CHAPTER XIX
So continued our Lord, wandering from place to place, or resting in the season of the rains in the monasteries provided by the supporters of the Brotherhood, and, followed by his own, he taught the Breaking of the Fetters—and the fetters he broke are these:
The delusion of self—namely that the individual ego is real and self-existent. For what can exist outside the Universal Self? And egoism is the very root of death.
Doubt. For who can advance boldly, doubting the way and where he shall set the next step?
Belief in good works and ceremonies. For what good work can open a man’s eyes if his motive is mean, and what value have rites and ceremonies in themselves?
Fleshly lust. By no means did the Lord command a cruel asceticism, for this he had tried to the uttermost and having laid it aside, passed on. No, but a joyous temperance, the child of wisdom and duty, the fosterer of endeavour. And duty in all things, a strength by some to be attained now, by others with patience in later lives.
Ill-will. For this is a cruel fetter, biting to the very bone of the wretch who carries it, and it is forged indeed from the black iron of egoism and belief in the separate ego.
And this being all accomplished the last fetters to be broken are:
The desire for separate and individual life in the world of forms we see about us.
The desire for separate life in the formless world to which we shall attain.
Pride—the very snarer of Divine Beings.
Self-righteousness, the womb-sister of pride.
And last, the most terrible of fetters—
Ignorance—mother of a deadly brood.
And where he went these fetters fell before him, and prison doors were opened and they who had sat in darkness walked in light. And they aspired to perfection for he taught that Perfection was their heritage, if not now, then in some future life where the sown seeds of good expanding should throw out strong arms and glorious blossom.
And they believed, and some set tottering steps in the path, and some advanced with wings rather than feet, but all were seekers and finders.
But he compelled none, nor threatened, for by a man’s true self comes his salvation, and seated among his own he said:
“The Tathagata—He who has thus Attained, does not think that it is he who must lead the Brotherhood or that the Order is dependent upon him.”
Only, steadfastly pointing the way, he rejoiced that men should follow it, casting forth his light like the sun, not compelling men to guide their steps by it.
Nor did he teach resignation to sorrow nor its acceptance as a blessing and discipline. Far from it. For in the clear percipience of the Lord sorrow is ignorance and shameful.
“One thing only, monks, now as always I declare to you—sorrow and the uprooting of sorrow.”
For what man would wander in the mist of sorrow when he may walk glad and straight to the goal in the sunlight of wisdom. And sorrow understood is sorrow ended.
Therefore the Lord taught understanding of sorrow, as the first need and therefore says the wise Nagasena:
“As a boy I was admitted to the Order, and nothing did I know of the goal. But I thought—‘These men taught by the Awakened One will teach me.’ And they taught, and now I know with understanding the foundation and the crown of Renunciation.”
And what the Lord taught he knew: that there is no sorrow for the wise.
And thus when he stayed at Alavi, by the cattle-path in the forest he rested on a couch of leaves, and it so chanced that a man of Alavi as he went through the forest saw the Exalted One sitting absorbed in meditation, and greeting him with respect this man sat down at his side and said:
“Master, does the World-Honoured live happily?”
And the Perfect One answered:
“It is so, young man. Of those who live happily in the world I also am one.”
“Cold, Master, is the winter night, the time of frost is coming: rough is the ground trodden by cattle: thin is the couch of leaves: light the monk’s yellow robe: sharp the cutting winter wind.”
For his heart pitied the aging of the Exalted One. But he replied, again smiling:
“It is so, young man. I live happily. Of those who live happily in the world I also am one.”
And so it was, and with his own also. For his mendicants rejoicing said to one another:
“We who call nothing our own, drenched with happiness, we in this world cast out light like the radiant Gods.”
And their song was—
“Abolished is the round of birth: Completed the ascetic life;
Done what was to do.
This world of form is no more. This we know.”
And sometimes proud and learned Brahmans would come to dispute haughtily with the Perfect One, and they, full of pride and anger, would rage and trip in their discourse thinking to show their much learning rather than to seek the truth. But like the waves of a muddy river lashing rock so were they, and the Lord sat there always, answering duly, teaching duly, clothed in serenity, his skin the colour of bright gold, his eyes bright and calm, for he said:
“That in disputation with anyone whatsoever I could be thrown into any confusion or embarrassment,—there is no possibility of such a thing, and because I know of no such possibility I remain quiet and confident. And even when I am carried here upon a bed shall my intellectual strength remain unabated.”
And his monks said:
“Truly from the Exalted One comes all our wisdom.”
And because he was so near the Blessed One many monks would come to the venerable Ananda and say:
“It is long, brother, since we heard a discourse from the Exalted One. It were very good if we might hear one now.”
“Well, venerable ones, betake yourselves to the hermitage of the Brahman Rammako. Perhaps you will get to hear a discourse from the lips of the Exalted One.” For Ananda was wise in the ways of the Master.
Now after the Perfected One had returned from his begging-round, he turned and said:
“Come, Ananda, let us go to the East Grove, to the terrace of the Mother of Migara, and stay there until the evening.”
So they went, and when he had finished his meditation he turned to the venerable Ananda:
“Come, Ananda, let us to the Old Bath and refresh our limbs.”
So they went. Then the beloved Ananda addressed the Perfected One thus:
“The hermitage of the Brahman Rammako, Master, is not far from here. It is pleasantly situated in peaceful solitude. Good were it if the Master should betake himself there.”
And the Blessed One signified by silence his assent. And there they found many monks in edifying discourse. And he waited till they were done, and cleared his throat and rapped at the knocker, and they opened the door, and the World-Honoured entered in and seated himself and incited and gladdened them all with great and high discourse.
So they got what they needed, for very wise was the beloved Ananda in dealing with the Master.
Amazing indeed were the experiences of those who followed the Lord, and not to be understood of those who have not stood face to face with Truth and Love unveiled and terrible in beauty, and terrible also in the loves they inspire. What can words avail?
And where he went the Awakened One strewed little precepts like flowers, easy for a child to remember yet each an upward spiral on the Way.
“If all knew the fruits of alms-giving as I, monks, know them, most surely they would not eat the last least mouthful without dividing it with another.”
And they answered, “Even so, Lord,” and gave of their food, living in peace amidst the Transient, until even its semblance should pass for ever away. And nothing else than food had they to give, being monks.
And one asked of the learned nun Dhammadhina:
“And how, venerable Lady,—how and what has the Blessed One taught about the arising of the false ego in the beginning of things? How came it to be? What does he teach of this?”
“It is the lust of life that sows repeated being in successive lives.”
“And how is the annihilation of the false ego to be attained, Venerable Lady? How has the Exalted One taught?”
“Even by the complete annihilation, rejection, and driving forth of the lust of life—this is what was taught by the Exalted One.” So answered the nun Dhammadhina. “Even through the breaking of any attachment to the Transient.”
But of how Attachment began to be in the beginning of things the Lord would not answer. The Way out, he taught; the way in concerns not at all the man who is fleeing for his life to peace and safety from attachment to the Transient and its illusion.
And again:
“But what follows after death? What follows after the extinction of illusion?” the seeker asked of the learned nun Dhammadhina. And she replied:
“Abandon the question, brother. I cannot grasp the meaning of the question. If you will, go to the Enlightened One and ask him.”
And he went, and the Lord answered:
“Wise is Dhammadhina and mighty in understanding. My answer is hers.”
For the Unknown cannot be known until the way is built to it. Build then the way, and knowledge will come in time. But, without words, to the few, the very few, this knowledge has come, as has been told.
And when the nun Gotami asked him:
“Will the Exalted One teach me the very quintessence of the Law,” he answered thus:
“Whatever teaching leads to passion and not to peace, to pride and not to humility, to desire of much in place of little, to love of society and not of solitude, to idleness and not to striving, to a mind of unrest and not to a mind at peace—that, O Gotami,—note well!—that is not the way,—that is not the teaching of the Master.”
And as they sat in the calm of the sunset and discoursed, Sariputta the Great said this:
“I desire not life. I desire not death. I wait until my hour shall come like a servant that waits for his wage. I await the coming of the hour, conscious and of thoughtful mind.”
Thus steadfast in the way they continued, not cruelly mortifying the body but in the true asceticism of the heart that cannot be tempted. For the Awakened One said this:
“I teach asceticism inasmuch as I teach the burning away of all evil conditions of the heart. And the true ascetic who thus lives may fitly and rightly eat of the food that is given him in alms, of rice pleasantly prepared and such-like, and it will do him no ill.”
So quietly and in radiance life went on as a summer day which from dewy dawn passes through every gradation of light until the night comes, taking the world in her net of stars and laying all to rest.
And still the Exalted One journeyed and taught, now being very aged, and the seeds of his doctrine were carried as if by far-flying birds into the outer lands which had never felt in this life the tread of his blessed feet nor seen the calm of his face nor the majesty that attended him. And taking root these seeds shot up later into mighty trees of glorious growth.
And still he journeyed to and fro, and the people said to the monks:
“Let not the World-Honoured overweary himself, for in what are we worthy that our well-being should cost the world its Light?”
And they answered:
“All he does is well. This also is well and could not be otherwise.”
But the beloved Ananda saw with fear that the World-Honoured moved more slowly and with more painful effort on each journey he made. And awe and grief possessed Ananda, seeing this, for he had not as yet attained to perfect enlightenment,—and with many cares he compassed the Blessed and followed him wherever he went.
CHAPTER XX
THE LAST JOURNEY
And the Blessed One passed through Pataligama and went on to the river and at that time Ganges was swollen and brimming, and some with him began to seek for boats and some for basket-rafts that they might pass over. But the Exalted One, swiftly as a powerful man could stretch out his arm and withdraw it, vanished from the hither side of the river and stood on the other bank with the brethren. And he uttered this verse:
“Those who cross the stormy sea
Making a firm way for their feet,
While the blinded tie their basket-rafts,
These are the wise, these are the safe and glad.”
And they passed on to the villages of Nadika and at the last the Happy One rested at the Brick Hall, and the beloved Ananda (who tended him always) came and sat down respectfully beside him, and having passed through the village and heard of the deaths of several devout followers, men and women, who had followed them formerly, he asked the Lord of their destiny and of what had befallen them.
And naming them each and all by name, replied the Exalted One:
“Of those men and women there are some who in their first return to this world will make an end of sorrow and illusion and return no more. And some there are for whom having attained the highest knowledge, it is no longer possible that they should return to mortal birth, for they are now assured of final salvation.”
And in the Brick Hall at Nadika he taught the people, saying:
“Great is the fruit, great the advantage of earnest contemplation when adorned with right doing. And great the fruit of high intellect adorned with earnest contemplation. For the mind set round with intelligence is thus delivered from sensuality, from the false ego, from delusion and ignorance.”
And they went on to Vaisali, and from thence to Beluva, and there the Blessed One rested in the village. And he said to the brethren:
“Mendicants, do you take up your abode round about Vaisali for the rains, each according to his friends. For I shall enter upon the rainy season here at Beluva.”
“So be it, Lord,” said the brethren in assent, and so it was done.
Now when the Blessed One had thus entered on the rains at Beluva there fell upon him a sickness, and sharp pains came upon him even to death. But mindful and self-possessed he bore them without complaint. And this thought came into his mind:
“It would not be right for me to pass away without addressing the disciples, without taking leave of the Order. Let me now by a strong effort of the will bend down this sickness and keep my hold on life until the allotted time be come.”
And he bent that sickness down and it abated.
And when he began to recover he went out of the little vihara—the monastery, and sat down behind it on a seat spread out for him. And the venerable Ananda went where the Blessed One was, and sat respectfully beside him, and said this:
“I have seen, Lord, how the Blessed One suffered, and though at that sight my body became weak as a creeper, yet I had some little comfort in thinking that the Blessed One would not pass from existence until at least he had left some instructions touching the Order.”
“What then, Ananda? Does the Order expect that of me? Now, He who has thus Attained thinks not that it is he who shall lead the Order or that it is dependent upon him. I too, Ananda, am now grown old and full of years. My journey is drawing to its close. I have reached my sum of days, I am turning eighty years of age. And just as a worn-out cart can only with much additional care be made to move, so, I think, the body of the Tathagata can only be kept going with much additional care. It is only when ceasing to attend to any outward thing he becomes plunged in devout meditation concerned with no material object,—it is only then that the body of the Tathagata is at ease.”
And there was a long pause, and the venerable Ananda remained steadfastly gazing at the Perfect One, absorbed in his words as foreseeing the end. And the Lord resumed:
“Therefore, Ananda, be lamps unto yourselves. Betake yourselves to no external Refuge. Hold fast to the truth as a lamp. Look not for refuge to anyone beside yourselves. And whoever after I am dead shall be a lamp unto themselves and holding fast to the truth look for refuge to no one outside themselves, it is they, among my mendicants, who shall reach the Height.”
And again the Blessed One robed himself early in the morning and taking his bowl went into Vaisali for alms and when he returned he sat down upon the seat prepared for him and when he had finished eating the rice he said:
“Take up the mat, Ananda,—I will go to spend the day at the Kapila Ketiya.”
“So be it, Lord,” said the venerable Ananda, and he followed step for step behind the Blessed One.
And when he had come there the Blessed One sat down upon the mat spread out for him, and the venerable Ananda took his seat respectfully beside him. And the Blessed One said:
“Whoever, Ananda, has developed himself and ascended to the very heights of the four paths to Power, thus transcending bodily conditions and using these Powers for good may if he desires it, remain in the same birth for an age, or that portion of the age which is yet to run. Now He who has thus Attained has developed these Powers and could therefore live on yet for an age or that portion of the age which has yet to run.”
But even though this suggestion was given by the Blessed One, the venerable Ananda did not comprehend it, nor did he say, “Vouchsafe, Lord, to remain! Live on for the good and happiness of the peoples, out of pity for the world and the weal of Divine Beings and men.”
And a second time did the Blessed One say this, and yet did not the beloved Ananda speak.
Now the Blessed One addressed him thus:
“You may leave me, Ananda, for awhile.”
And rising from his seat, Ananda saluted the Lord, and sat down at the foot of a tree not far off, and when he was gone, the Evil One, the Tempter, approached the Lord and stood beside him, and he said:
“Pass away now, Lord, from existence. Let the Blessed One die. For did he not say that when the Order was established, and the lay-people, and the truth made known, that then the time would be come? And all this is now done, and the time is here. Pass away now, therefore, Lord. Let the Blessed One die.”
And when he had spoken, the Blessed One said to the Evil One:
“Be happy. At the end of three months from this time the Blessed One will die.”
Thus did the Lord deliberately and consciously reject the rest of his possible sum of life. And there followed an earthquake and tremblings and thunders.
And Ananda returned in haste and said:
“Wonderful and marvellous is this earthquake, Lord, and what is its cause?”
And the Lord said:
“Of the eight causes of earthquake and tremblings, this is one—when an Awakened One,—He who has thus Attained, consciously and deliberately rejects the remainder of his life, then is the earth shaken.”
And, still speaking of the mastery of the Powers, the Lord continued:
“Now I call to mind, Ananda, how when I used to enter into an assembly of many hundred nobles with discourse of religion I would instruct and gladden them, and they would say,—‘Who may this be who thus speaks? A man or a God?’ And having taught and gladdened them, suddenly I would vanish away. But they knew me not even when I vanished away, and they would say in bewilderment, ‘Who may this be who has thus vanished away? A man, or a God?’ ”
And he spoke also of the eight stages of deliverance from errors of perception, passing beyond the apprehension of form through infinite space and infinite reason and finally beyond sensation and ideas, even into the eighth stage of deliverance.
And having given this instruction the Lord related to the venerable Ananda how that in three months’ time he should hear his voice no more, and the venerable Ananda cried out vehemently:
“Vouchsafe, O Blessed One, to live. Stay with us for the weal of Divine Beings and men.”
But the Lord answered:
“The time for making such a request is past.”
And a second and a third time Ananda entreated and the Lord replied, saying:
“Verily, the word has gone forth from Him who has thus Attained. That the Tathagata for the sake of living should repent of that saying can in no wise be. Come, Ananda, let us rise and go to the Mahavana.”
And they went to the Mahavana, to the Service Hall, and he commanded Ananda to assemble there such of the brethren as dwelt in the neighbourhood of Vaisali. And when they were assembled the Blessed One sat down upon his mat and addressed them. And he said:
“The truths, monks, which I have made known to you and you have mastered, these practise, meditate, and spread abroad, that it may continue to be for the good and happiness of great multitudes.
“Behold, monks, now I exhort you. All component things must grow old and pass away. Work out your salvation with diligence. At the end of three months from this time He who has thus Attained will die. My age is now full ripe: my life draws to its close. I leave you, I depart, relying on myself alone. Be earnest, holy, full of thought. Be steadfast in resolve. Keep watch over your own hearts. Who wearies not, but holds fast to the Law, shall cross this sea of life, shall make an end of grief.”
So he spoke, and they dispersed silently.
And the Blessed One robed himself early in the morning and took his bowl and went into Vaisali for alms and when he had eaten his meal and was returning, he gazed steadfastly at Vaisali and he said this:
“This is the last time, Ananda, that He who has thus Attained will behold Vaisali. Let us now go to Bhandagama.”
And they went, and the Lord rested in the village itself, and there he addressed the brethren, saying:
“It is through ignorance of the Truths that we have had to run so long, to wander so far in this weary road of rebirth—you and I. But when the noble conduct of life, noble meditation, noble wisdom and noble freedom are realized and known, then is the craving for existence rooted out, the chain broken and we return to earth no more.”
And it was there also that he delivered the high discourse on the nature of the Four Truths; and having done this he pressed on with the venerable Ananda and a great company of his own to Pava. And there he stayed in the Mango Grove of Chunda, and Chunda was a smith by family.
And when Chunda heard that the Perfect One had come to Pava and rested in his Mango Grove, he went to him and saluted him joyfully, and with reverence took his seat beside him, and the Blessed One gladdened him with talk of high things. And, so gladdened, he addressed the Lord, and said:
“May the Blessed One do me the honour of taking his meal, together with the brethren, at my house to-morrow?”
And the Lord signified by silence his consent, and seeing he had consented, Chunda the worker in metals, bowed before him and keeping him on his right hand, departed.
And at the end of the night Chunda made ready in his house excellent food, hard and soft, sweet rice and cakes and the food, found in the earth and loved by boars, truffles, and when all was ready he announced it to the Lord saying:
“Exalted One, the meal is ready.”
And the Blessed One robed himself and took his bowl and he and his followers went to the dwelling-place of Chunda. And when the meal was over, he gladdened the smith with discourse of high matters, and so rose and departed.
But after the Blessed One had eaten of his food then fell upon him a grievous disease, and sharp pain came upon him even to death, but he bore it without complaint mindful and self-possessed. And to the venerable Ananda he said:
“Come, let us go to Kusinara.”
“Even so, Lord,” said the venerable Ananda.
And they went, but as they went the Blessed One grew very weary and he rested beneath a tree and said:
“Fold the robe and spread it for me, I pray you. I am weary, Ananda, and I must rest awhile.”
And the robe was spread, folded fourfold, and when the World-Honoured was seated he asked for fresh water to drink and Ananda answered:
“But, Lord, five hundred carts have just gone by across the stream and stirred up by the wheels it has become fouled and turbid. Let us wait for the river, cool and transparent, easy to get into. There the Blessed One may drink and cool his limbs.”
But his thirst would not wait, and taking a bowl Ananda went down to the stream, and when he came to it it flowed clear as light. And he thought:
“How wonderful, how marvellous is the power of Him who has thus Attained. For this turbid stream is flowing brightly now.”
And when he returned he said:
“Great is the power of the Lord. Let the Happy One drink!”
Now at that time a young man named Pukkusa, a disciple of the Brahman Alara, passed along the highway, and seeing the Blessed One very weary beneath the tree he came and saluted him taking his seat respectfully beside him, and the Holy One discoursed with him on the depths of calm in pure contemplation and abstraction of mind from the vain shows about us, and with every power of his mind and heart did the young man listen, and when the great teaching was ended, he said:
“Most excellent, Lord, are the words of your mouth—most excellent. As it were to bring a lamp into the darkness so are your words. And I, even I, betake myself to the Blessed One as my refuge, to the Truth and the Brotherhood. May I be accepted as a disciple!”
And the young Pukkusa presented two robes of burnished cloth of gold to the World-Honoured, saying:
“May favour be shown and these accepted at my hand!”
“In that case, Pukkusa, offer the one to me and the other to Ananda.”
And so it was done and the young man gladdened and strengthened, rose and bowed down and went his way.