A YOUNG PEOPLE’S LIFE OF THE BUDDHA: PART IV – LEAVING HOME
But in spite of all the luxury with which he was surrounded, and the pains that were taken too keep from him anything that might make him think the least unhappy thought, the young prince Siddhattha did not feel altogether as happy as his father wished him to feel. He wanted to know what lay outside these palace walls he was never allowed to pass. To distract his attention from any such questions about the outside world, his father planned new festivals and merrymakings of all kinds; but it was all of no use. The prince continued to become more and more dissatisfied with his shut-in life. He wanted to see more of the world than was contained within his own palace and pleasuregrounds, even though the life he led there was full of delights. He wanted to see how other people who were not princes, lived their lives, and told his father again and again that he could not be really happy until he had seen this. Until a day came when the king annoyed by his continual request to be allowed to go outside the palace grounds, could refuse his wish no longer, and said to him: “Very well, my son. You shall go outside the palace walls and see how our people live; but first I must prepare things so that everything may be made fit and proper for my noble son’s eyes to look at.”
So the king sent out his messengers through the city to tell the people that on a certain day his son was coming out to see the city; and that everybody must hang flags and banners and gay bunting out of all their windows, and clean up their houses and paint them afresh, and put flowers over their doors and in front of them, and make everything as bright and gay as they possibly could. He also gave strict orders that nobody was to show himself in the streets who had anything in the least the matter with him. Nobody who was blind or lame or sick in any way, no old folk and no lepers were to appear in the streets of the city anywhere that day, but all such people must stay at home indoors all the time the prince was riding through the streets. Only the young, the strong, the healthy and happy looking people were to come out and give the prince a welcome to the city. Orders were also given that on this day no dead were to be carried through the streets on their way to the burning place, but all dead bodies were to be kept till the next day.
And the people did as the king commanded them. They swept all the streets and watered them to keep the dust from rising. They put new coats of whitewash on their houses and made them bright with wreaths and festoons of flowers hung in front of their doors. They hung streamers of many colored cloth from the trees that grew along the road by which the prince would come. In short, they did all they could think of to make their city look to the eyes of their prince as if it were not a city of this world at all but one of the cities of the gods in the heaven worlds.
Then when everything was all ready, Prince Siddhattha came forth from his palace and, mounting his splendid car, passed slowly through all the streets of the city, looking everywhere about him, and everywhere seeing nothing but the glad, smiling faces of the people, all pleased to see their prince come among them, some of the crowd standing and shouting as he passed: “Victory, victory to our Prince!” while others ran in front of his chariot throwing flowers before the horses’ feet. And the king, as he saw how well the people had obeyed his commands, felt highly pleased, and thought that now that his son had seen the city, and had seen nothing but what was pleasant and happy-looking, now surely he would feel more contented in mind, and once for all give up his brooding thoughts.
And then, suddenly, all that he had planned so well was completely spoiled, all his hopes and desires for his son brought to nothing. From a little hut by the roadside before any one could prevent him, there tottered out a man, with grey hair and nothing on him but a few wretched rags. His face was all withered and wrinkled, his eyes dim and bleary, there were no teeth in his mouth. And as he learned, trembling and half doubled up, on a staff, he had to hold it hard with his two skinny hands to save himself from falling. Then dragging himself along the street and paying no attention to the scenes of rejoicing all round him, he let a few, weak, stammering sounds come from between his pale lips. He was begging the people to give him something to eat or else he would die that very day.
Of course everybody round him was very angry at him for daring to come out of his house on this day when the king’s son was visiting the city for the first time, and the king had commanded that people like him were not to show themselves in the street, and they tried to drive him back into his house before the prince should see him. But they were not quick enough. Prince Siddhattha saw the man, and he was horrified at the sight. He hardly knew what he was looking at.
“What is that, Channa?” he hurriedly said to his favorite attendant at his elbow. “Surely that cannot be a man! Why is he all bent? Why does he not stand up straight like you and me? What is he trembling for? Why is his hair that strange colour and not black like mine? What is wrong with his eyes? Where are his teeth? Is this how some men are born? Tell me, good Channa, what does this mean?”
Then Channa spoke to his master and said:
“My Prince, this man is what is called an old man. He was not born like this. He was born like everybody else, and at one time, when he was young, he was straight and strong and black-haired and clear-eyed. But now he has been a long time in the world, and so he has become like this. Do not concern yourself about him, my Prince. This is just old age.”
“What do you mean, Channa?” said the Prince. “Do you mean that this is quite common? Do you mean that everybody who has been a long time in the world becomes like this? Surely no! I never saw anything like this before. Old age! What is old age?”
“My Prince,” said Channa, the charioteer, “every one in the world who lives a long time becomes just like this man.”
“Everybody, Channa? You? I? My father? My wife? Shall we all become like this and have no teeth or black hair, and be bowed and trembling, and have to lean on a stick when we want to move about instead of standing up straight?”
“Yes, my Prince,” said Channa. “Everybody in the world, if they live long enough, become just like this man. It cannot be stopped. It is old age.”
Then Prince Siddhattha ordered Channa to drive him home again at once. He did not want to see any more of the city that day. He could not take any more pleasure in the sight of the laughing crowds and the gaily decorated streets. He wanted to get away by himself and think about this terrible thing he had just heard for the first time, that he, a prince, heir to a throne, he and everybody he loved, one day must grow weak and feeble and have no more joy in living because they would be old, and there was nothing that could stop this from happening to them, no matter who they were, no matter how rich and great and powerful.
And when he got home to his palace, although his servants set out before him a royal feast of everything delightful to eat, he could not eat, for he was thinking all the time: “Some day I will grow old.” And then, when the dishes he had hardly tasted were taken away, and the dancers and singers came before him to try to please him with their songs and dances, he hardly could bear to look at their graceful poses or listen to their instruments and voices, for he was thinking: “Some day you will all grow old, every one of you, even the prettiest.” And when at length he had sent them all away, and lay down to rest, he could not sleep, but lay awake all night thinking of himself and his beautiful wife Yasodhara, and how that one day they would both grow grey and wrinkled and toothless and ugly like that man he had seen to-day in the streets of the city, and have no more pleasure in one another. And as he thought of this, he began to wonder if out of all the millions and millions of men in the world somebody or another among them all had not found some way of escaping this terrible thing, old age. More than that; he began to wonder if, supposing he tried, tried very hard, stopped trying to do anything else, and gave all his thoughts and energies to this one thing, might he not himself find out such a way for the benefit of himself and Yasodhara and his father and everybody in the world?
Of course the King was told about what had happened, and was very much distressed to hear it. And he, to, lay awake all that night trying to think of some new pleasures with which to distract his son’s attention from these thoughts which, if they were not soon stopped, would surely lead him to leave his home behind and go and live the lonely life of a religious hermit or wanderer. And the King did devise and offer his son new pleasures, but it was all useless. The young Prince refused them. Instead, he pleaded with his father that he might be allowed to go out and visit the city another time without any one being told that he was coming, so that he might be able to see it just as everybody else saw it, following its usual every-day life.
As first King Suddhodana was very unwilling to give his son his wish, for he feared now more than ever, that if once Siddhattha saw the kind of life that is lived by people who are not fortunate enough to be king’s or rich men’s sons, but have to earn all they get by the sweat of their brow, then the old hermit’s prophecy would come true, and Siddhattha would not succeed him on his throne. However, he knew quite well, that having seen so much, his son would never be happy again until he had seen more, whatever the result might be. So once more, though very unwillingly, he gave permission for his son to leave the palace and see the life of the city; and once more Prince Siddhattha went forth beyond the walls that were meant to shut out from him all knowledge of any unpleasant thing. This time, so that the people would not know him as he passed among them, he did not go out dressed like a prince, and nobody was told he was coming. This time, too, he went on foot, not in his chariot, and dressed just like a young man of good family. And nobody went with him but Channa, he also in a dress different from his ordinary one, so that the people would not know him either, and through him, recognize his master.
No huzza-ing crowds, no flower-decked houses, no waving flags did the eyes of the young Prince look upon this time, but just the ordinary sights of a city full of common folk all busy about the various occupations by which men earn their bread. Here a blacksmith was perspiring over his anvil as he hammered and beat out a plowshare or a sickle or a cart-wheel tire. There, in a richer quarter, in their little shops sat the jewelers and goldsmiths, cunningly fitting jewels and precious stones into chasings of silver and gold, skillfully fashioning out of the yellow metal, necklaces and bangles and anklets. There, in another street, the dyers were hanging out to dry in long lines, lengths of newly dyed brilliantly colored cloths, blue and rose-red and green, and many another pretty colour, that one day would drape the form of beauty making it yet more beautiful. And there, too, were the bakers busily baking their cakes and serving them out to customers waiting to get and eat them while they were yet fresh and warm from the baking. At these and similar sights the young Prince now looked with the keen interest of one who had never seen such sights before; and his heart found pleasure in seeing how busy every one seemed, and so interested and seemingly contented and happy in their work. And then, again, something happened that spoiled all his pleasure in this day of new and interesting sights, and sent the Prince home a second time, sad and sorrowful at heart.
For as he was passing along one of the streets with Channa, a little way behind him, he heard a cry as of some one calling for help. He looked around to see what was the matter, and there on the ground near him he saw a man lying twisting his body about in the dust in a very strange way. And all over his face and his body there were ugly looking purple blotches, and his eyes were rolling queerly in his head, and he gasped for breath as he tried to get on to his feet; and every time he got up a little way, he fell helplessly down again.
In the kindness of his heart the Prince at once ran forward to the man and picked him up, and resting his head on his knee, tried to comfort the man, asking him what was wrong with him, and why he did not stand up. The man tried to speak but he could not. He had no breath left for speaking; he could only moan.
“You, Channa,” said the Prince to his servant who had now come up to him, “tell my why this man is like this. What is the matter with his breath? Why does he not answer me?”
“O, my Prince,” cried Channa, “do not hold the man like that. This man is ill. His blood is poisoned. He has the plague-fever, and it is burning him up so that he cannot do anything but just draw hard breath until his breath too is burnt up by the fever.”
“But are there any other men who become like this? Might I become like this?” the Prince asked Channa.
“Indeed you may, my Prince. If you hold the man so close as that. Pray put him down and do not touch him, or the plague will come out from him and go into you, and then you will become the same as he is.”
“Are there any other bad things that come on men besides this plague, Channa?”
“Yes, my Prince, there are others, many many others, of many different kinds, and all of them painful, as this is.”
“And can no one help it? Does sickness like this come on men without their knowing it, by surprise?”
“Yes, Prince, that is what it does. Nobody knows what day he may fall ill like this. It may happen at any time to anybody.”
“To anybody, Channa? To Princes, too? To me?”
“Yes, even to you, my Prince.”
“Then everybody in the world must be afraid all the time, since nobody knows when he goes to bed at night, if he may not awake in the morning ill like this poor man?”
“That is so, my Prince. No one in the world knows what day he may fall ill, and after much suffering, die.”
“Die! That is a strange word! What is ‘die,’ Channa?”
“Look, my Prince,” said Channa.
The Prince looked where Channa pointed, and saw a little crowd of people coming along the street weeping, while behind them came four men carrying on a board a terribly lean-looking man who lay there flat and still, his cheeks fallen in, his mouth set in a strangely ugly grin, but never turning, never saying anything in complaint to those who were carrying him when they gave him a hard jolt on his hard board as they stumbled over a stone in their way. The Prince looked after the little crowd as it passed him wondering why they were all crying, and why the man on the board did not tell those who were carrying him to be more careful and not shake him so much. And when they had gone a little further, to his astonishment, he saw the man’s bearers lay him on a pile of wood, and then put a light to the wood so that it blazed up in a fierce flame, and still the man did not move, though the flames were licking all round his head and feet.
“But what is this, Channa? Why does that man lie there so still and let these people burn him? Why does he not get up and run away?” asked the Prince in horror and bewilderment.
“My Prince,” said Channa, “that man has died. He has feet but he cannot run with them. He has eyes but they do not see anything now. He has ears but he will never hear anything with them again. He cannot feel anything any more, neither heat nor cold, neither fire nor frost. He does not know anything any more. He is dead.”
“Dead, Channa? Is this what it means to be dead? And I — shall I too, a king’s son, one day be dead like this? And my father, and Yasodhara, and every one I know — shall we, every one of us, some day lie dead like that poor man on that pile of burning wood?”
“Yes, my Prince,” said Channa. “Everybody who is alive must some day die. There is no help for it. There is nothing more sure and certain. No one can stop death from coming.”
The Prince was struck dumb. He could say no more. It seemed to him such a terrible thing that there should be no way of escape from this devouring monster death who ate up everybody, even kings and the sons of kings. He turned home in silence, and going to his room in the palace, sat there by himself thinking and brooding hour after hour about what he had seen that day.
“But this is awful,” said the Prince to himself as he sat pondering alone. “Every single person in the world must some day die, and there is no help for it, so Channa says! O, there must be help somewhere, for such a state of things! I must find help; I will find help, for myself and my father and Yasodhara and everybody. I must find some way by which we shall not always be under the power of these hateful things, old age, and sickness, and death.”
On another occasion as the Prince was driving to the Royal Gardens, he came face to face with a man garbed in the flowing orange-colored robes of the recluse. The Prince observed the Monk closely, and, feeling an inward pleasure at the calm and the dignified mien and the noble bearing of the man, he questioned Channa about the life led by such a person. The charioteer replied that the man belonged to the class of people who had “left the world” to seek a remedy for the sufferings and sorrows of the world. The Prince was highly elated over this, and going to the Gardens, spent the day happily, himself having made up his mind to leave home.
As the Prince thus sat thinking and talking to himself, news was brought to him that his wife had given birth to a fine baby boy. But the Prince showed no signs of gladness at the tidings. He only murmured with distracted look: “A Rahula has been born to me, a fetter has been born to me.” And because this was what his father had said when he heard that he was born, the baby was called on his name-giving day, Prince Rahula.
After this day, King Suddhodana saw that it was of no more use trying to shut Prince Siddhattha up in his pleasant palace and keep him occupied only with his own pleasure and delight, so now he allowed him to go out into the city as much as he pleased. And very often the Prince drove round the city, seeing everything, and thinking, always thinking about what he saw, and trying to make up his mind what to do.
After one of these drives through the city, as, on his way home again, he was passing the rooms of the palace where the ladies lived, one of the Princesses called Kisagotami happened to be looking out of her window, and seeing the Prince, she was much struck by his handsome, noble appearance, and exclaimed to herself: “O how happy, how cool, how content must be the mother, and the father, and the wife of such a splendid young Prince?”
But she spoke louder than she thought she was speaking, and the Prince, as he passed, heard what she was saying. And he thought to himself: “Yes, mother and father and wife have happiness and comfort and content in their hearts at having such a son and husband. But what is real true happiness and comfort and content?”
And the Prince’s mind, being already turned away from delight in worldly things by the sights he had seen and the thoughts about them that filled his mind all the time, he said low to himself: “Real true happiness and comfort and content come when the fever of craving and of hating and of delusion is cured. When the fires of pride and false notions and passions are all put out, then comes real true happiness and coolness and content. And that is what I and all men need to get. That is what I must now go forth and seek. I cannot stay any longer in this palace leading this life of pleasure. I must go forth at once and seek, and go on seeking till I find it — that real true happiness which will put me and all men beyond the power of old age and sickness and death. This lady had taught me a good lesson. Without meaning it she has been a good teacher to me. I must send her a teacher’s fee.”
So he took from his neck a fine pearl necklace he was wearing at the time, and sent it with his compliments to Princess Kisagotami. And the princess accepted it from the Prince’s messenger and sent him back with her warmest thanks to the Prince, for she thought it was meant for a token that the handsome and clever young Prince Siddhattha had fallen in love with her and wished to make her his second wife.
But the Prince’s thoughts were very far indeed from any such thing, and his father and his wife knew it very well. Indeed, every one about the Prince could see that he was now completely changed, more serious and thoughtful than he had ever been, when he came home from this day’s ride about the city. But the father could not bear to lose his son without making one more, one last attempt to keep him. So he caused all the cleverest and most entrancingly beautiful singers and dancers in the kingdom to be brought to his son’s palace, and they sang and danced before Prince Siddhattha as King Suddhodana commanded, doing their very best with their gayest, sweetest songs, their most enchanting and alluring postures to draw from his son smiles of approval and pleasure. And for a time the Prince looked at, and listened to them, not wishing to disappoint his father by a flat refusal to see them. But his eyes only half saw the beautiful, enticing forms before him, for his mind was taken up with something else that never left it alone now; he was thinking of the one only thing that now seemed worth thinking about at all — how old age and sickness and death might be escaped by him and by all men, for ever. And at last, weary with so much thinking, worn out with so much brooding, in the midst of the music and loveliness that no longer now had power to charm or please, he fell into a dozing sleep.
The singers and dancers soon noticed that he whom they were supposed to be amusing, cared so little for their efforts, that he did not even take the trouble to keep awake and look at, and listened to them. So they stopped their dancing and singing, and lay down just where they were to wait till the Prince woke again. And soon they, too, like the Prince, fell asleep without knowing it, leaving the lights in the room all burning.
After some time the Prince woke from his doze and looked round him in astonishment, and also in disgust; for what did he see? All those girls who were supposed to be the prettiest and most charming in the country, and only a little while before had been posing before him in the most enchanting attitudes, now were scattered about the floor of the apartment in the ugliest, the most ungainly positions imaginable; some snoring like so many pigs, some with their mouths gaping wide open, some with the spittle oozing from the corners of their lips dribbling down over their dresses, some grinding their teeth in their sleep like hungry demons. So ugly, so repulsive did they look, one and all, that the Prince wondered how he ever could have taken any pleasure in them. The sight of all this that he once had thought loveliness so completely turned to loathsomeness, was the last thing needed to fill his mind with complete disgust for the life he was leading. His mind was now fully made up to leave all this repulsiveness behind him, and to go forth immediately to look for that real happiness which would bring to an end all evil things.
Rising quietly, so as not to disturb and wake any of the sleeping girls, he stole out of his room, and called his servant Channa to him, and told him to saddle his favorite white horse, Kanthaka, for now, at once, he was going out on a long journey.
While Channa was away getting ready Kanthaka, Siddhattha thought he would go and take a last look at his little son before he left. So he went to the room where his wife lay sleeping with her babe beside her. But when he opened the door and looked in, he saw that his wife was sleeping with her hand so placed that it rested on and was covering the baby’s head.
“If I try to move her hand,” said the Prince to himself, “so as to see my boy’s face, I fear I may wake her. And if she wakes, she will not let me go away. No, I must go now without seeing my son’s face this time; but when I have found what I am going forth to seek, I shall come back and see him and his mother again.”
Then, very quietly, so as to wake nobody, the Prince slipped out of the palace, and in the stillness of the midnight hour mounted his white horse Kanthaka who also kept quite quiet, and neither neighed nor made any other sound that might wake any one. Then, with faithful Channa holding on to Kanthaka’s tail, Siddhattha came to the city gate, and, passing through without any one trying to stop him, rode away from all who knew and loved him.
When he had gone a little distance, he pulled up Kanthaka and, turning round, took a last look at the city of Kapilavatthu sleeping there so calm and quiet in the moonlight, while he, its Prince, was leaving it like this, not knowing when he should see it again. It was the city of his fathers, the city where he was leaving behind him a young and beloved wife, and a precious infant son, but he did not weaken in his resolve one jot; no thought of turning back to them entered his mind. That mind was now thoroughly made up. Again he turned his face in the direction he had to go, and rode on till he came to the banks of a river called the Anoma. Here he dismounted, and standing on the sandy beach, that on both hands, stretched away, white as silver, in the moonlight, he took off all his jewels and ornaments, and giving them to Channa, said: “Here, good Channa. Take these adornments of mine and white Kanthaka, and take them back home. The hour has now come for me to give up the worldly life.”
“O my dear master,” cried Channa, “do not go away like this all by yourself. Let me too leave the world and come with you.”
But although Channa again, and yet once more, asked to be allowed to stay with his master and to go with him wherever he went, the Prince was firm and refused to take him with him.
“It is not yet the time for you to retire from the worldly life,” he said to Channa. “Go back to the city at once and tell my father and mother from me that I am quite well.” And he forced him to take all his jewelry from him and also his horse Kanthaka.
Channa could not now refuse to do what his master commanded him, so with a heavy heart and weeping sorely, he turned back along the white moonlit road to the city leading Kanthaka by the bridle to take the sad news to Kapilavatthu that his beloved master, their prince, at last as he long had threatened, had left parents and wife and children and kingdom behind him, and had gone away to be a wanderer without a home.
In this way it was that at the age of twenty-nine, in the full flush of early manhood, while still black-haired and young and strong, Prince Siddhattha Gotama of the noble house of the Sakya race, went forth from home into homelessness, in order to seek for himself and for all men, some way whereby he and they might win forever beyond the reach of all ill, all distress, all grief, all sorrow, all despair.
Source: Budsas.net
