , however , is from you.”
Siddhartha’ s temper flared. “Deceiver! Whoever you are, either fight
me or leave me in peace.”
The stranger ’s voice took on an aggrieved tone. “Y ou mistake me,
young sir . I’ve come to bring you peace, only peace. How can I convince
you?”The moon had come out again, and Siddhartha saw that he was
confronting a tall young man, somewhat older than himself, who could have
been his cousin, Devadatta. For a moment he almost called out Devadatta’ s
name, but he realized that this encounter couldn’ t be anything but
supernatural. “Don’ t you recognize me?” the tall young man said. “I’m the son your
father always wanted, the one you could become.”
Darkness couldn’ t conceal the truth of what the stranger said. Siddhartha was looking at himself a few years older . “What is your purpose
here? I am already the son my father wants.” Despite his attempt to sound
confident, the stranger laughed at him. “Your father wants a son who steals away in the night without a word? I’m surprised. He has worked so hard to keep you here. But I understand. Fathers don’ t know everything. It’ s right that they shouldn’ t.” The
stranger ’s voice had a sinuous ability to shift between arrogance,
familiarity , and cajolery . It stung and soothed at the same time. Siddhartha
was feeling uncertain, and although the stranger made no threatening
gestures, the mere sight of him drained Siddhartha’ s body; he felt slack and
weak. “You won’ t succeed, you know ,” the stranger said. “At escaping, I
mean. This is your rightful place. W e just have to decide how you are to
occupy it.”
The stranger was taunting him and making no ef fort to disguise it. “T ell
me your name,” Siddhartha demanded. “Siddhartha.”
“Then you are only a mocking demon, and I mistook you for someone
of power .”
The stranger ’s fingers curled like a cat deciding whether to use its claws
or keep them retracted. “Don’ t be rash. I’m here because I know you. Don’ tact surprised, either . It’s time to be frank, isn’ t it? A prince who is running
away from a throne must be very confused, don’ t you agree?”
Mara watched Siddhartha hesitate in his reply . His bantering with the
youth had not been for his own amusement. It went deeper than that. The
shapes he took, the words he spoke were all part of a test. He wanted to find
the best way to penetrate Siddhartha’ s mind, and so he circled it like a
surgeon finding the exact place for the first cut. “I didn’ t tell you my name because I was a little of fended,” said Mara. “You know me very well, and yet you of fered no greeting. Is that any way
to behave?”
Siddhartha shuddered slightly . He had never seen this shape before, but
the voice in the darkness raised faint, troubled memories of a voice he had
once heard in his head. V isions of his mother ’s lifeless body shrieked
through his mind. “See,” Mara hissed. “He’ s starting to be convinced.”
Then the demon’ s body jerked fitfully , twisting and bending in places
where there were no joints. The tall young man became a floppy doll, which
collapsed to the ground. Now its limbs folded into one another , turning into
a crouched dwarf. Siddhartha froze in place, and the hummock became a
formless mass that palpi tated, waiting to take on whatever form his terror
dictated. Whether from horror or a reserve of strength that he didn’ t know
he possessed, Siddhartha’ s mind became silent, without thought. “Nothing to say to me? Really?” Mara taunted. “After all we’ve been
through.” Now Siddhartha saw a funeral pyre, a skull crumbling to ashes. His nostrils were filled with the stench of death. Mara was confident that these reminders would create a crack, that
riding the crest of terror , he could penetrate Siddhartha’ s mind. It was
important to Mara that he do this, because to bring down the prince by his
own fear was far better than using a tool, even one as talented as Devadatta.“I don’ t know what you’re talking about,” Siddhartha said quietly . It
was a deceptive quiet because inside himself he felt a battle being fought on
the edge of awareness. It wasn’ t a battle of words or images; everything
proceeded silently , like a creeping epidemic or like foul, noxious air seeping
through a cracked windowpane. This was no stranger . Siddhartha had known all along who he was and
that his name was Mara. He felt trapped and helpless. All his life he had
endured the demon’ s attentions on the periphery of his mind. “What do you want of me?”
Mara of fered his hand. “I want to teach you. I want to help.” He smiled,
but the taint of his intentions marred the ef fort. Siddhartha didn’ t take the
proffered hand. He sank on the ground, burying his face between his knees. If he was the special tar get of Mara’ s intentions, there must be a reason. It
could be great sin or great weakness on his part, but Siddhartha knew this
wasn’ t the case. It was nothing he had ever done that attracted the demon. Therefore, it had to be something he might  do. The fact that he hadn’ t
defeated Mara in one night didn’ t mean he would always fail. Mara scowled, watching the motionless youth crouched before him. It
was a delicate moment. He could feel the workings of Siddhartha’ s mind;
gradually the crack that Mara had found began to close up again. Siddhartha
began to feel calmer . His mind had created a train of ar gument that he could
believe in. He would vanquish the demon, not by resisting him but by
finding a place that was already safe from him. Siddhartha didn’ t know
where that place was yet, but with an uncanny certainty he knew it existed. Siddhartha looked up, seeing the full moon overhead, and he realized that
no one was looming over him anymore and no shadow appeared except the
one cast by the high walls of the maze. Mara, who had shed his mortal form, watched the prince leave without
pursuing him. The demon felt that a great secret had been stripped from
him, and by someone so guileless and young. Siddhartha had figured out
that demons enter the mind when we resist them. The stronger our ef forts to
fortify ourselves against temptation, the stronger temptation has us in its
grip. Mara sighed. But his confidence wasn’ t shaken. He still had his allies.The coming battle would be interesting, which wasn’ t often the case. He
was irked, but he wouldn’ t be defeated. Of that Mara could be certain. OceanofPDF .com8
The day after the banquet everyone’ s attention shifted to the king’ s
entertainments and the part that his son, now elevated in the world’ s eyes,
would play . No one saw the prince, however . The next morning Canki was
summoned to Suddhodana’ s chambers, where he found father and son
huddled together . Siddhartha looked away , lost in his own private world. Obviously his father had been hammering at him, with less and less ef fect. “Tell him,” Suddhodana commanded the moment Canki entered the
room. “Put some sense in his head. He has to understand how serious this
is.”
“The prince knows his duties very well, Y our Highness,” Canki began. Jumping to his feet Suddhodana erupted. “Stop it! I don’ t need a
politician. The boy doesn’ t understand anything.”
“What exactly is the matter?” Canki resorted to his most placating tone. Suddhodana glared at him. “I’ve arranged mock combats for tomorrow . The army has been readied. I want him” —he pointed at his son—“to fight
the way he’ s supposed to.”
Canki turned to Siddhartha. “And you refused? I’m surprised.”
Siddhartha kept silent. Canki already knew about the war games and the
zeal that Suddhodana had put into them. The king didn’ t want to stop at
creating awe among his guests. He wanted them to witness firsthand whatwould happen to anyone who had secret hopes of defeating the son after the
father was gone. It was like going back to old times. The army had been roused from its
long, lazy slumber . “Tell them they’re fighting for real,” Suddhodana had
ordered. “Three gold pieces to the bloodiest warriors at the end of the day . Nothing impresses like blood.” Instead of dulling their swords and padding
themselves with straw , his soldiers prepared to give and take real wounds. The only limit was that no blow should be deliberately fatal. “If you hit him
and he doesn’ t get up again, consider your enemy dead, for this one day
only,” the generals instructed. From the Shiva temple’ s perch on the hill, Canki had looked over the
plain stretched before the palace, filled day after day with military
exercises. Suddhodana rode among his troops, nodding with approval the
bloodier the games got. Behind him rode Siddhartha, looking pensive but
raising no objections. Obviously , however , when the time came for him to
lead the combat, he had balked. Canki didn’ t want to be caught between them, but he didn’ t dare
disobey the king. “Are you afraid to fight?” he asked Siddhartha. The
prince shook his head but didn’ t offer a word to defend himself. “I’ve seen him with Channa. They go at it. No, it’ s something else,
something he won’ t tell me,” Suddhodana grumbled. Ignoring the presence of the priest, Siddhartha threw himself flat on the
floor and seized his father ’s feet. Suddhodana turned away , embarrassed by
this show of humility , which to him expressed weakness. “For God’ s sake,
get up!”
“I won’ t, not unless I can speak freely .”
Suddhodana’ s eyes wandered the room in confusion. “Whatever you
want. Just get up.”
But Siddhartha didn’ t. His face touching the stone floor , he said, “I have
never been what you wanted, and the more you demand, the less I am.”“If you’re not what I wanted, then what are you?” the king said, now
more bewildered than angry . “I don’ t know .”
“Ridiculous! I know who you are. He knows who you are.” Suddhodana
looked at Canki, asking for support. The priest was at a loss. Canki was in
service to a warrior king, but at heart he despised violence and had
contempt for those who used it to get whatever they wanted. Kings were no
better than murderers, the only dif ference being that they had a legal
monopoly on killing. The Brahmin’ s way was one of guile, patience,
persuasion. T o him, those were marks of superiority . After a moment, he knelt beside Siddhartha and placed a hand on his
shoulder . “Do what is asked of you. If you go one step at a time, everything
will come easier . This is only a shadow , a charade of war . How will you
know about yourself until you try?”
Skillful as he imagined himself to be, Canki had no ef fect on the prince,
who ignored him and kept his eyes fixed on his father . “I want to go away ,”
he said. A chill passed through Suddhodana’ s body , a cold premonition of
failure. “No, that isn’ t possible,” he said in a flat, toneless voice. “Ask me
for anything else, but not that.”
The sudden weakness in his father ’s voice stirred Siddhartha, and he got
slowly to his feet. “What have I said that makes you so disturbed? If you
love me, let me see what lies beyond these walls.”
“You know nothing about my love,” snapped Suddhodana. He gazed
into his son’ s eyes, and what he saw there couldn’ t be answered. T urning
abruptly , the king left the room, pausing a moment at the door to signal to
the high Brahmin. “No more words. Leave him be.”
 
CANKI SA T IN HIS STUDY , a plate of sesame rice uneaten by his side. His
mind was filled with the troubles to come when the world discovered, assurely it would, the rift between king and prince. The Brahmin’ s thoughts
were interrupted by a soft knock at his door . He had to conceal his surprise
when it opened and Siddhartha, unannounced and alone, entered. “Tell me about the gods,” he said. Canki smiled easily . He pushed aside the plate of sesame rice,
wondering inside if he shouldn’ t be worried. T o side with the prince, or to
even seem to, could soon be an act of treason. “I attend to the gods,” said Canki. “Y ou don’ t have to concern yourself
with them.”
“But what do the gods want?” asked Siddhartha. “Why would they
curse someone? Can a person sin and not know it?”
Canki cleared his throat to hide his momentary confusion. He had never
known Siddhartha to confide in him, or to openly show anxiety . The youth
was guarded, as princes should be. The priest decided not to ask why the
sudden interest in curses. “You want to know how to get into favor with the gods?” he said. “And
so you should. It’ s commendable.” Siddhartha, for the first time, placed
himself at the priest’ s feet, in the classic pose of a disciple asking his master
for wisdom. “The gods allow great suf fering—wars, famine, crime, and immorality
—because the people have for gotten how to please them,” Canki said. “Since no one can be perfectly good, there is much sin in the world. Rituals
and sacrifices honor the gods and erase that sin.”
“But everyone honors the gods, and not everyone is happy ,” Siddhartha
pointed out. “Why does misfortune visit us?”
Canki waved his hands, pointing to piles of scriptures written on dried
palm leaves and vellum, hundreds of scrolls lining the shelves of his
cramped, airless study . “Every sin is a karma, and every karma has a precise
remedy . It takes years to delve deep enough. Y ou study and try tounderstand every detail. The invisible world is complex. The gods are
fickle. Even then you may fail.”
“Have you ever failed?”
Canki was taken aback. “Brahmins cannot fail. Every word in the
scriptures was delivered to a Brahmin.”
“And no one else? The gods have to find a priest or they don’ t talk?”
Canki had a ready answer . It was his job to know all the answers, but he
hesitated, his mind searching for a solution. Despite all the king’ s efforts,
his son was turning the other way . His deeper nature hadn’ t been diverted. Canki wasn’ t alarmed, however . Now he had a chance to influence
Siddhartha, and it might be his last. He looked at the youth sitting at his feet
and decided that the canniest course, for once, was to tell the truth. He said,
“You are among the few who can understand. I’ve always sensed that, ever
since you were a little child.”
He leaned closer and put his hand on Siddhartha’ s shoulder . He had no
real af fection for his pupil, but experience told him that physical contact
was a more powerful bond than words. “I want to tell you about the Golden
Age.” He ignored Siddhartha’ s puzzled look, pressing his fingers into the
youth’ s flesh. “Just listen. There was an age, long, long ago, when the world
was perfect. The scriptures tell us that no one had to struggle. There was no
evil or wrongdoing. Abundance was the only life that people knew . But
then decay gradually set in. This perfect world was only possible because
the gods kept the demons at bay , unable to touch human beings and create
mischief. W ould you wish to bring back such an age?”
Siddhartha started. “Me?”
“It was prophesied when you were born that you could be the king of a
new Golden Age. Y our father knows this. Why else would he protect you so
strongly , covet your safety above everything else?”
Siddhartha was hanging onto the Brahmin’ s words now , and Canki
smiled knowingly to himself. The prince was listening so eagerly becausehe felt guilty . He thought he had committed some obscure sin, which was
being punished by his imprisonment in the palace. “Your father loves you, but he’ s also in awe of you. If he ruins the
chance to bring back the Golden Age, how much guilt will he carry for the
next hundred lifetimes?”
Siddhartha considered this seriously . “So he’ s not disappointed in me?”
“On the contrary , the failure he’ s anxious about is his own. Y ou must
prove to him that he has raised you as the gods and the stars prophesied. If
you can do that, you will both be favored for the rest of your lives. If not—”
Canki held his breath for a reaction. He had his private doubts about the
destiny that awaited Siddhartha. There had been little evidence so far of a
great warrior or a great saint in him. “Tell me about demons,” said Siddhartha abruptly . Now it was Canki’ s turn to be startled. Demons? The Brahmin almost
replied, “Have you met a demon?” Then Canki caught himself and realized
that bluntness wouldn’ t work, not with a withdrawn youth just coming out
of his shell. “Don’ t worry about demons; they are indestructible and beyond your
reach to defeat them. W orry about men who have taken evil to heart. There
will be no Golden Age until they are defeated,” said Canki. “Y ou may find
it impossible to believe that this all depends on you, but I am willing to risk
that you can accept the truth.”
Siddhartha stood up, his demeanor more serious. Canki could see that
his words had sunk in. He had dangled a mystery before the youth, and few
can resist a mystery , particularly one that features themselves at the very
center . SUDDHODANA HAD SULKED  in his room, at first furious with his son, then
gradually sinking into moroseness. T o face rebellion from the prince just atthe moment of victory was too galling to endure. Then moroseness changed
to grief. Suddhodana was certain that he had lost his son. That night the king awoke with a start. A shadowy figure had entered
his rooms. Suddhodana fumbled for the table by his bed, reaching for a bell
to summon the guards. “Don’ t be afraid, father .” Siddhartha’ s voice was soft in the darkness. “I
will fight.”
 
CANKI SA T IN THE GRANDST ANDS  with the dignitaries, fanned by slaves
waving palm leaves over their heads and charmed by veiled girls passing
sweetmeats. He assumed that his talk with Siddhartha had turned the tide. But still there was danger . The prince had come around, but for how long? He was erratic, unpredictable. The Brahmin remembered the king’ s threat from years ago: Just live
long enough to see what I’ll do to you if this plan fails. As a public show of force, the mock battles were a success. The sheer
bulk of Suddhodana’ s army , and the ferocity of his fighters, impressed the
neighboring rulers and depressed their generals. There was a ripple of shock
when one of the archers mounted on horseback was killed, but Canki had
wandered away by then and witnessed nothing, not even the ladies-in-
waiting who fainted and had to be carried from the scene. By leaving early , Canki had missed the one part of the combats that in
the end really mattered. Siddhartha’ s surrender to his father ’s will was not a sham. He dressed
himself early that morning in his armor , dismissing his father ’s grooms
because he was ashamed to be seen donning so much padding and
protection; he was the one fighter who couldn’ t risk being bloodied. “Not that anyone is going to get near you, much less fight.”Siddhartha wheeled around. Devadatta had come in, not both ering to
knock. He smiled maliciously . “They’ve got you pretty packed in. Why
bother? Y ou could go out there buck naked and nobody would so much as
scratch you. Unless they want to be dragged out of bed tomorrow morning
to kiss the chopping block.”
Siddhartha clenched his jaw . “They have to fight me if I start it first. I’m
not going out there just to watch.”
“Of course you’re not.” Recently Devadatta had become more brazen in
his contempt. He bent over and occupied himself with the intricate thong
laces of his leggings. “You can challenge me if you want,” Siddhartha said quietly . Devadatta burst out laughing. “Y ou can’ t be serious.”
“Why not?” Siddhartha stood up and faced his cousin squarely . The two
were almost matched in height and strength by now despite the four years
separating them. But Siddhartha knew he had one great advantage:
Devadatta was so arrogant that he rarely practiced. He may have lost his
fighting edge without knowing it or being able to admit it to himself. “What weapon?” Devadatta looked intrigued now . “Sword and dagger .” Finished with his equipage, Siddhartha rested his
helmet in the crook of his arm. “They’re expecting me.”
“Naturally . The carnival goes on.”
The two cousins exchanged nods in mock courtesy , and Siddhartha left. When he got to the stables he found Channa holding the reins of his favorite
white stallion. The horse had come to the king from the wilds, and at first
nobody could tame him. But Siddhartha spotted the animal’ s fear and used
it. Every time he brought a stick of sugar cane for the stallion, he would sit
and wait as long as it took for the horse to walk over to him. He never
approached on his own, even if it took an hour for the animal to calm down.When he was tempted enough, the horse wanted to snatch the treat and
run of f, but Siddhartha made sure that his hand always touched the horse
before he released the food. Gradually the white stallion began to accept
being touched as part of being re warded, until the day came when
Siddhartha approached him in public and put a bridle on him, a feat nobody
else had accomplished. From that point on it was only a matter of time
before word went about that the prince had tamed an untamable wild
stallion. On the day when the horse allowed himself to be mounted,
Siddhartha named him Kanthaka. Channa looked restless and disgruntled. “I hope you’re not too bulky in
all that gear . You need to ride properly , remember that,” he grumbled. “Don’ t worry .” Siddhartha knew that Channa’ s resentment wasn’ t
personal. Despite Channa’ s hours of military training beside Siddhartha, he
was technically still a stable boy and not a fighter . Channa said, “I assumed you wanted this one. The king isn’ t risking his
best horses, but he didn’ t exactly say you couldn’ t. He’ll carry you better
than any of the others.” Channa fixed his expert eye on the stallion’ s high
shoulders and wide girth. Siddhartha nodded, stroking Kanthaka’ s flanks. The animal wanted his touch, and although Kanthaka had quivered
nervously at all the neighing and galloping going on around the stables that
morning, he calmed down and waited. Channa managed to crack a smile. “I also assume you know that
someone’ s staring at you. It’ s a mistake, I’m sure. She thinks you’re me.”
A girl had escaped notice following Siddhartha to the stables. Channa
didn’ t know who she was, but as soon as he turned his head Siddhartha
recognized Sujata. She stood shyly in the shadows of a lar ge tree, but the
moment their eyes met, she let the blue silk that half-covered her face drop. Siddhartha was at a loss. “What’ s she doing here?” he mumbled. “I don’ t know . I guess she couldn’ t help herself.” Channa laughed and
gave Siddhartha a hit on the shoulder . “You’ve still got a little time. Go on.”
“It’s not what you think.”“It doesn’ t matter what I think. Go ahead.” Channa was smirk ing now ,
and as happens between two young males who talk about everything except
that, his look said, You don’ t know all about women yet? Y ou’d better
believe I do. They were both fairly sure that the other was still a vir gin, but
Siddhartha nursed a suspicion that Channa had more opportunities than he
did belowstairs in the kitchen and scullery , while Channa suspected that
Siddhartha had more chances than he did in the pleasure pavilion by the
lotus pond. This unspoken doubt created a secret between them when there
was no secret to begin with. Neither one dared to find out that the other
knew almost nothing about women. “Let her come to me if she wants to,” Siddhartha declared. He hoped he
could save face and at the same time not risk approaching Sujata—not now ,
with someone watching. Luckily , he didn’ t have to. She took a deep breath
and came to him. Throwing aside the daintiness of court women who acted
as if a stable was unholy ground, Sujata walked up to them with her eyes
fixed on Siddhartha. “I came to wish you well. Please be safe today ,” she said, her words
coming out a bit too fast and too loud, as words do when they are practiced
in advance. Siddhartha cursed himself inside, knowing that Channa could see him
blush. All he needed to say was “Thank you,” but confusion made him
stammer , “Why would you think I’m not safe?” His tone was brusque, and
Sujata turned a deep scarlet. Humiliation took her breath away , and
Siddhartha died inside that he was the cause. “I mean—” he said, and
stopped. Nobody knew what he meant, least of all himself. It’s unclear whether Channa chose that moment for his first attack of
chivalry , but he coughed and muttered, “I have to find a new bridle. This
one’s too loose.” Then he was gone, and the two were left alone together . Embarrassment momentarily blinded Siddhartha, but as his sight cleared the
first thing he became aware of was Sujata’ s beauty . It had been enough to
make him notice her , then to chase her through the maze. A cloud passed
over him with that memory . He took a step back.Sujata had been looking for the slightest sign of approval, and this step
crushed her hopes. “I shouldn’ t have come. If you can for give me—”
“There’ s nothing to for give. There could never be anything to for give.”
Siddhartha had no idea why he blurted out those last words. But now that
they were out, he took the plunge. “I’ve wanted to see you for a long time. I
didn’ t know if it was right or not. But I’m glad you came today , very glad.”
Although Sujata maintained her shy posture, head ducked down
between fallen shoulders, she was thrilled. Something had kept her awake at
night. She had decided to trust this something, and now Siddhartha was
smiling at her . She became painfully aware of his lean, muscular body ,
disguised though it was under his armor . There are dams that crack and
dams that break open without warning. Hers was the second kind. “I think
about you all the time. I’ve come to your room at night, but then I run away . What can I do? This is too impossible. W e can’ t be together , but I think
about you all the time. Oh, I already said that. Y ou must think I’m stupid.”
“No, not at all.” Siddhartha in fact was delighted with everything Sujata
blurted out. When babble is like music, love can’ t be far away . He wanted
to throw of f his armor and embrace her , because he was as aware of her
pale breasts and the soft flow of her hips as she was of him. Siddhartha had
never heard of skin hunger , but he felt it now as strongly as he had ever felt
anything. Instinctively his hand moved around to the side of his chest plate,
fumbling for the leather ties. “Why can’ t we be together? My father doesn’ t
have to know .”
“Oh.” A shadow suddenly darkened Sujata’ s face. Siddhartha seemed so
eager , yet he was thinking about his father and the disapproval that would
fall on them if anyone thought she loved a prince. Which meant that
Siddhartha was aware, even at that moment, of the huge dif ference between
them. “I can’ t stay ,” she murmured. She could already feel the sting of
contempt that the court would direct at her . And then there was her secret,
the thing nobody suspected. Siddhartha grabbed Sujata’ s arm before she could turn away . “What’ s
wrong? Y ou look like you’re going to faint. What did I say?”“The king.” W ith that, Sujata burst into tears and ran away . Siddhartha
was confused and hurt, but at that moment Channa returned holding a new
bridle. “Do you want this?” he asked. “Of course not. Y ou know as well as I do.” Instead of thanking Channa
for his discretion, Siddhartha sounded angry . He had made some kind of
unwitting, disastrous blunder with Sujata, but there was no time to run after
her. “Help me up,” he said curtly . Without a word Channa bent down and made a step with his two hands
so that Siddhartha could mount Kanthaka with his full weight of armor . The
layers of ox-hide padding creaked as he settled into the saddle. Siddhartha
galloped of f toward the field, not waiting for the equerries who were
supposed to surround him in procession. His mind was preoccupied with
the image of Sujata’ s pained expression and the guilt of knowing that he
had caused it. However long he was lost in this mood, he suddenly became
aware of his surroundings. People were gathered on either side of the
tournament field, the nobles seated in a grandstand, the common people
standing or sitting on the ground on the opposite side, unprotected from the
sun. A cheer went up when the crowd caught sight of the prince; he
automatically went through the motions of a well-rehearsed scenario. The king was waiting impatiently for his son’ s arrival. The day had
turned hot, the sun a fierce white disc burning in the sky . He rose to his feet
as Siddhartha approached, and he had to admit to himself that the crown
prince made a fine show on the white stallion. If only he kept his nerve and
did what was necessary . Siddhartha bowed. “I dedicate my victories to Y our Highness and
pledge that every glory in war , however many battles I am privileged to
fight, will be for you and your kingdom.”
Suddhodana returned a gracious smile and waved Siddhartha of f toward
the field of combat. He had written the speech himself, but the boy could
have spoken it louder , and he had for gotten to rise up in his stirrups and
swivel around to catch the eye of every noble spectator . No matter ,
Suddhodana thought, driving from his mind the fear that Siddhartha might
fail him.To his relief, everything went as planned. Blood was soon drawn in the
hand-to-hand combats, just enough to whet the spectators’ appetites. He had
ordered that dangerous weapons could be used, the kind rarely used in
mock battle. There was a knife-edged discus that could be thrown hard
enough to decapitate an enemy , a lash with multiple barbs at the end that
tore of f any flesh it made contact with, a heavy two-sided ax capable of
piercing any armor , even bronze, a nailed mace, and a rippled dagger that
ripped muscles apart both as it went in and as it was pulled out. His soldiers
wouldn’ t have thrown themselves into using these weapons of horror , but
Suddhodana had made sure they were tempted with huge rewards, and in
addition their food supply was allowed to dwindle so that every rice larder
and meat chest was empty that morning, just in case they for got who
sustained them. With these incentives, his men fought hard, and it was lucky , despite
many gruesome wounds, that nobody was killed. Nobody , that is, until the
time came for mounted archery . This was the most spectacular of the
combats. Siddhartha had participated vigorously in sword fighting but had
otherwise remained on the periphery . Now it was his turn to show his true
mettle. On one side of the field nine archers were lined up on horseback. Siddhartha faced them alone on Kanthaka. One by one the archers would
peel of f and char ge at Siddhartha, firing arrows as rapidly as they could. Siddhartha’ s goal was to knock each opponent of f his horse while escaping
the arrows. The crowd grew hushed. This was a test of skill no pampered son of a
king could pass unless he was born to fight, and although the arrows had
been blunted enough not to pierce the prince’ s armor , he couldn’ t be totally
protected. The spectators gasped when Siddhartha, in a show of bravado,
took of f his helmet and threw it to the ground. The crowd applauded, but
then he went further and unstrapped his broad chest plate, letting it fall
away . Everyone went into shock, including the king. Suddhodana leaped to
his feet, ready to call a halt to the games, but he knew he couldn’ t. The
humiliation would wipe out everything he had tried to achieve for the past
week. W as Siddhartha desperate to show his worthiness? Whatever his
motive, Suddhodana recognized the necessity of what his son had done:mock battles could only frighten people so far and no farther unless lethal
danger was involved. The first archer peeled of f and rode at a hard gallop toward Siddhartha,
who kicked Kanthaka in the side and char ged to meet him. Both men shot
their first arrow at the same time. The one aimed at Siddhartha grazed his
leggings, while his arrow flew true—the horseman was hit in the middle of
his chest and fell from the saddle. At that moment the second archer peeled
off, raising his bow . Siddhartha quickly found a new arrow from the quiver
over his shoulder and prepared to fire again. In his mind he was clear why he had removed his helmet and chest
plate. Only by exposing himself to real threat could Siddhartha feel he
wasn’ t participating in a charade. If he was ever to be a real warrior , it must
begin today . He fired, and again his arrow found its mark; the second archer
toppled to the ground with a blow to the chest. Siddhartha wheeled
Kanthaka around. The stallion wasn’ t panting yet, but there were seven
more to go. “Come at me harder!” he shouted across the field. “Anyone who draws
my blood will be for given by the king, if he fights fair .” This was a lie, but
Siddhartha had seen the nervous glances being exchanged by the archers
when he threw of f his armor . Goaded on now , his adversaries wanted to
prove to the king that they were the best. The next two men char ged faster
and aimed better . But Siddhartha had taken his training seriously , and he
had talent on horseback. When his next arrow missed, he kept his cool and
fired again, unhorsing his opponent when they were within a few yards of
each other . The crowd grew more impressed, and by the time Siddhartha
was down to the last two archers, they were on their feet cheering in
earnest. Kanthaka’ s sides were heaving now , and Siddhartha felt a little giddy . He had eaten nothing that morning, and the constant wheeling and
maneuvering were making his surroundings whirl. He braced himself
because the end of the combat was the toughest part. The last two archers
charged him together . Siddhartha had an arrow ready , but his nerves got the
better of him and it flew well right of the man he aimed at. His hand
fumbled for another arrow .The bolder of the archers had already gotten of f two shots, and the
second one was lucky—it found a gap in the padded blankets that protected
Kanthaka’ s front, deeply piercing the horse’ s skin. Siddhartha felt the
animal rear and barely kept his seat. He pulled tight on the reins and closed
his thighs around the animal, willing it to calm down and for get its fear . Kanthaka held on, galloping straight for the double enemy , who now closed
in, one on each side. They were too close for Siddhartha to get any arrows of f. He heard a
cacophony of hoofbeats against the packed earth, and his eyes blurred. He
shook his head, and he saw Mara riding behind one of the archers, clutching
his arms around the rider ’s waist. The demon was laughing, and then he
suddenly disappeared. Siddhartha didn’ t have much time to refocus his
sight. He ducked down close to his saddle as the two enemies whipped past
him on either side.
Buddha_by_Deepak_Chopra.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        She wasn’ t angry with the girl; she had only dismissed her to save the
prince from being impulsive in front of tongues that would spread rumors
throughout the palace. If he was seriously interested in Sujata, or even
casually inclined, he could summon her in private. Siddhartha sank back into a moody silence as the final touches were put
on his costume, in the form of a peacock feather dashingly stuck in his
turban and delicate white satin slippers on his feet. W ith a last frown at his
reflection, he made for the door, then turned back. “What’ s her name. ” His voice was almost too low to catch. “Sujata,” said Kumbira. He repeated it under his breath. “So you
noticed one,” Kumbira said. “Finally. ” Despite the small feeling of
apprehension that niggled at her, she couldn’ t help teasing him. Siddhartha
frowned, but he was too unsure of himself on these grounds to put much
into the ef fort. He reached into his robe and pressed something into
Kumbira’ s palm, a heavy coin. “Silence is golden,” he said with a shy, serious expression. Kumbira nodded, and Siddhartha left noiselessly on slippered feet. They
shared a small secret now, yet Kumbira felt inexplicably that he was
drawing away from her permanently. There was no reason why this should
be so, but she squeezed the gold coin in her hand like the memento of a lost
cause. If only she understood the boy. A PROWLING TIGER  crouching in wait or an eagle in its aerie may find it
simple to be alone, but humans don’ t. We have many ways of being alone,
and each has its peculiar complications. On the day that Siddhartha turned
eighteen, three people felt completely alone in the palace. Siddhartha wasalone because he didn’ t know who he was and couldn’ t ask anyone. The
king was alone because he feared that his project was about to fail. Devadatta was alone because he had been dragged down into private
torment without hope of rescue. These three experienced very dif ferent
forms of loneliness, yet they had one thing in common. They fought to
make sure that no one else suspected. Suddhodana stood on the ramparts watching the long train of litters,
wagons, and carts bringing his guests and their retinues to the capital. From
down below some had spotted him and waved or got down from their
conveyances to bow in salutation. He stood still, not acknowledging their
greetings. The weather was fine, the roads to Kapilavastu clear. He had sent
out a band of troops to patrol the mountain passes where bandits lurked. In
his mind this day was not a coming-of-age feast but a political event. There
would be baked peacocks draped in their feathered skins as if still alive,
saffron rice steamed with an equal weight of sesame seeds, whole kid goats
roasted in butter, betel leaves wrapped in silver foil, honey wine to drink,
rose conserve whose scent almost induced a swoon, barley beer in huge
casks as the night worn on, and women’ s flesh of fered in dark private
alcoves for dessert. But all this richness was actually a show of force. His
guests knew it. Most of them appeared on Suddhodana’ s orders, not by
invitation. He was presented with the delicate task of transferring their fear
and respect, which had been owed to him over many bloody years, to his
son. The prospect filled him with gloom. His eye shifted to the tower where Siddhartha was waiting before his
official appearance. “I don’ t want you mingling. Don’ t greet anybody, don’ t
let anyone see you. W e want them to feel awe when they first set eyes on
you. This is your stage, and you have to master it completely. ”
“I will do all you ask,” Siddhartha replied. “Stop it, I don’ t want words. What good have words ever done me. This
is the first day of your future. Unless you fill them with fear, these people
will one day turn into your enemies, that I promise. ”
“Fear. ” Siddhartha considered the word as if it came from a foreign
tongue. “I’m not a threat. Why not keep it that way. ”“Because fear is policy. It’s protection. People are either at your feet or
at your throat. It’ s up to you which one. ” Suddhodana delivered these
axioms with complete conviction. “You protect me, and I’m not afraid of you,” Siddhartha reminded him. This was true. The distance between father and son had wavered over the
years, sometimes reaching a pole of complete misunderstanding. But
Siddhartha had never been afraid of his father or of what disobedience
might bring out in him. As he had grown, the prince acquired a combination
of qualities that baf fled the king: mildness alongside courage, patience
shored up by will, trust combined with sharpness of mind. Suddhodana
could never predict which one would emer ge. He was reminded every day
that two dif ferent people seemed to live inside one skin. “Hasn’ t the Brahmin taught you anything. ” the king burst out
impatiently. “What I’m telling you is real, it’ s true. W ithout creating fear,
you can’ t get respect. W ithout respect, you can’ t have peace among
potential enemies. Once it comes to bloodshed, nobody is afraid enough. Passion makes men fight to the death, and fear in battle is for gotten or
despised. It’ s useless once the swords are drawn. But fear will keep men
from getting to bloodshed, if you manage it right. ”
This wasn’ t a studied speech, but it was no impulsive outburst, either. Suddhodana had planned to confront his son with the realities of a king’ s
existence. The time had to be ripe; the boy had to be old enough to accept
the lesson but not so old that he would imagine himself wiser than his
father. Suddhodana could only pray that his timing was right. He studied
Siddhartha’ s face for a reaction. “How is fear managed. ” asked Siddhartha. His hesitant tone wasn’ t
encouraging, but at least he had asked the right question. “Fear should be applied like medicine,” his father replied. “Use just
enough as a remedy but not so much that it becomes a poison. Medicine
isn’t pleasant. But the pain it causes cures a greater pain. ” Suddhodana had
practiced this analogy until he thought it was easy to understand and
forceful enough to be remembered. “Fate has dealt us a fortunate hand,” Suddhodana went on. “W e have
the mountains to the north and west guarding our backs. I’ve fought on that
front occasionally, but my eye keeps looking east. T o the east you have
strong kings, in Magadha and Kosala. T ogether they could overwhelm us by
sheer numbers. They are almost strong enough to do it without allying. But
they don’ t attack because I inflicted pain on them first. I bit their throats
like a small dog that can drive back a bigger one because it’ s more fierce. The big dog will remember the bite and for get that its enemy is actually
smaller. ”
“You cast a spell,” Siddhartha said. It was a peculiar remark, and it
stopped his father cold. “More than a spell. I killed real men. One day you will too. ”
There, I’ve said it. He had put before his son an inevitability, not simply
a possibility. “A king has never existed who didn’ t fight and kill,” he said
with emphasis. “So I’ll have to decide,” Siddhartha said. His thoughtful tone angered
the king. “No, there is nothing to decide. If you can’ t get that into your head—”
Suddhodana stopped himself. He remembered that he had the gods on his
side. However confused the prince might be, he was still young, and his
birth chart explicitly promised what lay ahead. There was no need to
intimidate or goad him. Suddhodana changed tack. “I shouldn’ t have said
that. What I meant was, if you can’ t do this for me, you are not the son I
know you to be. ”
Siddhartha had accepted this milder rebuke calmly. He parted
respectfully from his father, each of them satisfied that he had been
successful in disguising how alone and abandoned he actually felt. Now, as
the king gazed gloomily toward the tower where Siddhartha was waiting,
there was no return gaze. His son had flung himself on the floor, throwing
off his suf focating robes and that absurd feathered turban. He buried his
head in a pile of pillows, trying not to think of anything at all. His miserywould have been simpler to bear if he had hated his father or wanted to
thwart his will. He had followed the dictates of his upbringing to the letter, had
mastered the martial arts and excelled in mock battles. He had felt the
exultation of downing an opponent on the field. So why did he feel like a
coward, like someone who confidently marches to the edge of a clif f, only
to find that he cannot take the last step. The last step was inevitable. Every
day of his life had led to it. Siddhartha felt a sick dread in the pit of his
stomach. THE FEAST HAD GONE ON  two full hours, the guests growing engor ged and
drunk as course followed course. Suddhodana alone drank nothing, and
when he sensed that the time was right, he raised his goblet. “In my son’ s
name I have spent half of my treasury on this day. ” He paused. “I have
overseen every detail of your comfort and enjoyment. I personally
examined every woman at court, and the ugly ones were banished to my
friend Bimbisara’ s kingdom—” A burst of appreciative laughter. Suddhodana waited for it to die away. “—where they are considered the most beautiful women in the land. ”
More laughter rose, this time raucous and mixed with applause. Even
Bimbisara, the powerful ruler of Magadha, smiled and clapped, though his
smile was tight and unpleasant to look on. He was one of the few guests
who had come of his own accord, no doubt for concealed reasons. When he was sure that the drunken guests were quiet and the astute
ones were paying close attention, Suddhodana said, “I’m here to confess a
precious secret, one that I have kept for half my reign. ” His voice rose
dramatically. “Heed me, all of you. ” He threw down his goblet with a
clatter, ending the last few scattered conversations that had continued. “After his beloved mother died, I summoned seers to Siddhartha’ s
cradle. And they told me the most incredible news. About one who was
destined to rule the world. ” Suddhodana paused and let the silence return. “This soul wasn’ t destined to rule a tiny kingdom. He was going to be given
the world. Do you have any idea what that means. ”
Suddhodana abandoned his throne and stepped down to his audience’ s
level. The two chained leopards that flanked him followed behind until they
reached the ends of their restraints and were jerked back. They growled,
their tails twitching lazily. “It means that it won’ t matter anymore that your lands are greater than
mine,” Suddhodana said, pointing to one of his peers, “or that your army is
twice the size of mine,” he pointed at another, “or that your father was a
damned conniving murderer who tried to seize my father ’s throne. ”
The last man he pointed to recoiled. His hand dropped to the sword
belted at his waist. For a moment he battled with his better judgment. Finally he broke eye contact and took his hand from his weapon. Suddhodana walked away, smiling in triumph. “Hate me all you want,” he
invited. “Plot all you dare. ” He turned back toward his throne. “My son will
swallow all your kingdoms for supper. He’ll buy and sell oceans,
continents. ”
The whispers of confusion and disquiet that trailed after Suddhodana
subsided as his threats swept over the guests. Everyone was as superstitious
of the gods as Suddhodana. “Incredible. ” he challenged. “No. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen all that will
unfold. ”
At that moment a movement to the side caught his eye. Siddhartha was
standing in the doorway, looking resplendent in his new bejeweled coat. “Ah,” Suddhodana cried, gesturing toward his son, “here he is. ” T o
himself he thought, I’ve done all I can. T ake the stage or pay the price. Siddhartha stared around him. Over the years he’d seen only a few of
these faces. He took a step into the gathering. No one reached for his hand
or made the slightest sound. He looked to his father for a sign and received
an imperceptible nod. Siddhartha forced himself to go forward, wantingnothing more than to retreat to his room. His thoughts raced; they seemed
deafeningly loud in the silence of the banquet tent. “Come. ”
His father called out for him, seeing that his son this time would not
fail. Siddhartha began to notice those around him. The looks on some
people’ s faces seemed wary, but other faces were stark; they spoke of awe
and dread. What did he say to them. Siddhartha knew that anything was possible. His father was a man of
great words when he wanted to be. Suddhodana held out his hand. “Come,
great king, come. ”
Feeling strangely as if he were watching someone else’ s body moving
forward, Siddhartha felt his knees quiver, as if they would not hold. He took
another step, and then another. When he was almost to his father, the king
began clapping, slowly at first, then gaining speed. One or two guests
joined in hesitantly, but Suddhodana didn’ t stop, and others now joined in,
putting more heart into their ef forts. The clamor built. Thunderous noise
washed over the feast, drowning out all other sounds. When Siddhartha reached his father ’s side, Suddhodana gathered him in
a fierce embrace and held him tight. The king was beaming with triumph. “You’ve won your future,” he whispered. “No one else could do it but
you. ” He brushed tears from his son’ s cheeks. Father, Siddhartha thought, what have you done. IN THE TUMUL T of cheering for Siddhartha, one man felt as much hatred as
the king felt joy and pride. Devadatta bolted from the tent. His hands shook
with the ef fort it took not to attack his cousin. For the first time in his life he
realized how alone he was and how hopeless his situation. The injustice of it was suf focating him. Hadn’ t he been trapped at court
for ten long years, presenting a thousand opportunities for the king to
compare his weakling son to someone who took ambition seriously. Unable
to restrain himself, Devadatta shouted, “Fools. Bastards. ” But his
imprecations were drowned in the clamor of the celebration. He collided with two servants bearing trays of honey wine, figs, and
pomegranates, knocking them and their load to the ground. They cried out,
and Devadatta’ s feet slid on a brown smear of fig pulp. He righted himself,
barely noticing the havoc he’d created. Both of them were idiots. The king and his make-believe warrior prince
who would inherit the world. The prospect would have been sickening if it
weren’ t so absurd. Someone else had a stake in the evening’ s outcome. Mara had long ago
invaded Devadatta’ s mind, had colored his jaundiced perceptions and fueled
his resentment. Only one thing was missing. The captive prince had never
invited him in, had never consciously allied himself with darkness. That
might change now. Mara had the advantage, as all demons do, of knowing
just how fragile reality actually is, built by the invisible hands of
imagination and belief. As long as Mara was merely a phantom, Siddhartha could keep him
suppressed with other figments of his darker imagining. Wisps of the mind,
though toxic, are not mortal threats. Mara could not drive the boy insane;
Siddhartha did not harbor the necessary seeds of delusion. T o destroy him,
the demon needed a completely dedicated ally, a vehicle for evil who had
no thought of his own soul. Such an ally would be recklessly evil, but in
that he would not be unique. His uniqueness would lie in remaining
unmoved by Siddhartha’ s compassion; he would hate it and want it
destroyed. W ould Devadatta give him that precious opening. Watching Devadatta continue his enraged progress toward the royal
apartments, Mara decided to precipitate a crisis. He couldn’ t use brute
force, but an enticing accident opened another way. Devadatta happened to
pass by the room where a certain girl waited. She was unsuspecting andvulnerable. T o bring forth a demon in the flesh, nothing works better than
flesh itself. It was no trick at all to turn Devadatta’ s rage in the direction of lust. Mara wafted a faint perfume in his nostrils, planted an arousing image of
swelling breasts, whispered in Devadatta’ s ear that he could not rest tonight
until he forced his will on somebody whose pain would bring him pleasure. Mara pushed the small switches needed. Devadatta barely suspected that he
was being manipulated. He only knew that he had to have a woman now. The insidious mechanism, so subtle in its creation, so violent in its outcome,
was set. SUJATA ST ARED WITH LONGING  out the high open window, placed close
enough to the banquet tent that she could hear music rise and fall on the
evening breeze. By the light of torches she saw Siddhartha approach in his
resplendent outfit, and her fraught emotions made her believe that she saw
him shudder as he entered. Catching sight of him made her shudder. She
couldn’ t completely understand what this meant. She was only fifteen, but
that’s old enough to understand many things. For instance, she understood
that she must never tell anyone her real story. Kumbira had gathered Sujata with the other unmarried young women to
watch the spectacle from a distance. This would be their sole participation
until the secret hour when the men would be allowed near them. “Here’ s a cream to rub out dark spots and lime juice to tighten
wrinkles,” Kumbira said, herding them around a table like an anxious
madam whose girls must please if she wants to be paid. She had never
seduced a man herself, but she was obsessed with the tricks of seduction. Buckets of snow bundled in straw had been fetched by runners from the
mountains so the girls could dip their breasts in ice water to firm them up. “Those of you who are smart won’ t eat tonight, but if you are starving, no
onions and lots of sweet fennel seed. ”
Only Sujata had held back, bored and detached from the excited
preparations. She even considered paying a lower servant to sneak radishesand onions into her room since she didn’ t want to attract any men that night. Any but one. Their toilette complete, the other ladies-in-waiting sat on
pillows near the balcony, dreamily feeding their fantasies. They wore gauzy
sleeping gowns. Bowls of food covered the low settees in the center of the
room. A few woman nibbled and gossiped lazily. Was I ever so young. Kumbira wondered. She eyed them with envy and
dislike. Scraps of conversation floated past her like eiderdown. “Did you
see what she was wearing. It might have looked good on her ten years
ago. ” “Do you suppose she knows. ” “Knows. Her lover beats her and
won’ t give her money for a thing. ” Kumbira couldn’ t remember being like
that, ever, but she must have been. And now she knew as much about the
empire as the king himself, although it would be her head if she ever told
anyone. Kumbira watched the young girl sitting apart from the others. She ate
from a bowl of grapes, one at a time. Since she had arrived, brought to court
at night in a ramshackle wagon with torches on either side, then rushed into
the women’ s quarters without a proper introduction to anyone, Sujata had
kept her own counsel. Kumbira hoped that the girl, whoever she was, had a
strong sense of self-preservation. She must realize the danger in luring the
attentions of a prince like Siddhartha. The door curtains suddenly exploded in billows of velvet, and through
them burst Devadatta. It was too early, and Kumbira saw immediately that
he was in a state. “Hush. ” she warned the girls, who had started squealing and drawing
together like startled mice. Devadatta brought danger with him, not
seduction. Kumbira strode forward, putting herself between the intruder and
her char ges. “Y ou’re not allowed in here,” she snapped. Devadatta scowled insolently. “I didn’ t come for you, hag. I want one of
them. That one. ” He pointed to Sujata. Kumbira’ s first impulse was to let him take her. She couldn’ t turn him
away, not aroused and angry. If she summoned the guards, provided they
weren’ t too drunk to put up a fight, they couldn’ t lay hands on someoneprotected by the king. Perhaps it would be better if Devadatta used her and
Siddhartha found out about it. That course of action would nip the prince’ s
interest in the bud. The king wouldn’ t appreciate complications. But Sujata drew back, eyes wide with fright and her hand to her mouth. Her pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of her throat. Kumbira’ s eyes weren’ t
so old that she couldn’ t see that. She felt herself moved to protect the girl. And perhaps the prince as well. Devadatta crossed the room. The other girls parted as if they were the
wake left by his rage. He closed his fist on Sujata’ s arm. T errified, she tried
to pull away. She dared not struggle because striking a member of the royal
family would put her in peril. Her fear made Devadatta’ s eyes glint. Even
the small fight she put up brought a predator ’s smile of anticipation to his
lips. “Young prince,” Kumbira said in a level tone that she hoped wouldn’ t
provoke him. “I appreciate your lust. But not this one. ”
Devadatta glared at her. “Why not. ”
Leaning close, Kumbira whispered, “It’ s her day of the month. ”
“You’re lying. ” Devadatta studied Kumbira’ s face suspiciously. It
wasn’ t in his nature to be blocked; there would be an outlet tonight,
everything else be damned. “If she is untouchable, why is she here with
clean women. ”
But Kumbira had learned two generations ago to lie. She did it with a
flat voice and no trace of defensiveness, maintaining eye contact. “She
should be isolated, yes. But I’m old and softhearted, and this being a royal
feast day—”
Devadatta cut her of f. “Softhearted as a cobra, you old whore. ”
Kumbira held his gaze, not giving him any indication that she
disapproved of the way he treated her. She knew how to follow up a lie. Devadatta turned away and grabbed another girl. This one went willingly,
even though he almost yanked her of f her feet. Sujata turned to Kumbira like someone in shock. W ithout warning, she
fell against Kumbira’ s breast, gripping her tight enough to hurt. “Thank
you,” she whispered ur gently. “Thank you a thousand times. ”
The nakedness of the girl’ s feelings moved Kumbira. In her long life of
tough resilience and calculation, only Siddhartha had ever had such an
effect on her. She almost wrapped the girl, who had broken down in tears,
in her embrace. Then she caught herself and realized what she was about to do—with all
the others watching, girls who had no pity for Sujata and would be deriding
her the moment they were alone. Grabbing Sujata by the shoulders,
Kumbira pushed her away. “You think I did this for you. ”
A confused look filled Sujata’ s face. She wiped away her tears with the
backs of her hands. “What kind of ninnies are they sending to court. ” Kumbira demanded. She reached into her sari and took out the gold coin Siddhartha had given
her. “You’re paid for,” Kumbira said brutally. “By the prince. ”
“Oh. ” Sujata’ s voice was flat and weak. “He’d never for give me if I broke our bar gain,” Kumbira added. “Not
without consulting him first. ”
The room was silent. The others knew they were witnessing a choice
humiliation, fodder for backdoor gossips. Imperceptibly gaining control,
Sujata drew herself up. “In two seconds you’ve been kind and cruel to me. What am I supposed to think. ”
“Think yourself lucky,” Kumbira snapped. “T ry that. ” She turned her
attention back to the others. “Now go back to your dinner, all of you. And
don’t stink up your breath,” she warned. Sujata remained standing there, her gaze locked on Kumbira. Impudent girl,  Kumbira thought. Still, she had some backbone, and the
old woman wouldn’ t want that to be totally crushed. “Y ou’ve got breasts
like a suckled sow. Go to your room and take some ice water to firm them
up with. It’ s going to be a long night. ”
There was general tittering, and Sujata gasped in embarrassed hurt. She
turned and fled the room. Kumbira didn’ t watch her go. She had done
Sujata a secret kindness by driving her away, and none of the others
suspected it. Kumbira’ s role wasn’ t to bring Siddhartha and the girl
together, but at least she could keep the greedy hands of other men of f her. Kumbira walked toward the window and wished she were watching
Siddhartha in his glory. Cheers and applause rang once more from below. It
must be past midnight. She smiled and thought of how proud the old king
must be. And how drunk. THE GREA T FEAST  had wound down. The bulk of the guests had already
retired or collapsed in a stupor. It was only a few hours before dawn. Siddhartha stepped over them and left the tent without his father noticing. The king sat in a heavy drowse, his head lolling on his chest. Siddhartha
had made a show of drinking to every raucous toast but had actually sipped
very little. He needed a clear head to make good his escape. Tonight, after all the years of being kept like a nightingale in a gilded
cage, he would be free. Excitement coursed through Siddhartha. He hurried
back to his apartments and didn’ t bother lighting a candle. He’d lived all of
his life inside these rooms and could make his way around them in the dark. Moving quickly, he packed a traveling sack, rolling a few clothes inside. He
didn’ t know what to take or how much. He didn’ t want to be recognized as
the king’ s son, so he packed rough breeches and shirts that he wore in the
stables. He slid his sword through his sash and secured it at his hip. All the
travelers he’d talked to had agreed that the roads were dangerous. He’dshare the common risk of being robbed, but if his identity were ever
discovered, there would be the added one of kidnapping for ransom. He
added some bread, dried fruit, and what few coins he possessed. Inside the
palace walls he had never needed money; outside them he was genuinely
poor. The coins came from Channa and various young nobles in games of
chance or when he sold them trinkets he knew his father wouldn’ t miss. Just as he was finishing, the ponderous closing of the main gates
reverberated inside Siddhartha’ s room. He ran to the window and peered
out. Moonlight burned cool against his bare skin. Below in the central
courtyard the guards staggered to their posts, proving that the liquor had
made its way to the barracks. The new arrivals shot the bolts on the gates;
the noise was as loud as an ax splitting wood. Those portals had stood
against armies who had fought against his father, as witnessed by the
hacked scars that decorated their exterior. Siddhartha heaved the laden sack over his shoulder and fled, going
quietly down the stairs. A throbbing drummed in his ears. Only a short
distance on, he paused and heard muf fled voices through the walls. It
sounded like men ar guing. Siddhartha shifted the sack’ s weight and pressed
on. He kept his hand on his sword hilt so it wouldn’ t strike anything. Dark
shadows filled the hallway; the torches in their sconces had long guttered
out. Then a sudden movement in the shadows sent him into hiding against
the wall. Siddhartha went flat and stopped breathing. The cold stone wall
leached the warmth from his body. He watched intently for a while before
relaxing enough to start breathing again. But as he started forward, the
shifting shape returned like a shadow puppet against a dark screen. This
time he saw that it was a woman. She was slim hipped and moved quickly
on light feet. Her face and glowing eyes were visible for a fleeting second
in a bar of moonlight. Sujata. She paused as if she could hear him thinking her name. What was she
doing here. Siddhartha started to softly call out, but before he could, she
turned and ran down the hallway as if in a panic. Siddhartha’ s escape planvanished from his thoughts. He let his sack slide from his shoulder to the
floor and ran after her. As he rounded the next corner he saw the figure—he was certain now it
must be Sujata—disappear through a doorway. He followed her into the
royal gardens, not daring to call out, knowing that amours were taking place
in hidden nooks among the camellias and roses. The gardens had been
designed by his mother. Maya had intended them to be a place of eternal
fascination, and the centerpiece was an intricate knot, a maze crafted with
topiary dragons and elephants, along with fabulous sea monsters like the
magan and the mythical karaweik bird of hypnotic song. The sweet smell of
night blossoms thickened the air. Sujata paused at the entrance to the maze
and looked back over her shoulder. Her expression was inscrutable. “Wait. ” Siddhartha raised his voice, more intent on the fleeing girl than
on preserving his anonymity. He tried to use the tone of command that his
father had mastered. Instead, Sujata vanished into the maze. Siddhartha was helplessly drawn; he ran toward the entrance and
ducked inside. The tall walls of the maze closed in around him, and the
darkness became more complete. He ran, listening for her footsteps, shifting
through twists and turns to follow the sounds she made. Then they stopped. If she had been as close as he thought, Siddhartha would have tripped over
her by now. Footsteps sounded to his left, on the other side of the hedge
wall. He tried to slip through the tangled growth, but the greenery was
packed too tight. “It’s me, Sujata. Stay where you are. Y ou’re safe. ”
Siddhartha put his hand on the left wall of the maze. It guided him back
to the last turn, and this time he took the route he’d passed up before. At
that moment the moon disappeared behind a cloud, and in the darkness he
ran into somebody blocking the way. “Sujata. ” he whispered. Her voice came back, and it was very close. “How fitting. Y ou’re lost in
the maze of your mind, and now you’re lost in this maze. ”Siddhartha was startled by Sujata’ s arrogant tone, but it was definitely
her voice. “I saw you running away. Are you in trouble. ”
“I’m never in trouble. I make trouble. ”
Sujata’ s voice had deepened, and despite his attraction to her,
Siddhartha instinctively took a step backward. His eyes had adjusted to the
dark, and he perceived that the figure before him was not the curved, slim-
hipped girl. “Who are you. ” Siddhartha’ s hand went to the hilt of his sword, though
he wondered how much use a weapon would be against a magician, if that
was what he was confronting. Canki had told him that such beings existed
and must be countered through ritual observances that made a person
immune to spells and malevolent magic. “I can be her if that makes you more comfortable. I can be whoever you
imagine. ” The shadowy figure stepped closer, and there was no doubt that
its voice was now a man’ s. “Have you hurt her. Where is she. ”
The stranger drew himself up; he smoothed his long-nailed fingers
against the sides of his robe. “How do you know I’m not her. How do we
know who anyone really is. ”
“I’m going back. ” Siddhartha made a move to leave, but the stranger ’s
voice spoke again with a peculiar allure. “You think that if I take her shape she must be in danger. Y ou could be
right. The greatest danger she faces right now, however, is from you. ”
Siddhartha’ s temper flared. “Deceiver. Whoever you are, either fight
me or leave me in peace. ”
The stranger ’s voice took on an aggrieved tone. “Y ou mistake me,
young sir. I’ve come to bring you peace, only peace. How can I convince
you. ”The moon had come out again, and Siddhartha saw that he was
confronting a tall young man, somewhat older than himself, who could have
been his cousin, Devadatta. For a moment he almost called out Devadatta’ s
name, but he realized that this encounter couldn’ t be anything but
supernatural. “Don’ t you recognize me. ” the tall young man said. “I’m the son your
father always wanted, the one you could become. ”
Darkness couldn’ t conceal the truth of what the stranger said. Siddhartha was looking at himself a few years older. “What is your purpose
here. I am already the son my father wants. ” Despite his attempt to sound
confident, the stranger laughed at him. “Your father wants a son who steals away in the night without a word. I’m surprised. He has worked so hard to keep you here. But I understand. Fathers don’ t know everything. It’ s right that they shouldn’ t. ” The
stranger ’s voice had a sinuous ability to shift between arrogance,
familiarity, and cajolery. It stung and soothed at the same time. Siddhartha
was feeling uncertain, and although the stranger made no threatening
gestures, the mere sight of him drained Siddhartha’ s body; he felt slack and
weak. “You won’ t succeed, you know,” the stranger said. “At escaping, I
mean. This is your rightful place. W e just have to decide how you are to
occupy it. ”
The stranger was taunting him and making no ef fort to disguise it. “T ell
me your name,” Siddhartha demanded. “Siddhartha. ”
“Then you are only a mocking demon, and I mistook you for someone
of power. ”
The stranger ’s fingers curled like a cat deciding whether to use its claws
or keep them retracted. “Don’ t be rash. I’m here because I know you. Don’ tact surprised, either. It’s time to be frank, isn’ t it. A prince who is running
away from a throne must be very confused, don’ t you agree. ”
Mara watched Siddhartha hesitate in his reply. His bantering with the
youth had not been for his own amusement. It went deeper than that. The
shapes he took, the words he spoke were all part of a test. He wanted to find
the best way to penetrate Siddhartha’ s mind, and so he circled it like a
surgeon finding the exact place for the first cut. “I didn’ t tell you my name because I was a little of fended,” said Mara. “You know me very well, and yet you of fered no greeting. Is that any way
to behave. ”
Siddhartha shuddered slightly. He had never seen this shape before, but
the voice in the darkness raised faint, troubled memories of a voice he had
once heard in his head. V isions of his mother ’s lifeless body shrieked
through his mind. “See,” Mara hissed. “He’ s starting to be convinced. ”
Then the demon’ s body jerked fitfully, twisting and bending in places
where there were no joints. The tall young man became a floppy doll, which
collapsed to the ground. Now its limbs folded into one another, turning into
a crouched dwarf. Siddhartha froze in place, and the hummock became a
formless mass that palpi tated, waiting to take on whatever form his terror
dictated. Whether from horror or a reserve of strength that he didn’ t know
he possessed, Siddhartha’ s mind became silent, without thought. “Nothing to say to me. Really. ” Mara taunted. “After all we’ve been
through. ” Now Siddhartha saw a funeral pyre, a skull crumbling to ashes. His nostrils were filled with the stench of death. Mara was confident that these reminders would create a crack, that
riding the crest of terror, he could penetrate Siddhartha’ s mind. It was
important to Mara that he do this, because to bring down the prince by his
own fear was far better than using a tool, even one as talented as Devadatta. “I don’ t know what you’re talking about,” Siddhartha said quietly. It
was a deceptive quiet because inside himself he felt a battle being fought on
the edge of awareness. It wasn’ t a battle of words or images; everything
proceeded silently, like a creeping epidemic or like foul, noxious air seeping
through a cracked windowpane. This was no stranger. Siddhartha had known all along who he was and
that his name was Mara. He felt trapped and helpless. All his life he had
endured the demon’ s attentions on the periphery of his mind. “What do you want of me. ”
Mara of fered his hand. “I want to teach you. I want to help. ” He smiled,
but the taint of his intentions marred the ef fort. Siddhartha didn’ t take the
proffered hand. He sank on the ground, burying his face between his knees. If he was the special tar get of Mara’ s intentions, there must be a reason. It
could be great sin or great weakness on his part, but Siddhartha knew this
wasn’ t the case. It was nothing he had ever done that attracted the demon. Therefore, it had to be something he might  do. The fact that he hadn’ t
defeated Mara in one night didn’ t mean he would always fail. Mara scowled, watching the motionless youth crouched before him. It
was a delicate moment. He could feel the workings of Siddhartha’ s mind;
gradually the crack that Mara had found began to close up again. Siddhartha
began to feel calmer. His mind had created a train of ar gument that he could
believe in. He would vanquish the demon, not by resisting him but by
finding a place that was already safe from him. Siddhartha didn’ t know
where that place was yet, but with an uncanny certainty he knew it existed. Siddhartha looked up, seeing the full moon overhead, and he realized that
no one was looming over him anymore and no shadow appeared except the
one cast by the high walls of the maze. Mara, who had shed his mortal form, watched the prince leave without
pursuing him. The demon felt that a great secret had been stripped from
him, and by someone so guileless and young. Siddhartha had figured out
that demons enter the mind when we resist them. The stronger our ef forts to
fortify ourselves against temptation, the stronger temptation has us in its
grip. Mara sighed. But his confidence wasn’ t shaken. He still had his allies. The coming battle would be interesting, which wasn’ t often the case. He
was irked, but he wouldn’ t be defeated. Of that Mara could be certain. OceanofPDF. com8
The day after the banquet everyone’ s attention shifted to the king’ s
entertainments and the part that his son, now elevated in the world’ s eyes,
would play. No one saw the prince, however. The next morning Canki was
summoned to Suddhodana’ s chambers, where he found father and son
huddled together. Siddhartha looked away, lost in his own private world. Obviously his father had been hammering at him, with less and less ef fect. “Tell him,” Suddhodana commanded the moment Canki entered the
room. “Put some sense in his head. He has to understand how serious this
is. ”
“The prince knows his duties very well, Y our Highness,” Canki began. Jumping to his feet Suddhodana erupted. “Stop it. I don’ t need a
politician. The boy doesn’ t understand anything. ”
“What exactly is the matter. ” Canki resorted to his most placating tone. Suddhodana glared at him. “I’ve arranged mock combats for tomorrow. The army has been readied. I want him” —he pointed at his son—“to fight
the way he’ s supposed to. ”
Canki turned to Siddhartha. “And you refused.
The king dismissed the girl to save the prince from being impulsive in front of the tongues that would spread rumors.
Why did the king dismiss the girl from the room?
Kumbira
Who did Siddhartha give a gold coin to?
He told Siddhartha that fear should be used like medicine, just enough to protect oneself, but not so much that it becomes a poison.
What did Suddhodana tell Siddhartha about fear?
He collided with two servants carrying trays of honey wine, figs, and pomegranates.
Who did Devadatta collide with in the room?
Siddhartha felt a sick dread in his stomach and decided to make a run for it, leaving the feast without his father noticing. He did this because he felt like a coward and wanted to escape the situation.
What did Siddhartha do after his father's words, and why did he do it?