- A Young People's
Life of the Buddha
- Bhikkhu Silacara
Chapter XVI - XVIII
THE KINDNESS OF THE BUDDHA
Upon one occasion when the Buddha was known to be going to
deliver a discourse in a village where, He had rested overnight, a poor farmer, a Brahmin,
living near by, made up his mind to be present and hear the Great Teacher speak. But to
his dismay, on the morning of the day when the Buddha was to preach, he found that one of
his bullocks was amissing. He was only a poor man and could not afford to lose it, so he
set off at once into the jungle all round to look for it, hoping that he would soon find
it, and be able to get back to the village before the time when the preaching was to
begin.
But the bullock had wandered further away than he
expected; and although he made all the haste he could searching here, there and
everywhere, wherever he thought his bullock might have got to, it was some time after
mid-day before he found it and got back to the village. He was very hungry and very tired
with running about all the morning under the hot sun, but he did not want to miss hearing
the Great Teacher speak, so without waiting to take a rest or get anything to eat, he
hurried to the place where the Buddha was, hoping he would still be in time to hear the
end of the sermon at least. But when he got to the preaching place what was his surprise
to find that the sermon had not even begun. There in the preaching hall the Buddha sat
silent with all the people round Him patiently waiting for Him to begin. Pleased and
thankful to find that he was still in time, the farmer crept quietly in at the back of the
hall to look for a seat there.
But as soon as he came in at the door, the Buddha saw him,
and kindly asked him if he had had anything to eat. The farmer replied that he had only
just come back from looking for a bullock he had lost, and he had not stopped to eat
anything because he did not want to miss the sermon.
On hearing this, the Buddha ordered one of His supporters
near Him to give the farmer some food and He would wait for him to finish his breakfast
before beginning the sermon. Then when the farmer had satisfied his hunger and taken a
seat near Him, the Buddha began His discourse; and the farmer knew that the Buddha had
somehow heard that he wanted to hear Him preach, and had sat silent in the preaching hall
keeping everybody waiting until he should arrive.
Some of the people and the Bhikkhus thought it was very
strange and not quite right that the Buddha should concern Himself about the food of a
person who was only a householder, not a Bhikkhu, and not even a follower of His at all,
but a Brahmin. But the Buddha's kindness and thoughtfulness for the Brahmin who wanted so
much to hear Him preach was well rewarded, for the Brahmin's heart was touched by the
Buddha's consideration for him, and when the sermon was over he became the Buddha's
follower for the rest of his life.
On another occasion the Buddha again showed His kind
consideration for common people this time for a young girl.
In the town near which He then was staying there lived a
weaver with one daughter who used to help him with his work. This girl was very anxious to
hear the Buddha preach, but on the very day when the Buddha was to give His discourse it
happened that she and her father had an urgent piece of work which they had to get
finished that very day for an important customer. So the girl made up her mind to hurry
with her part of the work, so that she might be able both to finish it and also hear the
Great Teacher's sermon. Instantly she set to her task and wound up all her yarn on a quill
and took it along, intending to carry it to the shed where her father had his loom. But on
the way to the shed she had to pass near the place where the crowd sat motionless waiting
for the words that were to fall from the Teacher's lips. And the girl laid her quill of
yarn down and timidly took a seat behind the last row of the assembled congregation. But
the Buddha saw that the young girl was ready to understand and follow His teaching; and He
called to her to come nearer where she could hear better so that she might not miss
anything He said. The girl came forward, and, to put her at ease, the Buddha encouragingly
asked her where she was coming from and where she was going to. The young girl, thus
questioned, replied that she knew where she was coming from and also where she was going
to, "but at the same time," said she, "I am ignorant, Reverend Sir, of the
place where I came from, and the place to which I am going."
When the people present heard her give this strange answer
to the Buddha's question, they became very indignant, for they thought she was trying to
make fun of the Great Teacher, and they began to murmur and talk about putting her out of
the hall for what they thought her gross impertinence. But the Buddha saw what the young
girl was really thinking about in making this strange reply to His question, and He told
the people to keep still. Then, turning to the girl, He asked her what she meant. And the
girl spoke and said:
"I know that I was coming from my father's house, and
that I was going to our weaving-shed. But what existence I have come from into this
present existence -- that I do not know at all. Neither am I sure about the existence that
will follow after this one. Of these two things I am quite ignorant. My mind can discover
nothing about either the one or the other."
Then the Buddha and every one present praised the wisdom
and insight of the young girl; and the Buddha began His sermon. And when it was finished,
the young girl having listened eagerly and attentively to it all, she became one who has
taken the first step on the Higher Path; she became what is called a Sotapanna -- that is,
one who has entered the stream that eventually, without fail, will carry her on to
Nibbana.
On another day as the Buddha was walking through a wood,
He happened to come upon a deer struggling in a snare that had been set by a hunter. The
Buddha at once went forward and released the struggling animal and let it run away. Then
He sat down under a tree near by to rest. And by and by the hunter came along, and saw at
a glance that a deer had been caught in his snare, and that somebody had released it,
letting it get away again. And when he looked round to see who it might be, his eye fell
on the ascetic dressed all in yellow, who was sitting under a tree near by. The hunter
knew at once that this must be the person who had caused him to lose his deer. "There
are getting to be too many of these holy men," he said to himself in great anger.
"They are always sneaking about everywhere spoiling honest men's business with their
pious ways." And in his rage he lifted his bow, fitted an arrow to the bowstring, and
taking good aim at the Buddha who meanwhile sat perfectly quite, let fly. "I am going
now to make one less of them anyway," said the hunter. But his hand trembled so much
as he took aim at this so strangely serene ascetic, that his arrow missed. Never in his
life before had he missed anything he aimed at so close, and full of anger, at himself now
he aimed another arrow at the Lord Buddha, and missed again. Astounded at his sudden poor
skill in shooting, once more he shot an arrow at the Buddha and once more missed. Then,
with a feeling very much like fear, he dropped his bow and arrows, and going up to the
Buddha, humbly asked Him who He was.
The Buddha told him, and then very mildly and gently began
to talk to him about the evil of taking life which it is so very easy to take, but so very
hard to give back again once it is taken. And the hunter listened to the Lord Buddha's
words, and was so much impressed by them, that he there and them promised never again to
kill any living thing at all, but henceforth, as the Buddha wished him to do, earn his
living in some way that did not involve the hurting of any living creature.
Another man who took life and was turned from that evil
way of doing by the Buddha was called Angulimala. The life that this man took, however,
was human life. And he had received his name of Angulimala, which means garland of
fingers, because he had killed ninety-nine people and cut a finger off each person he
killed, and strung it on a chain of fingers that he had hung around his neck. And now he
was waiting by the roadside for another person to come along whom he also meant to kill,
so as to get the hundredth finger he wanted for his ghastly necklace. And it happened that
the Buddha came along the road as he was waiting thus. He thought it was just an ordinary
ascetic, and he meant to kill Him and get the hundredth finger he wanted.
And he too, Angulimala, just like the hunter, three times
tried to get at the Buddha to kill Him, and three times, just like the hunter, he failed.
Then, very much astonished, he went up to the Buddha and began to speak to Him. And the
Buddha did not utter a single word of reproach to him for trying to kill Him, but instead,
told him about the Doctrine. And after thus hearing about the Doctrine from the Buddha's
own lips, Angulimala confessed his wickedness in killing so many people, and became a
Bhikkhu. And not long after, through diligent study and practice he became an Arahan.
But this did not free him from having to suffer the
consequences of his evil deeds. For, when he went into the town of Savatthi with his
begging bowl to gather alms of food, the people of the town pelted him with stones and
hurt him so severely that in a short time he died. But he was not dejected or sorrowful at
this that had happened to him. Neither was he angry at all at the people who had stoned
him. He knew quite well that he was only suffering the results of his own ill deeds, and
that it was far better to suffer like this at once and be done with it, than to have the
consequences of his wrong-doing always hanging over his head in the future. So Angulimala
died calmly and serenely and passed away to Nibbana.
* * *
Chapter XVII
DEVADATTA
The Buddha had one disciple whom He particularly loved,
and who in return, had a specially warm affection for his Master, and that was His own
cousin Ananda. Indeed, when the Buddha had reached the age of fifty-one and was beginning
to feel the burden of His advancing years, He chose Ananda to be His special private
attendant, giving out through Ananda any orders He wished made known to the other
Bhikkhus. The other Bhikkhus also, when they wished to see the Buddha about any special
matter, always asked first through Ananda. And often, when there was something they wanted
from the Buddha which they did feel very sure they would not get if they asked for it
themselves, they used to get Ananda to ask it from the Buddha on their behalf, for they
knew that He was fond of Ananda and would be more likely to do what they wanted if Ananda
spoke in favor of it.
But the Buddha had another cousin who also had become a
Bhikkhu under Him, but in his disposition towards is teacher and master, was the very
opposite of Ananda. Far from taking delight in waiting upon the Buddha and serving Him
faithfully, he was envious and jealous of Him, and wished to break up the Brotherhood of
Bhikkhus He gathered round Him.
The evil-disposed cousin of the Buddha was Devadatta.
Being of the royal family of Kapilavatthu, he was inclined to be proud of himself and of
the royal blood in his veins. So when, some time after he had become a Bhikkhu, Sariputta
and Moggallana joined the Order, and on account of their great learning and ability, every
one began to take much notice of them and call them "the right and the left hand of
the Buddha," Devadatta became very jealous of them now, and annoyed and angry at the
attention received by these two Bhikkhus who had not been in the Order as long as he, and
were just of a common family while he was of royal blood and the Buddha's cousin to boot.
Indeed, Devadatta became so angry at what he considered the unjust neglect of himself in
favor of these two new-comers, that he left the company of Bhikkhus who went with the
Buddha everywhere He went, and set off for Rajagaha where he expected to make friends with
the young Prince Ajatasattu the son of King Bimbisara of Magadha, and heir to the throne.
When he got to Rajagaha he put on a look of great gravity and solemnity, so that young
Prince Ajatasattu was quite struck with his appearance, and thought: "How serious and
solemn he looks. This must be a very good Bhikkhu indeed!" And in his great
admiration for the serious-looking Devadatta, he built for him a fine Vihara near the
city, and Devadatta took up his residence there, and the Prince became his obedient and
devoted supporter.
Time passed; and a few years after this, when, in the
course of His continual wanderings, the Buddha came again to Rajagaha, Devadatta went to
pay Him a visit, and asked to be allowed to form a company of Bhikkhus of his own,
separate from those who accepted the Buddha as their Master. The Buddha, however, refused
to give Devadatta the permission he asked for, saying that it was not a good thing for the
Sangha to be divided. But Devadatta was bent upon having his own way, and he asked and
asked again for permission to have a Sangha of his own, but each time the Buddha refused
to grant him his wish.
Then Devadatta's jealousy and envy turned to bitter hatred
of the Buddha, and he made up his mind to start a Sangha of his own whether the Buddha
gave him permission to do so or not. In this resolve of his he succeeded in getting Prince
Ajatasattu to support him; but the Prince's father, King Bimbisara, altogether refused to
have anything to do with his plan for a new Sangha, and firmly took the side of the Buddha
in the matter.
And now Devadatta, pretending to be very pious and strict
in his life, worked his way completely into the confidence of Prince Ajatasattu, and
gained such an influence over him that he was ready to do anything Devadatta told him to
do. And when Devadatta saw that he could do anything he liked with Ajatasattu, he told him
to put his father out of the way, and then he himself would be the King of Magadha and be
able to do what he pleased with no one to hinder him, and he could help him, Devadatta, to
carry out his scheme for a new Sangha. And Ajatasattu did what his evil counselor
Devadatta thus advised him to do, but not suddenly with an arrow or a sword, for he still
felt afraid to shed his father's blood. Yet he did kill his father, and in a very cruel
way. For he caused his father to be captured and shut up in a prison and given no food, so
that King Bimbisara died a slow miserable death by starvation, in spite of all his
grief-stricken wife did to try to get the jailers to take food to him. It was in the
thirty-seventh year of the Buddha's preaching career that Ajatasattu did this cruel deed,
and took the throne of Magadha in the place of his father Bimbisara whom he thus murdered.
Devadatta now had all the power he wanted. The new king of
the country was his devoted friend and supporter, and would do anything for him that he
asked him to do. So, very soon, he got King Ajatasattu to gather together for him a band
of bowmen and he paid them well to go where the Buddha was staying, and shoot the Buddha
dead. But when these hired assassins came to the place where the Buddha was, and saw him
sitting there so calm, so mild, and yet so majestic looking, they simply could not do what
they had come to do, and had been well paid to do. Completely over-awed by the bearing and
manner of the Great Teacher, instead of letting loose their arrows at Him, they came up to
Him and sat down at His feet in an attitude of reverence and worship. And the Buddha began
to talk to them; and after a little they confessed what they had come to do and asked Him
to forgive them for their evil intention. Of course the Buddha pardoned them at once, and
they promised to Him that they would be His followers for all the remainder of their
lives.
But when Devadatta learned that the men he had sent out to
kill the Buddha, instead of killing Him, had actually become His followers, he was furious
with rage, and resolved next time not to send any one else but to go himself and take the
Buddha's life.
Now there was a hill near the palace where the Buddha was
staying, and the Buddha used often to take a walk along a path at its foot. So one evening
as the Buddha was taking a walk along this road, Devadatta who was all the time on the
look out for a good chance to kill Him, without being seen by the Buddha climbed up the
hill to a place just above the road, where there was a big rock. Devadatta loosened this
rock from the soil round it, and waited till the Buddha was passing right below it. Then
he gave the rock a big push and sent it rolling and bounding down the hill-side intending
it to fall on the Buddha and crush Him to a jelly. But as the rock was rolling down
straight for the Buddha's head, it struck against another big one that happened to lie in
its way, and instead of falling straight on the Buddha's head, it broke into a lot of
little pieces, and only one little splinter of it struck the Buddha on the foot and lamed
Him for a little while. But it did not hurt Him very much, and He was able to walk back to
the Vihara. And when He got there, the good and skillful physician Jivaka, put a bandage
on it with some healing ointment, and by the next morning the foot was quite well again.
So once more Devadatta was defeated in his evil designs.
But he was not yet finished with his endeavors to bring
about the death of the Great Teacher. He was going to make one more attempt to get the
Buddha out of the way so that he himself might be the leader whom the Bhikkhus would
follow. For that was what he thought. He thought that if once the Buddha was dead, then he
would become the leader of the Sangha, and all of the Bhikkhus would follow him as their
master.
This time he arranged that when the Buddha went out as He
did every morning through the streets of Rajagaha begging alms of food, a wild raging
elephant should be let loose in the particular street where He was at the time, so that it
might rush at Him and trample Him to death. And this was done. The raging elephant was
brought to the street where the Buddha was then engaged in passing quietly from door to
door begging His morning meal, and then let loose. But instead of rushing at the Buddha
and crushing Him under its huge hoofs, it became quite quiet and subdued, and allowed the
calm figure in the yellow robe to pass on unharmed. Thus for the third time the attempt of
Devadatta to bring about the Buddha's death was defeated.
Devadatta now gave up the idea of killing the Buddha,
after failing these three times; but he was still as determined as ever, one way or
another to bring about a break in the Sangha. So now he went to visit the Buddha, and
pretending to be friendly with Him, told Him that he thought the Bhikkhus did not live
strictly enough; he thought it would be better if they lived a harder life like the
ascetic followers of other religious teachers, because the common people were inclined to
look down on the Buddha's Bhikkhus saying that they seemed to have rather an easy and
comfortable life, compared with other ascetics.
Devadatta therefore suggested to the Buddha that He should
make it a strict and fixed Vinaya rule that all His Bhikkhus henceforth should live no
longer in any kind of roofed dwelling, but should sleep at night at the foot of a tree in
the jungle, or in some open place without a roof. He also wanted the Buddha to order his
Bhikkhus not to eat food specially prepared for them and brought to them in the place
where they were staying, but to live strictly on such food as they got when round begging
with their bowls, and to eat nothing else. Devadatta also wanted the Buddha to command the
Bhikkhus not to wear any of the neat, clean, ready-made robes which the people used to
give them, but only to cover their bodies with robes which they themselves had put
together out of rags picked up on refuse-heaps and in tombs and burial places. And last he
wanted the Buddha to make it a fixed rule that His Bhikkhus should not eat fish or meat of
any kind. These four things Devadatta wished the Buddha to make binding rules of the
Vinaya, which every member of His Sangha would have to observe or leave the Order.
The Buddha, however, flatly refused to make any one of
these rules he suggested a binding command upon His Bhikkhus. "But," the Buddha
said, "if any Bhikkhu wishes to live always at the foot of trees or in places open to
the sky, he can do so. But those who do not wish to do this, may live in places provided
for them by benefactors, so long as they are not built too close to houses where the lay
people live." And the Buddha said the same about the other three rules proposed by
Devadatta. He said that any of his Bhikkhus who wished to do so, could live solely on what
was put into their begging bowl when they went through the streets for alms, wear only
what robes they made for themselves out of dirty, cast-off rags, and abstain from eating
fish and meat. But those who did not wish to observe such practices, need not do so unless
they liked. And the Buddha ended by warning Devadatta that he must not try in this cunning
way to cause a split in the Sangha, or in the end the consequences would be very had for
him.
But, paying no heed to the Buddha's warning, Devadatta
went away disappointed and angry, and going to Ananda, tried to get him to side with his
views about having a stricter rule for the Bhikkhus. But Ananda refused to agree with him
and sided with his Master the Buddha.
Then Devadatta went away to a part of the country where
the Bhikkhus had not seen the Buddha for a long time, and succeeded in winning over a lot
of them to believe in him and in his new rules for the Sangha. But the Buddha came to hear
of this. And one afternoon when Devadatta was asleep in his Vihara, He sent Sariputta to
Devadatta's place to speak to the Bhikkhus who had gone wrong and were following
Devadatta, and tell them what the Buddha had really said on the matter. And Sariputta did
as his Master told him, and spoke to the erring Bhikkhus so well that in a little while
they said they wanted to be the Buddha's disciples again; and they all rose up and
followed Sariputta back to the Buddha's Vihara.
When Devadatta woke again from his sleep that afternoon he
thought the Vihara seemed strangely quiet as if there were nobody in it, and he went out
to see what was the matter. And when he went out he found that there was not a single
Bhikkhu about the place. And soon he learned that Sariputta had been there while he was
sleeping, and had spoken to his Bhikkhus, so that now they had all left him, every one,
and gone back to the Buddha. Then Devadatta was filled with rage and fury and ordered his
servants to prepare his litter and take him at once to the Buddha's Vihara; he was going
to see what the Buddha meant by taking all his disciples from him.
But when Sariputta and the other Bhikkhus heard of
Devadatta's rage, and that he was on his way to the Buddha's Vihara, they advised the
Buddha to go away, for they feared that when Devadatta came, this time for sure he would
kill the Buddha in his fury. But the Buddha was not in the least disturbed at the news
that Devadatta was coming, and told Sariputta that he knew that Devadatta could not do Him
any harm. "But he is full of anger at the Blessed One," said Sariputta; and
again he urged his Master to save Himself while there was time, for Devadatta was coming
nearer. But the Buddha still refused to move saying again that He felt quite safe against
anything Devadatta could do.
And the Buddha proved to be right. For the next thing the
Bhikkhus heard was that Devadatta's bearers had stopped on the way. Then came the news
that Devadatta was dead. And it was quite true. Death struck down Devadatta himself at the
very time, when he was on his way to bring death to the Buddha.
After this there was no more trouble in the Sangha as long
as the Buddha was alive. The only distressing thing that happened in connection with the
Buddha was that the king and the princes of the royal houses of Kapilavatthu and of
Kosala, both were all killed in war by the cruel Ajatasattu, after once before having been
saved from that fate by the efforts of the Buddha. This blotting out of the Buddha's
family happened in the year before that in which He Himself passed away into Nibbana.
* * *
Chapter XVIII
MAHAPARINIBBANA
The Lord Buddha now began to feel that His days in this
world were coming to a close; but before He passed away He wished to give His Bhikkhus
some last advice which should serve to guide them in their general conduct after He was
gone and could advise and guide them no more with His living voice. So He told Ananda to
gather the Bhikkhus together in the Preaching Hall at Rajagaha; and when all the Bhikkhus
had assembled, He addressed them as follows:
"O Bhikkhus, as long as you remain united and meet
together frequently, so long the Sangha will continue to flourish and prosper. So long as
you meet together and decide all important questions in union and harmony one with
another, and do not make new and oppressive rules, hard to keep, where I have made none,
but strictly adhere to the observance of those rules which I have given you for your help
and protection -- so long as you do this, the Sangha will never decay and die out.
"Always treat with respect those who have been longer
in the Sangha than yourselves, and pay attention to their counsel and admonition. Be ever
on the watch against the beginnings of anything that tends to evil in order that you may
not become the slaves of evil before you are aware. Do not seek company: seek solitude.
When Bhikkhus from other places come to visit you, attend to their wants and treat them
well and hospitably. When any among you are sick, let the others wait upon them and care
for them. He who thus waits upon and cares for a sick brother, it is the same as if he
waited upon and cared for me. Shun pride vain show. Seek the companionship of the good;
avoid the company of the bad. Think and reflect frequently upon the nature of all things
here, that they do not last, that they cause suffering to him who clings closely to them,
that they are empty of any solid substance."
"So long as you do these things and follow the rules
of conduct I have given you for your guidance, you will always be respected and esteemed
by the householders and everyone, and the Sangha will prosper, and you will be safe from
falling into anything low and vulgar and ignoble, you will be shielded from everything
unbecoming, everything unworthy of those who have left the household life to live in
homelessness."
This was the last sermon the Buddha preached to the whole
Sangha.
After this, He went to the city of Nalanda, and then to
the city of Patali; and at this latter place He preached this His last sermon to the
householder folk.
"Dayakas, whoever breaks the precepts of right
conduct which I have taught for the guidance of householders, or is careless and slack in
his observance of them, such a person will lose his good name among men, and his
well-being and happiness in this world will grow less and less, and finally dwindle away
and disappear altogether. He will have no certainty, he will feel no confidence of mind,
but, wretched and unhappy, at death he will pass away to a fate of misery and suffering.
"But those who faithfully keep these precepts of good
conduct which I have laid down, those who are not careless in the observance of them, such
persons will gain honor and enjoy a high reputation among men. They will enjoy health and
wealth and all prosperity. They will be welcomed wherever they may go. They will be
received with pleasure even in the company of the great, among princes and king's
counselors, among the good and the learned and the wise. Their minds will be free from any
kind of doubt or anxiety; and after death they will pass to a state of happiness."
And now the Buddha is getting to be an old man. He is
eighty years of age. For nearly forty-five years He has been traveling about on foot up
and down His native land of India, teaching and preaching without any rest except during
the rainy season of each year. And now He is feeling His years. He is weary and worn out
in body, though His mind remains as strong as ever. He feels that He is not going to live
much longer, and His thoughts turn to the north, towards the lands that lie at the foot of
the great snowy mountains, where His youthful days were passed. It is in that country that
He wishes to pass away from the world He has served so ungrudgingly these many years. So,
leaving Rajagaha. He turns His now feeble steps northwards, intending to go to the little
town of Kusinara, and there await death. On the way to it, He passes through the city that
is now called Patna, and then, still going north, through the rich town of Vesali where He
once was splendidly entertained by the courtesan Ambapali, and given a Vihara by her, much
to the annoyance of the young princes of the place who wanted to have the honor of doing
this themselves.
When He had arrived at the little village of Beluva, He
sent away all the Bhikkhus who had been coming with Him so far, all except his faithful
attendant Ananda, who never left Him night or day, telling the other Bhikkhus that they
had better spend the Vassa or rainy season at some place where they would have a better
chance of getting support than a little place like Beluva which could not provide food for
so many of them. So most of the Bhikkhus went back to Vesali to spend the rainy season
near that large and rich city.
Meanwhile, the Buddha resolved to spend this last Vassa of
His life at Beluva. But He had not been staying there very long when He was seized with
severe illness accompanied by violent pain. And the sickness increased and the pain grew
worse until Ananda began to think that his Master was going to die. But the Buddha did not
want to die at Beluva. He did not want to die until He had seen His Bhikkhus once more and
encouraged them and strengthened them in the good life they are trying to live. So, with a
great effort of will, He managed to master His sickness, being determined to live and see
and speak to His Bhikkhus once more before He passed away. And after a time, feeling
better again, He went outside and took a seat on the shady side of the little house He was
living in, out of the hot sun, on a mat Ananda had made ready for Him. And Ananda sat down
near Him and said:
"How glad I am to see that the Blessed One is better
again! I almost fainted away when I saw how ill the Blessed One was a little while ago. I
very nearly swooned. But then I thought: 'No, most surely the Blessed One will not pass
away to Nibbana till He has left full instructions about the future of the Sangha, and how
it is to be conducted when He is gone.'"
"But Ananda," said the Buddha, "what more
can the Bhikkhus ask of me? I have taught them the whole doctrine; I have not hidden from
them anything they ought to know in order to be able to reach Nibbana. I have been a
faithful teacher to them, and told them all they need to know so that they may bring
suffering to an end. One who wanted to rule the Sangha and keep it under his own control,
might well leave orders about its future government. But I, Ananda, do not wish to rule
over the Sangha, or to keep it under My control. What instructions then, should I leave
about its future? I am now an old man, feeble and worn out. My days are at an end. I am
eighty years of age. I have only one thing I want to say to you all. Be to yourselves your
own light. Be to yourselves your own refuge. Do not go looking for any other light or
refuge. Whoever, Ananda, when I am gone shall be to himself his own light, his own refuge,
looking for no other light or refuge -- whosoever shall take the truth I have taught as
his light and his refuge -- that disciple, Ananda, now and always will be my true
disciple, will be walking in the right way."
Next morning the Buddha was feeling so well again that He
was able to go into Vesali on His usual begging round; and in the evening He sent Ananda
to bring the Bhikkhus who were living in Vesali to Him, so that He might speak to them all
once more.
When the Bhikkhus had all come, He exhorted them
earnestly, as His last parting admonition to them, to follow faithfully the good way He
had taught them, for the sake of the world, for the sake of the benefit, the advantage,
the welfare of the world of men which need to have kept before it the example of the holy
life, perfect and pure. "All that belongs to this world is changeable and
unlasting," He said. "Exert yourselves! Strive earnestly! Follow the Good Way!
Keep close watch over your minds! So shall you find certain deliverance from the round of
birth and death and all things evil."
Then, the next morning, the Buddha started out direct for
Kusinara, and on the way, at a little village called Pava, He was invited by the son of
the village goldsmith, whose name was Cunda, to partake of a meal of //sukara-maddavam//,
a kind of mushroom which wild boars much delight to eat, hence its name which means
//boar's delight//.
The Buddha partook of the meal Cunda offered Him, and
after He had eaten, felt very much refreshed and strengthened. Indeed, He thought He had
quite got over His illness and He praised Cunda for having given Him a meal that had done
Him so much good, and said that the good deed Cunda thus had done would make for his
well-being both here and hereafter, both now and in the future.
Unfortunately, the improvement produced in the Buddha's
condition by the meal Cunda had just given Him, did not last very long. The illness that
had first attacked Him at Beluva came on Him again. But again by a great effort of will He
mastered it, and getting to His feet, with failing strength struggled on once more towards
Kusinara, and after a painful journey at length reached the grove of Sal trees outside the
town which belonged to the princes of the place.
"Go Ananda," said the Buddha when He came in
sight of the grove and saw that His journey was now ended; "go and make ready a place
for Me to lie down on between those two big Sal trees. I am very weary Ananda, and would
like to lie down and rest."
So Ananda took the Buddha's robe and, folding it in four,
spread it on the ground between the two big Sal trees, so that his Master could lie on it
with His head towards the North. Then the Buddha lay down on the couch thus prepared for
Him, not to sleep, but only to rest His sick and weary body while His mind remained calm
and collected as ever. For, did He not once tell Sariputta in the years when He was still
hale and well, that if He were to live to become so old and weak that He could not walk
but had to be carried about in a litter, still, for all that, He would be able to expound
His Teaching and answer any question about it that might be asked even by the wisest and
cleverest scholars, as long as they could stay awake to ask questions! He would never be
tired in His mind.
But now, when Ananda saw that his beloved Master was
really going to leave him he was filled with grief; he could not help it. And he went into
the Vihara close by, and hiding himself from the Buddha's eyes behind the door, he began
to weep, saying to himself: "I am not like the other Bhikkhus. I am still only a
learner. I have not yet reached the state of Arahan. And now my Teacher is going to pass
away and leave me, he who has always been so kind to me." And the hot tears rolled
down poor Ananda's cheeks.
Then the Buddha opened His eyes and seeing that Ananda was
not beside Him as usual, He said to the other Bhikkhus who were round Him: "Where is
Ananda?"
"Reverend Lord," replied one of the Bhikkhus,
"the venerable Ananda has gone into the Vihara and is now standing behind the door
there weeping, and saying that he is only a learner, not perfect yet, and now is losing
his teacher who was always kind to him."
"Go, O Bhikkhu," said the Buddha, "and tell
Ananda that his teacher is calling for him."
So the Bhikkhu went and told Ananda that the Buddha wanted
to see him. And Ananda came and sat down near the Blessed One. And the Blessed One spoke
to him and said
"Enough, now, Ananda! Do not grieve, do not weep.
Have I not told you many and many a time that it must be that some day we shall be
separated, cut off, sundered, parted from all that is dear to us? This must be, Ananda.
There is no help for this. How is it possible that any-thing that has been born, has had a
beginning, should not again die, come to an end? Such a thing, Ananda, is not possible.
For a long time now, Ananda, you have waited upon the Tathagata and served him with body
and speech and mind, in deed and word and thought, kindly, devotedly, cheerfully,
ungrudgingly, and beyond measure. You have done much that is good by your faithful service
of me, Ananda. Now exert yourself to get rid of all the things that hinder you from
becoming an Arahan, and in a very short time you will become one."
Then the Buddha spoke to the other Bhikkhus round Him and
said:
"All the Buddhas before me have each had a favorite
disciple and body-servant just as I have had Ananda. And all the Buddhas to come will each
have a favorite attendant like Ananda. A wise and faithful servant has Ananda been to me.
He always knew when it was a suitable time to let visitors see me. He has always been
pleasant to them in all his words and ways, and they have always been pleased with his
manners towards them. When he has addressed them, they have always wanted to hear more
from his lips. Such an excellent disciple and servant has Ananda always been to me."
Then Ananda spoke and said to the Buddha:
"Pray, Reverend Lord, do not pass away to Nibbana
from this little mud-built place, this jungle town, this out-of-the-way corner. There are
great cities like Rajagaha and Savatthi and Vesali and others. Let the Blessed One be
pleased to pass away from one of these places. In these cities there are many wealthy and
high-placed believers in the Blessed One who will see to His funeral rites in a manner
worthy of the Tathagata.
"Nay, Ananda," said the Buddha, "do not
talk like that. Do not call this a little out-of-the-way, mud-built, jungle place. For at
one time Ananda, in days gone by, this was a great and flourishing city, the capital of
the country where a great king lived in his golden palace."
"But go now, Ananda, and tell the chief men and the
people of Kusinara that to-night, in the last watch of the night, the Tathagata will pass
away to Nibbana. Therefore let them come and see the Tathagata before He passes
away."
So Ananda, taking with him another Bhikkhu, did as his
Master bid him, and went to Kusinara and told the elders of the town that the Buddha was
going to pass away that night. And when they heard it, they were much grieved, and cried:
"Alas, too soon, too soon is the Blessed One passing away to Nibbana. Too soon, too
soon is the light of the world vanishing from the sight of men." And all the people
of Kusinara, men, women and children, grieving and sorrowing, came to the Sal Tree grove
where the Buddha lay, to take a last farewell of Him. And family by family, they bowed low
before Him in reverence, and so bade Him farewell.
Now it happened that a certain wandering ascetic, called
Subhadda was staying near Kusinara at this time, and when he heard that the Buddha was
about to pass away, he resolved to go and see Him at once and ask Him about a certain
matter that puzzled him, before He passed away. For he felt sure that the Lord Buddha
could answer the question he wished to ask and clear up all his doubts about it.
So Subhadda went to the Sal Tree grove, and told Ananda
about his question, and asked him kindly to give him an opportunity of speaking to the
Buddha and putting his question to Him before He passed away.
But Ananda said: "Enough, Subhadda, enough. The
Blessed One is very weary. Do not trouble Him with questions now."
But Subhadda was too anxious to have his doubts settled by
the Buddha before He passed away, to take a refusal from Ananda, and he pressed Ananda
again and again to let him see the Buddha; and Ananda again and again told him that his
Master was far too ill and could not be disturbed by any one.
However, the Buddha, where He lay, caught a word or two of
the talk that was passing between Ananda and Subhadda, and He called Ananda to Him and
said:
"Come, Ananda. Do not keep Subhadda from seeing me.
Let Subhadda come and see me if he wishes. What he asks will be for the sake of learning
from me, and not merely in order to trouble me. He is quick of wit, and will readily
understand what I say to him, Ananda."
Then Ananda allowed the wandering ascetic Subbhada to
approach the Buddha. And after greeting the Buddha with all respect, Subhadda said:
"Gotama, have all the famous leaders of ascetics of
other schools than yours, discovered the Truth as they say they have? Or have they not
discovered the Truth? Or have some of them discovered the Truth, and others not?"
"Enough, O Subhadda," said the Buddha.
"Never mind that question. But listen to me and pay close attention to what I say,
and I will make known to you the Teaching."
"In whatever doctrine or discipline the Noble
Eightfold Path is not found, there also are not to be found those have become Sotapanna,
or Sakadagami, or Anagami, or Arahan. But wherever the Noble Eightfold Path is found,
there also is found the Sotapanna and the Sakadagami and the Anagami and the Arahan. And
in this Doctrine and Discipline of mine, O Subhadda, is to be found the Noble Eightfold
Path, and in it alone the Sotapanna and the Sakadagami and the Anagami and the Arahan. In
no other schools of ascetics are these to be found. And if only my Bhikkhus live rightly
and follow my precepts, the world will never be without true and genuine Arahans."
Then Subhadda asked to be admitted to the Order of
Bhikkhus, and the Buddha granted his request, and told Ananda to give him ordination. In
this way Subhadda became the very last Bhikkhu whom the Buddha admitted to the Order, just
as Kondanna in the deer park near Benares was the first. And by earnest and diligent labor
in the Doctrine and Discipline, Subhadda very shortly became an Arahan.
Then the Buddha spoke to Ananda again and said:
"Perhaps, Ananda, some of the Bhikkhus may be
thinking: 'The Teacher's words we shall hear no more. We have no teacher now.' But,
Ananda, that is not the right way to look at the matter. The doctrine and the discipline
which I have taught you and counseled you to follow while I was with you, these will be
your teacher when I am gone. And now, while I am alive, you all address one another as
'Brother,' but when I am gone, the older Bhikkhus are to address those younger than
themselves in the Order by their simple name, or as 'Brother,' but those that are younger
must always address those that are older than themselves in the Order, as 'Reverend Sir,'
or 'Venerable Sir,' and after I am gone, Ananda, the Order, if it wishes, may do away with
all the lesser and minor rules of the Order."
Then the Buddha, addressing the other Bhikkhus said:
"If any among you has any doubts or perplexities
regarding the Buddha or the Dhamma or the Sangha or the Path or about what is Right
Conduct, ask about these now, O Bhikkhus, so that afterwards you may not have cause to
regret that you did not have your doubts settled while the Teacher was with you to do
so."
But at these words of the Buddha, none of the Bhikkhus
said anything: none of them had any questions to ask: none of them had any doubts or
perplexities.
Then a second and a third time the Buddha asked any of the
Bhikkhus who had any question they would like to put to Him, to do so now while He was
with them to answer it; but still no Bhikkhu spoke.
Then Ananda spoke and said: "It is wonderful it is
admirable. Reverend Lord! I do believe that in all this great company of Bhikkhus there is
not a single one who has any doubts or perplexities about the Buddha or the Dhamma or the
Sangha or the Path or the Right Rule of Conduct."
"With you, Ananda," said the Buddha, "this
may be a matter of faith and belief. But I, Ananda, I know that not a single Bhikkhu here
has any doubts or perplexities about these things. Of all the Bhikkhus here present,
Ananda, even the most backward of them is not liable to fall back into any lower state of
existence, but is certain to attain wisdom supreme."
Then the Blessed One once more addressed the assembled
Bhikkhus, and these were the very last words He spoke on this earth.
"O Bhikkhus," He said, "this is now my last
admonition to you. //Sabbe sankhara anicca, Appamadena sampadetha.// All the constituents
of existence are unlasting. By earnestness work out your liberation."
Then the Blessed One sank into trance ever deeper and
deeper. Then He came out of trance again. Then He again passed into trance a little way;
and from this trance passed away with that passing away which leaves nothing whatever
behind that can cause birth again in this or any other world. The Blessed One passed away
to Parinibbana.
It is twenty-five centuries ago since Siddhattha Gotama,
the Sakya Prince who became Gotama the Buddha, thus passed away in far Kusinara. But His
words, His Teachings, have not passed away. These still remain, the guide through life to
what is beyond life, of millions of the human race. For, after His passing away, the
Arahans and other disciples of that Blessed One spread the tidings of His great Teaching
all through His native land of India, and passing beyond its boundaries, carried it far
away to the West into Egypt, and to the East into Tibet and China and Japan. To Lapland in
the cold North the Message was borne by them, and to Java and the isles of the southern
seas. So that to-day two and a half millennia since He passed away from the earth, nearly
a third part of those that dwell upon it revere the name of the Exalted One, the Blessed
One, the Buddha Supreme, the Instructor of gods and men the Teacher unique, without a
peer, who taught Nibbana and the Way Thither.
* * * END * * *
[Contents] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]
DISTRIBUTION AGREEMENT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TITLE OF WORK: A Young People's Life of the Buddha
FILENAME: YOUNGLIF.ZIP
AUTHOR: Bhikkhu Silacara
AUTHOR'S ADDRESS: N/A (d. 1950)
PUBLISHER'S ADDRESS: Singapore Buddhist Meditation Centre
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DATE OF PUBLICATION: 1953
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