Here dwelt Siddhartha joining in the strong chanting of Vedic hymns and hearing the recital of the Vedas and Upanishads, for books were none—the memories of men carrying all knowledge, and he learnt these things with a swiftness almost incredible, because his heart was in it. And when food was needed, clad in his yellow garment he took his begging bowl, and went down to the city begging from house to house, for he considered thus:
“Full of hindrances is the household life; the haunt of passion. Free as air is the homeless state,” and all the luxuries of his former life seemed empty as a dream that flies at dawn. “Better is the alms of food I beg than the wines and fruits cooled in snow, the rich meats and costly of Kapila.” So he said night and day, though at first his soul loathed the food.
Now one day when he went to the town of Giribaja to beg his food it so happened that the King of Magadha, Bimbisara, stood on the high terrace of his palace, looking down the street, and he saw the young ascetic coming slowly, holding his bowl in his hands and courteously accepting what was given. And there was that in the nobility of his person and evident signs of Aryan birth which arrested the eyes of the King and he said to those about him.
“Look upon this man, lords, beautiful is he, great and pure. He is guarded in conduct: his eyes do not wander, he looks not more than a fathom’s length before him. Such a man is of no low caste. See how, like a great noble, he is self-possessed and serene, moving in solitary majesty as the moon among faint stars. Send my royal messengers and inquire where that mendicant goes.”
And the messengers ran at the King’s word and hurried down into the street saying to one another.
“Where is that Bhikkhu[[1]] going? It is toward the mountain Pandava. That must be his abode.”
[1] Monk.
And having followed where Siddhartha went they returned to the King and told him—