The Life or Legend of Gaudama Part 4

[H] In the course of this work the word Rahan is often used. It is of the greatest importance that the reader should firmly seize the meaning that it is designed to convey. We find it employed to designate, in general, the religious belonging either to the Buddhistic or Brahminical sects. When Buddhists happen to mention their brethren of the opposite creed, who have renounced the world and devoted themselves to the practice of religious duties, they invariably call them Rahans. When they speak of Pounhas or Brahmins, who are living in the world, leading an ordinary secular mode of life, they never style them Rahans. Thence we may safely infer that the individuals to whom this denomination was applied formed a cla.s.s of devotees quite distinct from the laymen.

That cla.s.s, it appears, comprised all the individuals who lived either in community under the superintendence and guidance of a spiritual superior, or privately in forests under the protecting shade of trees, and in lonely and solitary places. The latter religious are, however, generally designated by the appellation of Ascetics and Rathees. They were the forefathers of those fanatics who up to our days have appeared through the breadth and length of the Indian Peninsula, practising penitential deeds of the most cruel and revolting description. They are described by Buddhists as wearing curled and twisted hair, clad in the skins of wild beasts, and not unfrequently quite dest.i.tute of any sort of clothing, and in a state of complete nakedness.

The former, who lived in community, did not lead the same course of life. We find some communities, the three, for instance, under the guidance of the three Kathabas, in the Ouroowela forest, not far from Radzagio, whose inmates are called either Rahans or Rathees. This indicates that their mode of life partook both of the common and hermitical life, resembling, to a certain extent, that which was observed by the Christian communities of cen.o.bites established in the desert of Upper Egypt during the first ages of our era.

Those communities appear to have been the centres in which principles were established, opinions discussed, and theories elaborated. The chiefs enjoyed high reputation for learning.

Persons desirous to acquire proficiency in science resorted to their abode, and, under their tuition, strove to acquire wisdom.

The following pages of this work will afford several striking ill.u.s.trations of the view just sketched out.

On another day, Phralaong, on his way to his garden, met with the same Nat under the form of a sick man, who appeared quite sinking under the weight of the most loathsome disease. Frightened at such a sight, Phralaong, hearing from the mouth of his faithful driver what this disgusting object was, returned in all haste to his palace. His father, more and more disturbed at the news conveyed to him, multiplied the pleasures and enjoyments destined for his son, and doubled the number of guards that had to watch over him. On a third occasion, whilst the prince was taking a walk, the same Nat, a.s.suming the shape of a dead man, offered to the astonished regards of the prince the shocking sight of a corpse. Trembling with fear, the young prince came back forthwith to his residence. Thoodaudana, being soon informed of what had taken place, resorted to fresh precautions, and extended to the distance of one youdzana the immense line of countless guards set all round the palace.

On a fourth occasion, the prince, driving rapidly towards his garden, was met on his way by the same Nat under the meek form of a Rahan. The curiosity of the prince was awakened by the extraordinary sight of that new personage: he asked his coachman what he was. "Prince," answered the coachman, "he is a Rahan." At the same time, though little acquainted with the high dignity and sublime qualifications of a recluse, he was enabled, by the power of the Nats, to praise and extol in dignified language the profession and merits of Rahans. The prince felt instantaneously an almost irresistible inclination to embrace that attractive mode of life. He quietly went as far as his garden.

The whole day was spent in all sorts of rural diversions. Having bathed in a magnificent tank, he went a little before sunset to rest awhile on a large well-polished stone table, overshaded by the far-spread branches of beautiful trees hanging above it, waiting for the time to put on his richest dress. All his attendants were busily engaged in preparing the finest clothes and most elegant ornaments. When all was ready, they stood silent round him, waiting for his orders. Perfumes of every description were disposed in a circular row with the various ornaments on the table whereon the prince was sitting.

At that very moment a chief Thagia was quietly enjoying a delicious and refreshing rest on the famous stone table called Pantoo Kambala. On a sudden, he felt his seat as it were getting hot. "Lo! what does this mean?" said the astonished Thagia; "am I doomed to lose my happy state?"

Having recollected himself, and reflected a while on the cause of such a wonderful occurrence, he soon knew that Phralaong was preparing to put on for the last time his princely dress. He called to him the son of a Nat, named Withakioon, and said to him, "On this day, at midnight, Prince Theiddat is to leave his palace and withdraw into solitude. Now he is in his garden, preparing to put on his richest attire for the last time. Go, therefore, without a moment's delay, to the place where he is sitting, surrounded by his attendants, and perform to him all the required services." Bowing respectfully to the chief of Thagias, Withakioon obeyed, and by the power inherent in the nature of Nats, he was in an instant carried to the presence of Phralaong. He a.s.sumed the figure of his barber, and immediately set to work to arrange the turban with as much taste as art round his head. Phralaong soon found out that the skilful hand which disposed the folds of his head-dress was not that of a man, but of a Nat. One fold of the turban appeared like one thousand, and ten folds like ten thousand folds, offering the magical _coup-d'oeil_ of as many different pieces of cloth, arranged with the most consummate skill. The extremity of the turban, which crossed vertically the whole breadth of the countless folds, appeared covered with a profusion of shining rubies. The head of Phralaong was small, but the folds of the turban seemed numberless. How could that be so? It is a wonder surpa.s.sing our understanding; it would be rashness and temerity to allow our minds to dwell too much upon it.

Having completely dressed, Phralaong[6] found himself surrounded by all sorts of musicians, singers, and dancers, vying with each other in their endeavours to increase the rejoicing. The Pounhas sang aloud his praise.

"May he conquer and triumph! May his wishes and desires be ever fulfilled!" The mult.i.tude repeated incessantly in his honour stanzas of praises and blessings. In the midst of universal rejoicings, Phralaong ascended his carriage. He had scarcely seated himself on it, when a message, sent by his father, conveyed to him the gladdening tidings that Yathaudara had been delivered of a son. "That child," replied he with great coolness, "is a new and strong tie that I will have to break." The answer having been brought to his father, Thoodaudana could not understand its meaning. He, however, caused his grandson to be named Raoula. Phralaong, sitting in his carriage, surrounded by crowds of people, who rent the air with cries of joy and jubilation, entered into the city of Kapilawot. At that moment a princess, named Keissa Gautami, was contemplating from her apartments the triumphant entrance of Phralaong into the city. She admired the n.o.ble and graceful deportment of Prince Theiddat, and exclaimed with feelings of inexpressible delight, "Happy the father and mother who have such an incomparable son!

happy the wife who is blest with such an accomplished husband!" On hearing those words, Phralaong desired to understand their meaning and know their bearing. "By what means," said he to himself, "can a heart find peace and happiness?" As his heart was already disentangled from the thraldom of pa.s.sions, he readily perceived that real happiness could be found but in the extinction of concupiscence, pride, ignorance, and other pa.s.sions. He resolved henceforth to search ardently for the happy state of Neibban, by quitting the world that very night, leaving the society of men, and withdrawing into solitude. Detaching from his neck a collar of pearls of immense value, he sent it to Keissa Gautami, as a token of grat.i.tude for the excellent lesson she had given him by the words which she had uttered in his praise. The young princess received it as a mark of favour which she imagined Prince Theiddat intended to pay her. Without further notice of her, he retired into his own apartment to enjoy some rest.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Which of the two systems, Buddhism or Brahminism, is the most ancient? This is a question which learned Orientalists have in former days variously answered. If, however, some credit is to be given to this Legend, and the hero thereof is to be regarded as the author of Buddhism, the solution of that much-controverted question is comparatively easy, and seems to admit of no doubt. Priority of antiquity is decidedly in favour of Brahminism. At the time Buddha was born, and in his own country, we find already subsisting the great politico-religious fabric of Hinduism. The distinction of caste is already mentioned in several pa.s.sages. We find the Pounhas or Brahmins already monopolising the lucrative trade of soothsaying, and regarded as the best informed among their countrymen. They are treated with great respect and consideration even by proud monarchs, who testify their regard for them by costly presents and every possible mark of distinction. It is true that their caste is not always spoken of with great regard by Buddhist authors; but this is to be attributed to the deadly enmity that prevailed at a later period between those two great rival sects, which have so long struggled for supremacy over the Indian Peninsula. The Brahminical creed is spoken of in very disparaging terms by Buddhists; and, as a matter of course, they have been reciprocally handled severely by their opponents. To those who feel inclined to regard Buddha as but a great reformer of a religious system already existing, the question will not appear cleared of all difficulty. But upon them rests the task of establishing on uncontrovertible grounds their hypothesis, ere any serious attention can be paid to the conclusion they would fain infer in favour of the superior antiquity of Buddhism. As for us, we believe Buddha to be the real author of the great religious system under examination. But, at the same time, we readily concede that many elements found existing in those days were seized upon by Buddha, and skilfully arranged so as to harmonise well with his plans.

[2] Superst.i.tion and ignorance seem to have been in all ages and under every climate the prolific source of human follies and mental delusions. Man has always been and will ever be the same ridiculously superst.i.tious being, as long as his mind is left to itself, unenlightened by revelation. With few exceptions, the greatest men of Italy and Greece were as superst.i.tious as the _vulgus_, to whom, in every other respect, they were so superior. The resemblance error bears to truth, when human pa.s.sions have some interest at stake, deceives many; under deceitful appearances it finds its way to the mind, and then clings to the heart. There is in man an innate desire of tearing asunder the thick veil that hides from him the knowledge of future events. Unable to comprehend the perfect economy of an all-wise Providence in the disposition and management of the affairs of this world, he has recourse to the most absurd means for satiating the cravings of his inordinate curiosity. Hence the prevailing superst.i.tion of those days, which induced men to believe that Brahmins, on inspecting the inner part of the hand, could discover certain signs, foreshowing the good or bad destiny of every individual.

[3] Metempsychosis, or the transmigration of the soul from one state of existence into another in the same world, is one of the leading dogmas of Buddhism. Many pa.s.sages of the present work, or rather the Buddhistic system as a whole, can never be understood unless this tenet be always borne in mind. It is by pa.s.sing through countless existences that a being is slowly purified of his imperfections, and gradually advances in the way of merits and perfection. The sacred writings of Buddhists mention that our Phralaong had to range, during innumerable existences, the whole series of the animal kingdom, from the dove to the elephant, ere he could be born in the state of man, when, in this condition, he, as stated by himself, went often into h.e.l.l to atone for certain trespa.s.sings. Pythagoras had likely borrowed, and received directly or indirectly from the East, this doctrine, which his school re-echoed throughout Greece and Italy. The end of metempsychosis is, according to Buddhists, the state of Neibban. On this point the author of Buddhism has been at variance with other religious schools, which in his own days held and professed the dogma of transmigration.

[4] The three first allegorical omens or signs which, according to the foretelling of the Pounhas, were to be seen and observed hereafter by Phralaong, are designed to mean and express the compound of all miseries attending human existence, from the moment man crosses the threshold of life to that of death. The view of these objects was intended to make him disgusted with a state necessarily accompanied with such an amount of wretchedness. He was soon induced by reflection to hold in contempt the things of this world, and consequently to seek with ardour some means of estranging himself from all visible and material objects. The fourth sign, that is to say, the view of a Rahan, or a contemner of this world, aspiring to perfect disengagement from the trammels of pa.s.sion, and shaping his course towards Neibban, was the very pattern he had to imitate and follow for arriving to that state of perfection which he felt a strong, though as yet somewhat confused, desire of possessing.

The Nats or Dewatas are the ever-ready ministers for affording to Phralaong the a.s.sistance he requires to reach in safety the Buddhaship. They rejoice at the news of his approaching conception in the womb of Maia; they watch over the mother who is to give birth to so blessed a child; they receive the newly-born infant, and hand him over to men; they baffle, by their almost supernatural power, the obstacles which the worldly-minded Thoodaudana tries to throw in the way of his son's vocation; in a word, their angelical ministrations are always at hand to help and protect our Phralaong, and enable him to reach that state wherein he shall be fully qualified for announcing to men the law of deliverance. The belief in the agency of angels between heaven and earth, and their being the messengers of G.o.d for conveying, on solemn occasions, his mandates to men, is coeval, according to sacred records, with the appearance of man in this world. Innumerable are the instances of angelical ministrations mentioned in the holy writ.

We look upon angels as mere spiritual substances, a.s.suming a human form, when, by the command of G.o.d, they have to bring down to men some divine message. In the system of the Buddhists, Nats are described as having bodies indeed, but of such a pure nature, particularly those inhabiting the superior seats, that they are not only not subjected to the miseries inherent in our nature, but are moreover gifted with such superior attainments as almost to enjoy the perfections and qualifications inherent in the nature of spirits. On this occasion the Nats are endeavouring to make virtue triumph over vice; but, in the course of this legend, we will have several opportunities of remarking a counteraction worked up by evil or wicked Nats for upholding the reign of pa.s.sion or of sin. In this system the two contending elements of good and evil have each its own advocates and supporters. A Hindu Milton might have found two thousand years ago a ready theme for writing, in Sanscrit or Pali, a poem similar to that more recently composed by the immortal English bard.

[5] From what has been already mentioned of the life of our Phralaong, we may see that many particulars regarding his birth and his childhood have been described with sufficient accuracy; but little or nothing is said of his adolescence, at least until the age of sixteen, when he gets united to the famous and youthful Yathaudara. In common with many other great men, almost all the years of the private life of this celebrated and extraordinary personage are wrapped up in a complete obscurity.

We may conclude from his great proficiency in the knowledge of those sciences and attainments befitting his high situation, he was not remiss, since he was enabled to set at defiance the greatest masters of those days. In the midst of pleasures he knew how to devote the best part of his time to study, unless we suppose that science was infused into his mind by no exertion of his own. The Burmese have a regular mania for dividing with a mathematical precision what at first appears to admit of no such division. Virtues, vices, sciences, arts, &c., all, in a word, are subjected to a rigorous division, which, if arbitrary in itself, has the great advantage of conferring a substantial help to the memory.

[6] The triumphant return of Phralaong from his garden to the city, when he is attired with the richest dress, is commemorated by Buddhists, at least in Burmah, on the day a young boy is preparing to enter into a monastery of recluses for the purpose of putting on the yellow robe, and preparing himself to become afterwards a member of the order, if he feel an inclination to enlist in its ranks. Phralaong was bidding a last farewell to the world, its pomps and vanities. So the youthful candidate is doing who is led processionally through the streets, riding a richly-caparisoned horse, or sitting on an elegant palanquin, carried on the shoulders of men. A description of this ceremony will be found in the notice on the Buddhistic monks or Talapoins.

I am obliged to confess that I have found it somewhat difficult to discover any connection between the expressions made use of by Keissa Gautami and the inference drawn therefrom by Phralaong. The explanation of the difficulty may be, however, stated as follows:--Gautami bestows the epithet happy or blessed upon the father and mother as well as on the wife of Prince Theiddat, because she remarked and observed in him those qualities and accomplishments befitting a worthy son and a good husband. The words blessed and happy struck the mind of the future Buddha, attracted his attention, and drew forth his exertions to find out their true import. He asks himself, In what consists true and real happiness? Where is it to be found?

By what means can such an invaluable treasure be procured? Can it be conferred upon man by the possession of some exterior object? Can his parents or wife be really happy by the mere accidental ties that connect them with his person? No, answers our young philosopher to himself: Happiness can be procured but by waging war against pa.s.sions, and carrying it on until their total destruction. Then the victorious soul, sitting calmly on the ruins of her deadly opponents, enjoys in the undisturbed contemplation of truth an indescribable happiness. In this we clearly perceive the unmistakable bearing of Buddhistic morals.

It is as it were the embryo of the whole system.

King Thoodaudana, influenced by worldly considerations, eagerly wished his son to become a great monarch instead of a poor and humble recluse, even a Buddha. This alone suggests the idea that in those days the _role_ of a Buddha was not held in so great an esteem and veneration as it was afterwards. Had it been otherwise, the most ambitious father might have remained well satisfied with the certainty of seeing his own son becoming a personage before whom the proudest monarch would one day lower to the dust their crowned heads.

At that time a Buddha, or the personage honoured with that t.i.tle, was looked upon as a mere sage, distinguished among his fellow-men by his great wisdom and eminent proficiency in the study of philosophy. It is highly probable that this name had been bestowed upon a great many ill.u.s.trious individuals who lived before the days of Gaudama. Hence the fabricated genealogy of twenty-eight former Buddhas, supposed to have lived myriads of years and worlds previously, including the three that have preceded him during the continuance of this system of nature.

Here a superst.i.tious and ill-judged enthusiasm has raised up heaps of extravagancies, setting up a ridiculous theory, designed to connect the _role_ of the present Buddha with those of a fabulous antiquity, and give additional l.u.s.tre to it. There is no doubt that the glowing halo of sacredness and glory, encircling now the name of Buddha, has never adorned that of any former one. It has been created by the extraordinary progress his doctrines made at first in the Indian Peninsula, and next throughout eastern Asia, and kept up by the fervent admiration of his enthusiastic followers.

The means resorted to by Thoodaudana to retain his son in the world of pa.s.sions, and thereby thwart his vocation, could not, we hardly need mention, be approved of by any moralist of even the greatest elasticity of conscience and principles; but they were eminently fitted to try the soundness of Phralaong's calling, and the strong and tenacious dispositions of his energetic mind. They set out in vivid colours the firmness of purpose and irresistible determination of his soul in following up his vocation to a holier mode of life; and what is yet more wonderful, the very objects that were designed to enslave him became the instruments which helped him in gaining and ascertaining his liberty. Magnificent, indeed, is the spectacle offered by a young prince remaining unmoved in the midst of the most captivating, soul-stirring, and heart-melting attractions; sitting coolly on his couch, and looking with indifference, nay, with disgust, on the crowd of sleeping beauties.

CHAPTER IV.

_Phralaong leaves his palace, the royal city, and retires into solitude, amidst the plaudits of the Nats -- He cuts his fine hair with a stroke of his sword, and puts on the habit of Rahan -- He begs his food at Radzagio -- His interview with the ruler of that place -- His studies under two Rathees -- His fast and penances in the solitude of Oorouwela during six years._

Phralaong had scarcely begun to recline on his couch, when a crowd of young damsels, whose beauty equalled that of the daughters of Nats, executed all sorts of dances to the sound of the most ravishing symphony, and displayed in all their movements the graceful forms of their elegant and well-shaped persons, in order to make some impression upon his heart. But all was in vain; they were foiled in their repeated attempts. Phralaong fell into a deep sleep. The damsels, in their disappointment, ceased their dances, laid aside their musical instruments, and, soon following the example of Phralaong, quietly yielded to the soporific influence caused by their useless and hara.s.sing exertions. The lamps, lighted with fragrant oil, continued to pour a flood of bright light throughout the apartments. Phralaong awoke a little before midnight, and sat in a cross-legged position on his couch.

Looking all around him, he saw the varied att.i.tudes and uninviting appearance of the sleeping damsels. Some were snoring, others gnashing their teeth, others had their mouths wide open; some tossed heavily from the right to the left side, others stretched one arm upwards and the other downwards; some, seized as it were with a frantic pang, suddenly coiled up their legs for a while, and with the same violent motion again pushed them down. This unexpected exhibition made a strong impression on Phralaong; his heart was set, if possible, freer from the ties of concupiscence, or rather he was confirmed in his contempt for all worldly pleasures. It appeared to him that his magnificent apartments were filled with the most loathsome and putrid carca.s.ses. The seats of pa.s.sions, those of Rupa and those of Arupa, that is to say, the whole world, seemed, to his eyes, like a house that is a prey to the devouring flames. "All that," said he to himself, "is most disgusting and despicable." At the same time his ardent desires for the profession of Rahan were increasing with an uncontrollable energy. "On this day, at this very moment," said he with an unshaken firmness, "I will retire into a solitary place." He rose instantly and went to the arched door of his apartment. "Who is here watching?" said he to the first person he met. "Your servant," replied instantly the vigilant n.o.bleman Tsanda.

"Rise up quickly," replied the prince; "now I am ready to retire from the world and resort to some lonely place. Go to the stable and prepare the fastest of my horses." Tsanda bowed respectfully to his master, and executed his orders with the utmost celerity. The horse Kantika, knowing the intentions of the prince, felt an inexpressible joy at being selected for such a good errand, and he testified his joy by loud neighs; but, by the power of the Nats, the sound of his voice was silenced, so that none heard it.

While Tsanda, in compliance with the orders he had received, was making the necessary preparations, Phralaong desired to see his newly born son Raoula. He opened gently the door of the room where the princess was sleeping, having one of her hands placed over the head of the infant.

Phralaong, stopping at the threshold, said to himself:--"If I go farther to contemplate the child, I will have to remove the hand of the mother; she may be awakened by this movement, and then she will prove a great obstacle to my departure. I will see the child after I have become a Buddha." He then instantly shut the door and left the palace. His charger was waiting for him. "To your swiftness," said Phralaong to Kantika, "do I trust for executing my great design. I must become a Buddha, and labour for the deliverance of men and Nats from the miseries of existence, and lead them safely to the peaceful sh.o.r.es of Neibban."

In a moment he was on the back of his favourite horse. Kantika was a magnificent animal; his body measured eighteen cubits in length, with which his height and circ.u.mference were in perfect proportion. The hair was of a beautiful white, resembling a newly cleaned sh.e.l.l; his swiftness was unrivalled, and his neighings could be heard at a very great distance; but on this occasion the Nats interfered, no sound of his voice was heard, and the noise of his steps was completely silenced.

Having reached the gate of the city, Phralaong stopped for a while, uncertain as regarded the course he was to follow. To open the gate, which a thousand men could with difficulty cause to turn upon its hinges, was deemed an impossibility. Whilst he was deliberating with his faithful attendant Tsanda, the huge gate was silently opened by the Nats, and a free pa.s.sage given to him through it. It was in the year 97 when he left Kapilawot.

Phralaong had scarcely crossed the threshold of the gate when the tempter endeavoured to thwart his pious design. Manh[1] Nat resolved to prevent him from retiring into solitude and becoming a Buddha. Standing in the air, he cried aloud, "Prince Theiddat, do not attempt to lead the life of a recluse; seven days hence you will become a Tsekiawaday; your sway shall extend over the four great islands; return forthwith to your palace." "Who are you?" replied Phralaong. "I am Manh Nat," cried the voice. "I know," said Phralaong, "that I can become a Tsekiawaday, but I feel not the least inclination for earthly dignities; my aim is to arrive at the nature of Buddha." The tempter, urged onward by his three wicked propensities, concupiscence, ignorance, and anger, did not part for a moment from Phralaong; but as the shadow always accompanies the body, he too, from that day, always followed Phralaong, striving to throw every obstacle in his way towards the dignity of Buddha. Trampling down every human and worldly consideration, and despising a power full of vanity and illusion, Phralaong left the city of Kapilawot, at the full moon of July under the constellation Oottarathan. A little while after, he felt a strong desire to turn round his head and cast a last glance at the magnificent city he was leaving behind him; but he soon overcame that inordinate desire and denied himself this gratification.

It is said that on the very instant he was combating the rising sense of curiosity the mighty earth turned with great velocity, like a potter's wheel, so that the very object he denied himself the satisfaction of contemplating came of itself under his eyes. Phralaong hesitated a while as to the direction he was to follow, but he resolved instantly to push on straight before him.

His progress through the country resembled a splendid triumphal ovation. Sixty thousand Nats marched in front of him, an equal number followed him, and as many surrounded him on his right and on his left.

All of them carried lighted torches, pouring a flood of light in every direction; others again spread perfumes and flowers brought from their own seats. All joined in chorus, singing the praises of Phralaong. The sound of their united voices resembled loud peals of continued thunder, and the resounding of the mighty waves at the foot of the Mount Oogando.

Flowers, shedding the most fragrant odour, were seen gracefully undulating in the air, like an immense canopy, extending to the farthest limits of the horizon. During that night, Phralaong, attended with that brilliant retinue, travelled a distance of thirty youdzanas, and arrived on the banks of the river Anauma. Turning his face towards Tsanda, he asked what was the river's name. "Anauma is its name," replied his faithful attendant. "I will not," said Phralaong to himself, "show myself unworthy of the high dignity I aspire to." Spurring his horse, the fierce animal leaped at once to the opposite bank. Phralaong alighted on the ground, which was covered with a fine sand resembling pearls, when the rays of the sun fell upon it in the morning. On that spot he divested himself of his dress, and calling Tsanda to him, he directed him to take charge of his ornaments, and carry them back with the horse Kantika to his palace. For himself, he had made up his mind to become a Rahan. "Your servant too," replied Tsanda, "will become also a recluse in your company." "No," said the prince, "the profession of Rahan does not at present befit you." He reiterated this prohibition three times. When he was handing over to Tsanda his costly ornaments, he said to himself, "These long hairs that cover my head, and my beard too, are superfluities unbecoming the profession of Rahan." Whereupon with one hand unsheathing his sword, and with the other seizing his comely hairs, he cut them with a single stroke. What remained of his hairs on the head measured about one inch and a half in length. In like manner he disposed of his beard. From that time he never needed shaving; the hairs of his beard and those of the head never grew longer during the remainder of his life.[2] Holding his hairs and turban together, he cried aloud, "If I am destined to become a Buddha, let these hairs and turban remain suspended in the air; if not, let them drop down on the ground." Throwing up both to the height of one youdzana, they remained suspended in the air, until a Nat came with a rich basket, put them therein, and carried them to the seat of Tawadeintha. He there erected the Dzedi Dzoulamani, wherein they were religiously deposited. Casting his regards on his own person, Phralaong saw that his rich and shining robe did not answer his purpose, nor appear befitting the poor and humble profession he was about to embrace. While his attention was taken up with this consideration, a great Brahma, named Gatigara, who in the days of the Buddha Kathaba had been an intimate friend of our Phralaong, and who, during the period that elapsed between the manifestation of that Buddha to the present time, had not grown old, discovered at once the perplexity of his friend's mind. "Prince Theiddat," said he, "is preparing to become a Rahan, but he is not supplied with the dress and other implements essentially required for his future calling. I will provide him now with the thinbaing, the kowot, the dugout, the patta, the leathern girdle, the hatchet, the needle, and filter."[3] He took with him all these articles, and in an instant arrived in the presence of Phralaong, to whom he presented them. Though unacquainted with the details of that dress, and untrained in the use of those new implements, the prince, like a man who had been a recluse during several existences, put on with a graceful gravity his new dress. He adjusted the thinbaing round his waist, covered his body with the kowot, threw the dugout over his shoulders, and suspended to his neck the bag containing the earthen patta. a.s.suming the grave, meek, and dignified countenance of a Rahan, he called Tsanda and bade him go back to his father and relate to him all that he had seen. Tsanda, complying with his master's request, prostrated himself three times before him; then, rising up, he wheeled to the right and departed. The spirited horse, hearing the last words of Phralaong, could no more control his grief.[4]

"Alas!" said he, "I will see no more my master in this world." His sorrow grew so great that his heart split into two parts, and he died on the spot.

After his death, he became a Nat in the seat of Tawadeintha. The affliction of Tsanda at parting with his good master was increased by the death of Kantika. The tears that streamed down his cheeks resembled drops of liquid silver.

Phralaong, having thus begun the life of a recluse, spent seven days alone in a forest of mango trees, enjoying in that retirement the peace and happiness of soul which solitude alone can confer. The place, in the neighbourhood of which he began his religious life, is called Anupyia, in the country belonging to the Malla princes. He then started for the country of Radzagio, travelling on foot a distance of thirty youdzanas.

Arrived near the gate of the royal city, Phralaong stopped for a while, saying within himself, "Peimpathara, the king of this country, will no doubt hear of my arrival in this place. Knowing that the son of King Thoodaudana is actually in his own royal city, he will insist upon my accepting all sorts of presents. But now, in my capacity of Rahan, I must decline accepting them, and by the rules of my profession I am bound to go and beg along the streets, from house to house, the food necessary for my support." He instantly resumed his journey, entered the city through the eastern gate, the patta hanging on his side, and followed the first row of houses, receiving the alms which pious hands offered him. At the moment of his arrival the whole city was shaken by a mighty commotion, like that which is felt in the seat of Thoora when the Nat Athoorein makes his apparition in it. The inhabitants, terrified at such an ominous sign, ran in all haste to the palace. Admitted into the presence of the monarch, they told him that they knew not what sort of being had just arrived in the city, walking through the streets and begging alms. They could not ascertain whether he was a Nat, a man, or a Galong. The king, looking from his apartments over the city, saw Phralaong, whose meek deportment removed all anxiety from his mind. He, however, directed a few of his n.o.blemen to go and watch attentively all the movements of the stranger. "If he be," said he, "a Bilou, he will soon leave the city and vanish away; if a Nat, he will raise himself in the air; if a Naga, he will plunge to the bottom of the earth."

Phralaong, having obtained the quant.i.ty of rice, vegetables, &c., he thought sufficient for his meal, left the city through the same gate by which he had entered it, sat down at the foot of a small hill, his face turned towards the east, and tried to make his meal with the things he had received. He could not swallow the first mouthful, which he threw out of his mouth in utter disgust. Accustomed to live sumptuously and feed on the most delicate things, his eyes could not bear even the sight of that loathsome mixture of the coa.r.s.est articles of food collected at the bottom of his patta. He soon, however, recovered from that shock; and gathered fresh strength to subdue the opposition of nature, overcome its repugnance, and conquer its resistance. Reproaching himself for such an unbecoming weakness:--"Was I not aware," said he, with a feeling of indignation against himself, "that when I took up the dress of a mendicant such would be my food? The moment is come to trample upon nature's appet.i.tes." Whereupon he took up his patta, ate cheerfully his meal, and never afterwards did he ever feel any repugnance at what things soever he had to eat.

The king's messengers, having closely watched and attentively observed all that had happened, returned to their master, to whom they related all the particulars that they had witnessed. "Let my carriage be ready,"

said the king, "and you, follow me to the place where this stranger is resting." He soon perceived Phralaong at a distance, sitting quietly after his refection. Peimpathara alighted from his conveyance, respectfully drew near to Phralaong, and, having occupied a seat in a becoming place, was overwhelmed with contentment and inexpressible joy to such an extent, indeed, that he could scarcely find words to give utterance to his feelings. Having at last recovered from the first impression, he addressed Phralaong in the following manner:--"Venerable Rahan, you seem to be young still, and in the prime of your life; in your person you are gifted with the most attractive and n.o.ble qualities, indicating surely your ill.u.s.trious and royal extraction. I have under my control and in my possession a countless crowd of officers, elephants, horses and chariots, affording every desirable convenience for pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt of every description. Please to accept of a numerous retinue of attendants, with whom you may enjoy yourself whilst remaining within my dominions. May I be allowed to ask what country you belong to, who you are, and from what ill.u.s.trious lineage and descent you are come?" Phralaong said to himself:--"It is evident that the king is unacquainted with both my name and origin; I will, however, satisfy him on the subject of his inquiry." Pointing out with his hand in the direction of the place he had come from, he said:--"I arrive from the country which has been governed by a long succession of the descendants of Prince Kothala. I have, indeed, been born from royal progenitors, but I have abandoned all the prerogatives attached to my position, and embraced the profession of Rahan. From my heart I have rooted up concupiscence, covetousness, and all affections to the things of this world." To this the king replied:--"I have heard that Prince Theiddat, son of King Thoodaudana, had seen four great signs, portending his future destiny for the profession of Rahan, which would be but a step to lead him to the exalted dignity of a Buddha. The first part of the prediction has been already fulfilled. When the second shall have received its accomplishment, I beg you will show your benevolence to me and my people. I hope my kingdom will be the first country you will direct your steps to, after having acquired the supreme science." To this Phralaong graciously a.s.sented.

Phralaong, having left the king, resumed his journey, and fell in with a Rathee,[5] or hermit, named Alara, and inquired about the several Dzans. Alara satisfied him on four kinds of Dzans, but as regards the fifth, he was obliged to refer him to another Rathee, named Oudaka, who gave him the necessary explanations. Having nothing more to learn from these masters, Phralaong said to himself, "The knowledge I have thus acquired is not sufficient to enable me to obtain the dignity of Buddha." Whereupon he resolved to devote himself to the Kamatan[6] or meditation on the instability and nothingness of all that exists. To effectuate thoroughly his purpose, he repaired to the solitude of Oorouwela, where he devoted all his time to the deepest meditation. On a certain day it happened that five Rahans, on their way to a certain place to get their food, arrived at the spot where Phralaong lived and had already entered on the course of his penitential deeds. They soon became impressed with the idea that our hermit was to become a Buddha.

They resolved to stay with him and render him all the needful services, such as sweeping the place, cooking rice, &c.

The time for the six years of meditation was nearly over, when Phralaong undertook a great fast,[7] which was carried to such a degree of abstemiousness that he scarcely allowed to himself the use of a grain of rice or sesame a day, and finally denied himself even that feeble pittance. But the Nats, who observed his excessive mortification, inserted Nat food through the pores of his skin. Whilst Phralaong was thus undergoing such a severe fasting, his face, which was of a beautiful gold colour, became black; the thirty-two marks indicative of his future dignity disappeared. On a certain day, when he was walking in a much enfeebled state, on a sudden he felt an extreme weakness, similar to that caused by a dire starvation. Unable to stand up any longer, he fainted and fell on the ground. Among the Nats that were present, some said, "The Rahan Gaudama is dead indeed;" some others replied, "He is not dead, but has fainted from want of food." Those who believed he was dead hastened to his father's palace to convey to him the sad message of his son's death. Thoodaudana inquired if his son died previous to his becoming a Buddha. Having been answered in the affirmative, he refused to give credit to the words of the Nats. The reason of his doubting the accuracy of the report was, that he had witnessed the great wonders prognosticating his son's future dignity that had taken place, first when Phralaong, then an infant, was placed in the presence of a famous Rathee, and secondly, when he slept under the shade of the tree Tsampoo-thabia. The fainting being over, and Phralaong having recovered his senses, the same Nats went in all haste to Thoodaudana, to inform him of his son's happy recovery. "I knew well," said the king, "that my son could not die ere he had become a Buddha." The fame of Phralaong's having spent six years in solitude, addicted to meditation and mortification, spread abroad like the sound of a great bell,[8] hung in the canopy of the skies.

Phralaong soon remarked that fasting and mortification were not works of sufficient value for obtaining the dignity of Buddha; he took up his patta and went to the neighbouring village to get his food. Having eaten it, he grew stronger; his beautiful face shone again like gold, and the thirty-two signs reappeared.[9] The five Rahans that had lived with him said to each other--"It is in vain that the Rahan Gaudama has, during six years of mortification and sufferings, sought the dignity of Buddha; he is now compelled to go out in search of food; a.s.suredly, if he be obliged to live on such food, when shall he ever become a Buddha?

He goes out in quest of food; verily, he aims at enriching himself. As the man that wants drops of dew or water to refresh and wash his forehead, has to look for them, so we have to go somewhere else to learn the way to, and the merit of, Dzan, which we have not been able to obtain from him." Whereupon they left Phralaong, took up their pattas and tsiwarans, went to a distance of eighteen youdzanas, and withdrew into the forest of Migadawon, near Baranathee.

FOOTNOTES