OceanofPDF .comBUDDHA
A Story of Enlightenment
Deepak Chopra
OceanofPDF .comContents
Author ’s Note
PART ONE
SIDDHAR THA THE PRINCE
1
One crisp spring day King Suddhodana turned in his saddle…
2
The gray rain blanketed Suddhodana and his men as the…
3
The silk curtains to Maya’ s chamber parted, and Kumbira rushed…
4
The next morning Suddhodana rode his warhorse up the hillside…
5
It took a moment before Siddhartha had enough presence of…
6
It took Devadatta most of the night to figure out…
7
You just might do. In a pinch.”
8
The day after the banquet everyone’ s attention shifted to the…
9
The sky was divided between sun and clouds as the…
10
Sujata’ s disappearance wasn’ t discovered for several days. The first day…
PART TWO
GAUT AMA THE MONK
11
The skies had given plenty of warning all day . Clouds…12
Gautama passed several travelers on the road who could have…
13
The moment Gautama stepped into the small clearing, he knew…
14
Gautama wandered down the road, his whole being churning with…
15
One morning Ananda didn’ t find Gautama in his tent. Several…
PART THREE
BUDDHA
16
While he lay motionless on the ground, Gautama became dimly…
17
The sun rose, and Gautama found himself sitting on the…
18
The five monks had retreated to a forest glade near…
19
Buddha didn’ t spend the night in Kapilavastu but took the…
Epilogue
For a storyteller , it would be ideal if Buddha’ s life…
The Art of Non-Doing
After being inspired by Buddha’ s life, the most important thing…
 
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
OceanofPDF .comAuthor’s Note
Whoever sees me sees the teaching. —BUDDHA
In writing this book, I took a deep breath and created new characters and
incidents in the life of one of the most famous people who ever lived. Famous, but still very obscure. I wanted to bring Buddha out of the mists of
time, to fill him out in flesh and blood while still preserving his mystery . Fact blended into fantasy centuries ago in the story of the prince who
became a living god. Or is “god” the very thing he didn’ t want to be? W as
his deepest wish to disappear from the material world, remembered only as
an inspiration of perfection? The Buddha story , as it gathered momentum for two millennia, became
chock-full of miracles and gods that got stuck onto its surface. Speaking
about himself, Buddha never mentioned miracles or gods. He held a
doubtful view of both. He showed no interest in being revered as a
personality; none of his many sermons mentions his family life or gives
much personal information at all. Unlike Christ in the New T estament, he
certainly didn’ t see himself as divine. Instead, he saw himself as “someone who is awake,” which is what the
word Buddha  means. That’ s the person I’ve tried to capture in this book. Here in all his mystery is the principal human being who ever gained
enlightenment, who spent his long life trying to wake up the rest of us. Everything he knew , he knew from arduous, sometimes bitter experience. He went through extreme suf fering—almost to the death—and emer ged
with something incredibly precious. Buddha literally became the truth. “Whoever sees me sees the teaching,” he said, “and whoever sees the
teaching sees me.”I wrote this book as a sacred journey , fictionalized in many of its
externals but psychologically true, I hope, to what the seeker ’s path feels
like. In all three phases of his life—Siddhartha the prince, Gautama the
monk, and Buddha the Compassionate One—he was as mortal as you and I,
yet he attained enlightenment and was raised to the rank of an immortal. The miracle is that he got there following a heart as human as yours and
mine, and just as vulnerable. Deepak Chopra
OceanofPDF .comPART ONE
SIDDHARTHA THE PRINCE
OceanofPDF .com1
The Kingdom of Sakya, 563 BCE
One crisp spring day King Suddhodana turned in his saddle to survey the
battlefield. He needed a weakness to exploit, and he was confident the
enemy had left one for him. They always did. His senses were closed to
everything else. Screams of the wounded and dying were heightened by the
hoarse commands of his of ficers bellowing orders and calling on the gods
for help. T orn by hooves and elephants’ feet, cut by iron-rimmed chariot
wheels, the land oozed blood as if the earth itself were mortally wounded. “More soldiers! I want more soldiers now!”
Suddhodana didn’ t wait for anyone to obey . “If any man within the
sound of my voice runs away , I will kill him personally!”
Charioteers and infantry moved toward the king, battered figures so
filthy with fighting they could have been demiur ges fashioned from the
mud of the field. Suddhodana was a warrior king, and the first thing to know about him is
this: he mistook himself for a god. Along with his army , the king would
kneel in the temple and pray before he went to war , but he put no trust in
divine help. Leaving the gates of the capital behind, Suddhodana turned his
head for one last look at home. But as the miles lengthened from
Kapilavastu, his mood changed. By the time he came to the battlefield, its
roiling activity and the smells that assaulted his nostrils—straw and blood,soldiers’ sweat and dying horses—carried Suddhodana into another world. It smothered him completely in the belief that he could never lose. The present campaign wasn’ t of his doing. Ravi Santhanam, a northern
warlord along the Nepalese border , had taken one of Suddhodana’ s trade
caravans in a surprise attack. Suddhodana’ s retaliation came almost
immediately . Even though the warlord’ s men had the advantage of the high
ground and home terrain, Suddhodana’ s forces steadily chewed into their
holdings. Horses and elephants trampled over the fallen, dead or still alive
but too weak to escape. Suddhodana guided his mount next to the belly of a
rearing bull elephant, narrowly avoiding the massive feet as they plunged
downward. Half a dozen arrows had pierced it, driving the beast into a
frenzy . “I want a new line of chariots, close file!” He had seen where the enemy
front was exhausted and ready to buckle. A dozen more chariots pulled up
in advance of the infantry . Their metal-bound wheels clattered across the
hard ground. The charioteers had archers standing behind them who
unleashed arrows into the warlord’ s army . “Make a moving wall,” Suddhodana shouted. “I want to crush their
line.”
His charioteers were experienced veterans; they were hard-faced,
merciless men. Suddhodana rode slowly before them, ignoring the strife
only a short distance away . He spoke quietly . “The gods command that
there can be only one king. But I swear that I am no better than a common
soldier today , and you are as good as kings. Each man here is part of me. So
what’ s left for the king to say? Only two words, but they are the two that
your hearts want to hear . Victory . And home! ” Then his command cracked
like a whip. “All together—move!”
Both armies rushed screaming into the breach like opposing oceans. Violence brought contentment to Suddhodana. His sword whirled as he split
a man’ s head with a single blow . His wall was advancing, and if the gods
willed it, as they had to will it, the enemy forces would open, one corpse ata time, until Suddhodana’ s infantry moved in, a tight wedge gliding forward
on enemy blood. The king would have scof fed at anyone who denied that he
was at the very center of the world. AT THA T HOUR  Suddhodana’ s queen was being carried in a litter through the
depths of the forest. She was ten months pregnant, a sign, the astrologers
said, that the baby would be extraordinary . But in Queen Maya’ s mind
nothing was extraordinary except the anxiety that surrounded her . She had
decided, much too impetuously , to travel back to her mother ’s home to have
her baby . Suddhodana hadn’ t wanted to let her go. It was the custom for new
mothers to go home to deliver , but he and Maya were inseparable. He was
tempted to refuse, until in her guileless way Maya asked his permission in
front of the assembled court. The king couldn’ t refuse his queen publicly ,
despite the dangers involved. “Who will accompany you?” he asked with an edge of harshness,
hoping to frighten her away from this foolhardy plan. “My women.”
“Women?”
He raised his hand in grudging assent. “Y ou’ll have some men, whoever
can be spared.” Maya smiled and withdrew . Suddhodana didn’ t want to
argue, because in truth his wife mystified him. Making her afraid of danger
was futile. The physical world was like a thin membrane she glided over , as
a midge glides over the surface of a pond without breaking the water ’s skin. Therefore, the world could touch Maya, move her , hurt her , but never
change her . The queen departed from Kapilavastu a day before the army . Kumbira,
the eldest court lady , rode at the head of the procession as it moved through
the forest. It was a meager company , consisting of six soldiers too old to
serve in the war astride six nags too weak to char ge the enemy . After themcame four litter bearers, who had taken of f their shoes to negotiate the stony
path, shouldering the tasseled and beaded palanquin bearing the young
queen. Maya made no sound hidden behind the swaying silk drapes, except
for a stifled moan whenever a bearer stumbled and the litter took a sharp
jolt. Three young ladies-in-waiting, who grumbled in low voices about
having to walk, brought up the rear . Gray-haired Kumbira kept her gaze moving, aware of the dangers that
lurked on both sides. This road, which was just a narrow cut in the granite
slope, had begun as a smuggler ’s trail when poached deer hides, spices, and
other contraband were traf ficked to Nepal; it was still favored by bandits. Tigers were known to snatch their prey from terrified bands of travelers in
this area, even in the brightest hour of the day . To ward them of f, the
bearers wore masks facing backward on their heads, believing that a tiger
will only leap from the rear , never directly at a person who is looking at it. Kumbira rode up the trail until she was abreast of Balgangadhar , the
head guard. The warrior regarded her stoically , wincing a little when the
queen cried out again. “She can’ t hold out much longer ,” Kumbira said. “And I can’ t make the road any shorter ,” Balgangadhar grumbled. “What you can do is hurry ,” she snapped. Kumbira knew he was
ashamed at not being with the king in battle, but Suddhodana wanted one
elite guard to honor his wife. With the slightest bow from the shoulders that etiquette permitted, the
guard said, “I’ll scout up ahead for camp. The locals say there’ s a
woodcutter ’s clearing with some huts in it.”
“No, we move together ,” Kumbira protested. “There are other men here to protect you while I’m gone.”
“Really?” Kumbira cast a critical eye over her shoulder at the ragged
band. “And who will protect them, do you suppose?” 
THEY WILL TELL YOU  that Maya Devi—the goddess Maya, as she became
known—arrived by moonlight in Lumbini Grove, one of the most sacred
sites in the kingdom. They will tell you that she did not give birth in the
forest by accident. Destiny guided her there. She expressly wanted to visit
the sacred grove because a huge tree stood there like a pillar to the mother
goddess. Maya’ s premonition had told her that this birth would be sacred. In reality she was a frightened, fragile young woman who barely
escaped being lost in the wilderness. And the sacred tree? Maya clung to
the trunk of a lar ge sal tree because it was the closest and most common
tree in the clearing. Balgangadhar had found a sheltered place beside the
trail, and the royal palanquin arrived there only moments before Maya went
into the final stages of labor . The court ladies formed a close circle around
her. She held on tight, and deep in the night she was delivered of the son her
husband the king so desperately wanted. Kumbira died long before the legends grew , so she is not pictured in
them, barking commands to the scurrying women, shooing away the men,
nearly scalding herself to bring a kettle of water on the run from the bonfire. It was she who first held the baby . Tenderly she scrubbed the blood from his
tiny body , making the squalling newborn ready to show to Maya. The queen
lay quietly on the ground, almost listless. The first nursing, an important
ritual in the native custom, would come in the morning. Despite the baby’ s
apparent good health, Kumbira was worried, made anxious by every
nocturnal sound but most of all by Maya’ s labor , which had been too long
and painful. “Now my husband can die happy ,” Maya whispered in a tired, weak
voice. “And I will not be cursed when I am gone.” Kumbira started. How
could Maya think about death at that moment? Kumbira’ s eyes searched the
darkness surrounding their stranded camp. The younger court ladies were
full of praise for the brave new mother , relieved that the ordeal had come to
an end, buoyant at the prospect of returning home to their soft beds and
paramours. Their happiness increased when the full moon, an auspicious
omen, rose over the treetops.“Here, Y our Highness,” said Utpatti, one of the handmaidens, leaning
close. “There is something you must do.”
Before anyone could stop her , Utpatti opened Maya’ s robe and exposed
her breasts. Embarrassed and confused, Maya quickly pulled her robe
together again with one hand. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Utpatti drew back. “It will help with the milk, Y our Highness,” she
whispered, looking unsure of herself. She gave sidelong glances at the other
women. “Having moonlight on your breasts. Country women all know
that.”
“Are you from the country?” Maya asked. The others tittered. Making a show of not being bothered by them,
Utpatti said, “Once.”
Maya leaned back again and exposed her full breasts to the moon. They
were heavy with milk already . “I feel something,” she murmured. Her mood had changed; a note of
ecstasy was in her voice, clearing away the pain. If she wasn’ t a goddess
herself, she exulted in being touched by a goddess, the moon. She took her
infant and held him up. “See how quiet he is now? He feels it too.” At that moment Maya
believed in her heart that her wishes had been fulfilled. There is a name in
Sanskrit that expresses this idea. She lifted the baby higher . “Siddhartha,” she said. He who has attained all desir es. Recognizing
the solemnity of the moment, the court ladies bowed their heads, even the
ever-wary Kumbira. OceanofPDF .com2
The gray rain blanketed Suddhodana and his men as the towers of home
loomed over them. The sentry shouted from his post, and the great wooden
gates of the capital opened. “Look sharp!” ser geants shouted down the line. Few citizens had turned out to greet them. Suddhodana knew that the
huddled clumps of women lining the street were there to search the army
with anxious faces, praying that their husbands and sons were still among
the living. That morning the queen had awakened at dawn in case her husband
returned early , but then the rains set in, slowing everything. The trip down
from the mountains had passed in a kind of blurred ecstasy , which grew
stronger even as Maya’ s body began to fail. There was much whispering at
court because she had refused the services of a wet nurse. “It cannot be that
loving my child will kill me,” she said. Her mind returned to a dream that had visited her ten months ago. It
began with Maya waking up in her private bedchamber . She shaded her
eyes against a light that had appeared in the room. Out of the light emer ged
three angelic beings in the form of smiling young maidens. Sitting up,
Maya immediately recognized her visitors for what they were— devas,  or
celestial beings. The three devas gestured for her to join them. In wonder that they had
chosen her , Maya climbed from her warm bed to follow . With a glance over
their shoulders, they walked through the walls of her bedroom as though
through smoke. Maya never felt the wall as she too passed through it. On
the other side she was pulled faster , until the palace grounds and the worldbeyond blurred in passing. A brighter light loomed ahead, and in a moment
Maya saw that it was the sun reflected of f snow . Daylight dazzled across the
crystalline surface of a high mountain lake circled by sentinel peaks. The Himalayas (for she knew with certainty that the devas had brought
her there) had been distant, imposing presences all her life. Maya never
imagined being among them, and now the three maidens led her to a pebble
shore on the opposite side of the lake. Its surface was calm and mirror -
bright. The devas began disrobing her . Maya wasn’ t disconcerted; she grew
relaxed. Almost as quickly as they took her clothes away , they fit her with
the finest garments she had ever seen. W ith silent smiles they reached out to
touch Maya’ s belly . The contact was warm and exciting. She stepped into
the water of the lake, deeper and deeper . Then she awoke, finding herself
sitting up in bed as if she’d never left it. Except that her bedchamber was
filled by a creature whose eye captured her gaze. Expanding from the eye
was a whiteness that took the shape, as Maya’ s mind cleared from sleep, of
an enormous elephant as pale as snow . The creature looked at her with
warm, confident intelligence. Then it lifted its trunk in a kind of salute. Unexpectedly , a burning hunger filled Maya. Then she woke again, sitting
up in bed but alone. The unaccustomed desire was still within her and
wouldn’ t be denied. Quickly , almost shaking, she quit her bed, throwing on her robe, and ran
to her husband’ s bedchamber . In the dim candlelight, Suddhodana lay
twisted in the sheets. After their years of barren hopes for a son, he often
slept alone now . Another king might have taken a lover who could provide
him with a son. Another king might have simply had his wife murdered or
locked away as a madwoman to dissolve the marriage contract. But
Suddhodana hadn’ t done those things. He had remained as fierce and loyal
in love as in war . Tonight will be differ ent, Maya told herself. I have been blessed. Cautiously , not wanting to awake Suddhodana too suddenly , she lay beside
him on the bed. Gently she stroked his face, drawing him up from sleep. His
hands turned to fists at first, then his eyes opened and looked into hers. He
started to speak, but she laid a finger over his lips.She was not wild with desire, not its prisoner or slave. W ith her
husband’ s legs entwined with hers, she didn’ t want pleasure as much as
union. She encouraged him with words she never imagined saying. “Don’ t
make love to me like a king. Make love like a god.”
The ef fect was dramatic. Ur gently , he reached for her , and she saw the
wonder in his eyes. For so long their coupling had been perfunctory , neither
of them believing that anything would come of it. But tonight he felt some
of the strong belief that had awakened within her . When she was ready , she rolled her hips and took him inside her . Her
breath caught in her throat. The strange need within her reached a
crescendo. For a few moments she entered that darkness of bliss that
imitates immortality . Gradually she returned from it with a sigh, to find that
the king was holding her in a tight embrace. He pulled her to him as if
trying to meld his flesh completely with hers. They kissed and caressed;
only her exhaustion in delight kept Maya from speaking what she knew
with certainty: they had created a child. The dream had sustained her in the terrifying trip through the forest and
the pain of her labor . Now it was returning in more ghostly form every day . Her head sank into the pillow . It was still a lovely dr eam,  she thought, and
an escape from her great weariness. She even thought it would be better to
live in her dream forever , if only she could. IN THE ROY AL NURSER Y Suddhodana gazed down at his son with awe and
love. The baby had been presented to him in crimson silk swaddling
clothes. He was certain the infant recognized him; it even grew in his mind
that Siddhartha had kept his eyes shut until that moment, a fantasy no one
dared to correct. “Should he be sleeping this much? Why is his nose running? If he’ s left
alone for a moment, I will have someone whipped.” Suddhodana’ s demands
were incessant and maddening. As was the custom, Maya would be
quarantined for a month after the delivery , subject to cleansing and religious
rituals. Suddhodana chafed at this, but he could do nothing about it exceptsneak in by candlelight after the queen was asleep to gaze at her for a few
moments. He wondered if new mothers always looked so wan and weak. Suddhodana pushed his troubling thoughts aside. “Let him always be clothed in silk, and when they get soiled, throw
them away . If you run out of silk, tear apart the court ladies’ saris if you
have to.” Suddhodana wanted nothing with a hint of uncleanliness to touch
his son’ s skin. But silk was also a symbol, since Suddhodana was on the
Silk Road returning home when a messenger sent by Kumbira reached him
with the news that he had a son and a wife who were both alive. Every morning the king strode forward through the ring of women that
stood fanning the young prince with their shawls. Reaching down into the
cradle, he withdrew his son and held him aloft. He stripped of f the diaper . “Look at him.” Suddhodana displayed his son in all his naked glory . “Well made.” All of the ladies knew what he was referring to. Kakoli, the
royal nurse, started to mumble something agreeable. “Impressively made,” Suddhodana said. “Not that I have your
experience, Kakoli.” Suddhodana laughed and thought again how easy it
was with his son in his arms. “Don’ t blush, you old hypocrite. If he was
twenty years older and we could take forty years of f you, you’d fall of f your
feet running after it.”
Kakoli shook her head and said nothing. The handmaidens tittered and
blushed. Suddhodana was certain they were more entertained than
scandalized by his bluntness. ASITA AWOKE  in the forest thinking about demons. He hadn’ t for many
years. He could remember glimpsing one or two in the past, on the fringes
of a famine or a battle, wherever bodies were being harvested. He knew the
misery they caused, but misery was no longer Asita’ s concern. He had been
a forest hermit for fifty years. The af fairs of the world had been kept far
away , and he passed whole days in a hidden cave when he retreated even
from the af fairs of animals, much less those of men.Now Asita knelt by a stream and considered. He distinctly saw demons
in his mind’ s eye. They had first appeared in the dappled sunlight that fell
on his eyelids at dawn. Asita slept on boughs strewn over the bare ground,
and he liked the play of light and shadow across his eyes in the early
morning. His imagination freely saw shapes that reminded him of the
market village where he grew up. He could see hawking merchants, women
balancing water jugs on their heads, camels and caravans—anything, really
—on the screen of his closed eyes. But never demons, not before this morning. Asita walked into the nearly
freezing mountain stream, his body naked except for a loincloth. As an
ascetic, he did not wear clothes, not even the robes of a monastic order . Lately he had felt an impulse to travel very high, nearly in sight of the
snowcapped peaks on the northern border of the Sakya kingdom. Which put
him close to other lokas,  worlds apart from Earth. Every mortal is confined
to the Earth plane, but like the dense air of the jungle tapering gradually
into the thin atmosphere of the mountains, the material world tapered of f
into subtler and subtler worlds. Devas had their own lokas, as did the gods
and demons. Ancestors dwelt in a loka set apart for spirits in transition from
one lifetime to the next. Asita had been raised on this knowledge. He knew also that all these
planes mer ged into each other like wet dyed cloths hung too close on the
line, the blue bleeding into the red, the red into the saf fron yellow . Lokas
were apart and together at the same time. Demons could move among
humans, and often did. The reverse, a mortal visiting the demon loka, was
much rarer . He plunged his head under the water , then flung it back, sending long
streams dripping from his uncut beard and hair . On days when he needed
food, Asita carried his begging bowl down into one of the villages. Not
even the youngest child was frightened to see a naked old man on the street
with hair and beard down to his waist. Ascetics were a normal sight, and it
was a sacred duty , if a wandering hermit showed up at one’ s door near
sunset, to of fer food and hospitality . Asita wasn’ t hungry this day , however . There were other ways to keep
the prana,  or life current, going. If he did visit the demon loka, it wouldtake enormous prana to sustain his body . There would be no air for his
lungs to breathe among the demons. He allowed the brilliant Himalayan sun to dry his body as he walked
above the tree line. Demons do not literally live on mountaintops, but Asita
had learned special powers that allowed him to penetrate the subtle world. He had to get as far away as possible from human beings to exercise these
abilities. The atmosphere was dense around population. In Asita’ s eyes a
quiet village was a seething cauldron of emotions; every person—except
only small infants—was immersed in a fog of confusion, a dense blanket of
fears, wishes, memories, fantasy , and longing. This fog was so thick that the
mind could barely pierce it. But in the mountains Asita could find a bedrock of silence. Sitting in
that enveloping emptiness, he could direct his mind, as clean as the flight of
an arrow , to any object or place. It was really the mind that went to the
demon loka, but Asita had such one-pointed clarity that he could travel with
it. And so it came about that the demon king Mara found himself staring at
a most unwelcome intruder . He glared at the naked old man sitting in lotus
position before his throne. Nothing like it had happened in a long while. “Go away ,” Mara growled. “Just because you got here doesn’ t mean
you can’ t be destroyed.” The old man didn’ t move. His yogic concentration
must have been strong, because his lean brown body , as tough as the sinew
showing under its skin, grew sharper in outline. Mara would have
commanded some lesser demons to torment the intruder , but these hermits
weren’ t so easily dismissed, so Mara bided his time. After a moment the old man’ s eyes opened. “Y ou do not welcome me?”
His voice was mild, but Mara read irony in it. “No! There’ s nothing for you here.” The dead and departed passed
through Mara’ s hands, but it displeased him to meet mortals under any other
circumstances.“I didn’ t come for myself. I came for you,” the old man said. He rose
and looked around. The demon loka is a world as varied as the material
world, and it has its regions of greater and lesser pain. Since torment did not
threaten Asita, he beheld only a dense, noxious fog surrounding him. “I
bring you news.”
“I doubt it.” Mara moved restlessly in his seat. As temple paintings
often depict him, his throne was made of skulls. His body was red with
flames spitting around it, and instead of one horrible face he possessed four ,
which turned like a weathervane, presenting fear , temptation, disease, and
death. “Someone is coming to meet you. Soon, very soon,” Asita said. “Millions have met me,” Mara shrugged. “Who are you?”
“I am Asita.” The old hermit stood up and faced Mara directly . “Buddha
is coming.” This caused a slight tremor , nothing more, to run through
Mara’ s body . Asita noticed it. “I knew you would be intrigued.”
“I doubt you know anything.” Mara wasn’ t simply being arrogant. T o
him, Asita was a blank. There was nothing to hold on to, no ground for
temptation or fear to stand on. “Who picked you as messenger? Y ou’re
deluded.”
Asita ignored this and repeated the word that had made Mara tremble. “Buddha is coming. I hope you’re prepared.”
“Silence!”
Until that moment Mara had paid as much attention to Asita as to a
small seasonal famine or an insignificant plague. Now he leaped from his
throne and shrank to human size, keeping only one of his four demonic
faces, death. “What if he comes? He’ll abandon the world, just as you did. Nothing more.”
“If you believe that, then you have for gotten what Buddha can do,”
Asita said calmly .“Really? Look!” Mara opened his mouth, which was solid blackness
behind his fangs. The blackness expanded, and Asita could see the mass of
suffering that Mara embodied. He saw a web of souls caught in turmoil, a
tangle of war and disease and every version of pain that the demons could
devise. When he felt that the spectacle had had its ef fect, Mara slowly closed
his mouth again, and the darkness receded back inside him. “Buddha?” he
said contemptuously . “I’ll make them think that he’ s the demon.” The
prospect brought a smile. “Then let me speak as a friend, and I will tell you your fatal weakness,”
Asita said. He sat down in lotus position, folding his legs over each other ,
making the mudra  of peace with his thumb and forefinger . “Being the
monarch of fear , you’ve for gotten how to be afraid yourself.”
Enraged by this insult, Mara roared and swelled to monstrous size as the
hermit suddenly faded away . He could feel the possibility of Buddha like
the faintest light before dawn. Still, Mara was blind. He believed humans
would ignore yet another pure soul. This was a mistake. The child on the
horizon would be noticed because what he stood for was destiny . OceanofPDF .com3
The silk curtains to Maya’ s chamber parted, and Kumbira rushed out. The
only thing she could be grateful for was that no one else knew yet. Her
slippers padded quickly , quietly down the corridor . Night had fallen. The
seventh day of the full moon was rising after the baby prince’ s birth, casting
bars of ghostly light onto the polished teak floors of the palace. Kumbira
paid no attention. After dinner Suddhodana had retired to the nursery to be alone with his
son. When Kumbira ran in, breathless and speechless, her face wore an
expression he had seen only once before, when his father , the old king—
“No!”
The cry sprang from him involuntarily . Horror chased the gladness from
his heart and clamped tight bands around his chest. Sorrowfully , Kumbira drew her sari over her head to mask her face. Tears dripped from her tired eyes. “What have you monsters done to her?” Suddhodana demanded. He
swept past Kumbira, knocking her to the ground with a glancing blow . At
the canopied bed, the king tore the drawn sheets away to reveal his wife. Maya looked as if she only slept, but the stillness that claimed her was
complete. Suddhodana dropped to his knees and took her hands, whose
coolness seemed temporary , the kind he could rub away whenever she felt a
chill. Involuntarily he started to rub them now .Kumbira allowed an hour to pass before she crept into the room with a
retinue of court ladies. They were there to console but also to bring dignity . Grief, like everything else surrounding a king, was a matter of ritual. The
moment Suddhodana consented to leave, attendants were prepared with
ointments, winding sheets, and ceremonial marigolds to adorn the body . The wailing women were on call, and of course a dozen Brahmins with
prayers and censers. “Highness.” W ith a word, Kumbira brought all this to the king’ s
attention. Suddhodana looked up blankly . Kumbira waited a moment to see
if she would have to repeat herself. As he gently placed Maya’ s arm across
her chest, Suddhodana shuddered. It wasn’ t just that his wife had often slept
that way , one arm folded across herself, the other across him. It was also
that the king felt a slight stif fness creeping into Maya’ s limbs. T ouch being
the sense most cherished by lovers, he knew that he could never touch her
again. He nodded curtly , and the wailing in the corridors began. Grief is to demons what music is to mortals. Unseen and unheard, Mara
walked through the palace. The formality of death is strict. Y ama, the lord
of death, is aware of every last breath, and he gives permission for the jiva,
or individual soul, to pass into the other world. The lords of karma await to
assign the next lifetime, sitting in judgment over the person’ s good and bad
actions. Cosmic justice is meted out by the devas, the celestial beings who
lavish the soul with rewards for good actions, and the asuras,  or demons,
who rain down punishment for wrongdoing. Demons do not have a free
hand, however . The law of karma is precise and exacts only the punishment
that is deserved, not an ounce more. This made Mara’ s presence unnecessary , since Maya was already in the
care of the three devas who had come to her in her dream and who met her
again as she took her last breath. T o die in one world brings birth in another . But Maya lingered in her body as long as she could. She willed her last
spark of life ener gy to flow through her hand to Suddhodana as he knelt by
the bed clutching it. None of this concerned Mara, however . He walked past her bedchamber
and directed his steps farther , to the nursery , which was now empty of
nurses, guards, and priests. The new baby was completely unprotected.Mara crossed to the cradle and peered down at the wide-eyed child. The
young prince lay on his back with his throat bared to the first predator that
walked by . But even the king of demons cannot cause physical harm directly . Demons’ work is to amplify the mind’ s suffering. Mara would try to do that
with this child, since no baby is born without the seeds of pain in its mind. Gazing down at the cradle, Mara let his face slide through a number of
nightmarish masks. You’ll never see your mother again,  Mara thought. She’s
gone away , and they ar e hurting her . Siddhartha kept his gaze fixed, yet
Mara was sure that the baby had heard. In fact, Siddhartha recognized him. Mara was sure of it. “Good,” the demon said. “Y ou showed up.”
He leaned closer to whisper in the baby’ s ear. “Tell me what you want. I’m listening.” This was always the key , to play upon your opponent’ s
desire. “Can you hear me in there?” The baby kicked his feet. “So many souls need you,” Mara said wistfully , resting his arms on the
cradle. “But here’ s the joke.” He paused to lean in closer . “When you fail,
they’ll wind up with me! I’m letting you in on the secret so you won’ t say I
was unfair . Become a saint. It will only make you a better instrument of
destruction. W on’t that be delicious?” As if in answer to his question, the
wailing over the dead queen grew louder . The baby looked away and fell
quickly asleep. FUNEREAL SMOKE , oily and thick, twisted through the air and tainted the
sky as Maya’ s body burned atop the huge pile of sandalwood logs that had
been chopped from the forest. The ghatraj,  king of the funeral site, was a
huge, sweaty man. His face reddened as he shouted orders for more wood, a
higher flame, more melted ghee to pour over the body . The ghee had been
churned from the milk of sacred cows. Priests walked slowly around the
pyre chanting while the wailing women tossed thousands of marigolds into
the fire. Behind them hired mourners whipped themselves in their grief and
endlessly circled the body .The spectacle made Suddhodana sick. He had defied the Brahmins by
not taking Maya down to the ghats by the river . On his orders the funeral
pyre had been built in the royal gardens. Maya had remembered playing
there as a child, when noble girls from the region were brought to court on
the chance that any might please young Suddhodana. It was fitting that her
last resting place would be somewhere she loved. Secretly Suddhodana
knew that this was a gesture born of guilt as much as of love. He was the
one who still had a future. Canki, the highest Brahmin, finished the rites by lifting an ax in the air . The most sacred moment had arrived, when he would pray for the release of
Maya’ s soul while Suddhodana smashed the remains of her skull to release
the spirit inside. The king approached the pyre, his expression stony . He
glanced down at a necklace in his fist crafted of rubies and gold. He’d given
it to Maya on their wedding night, and now he gently placed it next to the
skull. When Suddhodana turned away without raising the ax, Canki didn’ t
hesitate to put his hand on the king’ s arm—for the moment, he was ruler
here. “You must.”
Suddhodana held no deep contempt for the priesthood, and he knew that
he had broken a sacred custom when his role was to uphold it. But at that
moment the priest’ s touch revolted him. He turned his back and walked
steadily toward the palace. A woman was blocking his path. “Y ou must look on him, Y our Majesty . Please.”
In the moment it took for him to hear these words, Suddhodana realized
that Kakoli the nurse was blocking his way . She carried Siddhartha in her
arms and hesitantly pushed him forward. T ears glittered in her eyes. “He’ s
precious. He’ s a gift.” Since his wife’ s death, the king had had nothing to do
with his son. He couldn’ t help feeling that if the boy had never been born,
his wife would yet live.“I should look at him? Let him look at this.”
Suddhodana glared at the nurse as he snatched the infant from her . The
baby started to cry as his father lifted him above the heads of the mourners,
giving him a good look at the smoldering corpse. “Sire!” Kakoli tried to grab the child back, but Suddhodana fended her
off. Everyone turned around to stare. Suddhodana defied them with a look. “His mother died!” he shouted. “I have nothing left.” He wheeled on
Kakoli. “Is that part of the gift?” The old nurse covered her mouth with one
shaking hand. Her weakness only enraged Suddhodana further . He took a
step toward her and was glad to see her shrink back from his threat. “Stop
sniveling. Let Siddhartha behold what this filthy world is really like.”
He handed the baby back and strode toward the palace. He entered the
great hall, his eyes looking for a new tar get that would promise more fight
than women and priests. Suddhodana needed a battle right now , something
he could throw himself at with abandon. He stopped short at what he saw . An old charwoman was kneeling on
the floor , scraping ashes out of the fireplace with her gnarled hands. Gray ,
unkempt hair hung down in her rheumy eyes. When she looked at him, she
smiled, revealing a toothless maw . Suddhodana trembled. His own personal
demon was here. He stood frozen in place, wondering bleakly what harm
she meant him. The old crone shook her head as if in sympathy . Slowly she took a
fistful of ash from the cold embers and held it over her head, letting the ash
trickle down into her hair . She was mocking the mourners outside and him
at the same time. Your poor , beautiful wife. W e have her now . And we love her as much as
you did. The char rubbed ash in her face, making dark streaks and smudges until
only her wrinkled mouth and piercing eyes were left untouched. She had
him trapped. If he broke down, releasing all his pent-up grief and horror , itwould open a breach that the demons could exploit. Every time he thought
of Maya his mind would be invaded by hideous images. But if he resisted
her, clamping down his grief with steel bands, there would never be a
release, and the demons would hover around him. The crone knew all this and waited for his reaction. Suddhodana’ s eyes
lost their anxiety and became hard as flint. In his mind’ s eye he conjured up
Maya’ s face, then he took an ax and smashed her memory , once and for all. The air around him stank of funeral smoke drifting in from the garden. He
had made the warrior ’s choice. A HUNDRED OIL LAMPS  flickered in the reception hall, each one held high as
courtiers craned for a better look. At first the spectacle had been fairly calm,
but when the animal sacrifices began, the cries of baby goats and the
gleaming of knives changed the atmosphere. Restless now , the courtiers
began to mill around, raising a clamor over the chanting Brahmins. In the middle of the melee stood Suddhodana, growing impatient. It was
the of ficial naming ceremony for his new son, and also the time when the
baby’ s birth chart would be read aloud by the court astrologers, the
jyotishis. Siddhartha’ s destiny would be pronounced and his whole life
affected from this moment on. But pronounce was the one thing they
weren’ t doing. Instead, the four old men bent over the cradle, stroking their
beards, mouthing ambiguous commonplaces. “V enus is beneficly placed. The tenth house shows promise, but the full moon is aligned with Saturn;
his mind will take time to develop.”
“How many of you are still alive?” Suddhodana grumbled. “Four? I
thought there used to be five.”
The implied threat was empty . Astrologers were strange but revered
creatures, and the king knew it was dangerous to cross them. They belonged
to the Brahmin caste, and although the king could hire them, he was only of
the Kshatriya caste, which meant that in the eyes of God they were his
superiors. After Maya’ s funeral Suddhodana had spent days alone, refusing
to unbolt his bedroom door . But there was a kingdom to look after , a line ofsuccession to hold up to the world and his lurking enemies. It would be a
sign of weakness for Suddhodana’ s entire lineage if the astrologers had
anything dark to say . “Is he safe, or is he going to die? T ell me now ,” Suddhodana demanded. The eldest jyotishi shook his head. “It was the mother ’s karma to die,
but the son is safe.” These words were potent; everyone in the room heard
and believed them. They would deter a potential assassin, in case someone
had been hired to clandestinely murder the prince. Now the stars predicted
the failure of any such attempt. “Go on,” the king demanded. The nearby clamor subsided in
anticipation. “The chart belongs to one who will become a great king,” the eldest
jyotishi intoned, making sure that these words too were heard by as many
people as possible. “Why didn’ t you say so to begin with? Get on with it. Let’ s have it all.”
Suddhodana was barking impatiently , but inside he felt tremendous relief. The astrologers glanced nervously at one another . “There are…
complications.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” Suddhodana glared, daring them to take back
a word of their prediction. The eldest jyotishi cleared his throat. Canki, the
high Brahmin, moved in closer , sensing that he might have to intervene. “Do you trust us, Y our Highness?” the eldest jyotishi asked. “Of course. I’ve only executed one astrologer , maybe two. What do you
mean to say?”
“The chart foresees that your son will not rule Sakya.” Dramatic pause
as the king cursed under his breath. “He will hold dominion over the four
corners of the earth.”At this, general consternation broke out. Courtiers gasped, a few
applauded, most were stunned. The jyotishi’ s words had their intended
effect. But Suddhodana stif fened. “How much am I paying you? T oo much. Y ou expect me to believe
such a thing?” He forced a bemused tone. He wanted to test the old man’ s
resolve. Before the jyotishi could find a reply , however , there was a stirring in
the crowd. The oil lamps, which had moved back and forth in the air like
wandering stars, became still. Courtiers parted and bowed, making way for
someone who had just entered the room—an eminence. Asita, Asita. Suddhodana didn’ t have to hear the whispered name as it was passed
along. He knew Asita on sight; they had met long ago. When Suddhodana
was seven, he had been woken up by guards in the middle of the night. A
pony was waiting for him beside his father , who rode a black char ger. The
old king said nothing, only nodding for the retinue to move forward. Suddhodana felt nervous, as his father often made him feel. They rode in a
pack of guardsmen toward the mountains, and just when the boy thought he
would fall asleep in the saddle, the old king stopped. He had the boy placed
in his arms, and they went alone up a scree slope toward a cave above their
heads. The mouth of the cave was hidden behind brush and fallen boulders,
but his father seemed to know where to go. He stood in the dawn light and called, “Asita!” After a moment a naked
hermit came out, neither obedient nor defiant. “Y ou have blessed my family
for generations. Now bless my son,” the king said. The boy stared at the
naked man, who appeared by his beard, which was not yet completely gray ,
to be no more than fifty . How could he have blessed anyone for
generations? Then the old king set him on his feet; Suddhodana ran forward
and knelt before the hermit. Asita leaned over . “Do you really want a blessing?” The boy felt
confused. “T ell me truthfully .”Suddhodana had received many blessings in his short lifetime; the
Brahmins were summoned if the heir apparent had so much as a runny
nose. “Y es, I want your blessing,” he said automatically . Asita gazed at him. “No, you want to kill. And conquer .” The boy tried
to protest, but Asita cut him short. “I am only telling you what I see. Y ou
don’t need a blessing to destroy .” As he said these words, the hermit held
his hand over the boy’ s head, as if administering what had been asked for . He nodded toward the old king, who stood some distance away out of
earshot. “Take death’ s blessing,” Asita said. “It’ s the one you deserve, and it will
serve you well in the future. Go.”
Bewildered but not of fended, the boy got to his feet and ran back to his
father , who seemed satisfied. But as time unfolded, the boy came to see that
his father was a weak king, vassal to rulers around him who dominated with
stronger will and greater armies. He came to be ashamed of this fact, and
although he never quite knew what Asita meant by death’ s blessing,
Suddhodana did not object when his own nature turned out to be fierce and
ambitious. “You honor us.” Suddhodana dropped to his knees as Asita approached. The hermit looked older now , but not three decades older , the time since
they had last met. Asita ignored the king and walked directly to the cradle. He glanced down, then he turned to face the jyotishis. “The chart.” Asita waited until the scroll of sheepskin was passed to
him. He gazed at it for a moment. “A great king. A great king.” Asita repeated the words in a flat,
emotionless voice. “He will never be.”
Tense silence. Asita replied, “What do I care about thrones?” He might have been
indifferent to the king, but Asita could not take his eyes away from the
baby .“Without a doubt there is a great ruler in his chart,” the eldest jyotishi
insisted. “Do you not see that?” Suddhodana asked anxiously . But the hermit acted strangely . Without replying, he knelt before the
baby with his head bowed. Siddhartha, who had been quiet up to now , took
an interest in this new person; he kicked his feet, and one of them brushed
the top of Asita’ s head. Suddenly tears began to roll down Asita’ s cheeks. Suddhodana bent down to lift him to his feet. The revered ascetic allowed
this gesture, which under normal circumstances would have been a serious
affront to a holy man. “What did you ask?” he said, seeming like a withered old man at that
moment. “My son—why will he not rule? If he’ s fated to die, tell me.”
Asita looked at the king as if noticing him for the first time. “Y es, he
will die—to you.” The court stirred restlessly , but Suddhodana, who should
have asked all this in private, was beyond caring who overheard. “Explain
yourself,” he said. Asita paused, seeing confusion and dismay in the king’ s face. “The boy
has two destinies. Y our jyotishis were right about only one.”
Although he was speaking to the father , Asita’ s gaze never moved from
the infant. “Y our will is to make him a king. He may grow up to choose the
other way . His second destiny .”
Suddhodana looked totally bewildered. “What is this second destiny?”
“To rule his own soul.” A relieved smile crossed the king’ s face. “Y ou
think that’ s so easy?” said Asita. “I think only a fool would exchange the world for such a destiny , and I
will make damn sure my son isn’ t a fool.”“Once he dies to you, you will be sure of nothing.” The king’ s smile
vanished. “Y ou’re making a mistake. Ruling the world is child’ s play . To
truly rule your soul is like ruling creation. It is above even the gods.”
The old hermit wasn’ t finished. “Y ou too are in his chart. It says you
will either suf fer over your son as no father ever has or you will bow down
before him.”
Suddhodana’ s disbelief was a roar . “You’re wrong, old monk. I can turn
him into what I want.” Suddhodana’ s face was mottled with rage. “Now get
out! All of you!”
Even for gossip-hungry courtiers, the drama had been too much. Half
the oil lamps had already sputtered out. In the dim light their retreating
figures looked like insubstantial shadows bowing their way out of the king’ s
presence. The jyotishis led the way with profuse apologies and anxious
blessings. Canki wanted to be last in the room, but he found it politic to go
when the king glared daggers at him. After a moment only Asita was left. With the audience gone, Suddhodana could speak freely . “Is all that you
said true? Is there nothing I can do?”
“No matter what I say , you will do it anyway .” Without reproof, Asita
began to leave, only to be held back once more. “Tell me just one thing. Why did you weep tears when you saw my
son?” asked Suddhodana. “Because I will not live long enough to hear the immortal truth that
Buddha will speak,” Asita said. OceanofPDF .com4
The next morning Suddhodana rode his warhorse up the hillside toward
the imposing Shiva temple his father had built on the crest. The king’ s
melancholy had changed overnight, replaced by determination. A score of
bullock carts were gathered outside the temple gates, the great patient
beasts searching lazily for grass sprouting from the earth packed hard by the
sandals of devotees. Suddhodana dismounted and let his horse graze with the bullocks. He
strode into the main temple courtyard, which was filled with milling
worshippers and sellers of sandalwood and ghee for ritual of ferings. A wed
eyes followed his progress, but Suddhodana had no time for ceremony . He
had ridden without an entourage because he had a secret purpose in mind;
he didn’ t summon Canki to the palace because he was too impatient to wait
for him. Now he burst into the inner sanctum, where the air was a heavy , sweet-
smelling pall. A lone priest was performing the ritual Rudravishek. Slowly
he poured ladles of milk over a tall polished stone, the Shiva lingam. The
liquid left a faint blue veil on the ancient river rock. In the darkness
Suddhodana’ s eyes narrowed; they stung from the residue of pitch and
incense hanging in the air . “Canki!”
The priest stopped the oblation and turned toward the bellowing voice. The king’ s eyesight had adjusted, and he recognized the high Brahminhimself at the altar . Some rich devotee, probably marrying a third or fourth
wife, had paid handsomely for the ceremony . After a glance Canki turned back to his task. “I’m not finished yet,” he
said. The king came up and seized the ladle from his hands. “Y ou are now .”
Canki bowed, then led the king away , padding silently over the stone
floor on bare feet. He was quite capable of defying royalty , protected by his
Brahmin privilege. Canki was solid and imposing, despite the rolls of fat
exposed as he went, bare-chested, across the cobbled courtyard toward the
cloister where the monks lived. The Brahmin lowered his heavy body onto
a leather stool inside his cell, pointedly not waiting for the king to take a
seat first. Suddhodana let the insult pass. “If you talk to God, you already
know why I’m here,” he said. “I know that God wishes to please you in every way , Your Highness.”
Canki gave a fawning smile meant to win over an angry king. “I want my son to rule the world.” Suddhodana said the words without
hesitation. “Is this possible?”
“Every father would want—”
Suddhodana stepped closer , magnifying the threat he posed. “No! Either
this is God’ s will or it’ s not. Y ou are to tell me. Much rests on this. More
than your life, in fact.”
The balance between castes was delicate. If the rulers had a political
reason to support religion, they did; if the priests needed to bring the people
under their sway , they exerted influence over the rulers by promises of
divine favor . Canki knew the system very well, and he also knew , despite
his high caste, whose hand rested on the sword. He said, “Y ou face many obstacles in this endeavor , Your Highness. But
it can be done.”“How?”
“Seek to control the infant prince’ s mind. He must be taught to think
like you. T o believe like you. And to lust as you lust.”
This last was a barb, but Suddhodana waited patiently , hearing truth in
the Brahmin’ s words. If anyone knew how to control others’ minds, Canki
did. “Train him well, as a complete warrior . Place his whole sense of worth
on fighting, and on you.” Canki paused. “Am I helping?”
Suddhodana realized at that moment why the jyotishis had been so
nervous. They had consulted the high Brahmin as soon as they cast
Siddhartha’ s chart. No doubt they could foretell the king’ s displeasure. “Is that all I have to do?” Suddhodana’ s tone was cutting; they both
knew his suspicion toward priests. “No. The most dif ficult part comes last.” Canki went to the window and
pointed outside at a lar ge stone statue of Shiva. “I am reminded of Lord
Shiva’ s story . You know it, of course.” This was another barb; the Brahmin
continued without waiting for a reply . “Venerable sages had gathered in the forest to meditate, and Lord Shiva
desired to learn from them. But he was mischievous, and he brought a
woman with him to their retreat. This was a test, for the woman was
actually Lord V ishnu in disguise. But the sages were too blinded with rage
to see this. They vowed to kill this sacrilegious intruder , so from the sacred
fire they engendered a monstrous tiger . The beast leaped upon Shiva, but
with one fingernail he stripped the tiger of his skin and wrapped it around
his shoulders. Then he thanked the sages for their courtesy in supplying him
with a meditation cloak. “The sages’ fury redoubled after this impudence. The sacred fire
absorbed their rage, and a second monster sprang out, this time an
enormous serpent. But Shiva choked it with his hands and wrapped the
carcass around his neck. He thanked the sages for providing him with anecklace. At that point they grew so furious that a third monster sprang
from the fire—”
“Stop!” Suddhodana’ s patience had reached its limit. “If you think what
I must do is too dif ficult, spare me your parables. Just tell me outright.”
“Make your son a total prisoner .”
The starkness of these words hit Suddhodana in his chest like a rock. Canki read his dismay and hurried on. “This is a soul whose spiritual tendencies will be almost uncontrollable,
and your only chance is when the boy is young. T o make Siddhartha into a
great king, never let him leave these walls,” the high Brahmin said. “He
must believe this is a paradise. If he once sees suf fering, your son will never
obey you again. Y ou’ll lose him forever .”
Suddhodana was stunned. “For how long must I do this?”
“Thirty-two years.”
“And there’ s no other way?” The king had become extremely
deliberate, as if weighing a death sentence. It revolted him to think that he
had acquired a conspirator . Someone who had power over him from this
day on. He felt smothered by the rage and helplessness whirling inside him. Involuntarily his sword arm moved, and the next instant he had the
Brahmin pinned to the floor with the edge of his blade. “Y ou think you’ve
achieved something today? Then remember the rest of Shiva’ s story . Out of
the sacred fire leaped a third monster , a hideous dwarf. Shiva pounced upon
it and held its throat under his heels, crushing it. Who was that dwarf?”
“Ignorance.” Canki choked out the word. “Don’ t prey upon my ignorance, then. I know more than you suppose.”
The king released the priest from underfoot. Suddhodana’ s nature couldn’ t
be held in check. It was only tempered by this gnawing desire, only a day
old but gripping at his spleen, to father the ruler of the world.He departed with one last word for Canki. “Just be sure that you live
long enough to see what I’ll do with you if this plan fails.”
Within the hour the king issued orders, dispersing his own people and
banishing them from his city . His son would never be allowed to see
suffering in any form—sickness, aging, or dying. Standing on the ramparts
of the castle, he could see long trains of wagons leaving Kapilavastu. The
rains had already come in torrents that washed away crops and flooded
houses. Those least likely to survive were the old and sick. Lepers were
hunched against the rain wrapped in dirty rags to cover their faces. Cripples
who could not walk the roads were tossed wholesale into supply wagons
from the army , with soldiers ordered to drive them far away and dump them
in remote villages. The oldest were sole survivors, and these were thrown
into separate army wagons. They were told that homes awaited them in a
better place, a cruel way of hinting at the reality—they would be abandoned
in the forest a day away . Only the nobles were exempted, and those under strict conditions. Venerable figures like the astrologers were sworn never to be seen by
Siddhartha at any time, under pain of banishment. Others not yet old could
remain at home, but if they grew ill or aged, they would be confined under
house arrest. All funerals would take place at night, without public
ceremony . The burning ghats were moved two miles downriver . Suddhodana knew how to or ganize a battle campaign, and the first rule is
that victory is more important than the costs it entails. This campaign would
be no dif ferent. Ruler of the four corners of the earth. He had memorized the words in
the chart. How would that feel? he wondered. After three days the great
wooden gates of Kapilavastu closed; the bitter cries of those who had to
leave and those who had to let them go were silenced. The job was
complete. THREE WOMEN CHASED  a small boy across the park. They ran over lawns
kept immaculate by slaves on their knees with clippers, through gardens
filled with flowering jasmine whose fallen blossoms were swept from thepath every morning. It wasn’ t a serious chase, but the boy , Siddhartha,
pretended it was. When he sped up or took a sudden zigzag, his pursuers
did too. But you didn’ t have to be seven years old to notice that they never
caught him. Not only that, but the three women always ran in the same order . First
came Prajapati in her gold-embroidered sari the color of peacock blue,
although on other days it could be vermilion or emerald. Prajapati was the
prince’ s aunt, sister to his dead mother . Suddhodana had formally given her
the status of a wife, but the two had no conjugal relations. The king was
paying honor to her and acknowledging her role as stepmother to the prince. The heavy gold bangles in her ears tinkled softly as Prajapati ran. Behind her came two peasant girls, considerably younger and slimmer than
Siddhartha’ s aunt. They wore coarse cotton saris with no embroidery , their
ears had small silver bangles in them, and they slowed down enough so that
Prajapati was always first. “Channa, Channa!” The boy called out his friend’ s name. On days like today , when the sun was out and the morning air was cool,
the world his father had built for him was big enough, and he didn’ t wonder
what lay beyond the high walls surrounding the palace grounds. “Prince, stop!” cried one of the aunties. “Oh, Prince, do come back!” another begged. Siddhartha veered toward the stables. He wasn’ t running away from the
women for recreation. He had made a discovery that he wanted to show
Channa. As long as he was supervised, the king allowed him this freedom. The stables were much better for a boy than a palace, anyway , and once he
crossed the threshold, Siddhartha’ s aunties always stopped short. Prajapati
had never set foot in a stable, and although the peasant girls certainly had,
their newfound station as royal servants prevented them from entering a
precinct where only males belonged.Hearing his name, Channa appeared at the stable door . He jumped and
waved his fists, encouraging Siddhartha on. If it had been him racing the
prince, he would have won easily , being taller and stronger despite the fact
that they were born the same week. Siddhartha dashed inside. “Hide!” he cried. There was no need for him to be hidden from anybody . The rules of the
chase were well known to all, but Channa grabbed Siddhartha by the arm
and pulled him inside, as if hauling a fellow soldier to safety inside an
armed fortress. The two boys raced past the stalls where warhorses were
kept when in heat or giving birth to spring foals. Their heels kicked up
clouds of dried dung that the sun turned into glowing auras around them. “Here!” Channa led the way to a feed bin. It smelled of fresh hay with a
sour undertone of rotted hay beneath. This was a favorite retreat since they
could burrow as deep into the hay as they wanted to escape detection. Siddhartha perched on top of a nearby bale and reached into his pants. He
pulled out a tiny creature. Channa’ s face fell. “It’ s just an ant,” he said, disappointed. “No, it isn’ t. Look closer .”
The feed bin was dim, but now Channa saw that the insect, a lar ge black
soldier ant common around the stables, was still clutching its prey , a dead
termite, in its jaws. The termite, which wore stif f papery wings, was newly
hatched and twice as lar ge as the ant. “Where did you find it?” asked Channa, still unimpressed. But he saw
that Siddhartha was excited. “By the water fort.” This referred to one of the floating pavilions on the
shore of a lotus pond in the park. “I saw the whole battle.”
The event had taken place that morning when Prajapati found
Siddhartha wandering away from the palace. He was sitting on the groundbeside the pavilion staring intently at the dirt. A string of black soldier ants
was clashing with sentry termites at the entrance of a small colony . Prajapati stopped a few feet away . “Who’ s winning?” she asked. “That doesn’ t matter . It’s something else.”
Siddhartha was staring at a particular soldier ant carrying a dead termite
in its jaws. The ant had reached an obstacle in its path, a lar ge pebble. The
pebble was five times the ant’ s size, and it was already carrying a load twice
its weight. For half a second the ant paused, then it started to climb up the
pebble. The way was too steep and it fell back, but this was no deterrent. The ant climbed up again, fell back again, climbed up a third time. “How foolish! It should just go around,” Prajapati said. Siddhartha shook his head. “The mighty don’ t go around.”
“Is an ant so mighty?”
The boy ignored her amused tone. “ He thinks he is. That’ s what
counts.”
“I could step on him. Then how mighty would he be?”
At that moment the boy said something quite surprising. “God could
step on my father , but he still thinks he’ s mighty .”
Prajapati was nonplussed. “It’ s not the same thing.”
“Why not?”
Siddhartha glanced at her with his wide brown eyes, eyes that had
seemed twice the normal size when he was an infant. But before his aunt
could reply , he returned to the ant, scooping it up in his hand. His whole
attention was focused on it. “If you think you’re mighty , that’ s all that
counts. No one is really mighty .”What a strange child you ar e, Prajapati thought, but she hid this from
Siddhartha, saying, “I never thought of it that way .”
“What do you think?” he now asked Channa, having told him
everything. Without a word his friend shot his hand forward and pinched the black
ant in half between two fingers. “I think we need to find a better game. That
one’s no good.”
He shoved Siddhartha into the hay , and when the prince came up
sputtering stalks of long grass, he shoved back. The boys’ tussle was
interrupted. “Channa!” The boys looked up as if on command from the god
of the stables. Bikram appeared at the gate of the feed bin, his bulk almost filling it. He wore a thick leather apron and metal-fitted leggings, as he always did in
mating season when a stallion could unexpectedly lash out with its hooves. Stooping, Bikram picked up a clod of horse manure and flung it at the
two peasant girls lingering at the stable door . Prajapati had left them to wait
until Siddhartha emer ged again. The girls squealed as the clod barely
missed them; they had already started backing away . Siddhartha and
Channa crowed in triumph. Bikram wasn’ t smiling. “I need you, boy .”
Channa ran after his father , who was the king’ s stablemaster when there
was no battle to fight. Not that there had been many since the birth of the
prince. The kingdoms of Kosala and Magadha to the east had made peace
with Suddhodana, and he had relinquished his need for raiding frontier
villages to add to his domain. Although he was less than half the size of his broad, beefy father ,
Channa’ s frame promised that same height and bulk one day . He could hear
commotion from a far stall that was dif ferent from horses in heat. Bikram
noticed that Siddhartha was trailing behind them. “Not you, young prince,”
he said. “Just the boy .”Siddhartha stopped short, confused. “Why not?”
“Because your father would have my hide. This isn’ t for your eyes.
Buddha_by_Deepak_Chopra.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        OceanofPDF. comBUDDHA
A Story of Enlightenment
Deepak Chopra
OceanofPDF. comContents
Author ’s Note
PART ONE
SIDDHAR THA THE PRINCE
1
One crisp spring day King Suddhodana turned in his saddle…
2
The gray rain blanketed Suddhodana and his men as the…
3
The silk curtains to Maya’ s chamber parted, and Kumbira rushed…
4
The next morning Suddhodana rode his warhorse up the hillside…
5
It took a moment before Siddhartha had enough presence of…
6
It took Devadatta most of the night to figure out…
7
You just might do. In a pinch. ”
8
The day after the banquet everyone’ s attention shifted to the…
9
The sky was divided between sun and clouds as the…
10
Sujata’ s disappearance wasn’ t discovered for several days. The first day…
PART TWO
GAUT AMA THE MONK
11
The skies had given plenty of warning all day. Clouds…12
Gautama passed several travelers on the road who could have…
13
The moment Gautama stepped into the small clearing, he knew…
14
Gautama wandered down the road, his whole being churning with…
15
One morning Ananda didn’ t find Gautama in his tent. Several…
PART THREE
BUDDHA
16
While he lay motionless on the ground, Gautama became dimly…
17
The sun rose, and Gautama found himself sitting on the…
18
The five monks had retreated to a forest glade near…
19
Buddha didn’ t spend the night in Kapilavastu but took the…
Epilogue
For a storyteller, it would be ideal if Buddha’ s life…
The Art of Non-Doing
After being inspired by Buddha’ s life, the most important thing…
 
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
OceanofPDF. comAuthor’s Note
Whoever sees me sees the teaching. —BUDDHA
In writing this book, I took a deep breath and created new characters and
incidents in the life of one of the most famous people who ever lived. Famous, but still very obscure. I wanted to bring Buddha out of the mists of
time, to fill him out in flesh and blood while still preserving his mystery. Fact blended into fantasy centuries ago in the story of the prince who
became a living god. Or is “god” the very thing he didn’ t want to be. W as
his deepest wish to disappear from the material world, remembered only as
an inspiration of perfection. The Buddha story, as it gathered momentum for two millennia, became
chock-full of miracles and gods that got stuck onto its surface. Speaking
about himself, Buddha never mentioned miracles or gods. He held a
doubtful view of both. He showed no interest in being revered as a
personality; none of his many sermons mentions his family life or gives
much personal information at all. Unlike Christ in the New T estament, he
certainly didn’ t see himself as divine. Instead, he saw himself as “someone who is awake,” which is what the
word Buddha  means. That’ s the person I’ve tried to capture in this book. Here in all his mystery is the principal human being who ever gained
enlightenment, who spent his long life trying to wake up the rest of us. Everything he knew, he knew from arduous, sometimes bitter experience. He went through extreme suf fering—almost to the death—and emer ged
with something incredibly precious. Buddha literally became the truth. “Whoever sees me sees the teaching,” he said, “and whoever sees the
teaching sees me. ”I wrote this book as a sacred journey, fictionalized in many of its
externals but psychologically true, I hope, to what the seeker ’s path feels
like. In all three phases of his life—Siddhartha the prince, Gautama the
monk, and Buddha the Compassionate One—he was as mortal as you and I,
yet he attained enlightenment and was raised to the rank of an immortal. The miracle is that he got there following a heart as human as yours and
mine, and just as vulnerable. Deepak Chopra
OceanofPDF. comPART ONE
SIDDHARTHA THE PRINCE
OceanofPDF. com1
The Kingdom of Sakya, 563 BCE
One crisp spring day King Suddhodana turned in his saddle to survey the
battlefield. He needed a weakness to exploit, and he was confident the
enemy had left one for him. They always did. His senses were closed to
everything else. Screams of the wounded and dying were heightened by the
hoarse commands of his of ficers bellowing orders and calling on the gods
for help. T orn by hooves and elephants’ feet, cut by iron-rimmed chariot
wheels, the land oozed blood as if the earth itself were mortally wounded. “More soldiers. I want more soldiers now. ”
Suddhodana didn’ t wait for anyone to obey. “If any man within the
sound of my voice runs away, I will kill him personally. ”
Charioteers and infantry moved toward the king, battered figures so
filthy with fighting they could have been demiur ges fashioned from the
mud of the field. Suddhodana was a warrior king, and the first thing to know about him is
this: he mistook himself for a god. Along with his army, the king would
kneel in the temple and pray before he went to war, but he put no trust in
divine help. Leaving the gates of the capital behind, Suddhodana turned his
head for one last look at home. But as the miles lengthened from
Kapilavastu, his mood changed. By the time he came to the battlefield, its
roiling activity and the smells that assaulted his nostrils—straw and blood,soldiers’ sweat and dying horses—carried Suddhodana into another world. It smothered him completely in the belief that he could never lose. The present campaign wasn’ t of his doing. Ravi Santhanam, a northern
warlord along the Nepalese border, had taken one of Suddhodana’ s trade
caravans in a surprise attack. Suddhodana’ s retaliation came almost
immediately. Even though the warlord’ s men had the advantage of the high
ground and home terrain, Suddhodana’ s forces steadily chewed into their
holdings. Horses and elephants trampled over the fallen, dead or still alive
but too weak to escape. Suddhodana guided his mount next to the belly of a
rearing bull elephant, narrowly avoiding the massive feet as they plunged
downward. Half a dozen arrows had pierced it, driving the beast into a
frenzy. “I want a new line of chariots, close file. ” He had seen where the enemy
front was exhausted and ready to buckle. A dozen more chariots pulled up
in advance of the infantry. Their metal-bound wheels clattered across the
hard ground. The charioteers had archers standing behind them who
unleashed arrows into the warlord’ s army. “Make a moving wall,” Suddhodana shouted. “I want to crush their
line. ”
His charioteers were experienced veterans; they were hard-faced,
merciless men. Suddhodana rode slowly before them, ignoring the strife
only a short distance away. He spoke quietly. “The gods command that
there can be only one king. But I swear that I am no better than a common
soldier today, and you are as good as kings. Each man here is part of me. So
what’ s left for the king to say. Only two words, but they are the two that
your hearts want to hear. Victory. And home. ” Then his command cracked
like a whip. “All together—move. ”
Both armies rushed screaming into the breach like opposing oceans. Violence brought contentment to Suddhodana. His sword whirled as he split
a man’ s head with a single blow. His wall was advancing, and if the gods
willed it, as they had to will it, the enemy forces would open, one corpse ata time, until Suddhodana’ s infantry moved in, a tight wedge gliding forward
on enemy blood. The king would have scof fed at anyone who denied that he
was at the very center of the world. AT THA T HOUR  Suddhodana’ s queen was being carried in a litter through the
depths of the forest. She was ten months pregnant, a sign, the astrologers
said, that the baby would be extraordinary. But in Queen Maya’ s mind
nothing was extraordinary except the anxiety that surrounded her. She had
decided, much too impetuously, to travel back to her mother ’s home to have
her baby. Suddhodana hadn’ t wanted to let her go. It was the custom for new
mothers to go home to deliver, but he and Maya were inseparable. He was
tempted to refuse, until in her guileless way Maya asked his permission in
front of the assembled court. The king couldn’ t refuse his queen publicly,
despite the dangers involved. “Who will accompany you. ” he asked with an edge of harshness,
hoping to frighten her away from this foolhardy plan. “My women. ”
“Women. ”
He raised his hand in grudging assent. “Y ou’ll have some men, whoever
can be spared. ” Maya smiled and withdrew. Suddhodana didn’ t want to
argue, because in truth his wife mystified him. Making her afraid of danger
was futile. The physical world was like a thin membrane she glided over, as
a midge glides over the surface of a pond without breaking the water ’s skin. Therefore, the world could touch Maya, move her, hurt her, but never
change her. The queen departed from Kapilavastu a day before the army. Kumbira,
the eldest court lady, rode at the head of the procession as it moved through
the forest. It was a meager company, consisting of six soldiers too old to
serve in the war astride six nags too weak to char ge the enemy. After themcame four litter bearers, who had taken of f their shoes to negotiate the stony
path, shouldering the tasseled and beaded palanquin bearing the young
queen. Maya made no sound hidden behind the swaying silk drapes, except
for a stifled moan whenever a bearer stumbled and the litter took a sharp
jolt. Three young ladies-in-waiting, who grumbled in low voices about
having to walk, brought up the rear. Gray-haired Kumbira kept her gaze moving, aware of the dangers that
lurked on both sides. This road, which was just a narrow cut in the granite
slope, had begun as a smuggler ’s trail when poached deer hides, spices, and
other contraband were traf ficked to Nepal; it was still favored by bandits. Tigers were known to snatch their prey from terrified bands of travelers in
this area, even in the brightest hour of the day. To ward them of f, the
bearers wore masks facing backward on their heads, believing that a tiger
will only leap from the rear, never directly at a person who is looking at it. Kumbira rode up the trail until she was abreast of Balgangadhar, the
head guard. The warrior regarded her stoically, wincing a little when the
queen cried out again. “She can’ t hold out much longer,” Kumbira said. “And I can’ t make the road any shorter,” Balgangadhar grumbled. “What you can do is hurry,” she snapped. Kumbira knew he was
ashamed at not being with the king in battle, but Suddhodana wanted one
elite guard to honor his wife. With the slightest bow from the shoulders that etiquette permitted, the
guard said, “I’ll scout up ahead for camp. The locals say there’ s a
woodcutter ’s clearing with some huts in it. ”
“No, we move together,” Kumbira protested. “There are other men here to protect you while I’m gone. ”
“Really. ” Kumbira cast a critical eye over her shoulder at the ragged
band. “And who will protect them, do you suppose. ” 
THEY WILL TELL YOU  that Maya Devi—the goddess Maya, as she became
known—arrived by moonlight in Lumbini Grove, one of the most sacred
sites in the kingdom. They will tell you that she did not give birth in the
forest by accident. Destiny guided her there. She expressly wanted to visit
the sacred grove because a huge tree stood there like a pillar to the mother
goddess. Maya’ s premonition had told her that this birth would be sacred. In reality she was a frightened, fragile young woman who barely
escaped being lost in the wilderness. And the sacred tree. Maya clung to
the trunk of a lar ge sal tree because it was the closest and most common
tree in the clearing. Balgangadhar had found a sheltered place beside the
trail, and the royal palanquin arrived there only moments before Maya went
into the final stages of labor. The court ladies formed a close circle around
her. She held on tight, and deep in the night she was delivered of the son her
husband the king so desperately wanted. Kumbira died long before the legends grew, so she is not pictured in
them, barking commands to the scurrying women, shooing away the men,
nearly scalding herself to bring a kettle of water on the run from the bonfire. It was she who first held the baby. Tenderly she scrubbed the blood from his
tiny body, making the squalling newborn ready to show to Maya. The queen
lay quietly on the ground, almost listless. The first nursing, an important
ritual in the native custom, would come in the morning. Despite the baby’ s
apparent good health, Kumbira was worried, made anxious by every
nocturnal sound but most of all by Maya’ s labor, which had been too long
and painful. “Now my husband can die happy,” Maya whispered in a tired, weak
voice. “And I will not be cursed when I am gone. ” Kumbira started. How
could Maya think about death at that moment. Kumbira’ s eyes searched the
darkness surrounding their stranded camp. The younger court ladies were
full of praise for the brave new mother, relieved that the ordeal had come to
an end, buoyant at the prospect of returning home to their soft beds and
paramours. Their happiness increased when the full moon, an auspicious
omen, rose over the treetops. “Here, Y our Highness,” said Utpatti, one of the handmaidens, leaning
close. “There is something you must do. ”
Before anyone could stop her, Utpatti opened Maya’ s robe and exposed
her breasts. Embarrassed and confused, Maya quickly pulled her robe
together again with one hand. “What are you doing. ” she demanded. Utpatti drew back. “It will help with the milk, Y our Highness,” she
whispered, looking unsure of herself. She gave sidelong glances at the other
women. “Having moonlight on your breasts. Country women all know
that. ”
“Are you from the country. ” Maya asked. The others tittered. Making a show of not being bothered by them,
Utpatti said, “Once. ”
Maya leaned back again and exposed her full breasts to the moon. They
were heavy with milk already. “I feel something,” she murmured. Her mood had changed; a note of
ecstasy was in her voice, clearing away the pain. If she wasn’ t a goddess
herself, she exulted in being touched by a goddess, the moon. She took her
infant and held him up. “See how quiet he is now. He feels it too. ” At that moment Maya
believed in her heart that her wishes had been fulfilled. There is a name in
Sanskrit that expresses this idea. She lifted the baby higher. “Siddhartha,” she said. He who has attained all desir es. Recognizing
the solemnity of the moment, the court ladies bowed their heads, even the
ever-wary Kumbira. OceanofPDF. com2
The gray rain blanketed Suddhodana and his men as the towers of home
loomed over them. The sentry shouted from his post, and the great wooden
gates of the capital opened. “Look sharp. ” ser geants shouted down the line. Few citizens had turned out to greet them. Suddhodana knew that the
huddled clumps of women lining the street were there to search the army
with anxious faces, praying that their husbands and sons were still among
the living. That morning the queen had awakened at dawn in case her husband
returned early, but then the rains set in, slowing everything. The trip down
from the mountains had passed in a kind of blurred ecstasy, which grew
stronger even as Maya’ s body began to fail. There was much whispering at
court because she had refused the services of a wet nurse. “It cannot be that
loving my child will kill me,” she said. Her mind returned to a dream that had visited her ten months ago. It
began with Maya waking up in her private bedchamber. She shaded her
eyes against a light that had appeared in the room. Out of the light emer ged
three angelic beings in the form of smiling young maidens. Sitting up,
Maya immediately recognized her visitors for what they were— devas,  or
celestial beings. The three devas gestured for her to join them. In wonder that they had
chosen her, Maya climbed from her warm bed to follow. With a glance over
their shoulders, they walked through the walls of her bedroom as though
through smoke. Maya never felt the wall as she too passed through it. On
the other side she was pulled faster, until the palace grounds and the worldbeyond blurred in passing. A brighter light loomed ahead, and in a moment
Maya saw that it was the sun reflected of f snow. Daylight dazzled across the
crystalline surface of a high mountain lake circled by sentinel peaks. The Himalayas (for she knew with certainty that the devas had brought
her there) had been distant, imposing presences all her life. Maya never
imagined being among them, and now the three maidens led her to a pebble
shore on the opposite side of the lake. Its surface was calm and mirror -
bright. The devas began disrobing her. Maya wasn’ t disconcerted; she grew
relaxed. Almost as quickly as they took her clothes away, they fit her with
the finest garments she had ever seen. W ith silent smiles they reached out to
touch Maya’ s belly. The contact was warm and exciting. She stepped into
the water of the lake, deeper and deeper. Then she awoke, finding herself
sitting up in bed as if she’d never left it. Except that her bedchamber was
filled by a creature whose eye captured her gaze. Expanding from the eye
was a whiteness that took the shape, as Maya’ s mind cleared from sleep, of
an enormous elephant as pale as snow. The creature looked at her with
warm, confident intelligence. Then it lifted its trunk in a kind of salute. Unexpectedly, a burning hunger filled Maya. Then she woke again, sitting
up in bed but alone. The unaccustomed desire was still within her and
wouldn’ t be denied. Quickly, almost shaking, she quit her bed, throwing on her robe, and ran
to her husband’ s bedchamber. In the dim candlelight, Suddhodana lay
twisted in the sheets. After their years of barren hopes for a son, he often
slept alone now. Another king might have taken a lover who could provide
him with a son. Another king might have simply had his wife murdered or
locked away as a madwoman to dissolve the marriage contract. But
Suddhodana hadn’ t done those things. He had remained as fierce and loyal
in love as in war. Tonight will be differ ent, Maya told herself. I have been blessed. Cautiously, not wanting to awake Suddhodana too suddenly, she lay beside
him on the bed. Gently she stroked his face, drawing him up from sleep. His
hands turned to fists at first, then his eyes opened and looked into hers. He
started to speak, but she laid a finger over his lips. She was not wild with desire, not its prisoner or slave. W ith her
husband’ s legs entwined with hers, she didn’ t want pleasure as much as
union. She encouraged him with words she never imagined saying. “Don’ t
make love to me like a king. Make love like a god. ”
The ef fect was dramatic. Ur gently, he reached for her, and she saw the
wonder in his eyes. For so long their coupling had been perfunctory, neither
of them believing that anything would come of it. But tonight he felt some
of the strong belief that had awakened within her. When she was ready, she rolled her hips and took him inside her. Her
breath caught in her throat. The strange need within her reached a
crescendo. For a few moments she entered that darkness of bliss that
imitates immortality. Gradually she returned from it with a sigh, to find that
the king was holding her in a tight embrace. He pulled her to him as if
trying to meld his flesh completely with hers. They kissed and caressed;
only her exhaustion in delight kept Maya from speaking what she knew
with certainty: they had created a child. The dream had sustained her in the terrifying trip through the forest and
the pain of her labor. Now it was returning in more ghostly form every day. Her head sank into the pillow. It was still a lovely dr eam,  she thought, and
an escape from her great weariness. She even thought it would be better to
live in her dream forever, if only she could. IN THE ROY AL NURSER Y Suddhodana gazed down at his son with awe and
love. The baby had been presented to him in crimson silk swaddling
clothes. He was certain the infant recognized him; it even grew in his mind
that Siddhartha had kept his eyes shut until that moment, a fantasy no one
dared to correct. “Should he be sleeping this much. Why is his nose running. If he’ s left
alone for a moment, I will have someone whipped. ” Suddhodana’ s demands
were incessant and maddening. As was the custom, Maya would be
quarantined for a month after the delivery, subject to cleansing and religious
rituals. Suddhodana chafed at this, but he could do nothing about it exceptsneak in by candlelight after the queen was asleep to gaze at her for a few
moments. He wondered if new mothers always looked so wan and weak. Suddhodana pushed his troubling thoughts aside. “Let him always be clothed in silk, and when they get soiled, throw
them away. If you run out of silk, tear apart the court ladies’ saris if you
have to. ” Suddhodana wanted nothing with a hint of uncleanliness to touch
his son’ s skin. But silk was also a symbol, since Suddhodana was on the
Silk Road returning home when a messenger sent by Kumbira reached him
with the news that he had a son and a wife who were both alive. Every morning the king strode forward through the ring of women that
stood fanning the young prince with their shawls. Reaching down into the
cradle, he withdrew his son and held him aloft. He stripped of f the diaper. “Look at him. ” Suddhodana displayed his son in all his naked glory. “Well made. ” All of the ladies knew what he was referring to. Kakoli, the
royal nurse, started to mumble something agreeable. “Impressively made,” Suddhodana said. “Not that I have your
experience, Kakoli. ” Suddhodana laughed and thought again how easy it
was with his son in his arms. “Don’ t blush, you old hypocrite. If he was
twenty years older and we could take forty years of f you, you’d fall of f your
feet running after it. ”
Kakoli shook her head and said nothing. The handmaidens tittered and
blushed. Suddhodana was certain they were more entertained than
scandalized by his bluntness. ASITA AWOKE  in the forest thinking about demons. He hadn’ t for many
years. He could remember glimpsing one or two in the past, on the fringes
of a famine or a battle, wherever bodies were being harvested. He knew the
misery they caused, but misery was no longer Asita’ s concern. He had been
a forest hermit for fifty years. The af fairs of the world had been kept far
away, and he passed whole days in a hidden cave when he retreated even
from the af fairs of animals, much less those of men. Now Asita knelt by a stream and considered. He distinctly saw demons
in his mind’ s eye. They had first appeared in the dappled sunlight that fell
on his eyelids at dawn. Asita slept on boughs strewn over the bare ground,
and he liked the play of light and shadow across his eyes in the early
morning. His imagination freely saw shapes that reminded him of the
market village where he grew up. He could see hawking merchants, women
balancing water jugs on their heads, camels and caravans—anything, really
—on the screen of his closed eyes. But never demons, not before this morning. Asita walked into the nearly
freezing mountain stream, his body naked except for a loincloth. As an
ascetic, he did not wear clothes, not even the robes of a monastic order. Lately he had felt an impulse to travel very high, nearly in sight of the
snowcapped peaks on the northern border of the Sakya kingdom. Which put
him close to other lokas,  worlds apart from Earth. Every mortal is confined
to the Earth plane, but like the dense air of the jungle tapering gradually
into the thin atmosphere of the mountains, the material world tapered of f
into subtler and subtler worlds. Devas had their own lokas, as did the gods
and demons. Ancestors dwelt in a loka set apart for spirits in transition from
one lifetime to the next. Asita had been raised on this knowledge. He knew also that all these
planes mer ged into each other like wet dyed cloths hung too close on the
line, the blue bleeding into the red, the red into the saf fron yellow. Lokas
were apart and together at the same time. Demons could move among
humans, and often did. The reverse, a mortal visiting the demon loka, was
much rarer. He plunged his head under the water, then flung it back, sending long
streams dripping from his uncut beard and hair. On days when he needed
food, Asita carried his begging bowl down into one of the villages. Not
even the youngest child was frightened to see a naked old man on the street
with hair and beard down to his waist. Ascetics were a normal sight, and it
was a sacred duty, if a wandering hermit showed up at one’ s door near
sunset, to of fer food and hospitality. Asita wasn’ t hungry this day, however. There were other ways to keep
the prana,  or life current, going. If he did visit the demon loka, it wouldtake enormous prana to sustain his body. There would be no air for his
lungs to breathe among the demons. He allowed the brilliant Himalayan sun to dry his body as he walked
above the tree line. Demons do not literally live on mountaintops, but Asita
had learned special powers that allowed him to penetrate the subtle world. He had to get as far away as possible from human beings to exercise these
abilities. The atmosphere was dense around population. In Asita’ s eyes a
quiet village was a seething cauldron of emotions; every person—except
only small infants—was immersed in a fog of confusion, a dense blanket of
fears, wishes, memories, fantasy, and longing. This fog was so thick that the
mind could barely pierce it. But in the mountains Asita could find a bedrock of silence. Sitting in
that enveloping emptiness, he could direct his mind, as clean as the flight of
an arrow, to any object or place. It was really the mind that went to the
demon loka, but Asita had such one-pointed clarity that he could travel with
it. And so it came about that the demon king Mara found himself staring at
a most unwelcome intruder. He glared at the naked old man sitting in lotus
position before his throne. Nothing like it had happened in a long while. “Go away,” Mara growled. “Just because you got here doesn’ t mean
you can’ t be destroyed. ” The old man didn’ t move. His yogic concentration
must have been strong, because his lean brown body, as tough as the sinew
showing under its skin, grew sharper in outline. Mara would have
commanded some lesser demons to torment the intruder, but these hermits
weren’ t so easily dismissed, so Mara bided his time. After a moment the old man’ s eyes opened. “Y ou do not welcome me. ”
His voice was mild, but Mara read irony in it. “No. There’ s nothing for you here. ” The dead and departed passed
through Mara’ s hands, but it displeased him to meet mortals under any other
circumstances. “I didn’ t come for myself. I came for you,” the old man said. He rose
and looked around. The demon loka is a world as varied as the material
world, and it has its regions of greater and lesser pain. Since torment did not
threaten Asita, he beheld only a dense, noxious fog surrounding him. “I
bring you news. ”
“I doubt it. ” Mara moved restlessly in his seat. As temple paintings
often depict him, his throne was made of skulls. His body was red with
flames spitting around it, and instead of one horrible face he possessed four,
which turned like a weathervane, presenting fear, temptation, disease, and
death. “Someone is coming to meet you. Soon, very soon,” Asita said. “Millions have met me,” Mara shrugged. “Who are you. ”
“I am Asita. ” The old hermit stood up and faced Mara directly. “Buddha
is coming. ” This caused a slight tremor, nothing more, to run through
Mara’ s body. Asita noticed it. “I knew you would be intrigued. ”
“I doubt you know anything. ” Mara wasn’ t simply being arrogant. T o
him, Asita was a blank. There was nothing to hold on to, no ground for
temptation or fear to stand on. “Who picked you as messenger. Y ou’re
deluded. ”
Asita ignored this and repeated the word that had made Mara tremble. “Buddha is coming. I hope you’re prepared. ”
“Silence. ”
Until that moment Mara had paid as much attention to Asita as to a
small seasonal famine or an insignificant plague. Now he leaped from his
throne and shrank to human size, keeping only one of his four demonic
faces, death. “What if he comes. He’ll abandon the world, just as you did. Nothing more. ”
“If you believe that, then you have for gotten what Buddha can do,”
Asita said calmly. “Really. Look. ” Mara opened his mouth, which was solid blackness
behind his fangs. The blackness expanded, and Asita could see the mass of
suffering that Mara embodied. He saw a web of souls caught in turmoil, a
tangle of war and disease and every version of pain that the demons could
devise. When he felt that the spectacle had had its ef fect, Mara slowly closed
his mouth again, and the darkness receded back inside him. “Buddha. ” he
said contemptuously. “I’ll make them think that he’ s the demon. ” The
prospect brought a smile. “Then let me speak as a friend, and I will tell you your fatal weakness,”
Asita said. He sat down in lotus position, folding his legs over each other,
making the mudra  of peace with his thumb and forefinger. “Being the
monarch of fear, you’ve for gotten how to be afraid yourself. ”
Enraged by this insult, Mara roared and swelled to monstrous size as the
hermit suddenly faded away. He could feel the possibility of Buddha like
the faintest light before dawn. Still, Mara was blind. He believed humans
would ignore yet another pure soul. This was a mistake. The child on the
horizon would be noticed because what he stood for was destiny.
Deepak Chopra
Who is the author of the book "A Story of Enlightenment"?
Suddhodana
Who is the king in the story?
The queen is Maya, and she is in labor and about to give birth to a child.
Who is the queen in the story, and what is her situation?
Asita is an old hermit, and he is an old acquaintance of the king's.
Who is the old hermit Asita, and what is his relationship to the king?
Mara is a demon, and he is speaking to the king about the fate of the child, warning him that his son will either die or become a saint, but will not rule the world.
Who is the demon Mara, and what is his role in the story?