The narrative of Thariputra’s departure for his birthplace and of his last moments suggests to the mind several reflections. He is certain of the last day of his existence; he foresees with a prophetic glance that his mother is well prepared for hearing profitably the preaching of the most perfect law. By the incomparable powers of his memory he relates to Buddha that 100,000 revolutions of nature ago he was possessed with the strong desire of seeing him and hearing his instructions, &c. How can these particulars be accounted for, according to Buddhistic notions? The spring all evils or demerits flow from is ignorance. A being is imperfect in proportion to his being sunk deeper in the bosom of ignorance. On the contrary, a being perfects himself in proportion to the efforts he makes for dispelling the thick cloud of ignorance that encompasses his mind. The more a man grows in the knowledge of truth the farther he removes the horizon of darkness. He who has made the greatest and most persevering efforts in fervently prosecuting the work of searching truth by studying the law that teaches the way of reaching it, contemplates and enjoys a portion of truth commensurate to his efforts and success. A Buddha, who has reached the last boundaries of knowledge, has therefore triumphed over ignorance and indefinitely enlarged the sphere of truth. He enjoys, in fact, a cloudless sight of all that exists; his science is unlimited, extending over all the countless series of worlds, which, in the opinion of the Buddhists, are supposed to form a system of nature. Thariputra, though much advanced in perfection, had not as yet reached its acme. His knowledge, however, was wonderfully great and extensive; it enabled him to obtain a clear insight into the darkness of the past and a distinct foresight of the future.
[4] The village of Nalanda, the site of which is at present occupied by that of Baragaon, was the birthplace of the great disciple Thariputra. His illustrious companion in religion, Maukalan, was born in the village of Kaulita, about one and a half miles south-west of that place. Nalanda, says Fa-Hian, the Chinese traveller, lies one youdzana north of Radzagio, that is to say, seven English miles according to Cunningham’s measurement, and is seven youdzanas or forty-nine miles distant from the tree Bodi. It was the great seat of Buddhistic learning, renowned all over India. Now the whole site is covered with ancient tanks and mounds of ruins on an immense scale, offering fine specimens of sculpture. The great monastery and five smaller ones were all within one enclosure. A row of lofty conical mounds, running north and south, 1600 feet by 400, indicates the place and extent of those religious buildings. Outside of the enclosure there were several temples. General Cunningham fixes the era of the construction of those edifices between A.D. 425 and 625. Among the several proofs adduced in support of his opinion there is one that appears conclusive. Fa-Hian, who visited all the places famous in the history of Buddhism, and describes them with a minute attention, simply alludes to Nalanda as the birthplace of Thariputra, without saying a word about monasteries or temples, whilst Hwe-Thsang, who visited the same spot in the beginning of the seventh century, describes the splendid temples and monasteries which he saw, and from his statement we infer that the principal edifices were not inferior to those of Buddha Gaya in size and height. Some of them reached to a height of 170 and 200 feet. The greatest was 300 feet high. The number and extent of the tanks is truly surprising. Two of them, in the north-east, were nearly a mile in length, while another in the south was half a mile.
The inference to be drawn from the above is, that during the fifth and the sixth century of our era, Buddhism was in a flourishing condition in the country of Magatha or South Behar, since the finest and loftiest structures in the shape of monasteries and temples have been raised within that period, both at Nalanda and Buddha Gaya. It appears that, during the three first centuries of the Christian era, its fortune alternated, and met with varied results, agreeably to the favourable or unfavourable dispositions of the rulers of the country towards the followers of the philosopher of Kapilawot. This succession of successes and reverses reveals the important fact that Buddhism had not struck deep root in the heart of the inhabitants of Central India, since its fate depended from the will and opinions of the monarch, and was almost at the mercy of his caprices. Moreover, in the country north of the Ganges, such as Wethalie, Thawattie, Kapilawot, places which had been favoured with Buddha’s incessant preachings, religion was on its decline at the time of Fa-Hian’s visit, that is to say, in the beginning of the fifth century; monasteries were deserted and emptied, dzedies were crumbling down and fast decaying. In some instances, heretics, that is to say, pounhas, occupied the dwellings formerly tenanted by holders of the genuine doctrines. This unexpected sight very much grieved the heart of the good Chinese pilgrim. It must be regretted that we have not the written journals of some other Chinese travellers in the eighth or ninth century to reveal to us the state and condition in which they found the magnificent temples of Nalanda and Buddha Gaya when they visited them.
[5] The conduct of Thariputra on this occasion wears an appearance of rudeness towards his aged mother, which at first hurts the feelings of human nature. But a close examination of all the circumstances connected with this last episode of the great disciple’s life, shows that he was far from being divested of filial piety. He leaves his beloved master, undertakes a long and fatiguing journey for the sole purpose of preaching the law to his mother, and conferring upon her a boon of greater value than that he had received from her. In return for all the favours bestowed upon him by his mother, he initiates her in the knowledge of truth, and enables her to enter into the great ways that lead to the deliverance, that is to say, to the state of Neibban. It cannot be denied that his language on this occasion partook of an austere tone, sounding harsh to the ears of worldly men, but it must be borne in mind that Thariputra was an old ascetic, dead to all affections of nature, looking upon truth alone in an abstractively pure form, without any regard to material objects. He loved the law of truth, which he had learned from Buddha, and afterwards preached to others with an unparalleled zeal and fervour. The spirit of Buddha lived in him: he desired to see all beings availing themselves of the means of salvation which he had it in his power to impart unto them; he loved them all with an equal affection; the state of ignorance they were sunk in deeply affected his compassionate soul, and he had but one desire, that of dispelling the thick mist of ignorance by the pure light of truth.
When the instruction to his mother was over, Thariputra desired to be left alone with his disciples. His last words to them bespeak the humble sentiments of his mind. Though the first member of the assembly of the perfect, he begs pardon of his inferiors for the causes of offence he may have unwillingly given them during the period they had lived together: regardless of all the good he had done unto them, he feels that he could not well part with them ere he had atoned to them for any wrong, however involuntary, he might have done to some of them.
For those uninitiated in Buddhistic metaphysics it is not easy to understand and distinctly to appreciate the situation of Thariputra at his last moments. It is stated that he fell into ecstasy or trance, though his soul remained as yet connected with this world by slender and almost invisible ties. This was the last and mighty struggle of a being to disengage himself from the trammels of existence and become free from all exterior influence. Soaring above all that exists, Thariputra’s soul passed successively through the four stages he had so often visited, whilst engaged in the arduous effort of investigating truth, preparing to enter the fifth and last one, where he was to stay finally and perpetually, without any further change, in a state of quiescence. When the sage, during his meditations, has brought his mind to bear upon some object, he wishes to contemplate attentively and thoroughly to comprehend, he at first gets hold of that object by his thought, he then examines it by means of reflection: the knowledge he thus acquires never fails to create a pleasurable sensation; this pleasure or satisfaction conveys to the soul enjoyment and happiness; he loves the truth he has discovered, and he rests fixedly in it. This is the last stage he ever can or wish to reach. What has human mind, indeed, to do, after having found truth, but to cling to it, and remain ever attached to it? During the last trance, Thariputra, with his almost immensely developed mental faculties, knew comprehensively truth, reflected on it, felt a pleasure in considering it, enjoyed it, or rather fed upon it, and at last adhered so perfectly to it, that he became, as it were, merged into it. He then had reached the state of Neibban, where he was for ever exempt from the influences created and put in motion and activity by matter and passions in every state of existence. Buddhists, in Burmah, at least, owing to their very limited and imperfect education, are unable to give any satisfactory or even intelligible account of the state of Neibban or perfection. What is here but superficially stated, has been found in one of the last Buddhistic compositions on this and other metaphysical subjects. Fuller particulars shall, hereafter, be given as to the state of Neibban, when the death of one greater than Thariputra shall be related.
[6] In Burmah, when a person has just given up the ghost, the inmates of the house send for musicians, who soon make their appearance with their respective instruments. They forthwith set to work, and keep up an incessant noise during the twenty-four hours that elapse before the corpse is removed to the place where it is to be burnt. Relatives, friends, and elders resort to the deceased’s house for the ostensible purpose of condoling with those who have lost their kinsman, but in reality for sharing in the mirth and amusements that go on in such occasions. Strange to say, the thought of death strikes no one’s mind; the fate of the deceased is scarcely pitied, nay, remembered. Were it not for the presence of the corpse, and the perhaps conventional cries and lamentations of some old women at certain intervals, no one could imagine, still less find out, the real motive that has induced such a crowd to assemble on that spot.
If the departed belong to a respectable family in tolerably good circumstances, the funeral ceremony is arranged in the following manner: Presents, intended as offerings for the Buddhist monks, having been made ready, they are invited for the occasion, and their presence is expected in numbers proportionate to the amount of offerings. The procession starts from the deceased’s house, and directs its course towards the place of burning or the cemetery. It is headed by the yellow-dressed monks, carrying their broad, palm-leaf fans on the shoulder, and attended by their disciples. Next follow the bearers of the offerings in two lines. They are partly men and partly women, but walk separately and apart from each other. The coffin appears next, laid on thick poles, and carried by six or eight men. In front of the coffin, and sometimes at the sides, are arranged the musicians, who perform all the way without an instant’s interruption. Behind the coffin are grouped the male relatives, friends, &c., and lastly the procession is closed by crowds of women, attired in their finest dress. The coffin is beautifully decorated, and carried on the shoulders of six or eight stout young men by means of bamboos or poles. An unnatural merriment is allowed, and generally kept up all the way to the cemetery, and fantastic gestures and dances are performed by the bearers and their friends to the imminent danger of upsetting the coffin. The burning place is generally without the precincts of the town, and in the vicinity of some large pagodas. The funeral pile is of a very simple structure; its shape is that of an oblong square of a moderate size. Two large pieces of wood are at first laid parallel, at a distance of eight feet; other logs of wood, disposed at about six or eight inches from each other, are laid across the two first mentioned, so that their extremities are supported on these two pieces. A second set of logs is laid at right angles with the first; a third one placed across the second, and so on, until the pile is three, four, or five feet high. The coffin is deposited upon it. Fire is set below the pile by means of inflammable materials which soon communicate fire to the logs the pile is made of. The whole is soon in a blaze and rapidly consumed by the devouring flames. The bystanders talk, laugh, or busy themselves in stirring the fire. As to the Talapoins, they sometimes take position under a neighbouring shed, repeat a few passages of Buddha’s law, and when they are tired they give orders to their disciples to take up the offerings and then go back to their peaceable abodes. Very often they do not take the trouble of muttering prayers; they depart forthwith, followed by the offerings intended for them.
The fire being extinguished, the ashes, charcoal, &c., are carefully searched, and the particles of bones discovered are piously collected by the nearest relatives, and then buried in a hole dug for that purpose near some pagoda.
Persons in good circumstances keep up for seven days in their houses a sort of solemnisation of the funeral. Every day, in the evening particularly, musicians are kept up playing until a very late hour at night. The house is all the while crowded with people, who come for the purpose of enjoyment. Some play at various games; others drink tea; all chew betel-leaves’ tobacco in profusion. Sometimes stories relating to Gaudama’s former existences are read and listened to by the elders of the party. This mode, intended either to do honour to the deceased’s memory or to afford relief to the grief of relatives, is rather expensive, and might often prove a heavy drain on the limited means of most of the families. But the spirit of mutual assistance on this occasion removes the difficulty. Every visitor, according to his means, makes a present of some money to the master of the house. Though the present of the greatest numbers of visitors is comparatively small, yet, when added together, there is a considerable sum, which is generally more than sufficient to defray all expense that may be incurred. This custom or system of voluntary contributions burdens no one in particular, whilst it enables a family to make a show of liberality which, otherwise, would almost prove ruinous in many instances. The custom of burning the dead prevails amongst the Hindus, the Cingalese, Nepaulese, Burmese, Siamese and Cambodians. Though holding the tenets of Buddhism, the Chinese have never adopted this usage. The Mahomedans, living in Hindustan and the countries of eastern Asia, retain the custom of burying the dead. Buddhists have doubtless received that practice from the Hindus.