Sacred Books of the East

CHAPTER V

By Spiritual Power Fixing His Term of Years

At this time the great men among the Likkhavis, hearing that the lord of the world had entered their country and was located in the Âmrâ garden, went thither riding in their gaudy chariots with silken canopies, and clothed in gorgeous robes, both blue and red and yellow and white, each one with his own cognizance. Accompanied by their body guard surrounding them, they went; others prepared the road in front; and with their heavenly crowns and flower-bespangled robes they rode, richly dight with every kind of costly ornament. Their noble forms resplendent increased the glory of that garden grove; now taking off the five distinctive ornaments, alighting from their chariots, they advanced afoot. Slowly thus, with bated breath, their bodies reverent they advanced. Then they bowed down and worshipped Buddha's foot, and, a great multitude, they gathered round the lord, shining as the sun's disc, full of radiance.

There was the lion Likkhavi, among the Likkhavis the senior, his noble form bold as the lion's, standing there with lion eyes, but without the lion's pride, taught by the Sâkya lion, who thus began: "Great and illustrious personages, famed as a tribe for grace and comeliness! put aside, I pray, the world's high thoughts, and now accept the abounding lustre of religious teaching. Wealth and beauty, scented flowers and ornaments like these, are not to be compared for grace with moral rectitude! Your land productive and in peaceful quiet—this is your great renown; but true gracefulness of body and a happy people depend upon the heart well-governed. Add but to this a reverent feeling for religion, then a people's fame is at its height! a fertile land and all the dwellers in it, as a united body, virtuous! To-day then learn this virtue, cherish with carefulness the people, lead them as a body in the right way of rectitude, even as the ox-king leads the way across the river-ford. If a man with earnest recollection ponder on things of this world and the next, he will consider how by right behavior right morals he prepares, as the result of merit, rest in either world. For all in this world will exceedingly revere him, his fame will spread abroad through every part, the virtuous will rejoice to call him friend, and the outflowings of his goodness will know no bounds forever. The precious gems found in the desert wilds are all from earth engendered; moral conduct, likewise, as the earth, is the great source of all that is good. By this, without the use of wings, we fly through space, we cross the river needing not a handy boat; but without this a man will find it hard indeed to cross the stream of sorrow or stay the rush of sorrow. As when a tree with lovely flowers and fruit, pierced by some sharp instrument, is hard to climb, so is it with the much-renowned for strength and beauty, who break through the laws of moral rectitude! Sitting upright in the royal palace, the heart of the king was grave and majestic; with a view to gain the merit of a pure and moral life, he became a convert of a great Rishi. With garments dyed and clad with hair, shaved, save one spiral knot, he led a hermit's life, but, as he did not rule himself with strict morality, he was immersed in suffering and sorrow. Each morn and eve he used the three ablutions, sacrificed to fire and practised strict austerity, let his body be in filth as the brute beast, passed through fire and water, dwelt amidst the craggy rocks, inhaled the wind, drank from the Ganges' stream, controlled himself with bitter fasts—but all! far short of moral rectitude. For though a man inure himself to live as any brute, he is not on that account a vessel of the righteous law; whilst he who breaks the laws of right behavior invites detraction, and is one no virtuous man can love; his heart is ever filled with boding fear, his evil name pursues him as a shadow. Having neither profit nor advantage in this world, how can he in the next world reap content? Therefore the wise man ought to practise pure behavior; passing through the wilderness of birth and death, pure conduct is to him a virtuous guide. From pure behavior comes self-power, which frees a man from many dangers; pure conduct, like a ladder, enables us to climb to heaven. Those who found themselves on right behavior, cut off the source of pain and grief; but they who by transgression destroy this mind, may mourn the loss of every virtuous principle. To gain this end first banish every ground of 'self'; this thought of 'self' shades every lofty aim, even as the ashes that conceal the fire, treading on which the foot is burned. Pride and indifference shroud this heart, too, as the sun is obscured by the piled-up clouds; supercilious thoughts root out all modesty of mind, and sorrow saps the strongest will. As age and disease waste youthful beauty, so pride of self destroys all virtue; the Devas and Asuras, thus from jealousy and envy, raised mutual strife. The loss of virtue and of merit which we mourn, proceeds from 'pride of self' throughout; and as I am a conqueror amid conquerors, so he who conquers self is one with me. He who little cares to conquer self, is but a foolish master; beauty, or earthly things, family renown and such things, all are utterly inconstant, and what is changeable can give no rest of interval. If in the end the law of entire destruction is exacted, what use is there in indolence and pride? Covetous desire is the greatest source of sorrow, appearing as a friend in secret 'tis our enemy. As a fierce fire excited from within a house, so is the fire of covetous desire: the burning flame of covetous desire is fiercer far than fire which burns the world. For fire may be put out by water in excess, but what can overpower the fire of lust? The fire which fiercely burns the desert grass dies out, and then the grass will grow again; but when the fire of lust burns up the heart, then how hard for true religion there to dwell! for lust seeks worldly pleasures, these pleasures add to an impure karman; by this evil karman a man falls into perdition, and so there is no greater enemy to man than lust. Lusting, man gives way to amorous indulgence, by this he is led to practise every kind of lustful longing; indulging thus, he gathers frequent sorrow. No greater evil is there than lust. Lust is a dire disease, and the foolish master stops the medicine of wisdom. The study of heretical books not leading to right thought, causes the lustful heart to increase and grow, for these books are not correct on the points of impermanency, the non-existence of self, and any object ground for 'self.' But a true and right apprehension through the power of wisdom, is effectual to destroy that false desire, and therefore our object should be to practise this true apprehension. Right apprehension once produced then there is deliverance from covetous desire, for a false estimate of excellency produces a covetous desire to excel, whilst a false view of demerit produces anger and regret; but the idea of excelling and also of inferiority (in the sense of demerit) both destroyed, the desire to excel and also anger (on account of inferiority) are destroyed. Anger! how it changes the comely face, how it destroys the loveliness of beauty! Anger dulls the brightness of the eye, chokes all desire to hear the principles of truth, cuts and divides the principle of family affection, impoverishes and weakens every worldly aim. Therefore let anger be subdued, yield not to the angry impulse; he who can hold his wild and angry heart is well entitled 'illustrious charioteer.' For men call such a one 'illustrious team-breaker' who can with bands restrain the unbroken steed; so anger not subdued, its fire unquenched, the sorrow of repentance burns like fire. A man who allows wild passion to arise within, himself first burns his heart, then after burning adds the wind thereto which ignites the fire again, or not, as the case may be. The pain of birth, old age, disease, and death, press heavily upon the world, but adding 'passion' to the score, what is this but to increase our foes when pressed by foes? But rather, seeing how the world is pressed by throngs of grief, we ought to encourage in us love, and as the world produces grief on grief, so should we add as antidotes unnumbered remedies." Tathâgata, illustrious in expedients, according to the disease, thus briefly spoke; even as a good physician in the world, according to the disease, prescribes his medicine. And now the Likkhavis, hearing the sermon preached by Buddha, arose forthwith and bowed at Buddha's feet, and joyfully they placed them on their heads. Then they asked both Buddha and the congregation on the morrow to accept their poor religious offerings. But Buddha told them that already Âmrâ had invited him. On this the Likkhavis, harboring thoughts of pride and disappointment, said: "Why should that one take away our profit?" But, knowing Buddha's heart to be impartial and fair, they once again regained their cheerfulness. Tathâgata, moreover, nobly seizing the occasion, appeasing them, produced within a joyful heart; and so subdued, their grandeur of appearance came again, as when a snake subdued by charms glistens with shining skin. And now, the night being passed, the signs of dawn appearing, Buddha and the great assembly go to the abode of Âmrâ, and having received her entertainment, they went on to the village of Pi-nau, and there he rested during the rainy season; the three months' rest being ended, again he returned to Vaisâli, and dwelt beside the Monkey Tank; sitting there in a shady grove, he shed a flood of glory from his person; aroused thereby, Mâra Pisuna came to the place where Buddha was, and with closed palms exhorted him thus: "Formerly, beside the Nairañganâ river, when you had accomplished your true and steadfast aim, you said, 'When I have done all I have to do, then will I pass at once to Nirvâna'; and now you have done all you have to do, you should, as then you said, pass to Nirvâna."

Then Buddha spake to Pisuna: "The time of my complete deliverance is at hand, but let three months elapse, and I shall reach Nirvâna." Then Mâra, knowing that Tathâgata had fixed the time for his emancipation, his earnest wish being thus fulfilled, joyous returned to his abode in heaven. Tathâgata, seated beneath a tree, straightway was lost in ecstasy, and willingly rejected his allotted years, and by his spiritual power fixed the remnant of his life. On this, Tathâgata thus giving up his years, the great earth shook and quaked through all the limits of the universe; great flames of fire were seen around, the tops of Sumeru were shaken, from heaven there rained showers of flying stones, a whirling tempest rose on every side, the trees were rooted up and fell, heavenly music rose with plaintive notes, whilst angels for a time were joyless. Buddha rising from out his ecstasy, announced to all the world: "Now have I given up my term of years; I live henceforth by power of faith; my body like a broken chariot stands, no further cause of 'coming' or of 'going'; completely freed from the three worlds, I go enfranchised, as a chicken from its egg."

The Differences of the Likkhavis

The venerable Ânanda, seeing the earth shaking on every side, his heart was tearful and his hair erect; he asked the cause thereof of Buddha.

Buddha replied: "Ânanda! I have fixed three months to end my life, the rest of life I utterly give up; this is the reason why the earth is greatly shaken."

Ânanda, hearing the instruction of Buddha, was moved with pity and the tears flowed down his face, even as when an elephant of mighty strength shakes the sandal-wood tree. Thus was Ânanda shaken and his mind perturbed, whilst down his cheeks the tears, like drops of perfume, flowed; so much he loved the lord his master, so full of kindness was he, and, as yet, not freed from earthly thoughts. Thinking then on these four things alone, he gave his grief full liberty, nor could he master it, but said, "Now I hear the lord declare that he has fixed for good his time to die, my body fails, my strength is gone, my mind is dazed, my soul is all discordant, and all the words of truth forgotten; a wild deserted waste seems heaven and earth. Have pity! save me, master! perish not so soon! Perished with bitter cold, I chanced upon a fire—forthwith it disappeared. Wandering amid the wilds of grief and pain, deceived, confused, I lost my way—suddenly a wise and prudent guide encountered me, but hardly saved from my bewilderment, he once more vanished. Like some poor man treading through endless mud, weary and parched with thirst, longs for the water, suddenly he lights upon a cool refreshing lake, he hastens to it—lo! it dries before him. The deep blue, bright, refulgent eye, piercing through all the worlds, with wisdom brightens the dark gloom, the darkness for a moment is dispelled. As when the blade shoots through the yielding earth, the clouds collect and we await the welcome shower, then a fierce wind drives the big clouds away, and so with disappointed hope we watch the dried-up field! Deep darkness reigned for want of wisdom, the world of sentient creatures groped for light, Tathâgata lit up the lamp of wisdom, then suddenly extinguished it—ere he had brought it out."

Buddha, hearing Ânanda speaking thus, grieved at his words, and pitying his distress, with soothing accents and with gentle presence spake with purpose to declare the one true law:—

"If men but knew their own nature, they would not dwell in sorrow; everything that lives, whate'er it be, all this is subject to destruction's law; I have already told you plainly, the law of things 'joined' is to 'separate'; the principle of kindness and of love is not abiding, 'tis better then to reject this pitiful and doting heart. All things around us bear the stamp of instant change; born, they perish; no self-sufficiency; those who would wish to keep them long, find in the end no room for doing so. If things around us could be kept for aye, and were not liable to change or separation, then this would be salvation! where then can this be sought? You, and all that lives, can seek in me this great deliverance! That which you may all attain I have already told you, and tell you, to the end. Why then should I preserve this body? The body of the excellent law shall long endure! I am resolved; I look for rest! This is the one thing needful. So do I now instruct all creatures, and as a guide, not seen before, I lead them; prepare yourselves to cast off consciousness, fix yourselves well in your own island. Those who are thus fixed mid-stream, with single aim and earnestness striving in the use of means, preparing quietly a quiet place, not moved by others' way of thinking, know well, such men are safe on the law's island. Fixed in contemplation, lighted by the lamp of wisdom, they have thus finally destroyed ignorance and gloom. Consider well the world's four bounds, and dare to seek for true religion only; forget 'yourself,' and every 'ground of self,' the bones, the nerves, the skin, the flesh, the mucus, the blood that flows through every vein; behold these things as constantly impure, what joy then can there be in such a body? every sensation born from cause, like the bubble floating on the water. The sorrow coming from the consciousness of birth and death and inconstancy, removes all thought of joy—the mind acquainted with the law of production, stability, and destruction, recognizes how again and once again things follow or succeed one another with no endurance. But thinking well about Nirvâna, the thought of endurance is forever dismissed; we see how the samskâras from causes have arisen, and how these aggregates will again dissolve, all of them impermanent. The foolish man conceives the idea of 'self,' the wise man sees there is no ground on which to build the idea of 'self,' thus through the world he rightly looks and well concludes, all, therefore, is but evil; the aggregate amassed by sorrow must perish in the end! if once confirmed in this conviction, that man perceives the truth. This body, too, of Buddha now existing soon will perish: the law is one and constant, and without exception." Buddha having delivered this excellent sermon, appeased the heart of Ânanda.

Then all the Likkhavis, hearing the report, with fear and apprehension assembled in a body; devoid of their usual ornaments, they hastened to the place where Buddha was. Having saluted him according to custom, they stood on one side, wishing to ask him a question, but not being able to find words. Buddha, knowing well their heart, by way of remedy, in the right use of means, spake thus:—

"Now I perfectly understand that you have in your minds unusual thoughts, not referring to worldly matters, but wholly connected with subjects of religion; and now you wish to hear from me, what may be known respecting the report about my resolve to terminate my life, and my purpose to put an end to the repetition of birth. Impermanence is the nature of all that exists, constant change and restlessness its conditions; unfixed, unprofitable, without the marks of long endurance. In ancient days the Rishi kings, Vasishtha Rishi, Mândhâtri, the Kakravartin monarchs, and the rest, these and all others like them, the former conquerors, who lived with strength like Îsvara, these all have long ago perished, not one remains till now; the sun and moon, Sakra himself, and the great multitude of his attendants, will all, without exception, perish; there is not one that can for long endure; all the Buddhas of the past ages, numerous as the sands of the Ganges, by their wisdom enlightening the world, have all gone out as a lamp; all the Buddhas yet to come will also perish in the same way; why then should I alone be different? I too will pass into Nirvana; but as they prepared others for salvation, so now should you press forward in the path; Vaisâli may be glad indeed, if you should find the way of rest! The world, in truth, is void of help, the 'three worlds' not enough for joy—stay then the course of sorrow, by engendering a heart without desire. Give up for good the long and straggling way of life, press onward on the northern track, step by step advance along the upward road, as the sun skirts along the western mountains."

At this time the Likkhavis, with saddened hearts, went back along the way; lifting their hands to heaven and sighing bitterly: "Alas! what sorrow this! His body like the pure gold mountain, the marks upon his person so majestic, ere long and like a towering crag he falls; not to live, then why not, 'not to love'? The powers of birth and death, weakened awhile, the lord Tathâgata, himself the fount of wisdom appeared, and now to give it up and disappear! without a saviour now, what check to sorrow? The world long time endured in darkness, and men were led by a false light along the way—when lo! the sun of wisdom rose; and now, again, it fades and dies—no warning given. Behold the whirling waves of ignorance engulfing all the world! Why is the bridge or raft of wisdom in a moment cut away? The loving and the great physician king came with remedies of wisdom, beyond all price, to heal the hurts and pains of men—why suddenly goes he away? The excellent and heavenly flag of love adorned with wisdom's blazonry, embroidered with the diamond heart, the world not satisfied with gazing on it, the glorious flag of heavenly worship! Why in a moment is it snapped? Why such misfortune for the world, when from the tide of constant revolutions a way of escape was opened—but now shut again! and there is no escape from weary sorrow! Tathâgata, possessed of fond and loving heart, now steels himself and goes away; he holds his heart so patient and so loving, and, like the Wai-ka-ni flower, with thoughts cast down, irresolute and tardy, he goes depressed along the road. Or like a man fresh from a loved one's grave, the funeral past and the last farewell taken, comes back with anxious look."

Parinirvâna

When Buddha went towards the place of his Nirvâna, the city of Vaisâli was as if deserted, as when upon a dark and cloudy night the moon and stars withdraw their shining. The land that heretofore had peace, was now afflicted and distressed; as when a loving father dies, the orphan daughter yields to constant grief. Her personal grace unheeded, her clever skill but lightly thought of, with stammering lips she finds expression for her thoughts; how poor her brilliant wit and wisdom now! Her spiritual powers ill regulated without attractiveness, her loving heart faint and fickle, exalted high but without strength, and all her native grace neglected; such was the case at Vaisâli; all outward show now fallen, like autumn verdure in the fields bereft of water, withered up and dry; or like the smoke of a half-smouldering fire, or like those who having food before them yet forget to eat, so these forgot their common household duties, and nought prepared they for the day's emergencies. Thinking thus on Buddha, lost in deep reflection, silent they sat nor spoke a word. And now the lion Likkhavis manfully enduring their great sorrow, with flowing tears and doleful sighs, signifying thereby their love of kindred, destroyed forever all their books of heresy, to show their firm adherence to the true law. Having put down all heresy, they left it once for all; severed from the world and the world's doctrines, convinced that non-continuance was the great disease. Moreover thus they thought: "The lord of men now enters the great quiet place (Nirvâna), and we are left without support, and with no saviour; the highest lord of 'means' is now about to extinguish all his glory in the final place of death. Now we indeed have lost our steadfast will, as fire deprived of fuel; greatly to be pitied is the world, now that the lord gives up his world-protecting office, even as a man bereft of spiritual power throughout the world is greatly pitied. Oppressed by heat we seek the cooling lake, nipped by the cold we use the fire; but in a moment all is lost, the world is left without resource; the excellent law, indeed, is left, to frame the world anew, as a metal-caster frames anew his work. The world has lost its master-guide, and, men bereaved of him, the way is lost; old age, disease, and death, self-sufficient, now that the road is missed, pervade the world without a way. What is there now throughout the world equal to overcome the springs of these great sorrows? The great cloud's rain alone can make the raging and excessive fire, that burns the world, go out. So only he can make the raging fire of covetous desire go out; and now he, the skilful maker of comparisons, has firmly fixed his mind to leave the world! And why, again, is the sword of wisdom, ever ready to be used for an uninvited friend, only like the draught of wine given to him about to undergo the torture and to die? Deluded by false knowledge the mass of living things are only born to die again; as the sharp knife divides the wood, so constant change divides the world. The gloom of ignorance like the deep water, lust like the rolling billow, sorrow like the floating bubbles, false views like the Makara fish, amidst all these the ship of wisdom only can carry us across the mighty sea. The mass of ills are like the flowers of the sorrow-tree, old age and all its griefs, the tangled boughs; death the tree's tap-root, deeds done in life the buds, the diamond sword of wisdom only strong enough to cut down the mundane tree! Ignorance the burning-glass, covetous desire the scorching rays, the objects of the five desires the dry grass, wisdom alone the water to put out the fire. The perfect law, surpassing every law, having destroyed the gloom of ignorance, we see the straight road leading to quietness and rest, the end of every grief and sorrow. And now the loving one, converting men, impartial in his thoughts to friend or foe, the all-knowing, perfectly instructed, even he is going to leave the world! He with his soft and finely modulated voice, his compact body and broad shoulders, he, the great Rishi, ends his life! Who then can claim exemption? Enlightened, now he quickly passes hence! let us therefore seek with earnestness the truth, even as a man meets with the stream beside the road, then drinks and passes on. Inconstancy, this is the dreaded enemy—the universal destroyer—sparing neither rich nor poor; rightly perceiving this and keeping it in mind, this man, though sleeping, yet is the only ever-wakeful."

Thus the Likkhavi lions, ever mindful of the Buddha's wisdom, disquieted with the pain of birth and death, sighed forth their fond remembrance of the man-lion. Retaining in their minds no love of worldly things, aiming to rise above the power of every lustful quality, subduing in their hearts the thought of light or trivial matters, training their thoughts to seek the quiet, peaceful place; diligently practising the rules of unselfish, charitable conduct; putting away all listlessness, they found their joy in quietness and seclusion, meditating only on religious truth. And now the all-wise, turning his body round with a lion-turn, once more gazed upon Vaisâli, and uttered this farewell verse:—

"Now this, the last time this, I leave Vaisâli—the land where heroes live and flourish! Now am I going to die." Then gradually advancing, stage by stage he came to Bhoga-nagara, and there he rested in the Sâla grove, where he instructed all his followers in the precepts:—

"Now having gone on high I shall enter on Nirvana: ye must rely upon the law—this is your highest, strongest, vantage ground. What is not found in Sûtra, or what disagrees with rules of Vinaya, opposing the one true system of my doctrine, this must not be held by you. What opposes Dharma, what opposes Vinaya, or what is contrary to my words, this is the result of ignorance: ye must not hold such doctrine, but with haste reject it. Receiving that which has been said aright, this is not subversive of true doctrine, this is what I have said, as the Dharma and Vinaya say. Accepting that which I, the law, and the Vinaya declare, this is to be believed. But words which neither I, the law, nor the Vinaya declare, these are not to be believed. Not gathering the true and hidden meaning, but closely holding to the letter, this is the way of foolish teachers, but contrary to my doctrine and a false way of teaching. Not separating the true from false, accepting in the dark without discrimination, is like a shop where gold and its alloys are sold together, justly condemned by all the world. The foolish masters, practising the ways of superficial wisdom, grasp not the meaning of the truth; but to receive the law as it explains itself, this is to accept the highest mode of exposition. Ye ought, therefore, thus to investigate true principles, to consider well the true law and the Vinaya, even as the goldsmith does who melts and strikes and then selects the true. Not to know the Sûtras and the Sâstras, this is to be devoid of wisdom; not saying properly that which is proper, is like doing that which is not fit to see. Let all be done in right and proper order, according as the meaning of the sentence guides, for he who grasps a sword unskilfully, does but inflict a wound upon his hand. Not skilfully to handle words and sentences, the meaning then is hard to know; as in the night-time travelling and seeking for a house, if all be dark within, how difficult to find. Losing the meaning, then the law is disregarded, disregarding the law the mind becomes confused; therefore every wise and prudent master neglects not to discover the true and faithful meaning."

Having spoken these words respecting the precepts of religion, he advanced to the town of Pâvâ, where all the Mallas prepared for him religious offerings of every kind. At this time a certain householder's son whose name was Kunda, invited Buddha to his house, and there he gave him, as an offering, his very last repast. Having partaken of it and declared the law, he onward went to the town of Kusi, crossing the river Tsae-kieuh and the Hiranyavati. Then in that Sâla grove, a place of quiet and seclusion, he took his seat: entering the golden river he bathed his body, in appearance like a golden mountain. Then he spake his bidding thus to Ânanda: "Between those twin Sâla trees, sweeping and watering, make a clean space, and then arrange my sitting-mat. At midnight coming, I shall die."

Ânanda hearing the bidding of his master, his breath was choked with heart-sadness; but going and weeping he obeyed the instruction, and spreading out the mat he came forthwith back to his master and acquainted him. Tathâgata having lain down with his head towards the north and on his right side, slept thus. Resting upon his hand as on a pillow with his feet crossed, even as a lion-king; all grief is passed, his last-born body from this one sleep shall never rise. His followers round him, in a circle gathered, sigh dolefully: "The eye of the world is now put out!" The wind is hushed, the forest streams are silent, no voice is heard of bird or beast. The trees sweat out large flowing drops, flowers and leaves out of season singly fall, whilst men and Devas, not yet free from desire, are filled with overwhelming fear. Thus were they like men wandering through the arid desert, the road full dangerous, who fail to reach the longed-for hamlet; full of fear they go on still, dreading they might not find it, their heart borne down with fear they faint and droop. And now Tathâgata, aroused from sleep, addressed Ânanda thus: "Go! tell the Mallas, the time of my decease is come; they, if they see me not, will ever grieve and suffer deep regret." Ânanda listening to the bidding of his master, weeping went along the road. And then he told those Mallas all—"The lord is near to death." The Mallas hearing it, were filled with great, excessive grief. The men and women hurrying forth, bewailing as they went, came to the spot where Buddha was; with garments torn and hair dishevelled, covered with dust and sweat they came. With piteous cries they reached the grove, as when a Deva's day of merit comes to an end, so did they bow weeping and adoring at the feet of Buddha, grieving to behold his failing strength. Tathâgata, composed and quiet, spake: "Grieve not! the time is one for joy; no call for sorrow or for anguish here; that which for ages I have aimed at, now am I just about to obtain; delivered now from the narrow bounds of sense, I go to the place of never-ending rest and peace. I leave these things, earth, water, fire, and air, to rest secure where neither birth nor death can come. Eternally delivered there from grief, oh! tell me! why should I be sorrowful? Of yore on Sirsha's mount, I longed to rid me of this body, but to fulfil my destiny I have remained till now with men in the world; I have kept this sickly, crumbling body, as dwelling with a poisonous snake; but now I am come to the great resting-place, all springs of sorrow now forever stopped. No more shall I receive a body, all future sorrow now forever done away; it is not meet for you, on my account, for evermore, to encourage any anxious fear."

The Mallas hearing Buddha's words, that he was now about to die, their minds confused, their eyes bedimmed, as if they saw before them nought but blackness, with hands conjoined, spake thus to Buddha: "Buddha is leaving now the pain of birth and death, and entering on the eternal joy of rest; doubtless we ought to rejoice thereat. Even as when a house is burnt a man rejoices if his friends are saved from out the flames; the gods! perhaps they rejoice—then how much more should men! But—when Tathâgata has gone and living things no more may see him, eternally cut off from safety and deliverance—in thought of this we grieve and sorrow. Like as a band of merchants crossing with careful steps a desert, with only a single guide, suddenly he dies! Those merchants now without a protector, how can they but lament! The present age, coming to know their true case, has found the omniscient, and looked to him, but yet has not obtained the final conquest; how will the world deride! Even as it would laugh at one who, walking o'er a mountain full of treasure, yet ignorant thereof, hugs still the pain of poverty."

So spake the Mallas, and with tearful words excuse themselves to Buddha, even as an only child pleads piteously before a loving father. Buddha then, with speech most excellent, exhibited and declared the highest principle of truth, and thus addressed the Mallas:—

"In truth, 'tis as you say; seeking the way, you must exert yourselves and strive with diligence—it is not enough to have seen me! Walk, as I have commanded you; get rid of all the tangled net of sorrow; walk in the way with steadfast aim; 'tis not from seeing me this comes—even as a sick man depending on the healing power of medicine, gets rid of all his ailments easily without beholding the physician. He who does not do what I command sees me in vain, this brings no profit; whilst he who lives far off from where I am, and yet walks righteously, is ever near me! A man may dwell beside me, and yet, being disobedient, be far away from me. Keep your heart carefully—give not place to listlessness! earnestly practise every good work. Man born in this world is pressed by all the sorrows of the long career, ceaselessly troubled—without a moment's rest, as any lamp blown by the wind!" The Mallas all, hearing Buddha's loving instruction, inwardly composed, restrained their tears, and, firmly self-possessed, returned.

Mahâparinirvâna

At this time there was a Brahmakârin whose name was Su-po-to-lo; he was well-known for his virtuous qualities, leading a pure life according to the rules of morality, and protecting all living things. When young he had adopted heretical views, and become a recluse among unbelievers—this one, wishing to see the lord, spake to Ânanda thus:—

"I hear that the system of Tathâgata is of a singular character and very profound, and that he has reached the highest wisdom in the world, the first of all horse-tamers. I hear moreover that he is now about to die, it will be difficult indeed to meet with him again, and difficult to see those who have seen him with difficulty, even as it is to catch in a mirror the reflection of the moon. I now desire respectfully to see him the greatest and most virtuous guide of men, because I seek to escape this mass of sorrow and reach the other shore of birth and death. The sun of Buddha now about to quench its rays, O! let me for a moment gaze upon him." The feelings of Ânanda now were much affected, thinking that this request was made with a view to controversy, or that he felt an inward joy because the lord was on the eve of death. He was not willing therefore to permit the interview with Buddha. Buddha, knowing the man's earnest desire and that he was a vessel fit for true religion, therefore addressed Ânanda thus: "Permit that heretic to advance; I was born to save mankind, make no hindrance therefore, or excuse!"

Subhadra, hearing this, was overjoyed at heart, and his religious feelings were much enlarged, as with increased reverence he advanced to Buddha's presence. Then, as the occasion required, he spoke becoming words and with politeness made his salutation, his features pleasing and with hands conjoined he said:—

"Now I desire to ask somewhat from thee; the world has many teachers of religion, those who know the law as I am myself; but I hear that Buddha has attained a way which is the end of all complete emancipation. O that you would, on my account, briefly explain your method, moisten my empty, thirsty soul! not with a view to controversy or from a desire to gain the mastery, but with sincerity I ask you so to do."

Then Buddha, for the Brahmakârin's sake, in brief recounted the eight "right ways"—on hearing which, his empty soul accepted it, as one deceived accepts direction in the right road. Perceiving now, he knew that what he had before perceived was not the final way of salvation, but now he felt he had attained what he had not before attained, and so he gave up and forsook his books of heresy. Moreover, now he rejected the gloomy hindrances of doubt, reflecting how by his former practices, mixed up with anger, hate, and ignorance, he had long cherished no real joy. For if, he argued, the ways of lust and hate and ignorance are able to produce a virtuous karman, then "hearing much" and "persevering wisdom," these, too, are born from lust, which cannot be. But if a man is able to cut down hate and ignorance, then also he puts off all consequences of works, and these being finally destroyed, this is complete emancipation. Those thus freed from works are likewise freed from subtle questionings, such as what the world says "that all things, everywhere, possess a self-nature." But if this be the case and therefore lust, hate, and ignorance, possess a self-implanted nature, then this nature must inhere in them; what then means the word "deliverance"? For even if we rightly cause the overthrow of hate and ignorance, yet if lust remains, then there is a return of birth; even as water, cold in its nature, may by fire be heated, but when the fire goes out then it becomes cold again, because this is its constant nature; so we may ever know that the nature which lust has is permanent, and neither hearing wisdom nor perseverance can alter it. Neither capable of increase or diminution, how can there be deliverance? I held aforetime that birth and death resulted thus, from their own innate nature; but now I see that such a belief excludes deliverance; for what is born by nature must endure so, what end can such things have? Just as a burning lamp cannot but give its light; the way of Buddha is the only true one, that lust, as the root-cause, brings forth the things that live; destroy this lust then there is Nirvana; the cause destroyed then the fruit is not produced. I formerly maintained that "I" was a distinct entity, not seeing that it has no maker. But now I hear the right doctrine preached by Buddha, there is no "self" in all the world, for all things are produced by cause, and therefore there is no creator. If then sorrow is produced by cause, the cause may likewise be destroyed; for if the world is cause-produced, then is the view correct, that by destruction of the cause, there is an end. The cause destroyed, the world brought to an end, there is no room for such a thought as permanence, and therefore all my former views are "done away," and so he deeply "saw" the true doctrine taught by Buddha.

Because of seeds well sown in former times, he was enabled thus to understand the law on hearing it; thus he reached the good and perfect state of quietness, the peaceful, never-ending place of rest. His heart expanding to receive the truth, he gazed with earnest look on Buddha as he slept, nor could he bear to see Tathâgata depart and die; "ere yet," he said, "Buddha shall reach the term I will myself first leave the world;" and then with hands close joined, retiring from the holy form, he took his seat apart, and sat composed and firm. Then giving up his life, he reached Nirvâna, as when the rain puts out a little fire. Then Buddha spake to all his followers: "This my very last disciple has now attained Nirvâna, cherish him properly."

Then Buddha, the first night watch passed, the moon bright shining and all the stars clear in their lustre, the quiet grove without a sound, moved by his great compassionate heart, declared to his disciples this his bequeathed precepts: "After my Nirvâna, ye ought to reverence and obey the Pratimoksha, as your master, a shining lamp in the dark night, or as a great jewel treasured by a poor man. These injunctions I have ever given, these you ought to obey and follow carefully, and treat in no way different from myself. Keep pure your body, words, and conduct, put from you all concerns of daily life, lands, houses, cattle, storing wealth or hoarding grain. All these should be avoided as we avoid a fiery pit; sowing the land, cutting down shrubs, healing of wounds or the practice of medicine, star-gazing and astrology, forecasting lucky or unfortunate events by signs, prognosticating good or evil, all these are things forbidden. Keeping the body temperate, eat at proper times; receive no mission as a go-between; compound no philteries; abhor dissimulation; follow right doctrine, and be kind to all that lives; receive in moderation what is given; receive but hoard not up; these are, in brief, my spoken precepts. These form the groundwork of my rules, these also are the ground of full emancipation. Enabled thus to live this is rightly to receive all other things. This is true wisdom which embraces all, this is the way to attain the end; this code of rules, therefore, ye should hold and keep, and never let it slip or be destroyed. For when pure rules of conduct are observed then there is true religion; without these, virtue languishes; found yourselves therefore well on these my precepts; grounded thus in rules of purity, the springs of feeling will be well controlled, even as the well-instructed cow-herd guides well his cattle. Ill-governed feelings, like the horse, run wild through all the six domains of sense, bringing upon us in the present world unhappiness, and in the next, birth in an evil way. So, like the horse ill-broken, these land us in the ditch; therefore the wise and prudent man will not allow his senses license. For these senses are, indeed, our greatest foes, causes of misery; for men enamoured thus by sensuous things cause all their miseries to recur. Destructive as a poisonous snake, or like a savage tiger, or like a raging fire, the greatest evil in the world, he who is wise, is freed from fear of these. But what he fears is only this—a light and trivial heart, which drags a man to future misery—just for a little sip of pleasure, not looking at the yawning gulf before us; like the wild elephant freed from the iron curb, or like the ape that has regained the forest trees, such is the light and trivial heart; the wise man should restrain and hold it therefore. Letting the heart go loose without restraint, that man shall not attain Nirvâna; therefore we ought to hold the heart in check, and go apart from men and seek a quiet resting-place. Know when to eat and the right measure; and so with reference to the rules of clothing and of medicine; take care you do not by the food you take, encourage in yourselves a covetous or an angry mind. Eat your food to satisfy your hunger and drink to satisfy your thirst, as we repair an old or broken chariot, or like the butterfly that sips the flower destroying not its fragrance or its texture. The Bhikshu, in begging food, should beware of injuring the faithful mind of another; if a man opens his heart in charity, think not about his capabilities, for 'tis not well to calculate too closely the strength of the ox, lest by loading him beyond his strength you cause him injury. At morning, noon, and night, successively, store up good works. During the first and after-watch at night be not overpowered by sleep, but in the middle watch, with heart composed, take sleep and rest—be thoughtful towards the dawn of day. Sleep not the whole night through, making the body and the life relaxed and feeble; think! when the fire shall burn the body always, what length of sleep will then be possible? For when the hateful brood of sorrow rising through space, with all its attendant horrors, meeting the mind o'erwhelmed by sleep and death, shall seize its prey, who then shall waken it?

"The poisonous snake dwelling within a house can be enticed away by proper charms, so the black toad that dwells within his heart, the early waker disenchants and banishes. He who sleeps on heedlessly without plan, this man has no modesty; but modesty is like a beauteous robe, or like the curb that guides the elephant. Modest behavior keeps the heart composed, without it every virtuous root will die. Who has this modesty, the world applauds; without it, he is but as any beast. If a man with a sharp sword should cut the body bit by bit, let not an angry thought, or of resentment, rise, and let the mouth speak no ill word. Your evil thoughts and evil words but hurt yourself and not another; nothing so full of victory as patience, though your body suffer the pain of mutilation. For recollect that he who has this patience cannot be overcome, his strength being so firm; therefore give not way to anger or evil words towards men in power. Anger and hate destroy the true law; and they destroy dignity and beauty of body; as when one dies we lose our name for beauty, so the fire of anger itself burns up the heart. Anger is foe to all religious merit, he who loves virtue let him not be passionate; the layman who is angry when oppressed by many sorrows is not wondered at. But he who has 'left his home' indulging anger, this is indeed opposed to principle, as if in frozen water there were found the heat of fire. If indolence arises in your heart, then with your own hand smooth down your head, shave off your hair, and clad in sombre garments, in your hand holding the begging-pot, go ask for food; on every side the living perish, what room for indolence? the worldly man, relying on his substance or his family, indulging in indolence, is wrong; how much more the religious man, whose purpose is to seek the way of rescue, who encourages within an indolent mind; this surely is impossible!

"Crookedness and straightness are in their nature opposite and cannot dwell together more than frost and fire; for one who has become religious, and practises the way of straight behavior, a false and crooked way of speech is not becoming. False and flattering speech is like the magician's art; but he who ponders on religion cannot speak falsely. To 'covet much,' brings sorrow; desiring little, there is rest and peace. To procure rest, there must be small desire—much more in case of those who seek salvation. The niggard dreads the much-seeking man lest he should filch away his property, but he who loves to give has also fear, lest he should not possess enough to give; therefore we ought to encourage small desire, that we may have to give to him who wants, without such fear. From this desiring-little-mind we find the way of true deliverance; desiring true deliverance we ought to practise knowing-enough contentment.

"A contented mind is always joyful, but joy like this is but religion; the rich and poor alike, having contentment, enjoy perpetual rest. The ill-contented man, though he be born to heavenly joys, because he is not contented would ever have a mind burned up by the fire of sorrow. The rich, without contentment, endures the pain of poverty; though poor, if yet he be contented, then he is rich indeed! That ill-contented man, the bounds of the five desires extending further still, becomes insatiable in his requirements, and so through the long night of life gathers increasing sorrow. Without cessation thus he cherishes his careful plans, whilst he who lives contented, freed from anxious thoughts about relationships, his heart is ever peaceful and at rest. And so because he rests and is at peace within, the gods and men revere and do him service. Therefore we ought to put away all cares about relationship.

"For like a solitary desert tree in which the birds and monkeys gather, so is it when we are cumbered much with family associations; through the long night we gather many sorrows. Many dependents are like the many bands that bind us, or like the old elephant that struggles in the mud. By diligent perseverance a man may get much profit; therefore night and day men ought with ceaseless effort to exert themselves; the tiny streams that trickle down the mountain slopes by always flowing eat away the rock. If we use not earnest diligence in drilling wood in wood for fire, we shall not obtain the spark, so ought we to be diligent and persevere, as the skilful master drills the wood for fire. A 'virtuous friend' though he be gentle is not to be compared with right reflection—right thought kept well in the mind, no evil thing can ever enter there.

"Wherefore those who practise a religious life should always think about 'the body'; if thought upon one's self be absent, then all virtue dies. For as the champion warrior relies for victory upon his armor's strength, so 'right thought' is like a strong cuirass, able to withstand the six sense-robbers. Right faith enwraps the enlightened heart, so that a man perceives the world throughout is liable to birth and death; therefore the religious man should practise faith.

"Having found peace in faith, we put an end to all the mass of sorrows, wisdom then can enlighten us, and so we put away the rules by which we acquire knowledge by the senses. By inward thought and right consideration following with gladness the directions of the 'true law,' this is the way in which both laymen of the world and men who have left their homes should walk.

"Across the sea of birth and death, 'wisdom' is the handy bark; 'wisdom' is the shining lamp that lightens up the dark and gloomy world. 'Wisdom' is the grateful medicine for all the defiling ills of life; 'wisdom' is the axe wherewith to level all the tangled forest trees of sorrow. 'Wisdom' is the bridge that spans the rushing stream of ignorance and lust—therefore, in every way, by thought and right attention, a man should diligently inure himself to engender wisdom. Having acquired the threefold wisdom, then, though blind, the eye of wisdom sees throughout; but without wisdom the mind is poor and insincere; such things cannot suit the man who has left his home.

"Wherefore let the enlightened man lay well to heart that false and fruitless things become him not, and let him strive with single mind for that pure joy which can be found alone in perfect rest and quietude.

"Above all things be not careless, for carelessness is the chief foe of virtue; if a man avoid this fault he may be born where Sakra-râga dwells. He who gives way to carelessness of mind must have his lot where the Asuras dwell. Thus have I done my task, my fitting task, in setting forth the way of quietude, the proof of love. On your parts be diligent! with virtuous purpose practise well these rules, in quiet solitude of desert hermitage nourish and cherish a still and peaceful heart. Exert yourselves to the utmost, give no place to remissness, for as in worldly matters when the considerate physician prescribes fit medicine for the disease he has detected, should the sick man neglect to use it, this cannot be the physician's fault, so I have told you the truth, and set before you this the one and level road. Hearing my words and not with care obeying them, this is not the fault of him who speaks; if there be anything not clearly understood in the principles of the 'four truths,' you now may ask me, freely; let not your inward thoughts be longer hid." The lord in mercy thus instructing them, the whole assembly remained silent.

Then Anuruddha, observing that the great congregation continued silent and expressed no doubt, with closed hands thus spake to Buddha:—

"The moon may be warm, the sun's rays be cool, the air be still, the earth's nature mobile; these four things, though yet unheard of in the world, may happen; but this assembly never can have doubt about the principles of sorrow, accumulation, destruction, and the incontrovertible truths, as declared by the lord. But because the lord is going to die, we all have sorrow; and we cannot raise our thoughts to the high theme of the lord's preaching. Perhaps some fresh disciple, whose feelings are yet not entirely freed from other influences might doubt; but we, who now have heard this tender, sorrowful discourse, have altogether freed ourselves from doubt. Passed the sea of birth and death, without desire, with nought to seek, we only know how much we love, and, grieving, ask why Buddha dies so quickly?"

Buddha regarding Anuruddha, perceiving how his words were full of bitterness, again with loving heart, appeasing him, replied:—

"In the beginning things were fixed, in the end again they separate; different combinations cause other substances, for there is no uniform and constant principle in nature. But when all mutual purposes be answered, what then shall chaos and creation do! the gods and men alike that should be saved, shall all have been completely saved! Ye then! my followers, who know so well the perfect law, remember! the end must come; give not way again to sorrow!

"Use diligently the appointed means; aim to reach the home where separation cannot come; I have lit the lamp of wisdom, its rays alone can drive away the gloom that shrouds the world. The world is not forever fixed! Ye should rejoice therefore! as when a friend, afflicted grievously, his sickness healed, escapes from pain. For I have put away this painful vessel, I have stemmed the flowing sea of birth and death, free forever now, from pain! for this you should exult with joy! Now guard yourselves aright, let there be no remissness! that which exists will all return to nothingness! and now I die. From this time forth my words are done, this is my very last instruction."

Then entering the Samâdhi of the first Dhyâna, he went successively through all the nine in a direct order; then inversely he returned throughout and entered on the first, and then from the first he raised himself and entered on the fourth. Leaving the state of Samâdhi, his soul without a resting-place, forthwith he reached Nirvâna. And then, as Buddha died, the great earth quaked throughout. In space, on every hand, was fire like rain, no fuel, self-consuming. And so from out the earth great flames arose on every side.

Thus up to the heavenly mansions flames burst forth; the crash of thunder shook the heavens and earth, rolling along the mountains and the valleys, even as when the Devas and Asuras fight with sound of drums and mutual conflict. A wind tempestuous from the four bounds of earth arose—whilst from the crags and hills, dust and ashes fell like rain. The sun and moon withdrew their shining; the peaceful streams on every side were torrent-swollen; the sturdy forests shook like aspen leaves, whilst flowers and leaves untimely fell around, like scattered rain. The flying dragons, carried on pitchy clouds, wept down their tears; the four kings and their associates, moved by pity, forgot their works of charity. The pure Devas came to earth from heaven, halting mid-air they looked upon the changeful scene, not sorrowing, not rejoicing. But yet they sighed to think of the world, heedless of its sacred teacher, hastening to destruction. The eightfold heavenly spirits, on every side filled space: cast down at heart and grieving, they scattered flowers as offerings. Only Mâra-râga rejoiced, and struck up sounds of music in his exultation. Whilst Gambudvipa shorn of its glory, seemed to grieve as when the mountain tops fall down to earth, or like the great elephant robbed of its tusks, or like the ox-king spoiled of his horns; or heaven without the sun and moon, or as the lily beaten by the hail; thus was the world bereaved when Buddha died!

Praising Nirvâna

At this time there was a Devaputra, riding on his thousand white-swan palace in the midst of space, who beheld the Parinirvâna of Buddha. This one, for the universal benefit of the Deva assembly, sounded forth at large these verses on impermanence:—