佛本行集經

Chapter 23: CHANDAKA AND THE HORSE RETURN TO THE PALACE

(Part 2)

At that time, Mahaprajapati and Gautami together saw the radiant jewel from the Crown Prince’s topknot, his parasol, precious sword, jeweled ornaments, fly-whisk, and necklaces, all brought back by Chandaka, as well as the horse Kanthaka and the retinue following behind. Upon seeing them, they struck their own bodies with both hands, their hearts filled with grief and fear, and asked Chandaka:

“Where is my beloved son now, that you have returned alone?”

Chandaka replied:

“Your Majesty, Great Queen, because Crown Prince Siddhartha seeks the path of bodhi, he has renounced the five sensual pleasures, entered the mountains, shaved off his hair and beard, donned the kasaya robe, and is contemplating ascetic practices.”

When Mahaprajapati heard Chandaka speak thus, she was like a mother cow that had lost her calf. She wept sorrowfully, shedding tears she could not restrain, and struck her body with both hands. Her heart was utterly terrified, and she cried aloud, “Alas, my son! Alas, my son!” Tears streamed over her face, and her whole body trembled. Suddenly she collapsed, rolled upon the ground, and lost consciousness, like a fish removed from the water, writhing in anguish upon the earth. She again asked Chandaka:

“When I examine myself, I find that in body, speech, and mind I have done you no wrong. Why, then, did you abandon my son in the wilderness as though casting away a piece of wood? Why did you leave my son alone in a forest filled with the terrors of venomous snakes and savage beasts? You returned here, showing no love for my son.”

Chandaka replied:

“Your Majesty, Great Lady, how could this servant dare to leave the Holy Prince? My Lady, it was the Holy Prince himself who ordered me away. The Crown Prince entrusted the horse Kanthaka and his necklaces to me, then instructed me to return quickly to the royal palace so that the Great Lady might be reassured and not give rise to sorrow and anguish.”

At that time, all the palace women wailed, “Alas, mother and father!” Some lamented, “Alas, brothers!” Some lamented, “Alas, Great King!” Others lamented, “Alas, my husband!” These bitter words of loving attachment arose because sensual defilement oppressed their bodies and minds. Some women wept while casting sidelong glances; some looked at one another and wept; some turned their backs and wept; some raised their heads and wept; some faced one another and wept; some struck their bellies with both hands and wept; some beat their breasts and wept; some clasped their hands and wept; some struck their heads with both hands and wept; some smeared dust upon their heads and wept; some loosened their hair to cover their faces and wept; some tore at their hair, bowed their heads, and wept;

some raised both hands toward heaven and wept; some, overcome with grief, ran wildly here and there like forest deer struck by poisoned arrows; some covered their entire faces with their garments and wailed; some trembled all over like banana leaves shaken by the wind, bowing or raising their heads as they wept; some collapsed upon the ground and lost consciousness, and as soon as they revived, cried out and wept; some, like fish removed from water, lay thrashing upon the earth, breathing hoarsely, their lives hanging by a thread, and wept while scarcely conscious; some fell like uprooted trees, rolled upon the ground, and wept.

So many forms of anguish oppressed the bodies and minds of the palace women, causing them to wail in this manner.

At that time, Chandaka and the horse Kanthaka, together with countless hundreds of thousands of palace women, burst into such loud weeping that nothing else could be heard. Tears poured from Mahaprajapati’s eyes. Only after lying unconscious for a long time did she revive, and as soon as she awoke, she wept and called out to the Crown Prince:

“Alas, my son! Alas, my son! Formerly, your body was always anointed with many kinds of fragrant perfumes and adorned with all manner of beautiful ornaments, possessing such great majesty and virtue.

How can you now remain in a desolate mountain cave, enduring hardship while harmful insects such as flies, gnats, mosquitoes, and ants bite and sting your body? Alas, my son! While dwelling in the royal palace, your body was always clothed in Kasi garments perfumed with fragrances.

How can you now endure coarse, rough, foul-smelling robes? Alas, my son! While dwelling in the royal palace, you always ate delicacies and exquisite foods prepared from a hundred subtle and pure flavors.

Your mouth had never tasted plain fare. How can you now eat dry, cold rice, soup, cakes, and meal? Alas, my son!

While dwelling in the royal palace, you lay upon soft beds with warm cushions, sometimes covered with celestial garments, with two pillows placed on either side, sitting or reclining as you pleased. How can you now sit or lie upon bare ground or amid forests of thorns sharp as needles? Alas, my son!

While dwelling in the royal palace, you had male and female servants and attendants at either side, who always served and revered you wholeheartedly. Some supported your body, some knelt before you, and others stood motionless, always facing the Crown Prince. They served you without the slightest omission.

How can you now live among people filled with anger, among the destitute, or among those whose temperaments burn like fire? They have no loving-kindness toward you. How can you accept living with people of such dispositions?

Alas, my son! While dwelling in the royal palace, you were surrounded and attended by ranks of palace women of graceful form and flower-like beauty, so that you might freely enjoy pleasure. How can you now live alone amid range upon range of mountains, like a wild beast beset by terror?

In what can your heart find delight? Alas, my son! Your toes are straight, long, soft, and webbed; your shanks are like those of the king of deer; the soles of your feet are tender as young lotus leaves, clearly and beautifully marked with the figures of two wheels, each with a thousand spokes.

With such feet, how can you walk barefoot upon thorny, gravelly ground? How can such feet bear walking in the icy cold of winter or the scorching heat of summer?”

After Mahaprajapati had wept and lamented countless matters concerning the Crown Prince in this way, her mind gradually regained its normal composure. Rising from the ground, she asked Chandaka:

“Chandaka, since matters have come to this, did my son, Crown Prince Siddhartha, give you any instructions during the journey? Chandaka, where is my son’s hair?”

Chandaka replied:

“Your Majesty, Great Lady, the Holy Prince Siddhartha instructed me as follows: ‘Chandaka, when you return to the royal court, respectfully bow before and inquire after my maternal aunt, Mahaprajapati, on my behalf. After bowing, you must say: “Revered Great Mother, please do not grieve excessively or give rise to anguish. You should not dwell upon thoughts of me. Before long, I shall attain that which I seek, and then I shall return to pay my respects to you.”’ Great Lady, the Holy Prince personally drew his sword. Holding his topknot in his left hand and the sword in his right, he cut it off and cast it into the air. At that time, the devas caught it and carried it back to their celestial palace as an offering.”

When Mahaprajapati heard Chandaka’s report, she again wept and lamented over the Crown Prince’s topknot:

“Alas, my son! Your hair was long, and your soft topknot exceedingly beautiful. From each pore grew a single hair, all curling in the same direction, neither tangled nor falling out.

It was perfectly suited for wearing the celestial crown and ascending the throne of a Holy King. Why, today, could you bear to cast it away? Alas, my son!

Your arms were very long; when you walked slowly, you were majestic like the king of lions. Your eyes were round like those of the lord of bulls, your shoulders and chest were broad, and your voice resounded like drums and thunder. How could a person such as you renounce the household life amid desolate mountains and forests?

If today the Crown Prince undertakes the practice of renunciation, this kingdom will be without merit, like the earth collapsing and never appearing again. I had hoped that one endowed with every virtue and complete in merit would become king and govern the myriad people, bringing peace and happiness to all.”

She then spoke this verse:

If so, this land has exhausted its merit;

Otherwise, why would no wise sage appear?

Since one endowed with such merit has appeared,

He should become a Holy King for humankind.

At that time, Yasodhara cried aloud and, overcome with anger, rebuked Chandaka with every manner of reproach:

“Chandaka, we women are still in the prime of youth. While we slept soundly at midnight, knowing nothing, to what land have you now taken and abandoned my noble husband, whom I cherish? Is it near or far from here? My noble and saintly great man departed together with you and the horse, all three setting out at the same time, yet now you alone have returned, and my beloved noble husband is nowhere to be seen. Therefore, today my body and mind tremble with fear. You are no good and virtuous man, and you have brought me no benefit. Chandaka, I now tell you truthfully: even if a bitter enemy, exceedingly fierce and cruel, were to commit an atrocity, the harm would not equal what you have done. What you have done to me today is utterly wicked.

“Chandaka, if you were someone upon whom I could rely, you should have helped and protected me. Why, when you saw me sleeping soundly at midnight, did you secretly lead my noble prince away by yourself and abandon him in some unknown land? Chandaka, you have now acted toward me as a bitter enemy. You have accomplished this deed, so why must you grieve and lament today? You should wipe away your tears. Why force yourself to pretend affection and shed tears in vain? Chandaka, you have created unwholesome karma. Now that you have completed your deed, why grieve?

“Chandaka, because you were the trusted companion of my noble husband, although entry into and departure from the inner palace were forbidden, no one obstructed you. Thus today you have instead caused my noble husband to depart according to your will. Chandaka, what use was there in keeping you in this household? Now that you have accomplished such an unwholesome deed, you ought to rejoice. I know that today you will reap a great fruit and obtain immense merit and benefit.

“Chandaka, people in this world would rather make an enemy of a wise person than make a fool their friend. Although you were my husband’s companion, you acted in this way. How could you have acted without reflection? Chandaka, you have now done what brings no benefit to our royal family, so you ought to be filled with great joy. Chandaka, this palace is lofty, beautiful, and magnificent, resembling banks of clouds. It is adorned with jeweled necklaces and filled with abundant riches, yet now all these things have become meaningless because of you.”

Yasodhara then spoke this verse to Chandaka:

Better to remain near a wise enemy

Than to accept a fool as a friend.

Because you acted without reflection,

The royal family and I suffer greatly.

After speaking this verse, Yasodhara again said to Chandaka:

“Chandaka, since this has happened to my husband, how could my heart be free of sorrow? Today the palace women, whose skin is white as snow and whose lips are red as vermilion, whose faces are exquisitely beautiful, lovely, and rarely equaled, have cast off their splendid garments and removed the jeweled necklaces adorning their bodies. They should have been enjoying sensual pleasures together, yet unexpectedly they have suddenly become widows so soon. Unable to sleep, night and day they shed unceasing streams of tears, crying and lamenting without end.

“Chandaka, this horse Kanthaka bears enmity toward me. That night it committed a deed that brought no benefit. Seeing me sleeping soundly, it carried away my beloved husband and crossed beyond the city walls. This horse has created exceedingly unwholesome karma, so why does it now neigh before me as though in anguish? Its neighing resounds throughout the Great King’s city, yet when it carried away my noble husband before, why did this unwholesome horse remain silent and endure without a sound? If, when first departing, it had neighed as it does today, everyone who was sleeping would have heard it and awakened, and I would not now be suffering this immense anguish.

“This unwholesome horse—even if arrows had pierced its body or clubs had beaten it to death, it should never have carried the Crown Prince out of the city toward the mountain forests. Yet this horse did nothing to benefit our royal house. Merely because it feared the whip, it carried the noble lord, the husband whom I have always cherished in my heart, out of the city and straight into the mountain forests.

“Today, because this palace of mine is without its master, the halls, chambers, city walls, villages, roads, hamlets, latticed windows, towers, gates, balustrades, the tinkling of jewels, and the extraordinarily beautiful and magnificent crescent-shaped palace—all these have now become utterly meaningless because of this wicked horse Kanthaka. The women’s quarters within our royal palace have become like a wilderness. Whenever I open my eyes, tears fall, and nothing remains for me to desire.”

Thus Yasodhara wept sorrowfully, choking with anguish as she uttered these heartrending words. She then fainted and remained unconscious for a long time. Hearing Yasodhara’s reproaches, Chandaka joined his palms, bowed his head humbly, and wept streams of tears. He addressed Yasodhara, the Chief Consort of the noble prince:

“Today, Your Highness should not reproach me. I committed no fault; neither Kanthaka nor I am truly guilty. On that night, when Your Highness’s noble husband first set out, I remonstrated with him and placed every manner of obstacle in his way. At that time, I loudly called to the consorts, repeatedly saying: ‘Consorts, awaken quickly! Consorts, awaken quickly! Tonight your beloved husband is about to take Kanthaka and me away.’

“That day, I grasped each palace consort by the hair to awaken her and tell her what was happening. I grasped Your Highness by the hair, and then grasped the hair of the other palace consorts. I called each consort by name and told her that the Crown Prince was departing, yet none of those palace women awakened. It was likewise with all the many other palace women.

“When the noble prince departed, the horse Kanthaka also made every effort to obstruct him. It opened its mouth and neighed more than a thousand times, stamped its hooves upon the ground and refused to advance, bared its lower teeth, and snorted through its nostrils. Its neighing carried half a yojana, and the sound of its stamping shook the distance of more than one krosa.

“At that time, I cried aloud: ‘Alas! Your beloved husband is departing tonight!’ Yet Your Highness and all the other palace women remained completely unaware of those loud cries. Through their divine power, the devas caused every sound to vanish so that no one could hear it.

“Your Highness should know that Kanthaka and I truly did not dare to carry the Crown Prince away. Thus Your Highness may judge for yourself whether your noble prince would heed my words. Had the Crown Prince listened to my attempts to dissuade him, none of this would ever have occurred.”

Facing Yasodhara, Chandaka spoke this verse:

I cannot bear it; my tears fall.

With palms joined and head bowed, I plead my case:

Great Consort, you should not rebuke Kanthaka;

Nor should you be angry with me.

Great Consort, I too knew that King Suddhodana had previously issued a very strict decree requiring all who attended the Prince to watch over him carefully. Although I had received such an order, I had no freedom to act, for the divine power of the devas bewildered my mind; it was not my wish to act as I did. The Prince’s departure was also prompted by the divine power of the devas, who summoned him to quickly leave the household life.

Moreover, at that time, whenever the Holy Prince wished a city gate to open, it opened of itself. Formerly, each city gate had been guarded by more than a thousand men, whose vigilance never slackened. Yet that day, when the Holy Prince passed through the palace gates, they were all fast asleep and knew nothing. It was like the newly risen sun, whose radiance dispels all darkness. I then knew this to be the work of the devas.

Great Consort, after the Holy Prince left the city, I ran on foot ahead of him along the road, yet my body felt no weariness.

Great Consort, as this horse Kanthaka traveled along the road, his four hooves did not touch the ground, as though someone were carrying him forward, and the sound of his neighing did not carry far. Great Consort, I thought to myself at that time and knew that this too was the work of the devas.

Great Consort, I then saw the Prince resolve to become a sramana in accordance with the Dharma. He cut off his topknot and cast it into the air, where the devas caught it and did not allow it to fall to the ground. He then removed his royal garments and gave them to a hunter in exchange for a robe of subdued color. At that time, I thought that this too was the work of the devas.

Great Consort, because of such events, I beg you not to harbor anger against me today. Why is this? The Prince’s departure was not caused by me, nor did it have anything to do with the horse Kanthaka.

At that time, the Great Consort Yasodhara lay upon the ground and reflected for a moment. Then, weeping and crying out sorrowfully, she said:

“Alas, my lord and husband! To this day I have lived in dutiful obedience to my husband. I do not know why the Prince has abandoned me and gone away.

The Prince has gone to the mountains and forests to seek the Dharma and practice austerities, yet in doing so he has not acted according to the proper way, for he has not followed the prescribed practice. Alas, my lord and husband! Have you not heard that when kings of former times wished to enter the mountains and forests to seek the Dharma and practice austerities, they took their wives and children with them?

Those kings did not impair the noble path, and they attained accomplishment as well. Alas, my lord and husband! Have you not heard of this practice?

In ancient times, those who went forth still shaved their heads and entered the path together with their wives and children, diligently practicing austerities. They even brought fine horses as offerings to the devas or established assemblies of unrestricted giving, and both husband and wife enjoyed exceedingly excellent karmic rewards. As you know, this is stated in the Vedic treatises.

Why, then, has the Prince today been miserly toward me alone, refusing to allow me to practice austerities together with him? O Prince! What you have done is fruitless; you have squandered this human life.

Since in the world the Prince once shared loving affection with his wife, why has he now cast aside his virtuous wife? Or does he wish to ascend to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three and become enamored of celestial maidens? As I see it today, what is there in those celestial maidens to covet?

What beauty is there in their appearance? What delight is there in attachment to the five sensual pleasures?

“If the Prince says that he does not covet the pleasures of the devas, why then did he abandon the meritorious power and majesty of kingship and distance himself from me and the palace women here?

“The Prince has renounced everything, left the household life, and entered the secluded mountains and forests to practice austerities. As for me, I do not now seek the karmic rewards of the devas, nor do I wish to take the form of a celestial maiden. It is enough that my heart knows this, and that I possess such strength: while dwelling in the human realm, I do not seek rebirth in heaven. I shall remain here practicing austerities with this vow: whether in the human realm or reborn in heaven, I wish only to live in accordance with the Dharma, attending upon and remaining beside the Prince.

“If the Prince’s mind is firmly resolved to leave us palace women far behind and enter the desolate mountains and forests, then my heartfelt vow always to attend upon him shall remain steadfast and unchanging, as firm and enduring as stone.

“Today I have truly become a widow, for I have seen my lord and husband abandon the royal court, leave the household life, and enter the mountains and forests, leaving me alone in an empty chamber. How could my heart not shatter?”

Then she spoke this verse:

Though today my heart is firm,

As hard and unyielding as iron and stone,

My husband has left for the mountains, and the inner palace is empty;

How could my heart not shatter?

Because she had lost the Prince, Yasodhara was so tormented by anguish that her mind grew faint. Suddenly she collapsed unconscious upon the ground. Only after a long while did she regain consciousness. At times she wailed and wept in sorrow; at times she stood with bowed head, silently reflecting; and at times, terrified and delirious, she raved:

“Where has my husband gone today? Where is my Holy Prince resting, leaving me alone in the palace? The Prince has cast me aside, betrayed me, and departed.

From this day onward, without the Prince, I shall not lie upon my former bed. I shall not bathe in warm, fragrant water. I shall neither adorn nor groom my body, nor apply rouge or powder.

I shall no longer wear brilliantly colored garments. From this day onward, I shall wear neither jeweled necklaces nor garlands and perfumes. I shall not eat rich delicacies, nor drink sweet and savory beverages.

I shall drink no kind of wine. The fine foods I once ate I shall eat no more. I shall leave my hair bare and unadorned.

Though I remain at home, my mind shall always regard itself as practicing austerities in the mountains and forests. Until I behold that supreme man again, all parks, forests, rivers, lakes, streams, houses, and palaces appear to me covered in dust, like desolate wastelands, because the Holy Prince is no longer in the city of Kapilavastu. All the palaces, towers, and pavilions lack their former splendor and majesty and resemble a desert.

Because everyone here is filled with sorrow and anguish, they cannot restrain themselves; they have lost right mindfulness and no longer even know shame.”

As Yasodhara rolled upon the ground and raved in this way, all the palace women cried aloud together, their streaming tears soaking their faces.

The verse says:

Such anguish tormented them:

Yasodhara and the palace women

Looked upon one another and burst into tears,

Like a torrential rain in midsummer.

Seeing Yasodhara lament with such anguished words, Channa sought to console her:

“Great Consort, you should not give rise to such anguished and piercing sorrow. Do not grieve and suffer so deeply. You must compose yourself and cease dwelling upon the Holy Prince.

When the Prince departed, although he remained in the human realm, he was no different from the devas; his awesome spiritual power and strength were likewise no different from theirs. When the Prince departed, devas surrounded and guarded him. On his right were Brahma, the heavenly king, and his retinue; on his left were Lord Shakra and his retinue from the Heaven of the Thirty-Three.

To the east was Dhrtarashtra, king of the gandharvas; to the south was Virudhaka, king of the kumbhandas; to the west were Virupaksha and the naga kings; and to the north was the deva Vaishravana, commanding the yakshas. They all wore vajra armor and carried bows and arrows, spears, and lances. Surrounding and protecting him, some went ahead to guide the way, some followed behind as an escort, and others attended and guarded him on his left and right.

In the sky above were always tens of thousands of celestial maidens. Filled throughout their bodies with irrepressible joy and delight, they ceaselessly scattered many kinds of flowers over the Holy Prince. At that time, when the Holy Prince saw the celestial maidens, his mind felt neither pleasure nor attraction, neither affection nor anger; he neither grasped nor rejected them.

The Holy Prince’s mind was not attached to the ministrations of those celestial maidens.

“O Great Consort, Mother of the Realm, when the Holy Prince departed, the devas manifested spiritual powers and made so many offerings to him that today it would be difficult for me to recount every matter in full detail.”

After Chandaka had spoken thus, the second consort, the noble lady Gopa, collapsed like a great tree branch that had broken. She lay stretched upon the ground, unable to rise. Because the fire of loving attachment and longing for the Holy Prince burned and tormented her body and mind, the noble lady Gopa was overwhelmed by sorrow, anguish, and suffering. Lying on the ground, she rolled about, weeping and lamenting in these words:

“Alas, my lord and husband! Your face is full like the moon at its zenith. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your body is beautiful beyond compare. Alas, my lord and husband! You possess all the supreme and most excellent marks.

Alas, my lord and husband! Your body is pure and unequaled in the world; every part of it is flawless and beautiful like an image of gold. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your merit is supremely excellent. Alas, my lord and husband! You possess great loving-kindness and compassion and receive offerings from humans and devas.

Alas, my lord and husband! You are valiant and possess strength like the divine Narayana; no enemy can withstand you, and you are able to subdue every foe. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your voice is like that of Brahma, melodious as the song of the kalavinka bird. Alas, my lord and husband! Your noble renown resounds everywhere.

Alas, my lord and husband! You are adorned with hundreds of thousands of blessings and virtues; among humans and devas in this world, none can compare with you. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your merit is perfect and complete, and when the sages behold you, they all give rise to joyful hearts. Alas, my lord and husband! You are like a forest of wisdom, and all who hear your name make offerings to you.

Alas, my lord and husband! In this world, you possess a tongue faculty of unsurpassed excellence. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your eyes shine blue like blue lotuses. Alas, my lord and husband! Your lips and mouth are red like the fruit of the bimba tree.

Alas, my lord and husband! Your mouth contains forty immaculate white teeth, like milk, like silk, like frost, and like snow. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your nose is high and straight like a golden tube. Alas, my lord and husband! The pure white hair between your eyebrows grows precisely at the center.

Alas, my lord and husband! Your shoulders are broad, full, and even; your abdomen is long and slender, your waist curves inward like a bow, and your hands and feet are soft and delicate. Alas, my lord and husband!

Your thighs, calves, upper arms, and forearms resemble an elephant’s trunk; the palms of your hands and soles of your feet are even, and all your nails are rosy red. Alas, my lord and husband! King Shuddhodana chose an auspicious day in a favorable month, on a night when a propitious star appeared, to have these jeweled necklaces made for you.

At that time the Great King rejoiced exceedingly. Why have you abandoned them? Now I, too, no longer wish to look upon these jeweled necklaces.”

At that time, because anguish and terror filled Gopa’s mind, she remained constantly alarmed and distraught. She was like a wild deer pursued by hunters that had strayed into a flower garden. Holding bows and arrows, the hunters chased it and shot at its body. Suffering terribly, the deer ran frantically here and there and looked in all four directions, yet found no refuge where it might escape danger. At this time, Gopa’s mind was likewise. At times she wandered through the palace speaking incoherently; at times she debated with herself alone in the halls; and at times she ran everywhere searching but could not find the Prince. She wept and wailed sorrowfully, tears soaking her entire face. No one could console her, and her suffering was unbearable. Then she cried out loudly once more:

“When the Holy Prince still dwelt at court, this place was filled with everything fine and beautiful. It was magnificent, splendid, and brimming with vitality, possessing awesome majesty like Lord Shakra in his palace in the Heaven of the Thirty-Three. Yet today, without cause, the Prince has suddenly departed, and everything here has been utterly lost.

This city now resembles a charnel ground, a desolate marsh, a barren mountain, or an empty wilderness. When the Prince was here in this palace, I enjoyed countless sensual pleasures together with him. My heart was intoxicated with delight and never knew satiety.

Today, without the Prince, my heart is no longer enraptured. I am like a loach taken from the water and left upon dry ground, unable to feel even an instant of joy, much less give rise to delight. So too am I now.

Without the Prince, how could my heart know happiness? It is like a butterfly that takes no joy in spring because there are no flowers and therefore cares nothing for flower groves and feels no fondness for blossoms or leaves. So too am I now.

Without the Prince, there is nothing here to delight me!

“Alas, my lord and husband! At the places where you formerly sat and reclined, music was constantly played, mingling with the sound of song, for the women within the palace delighted in joining their voices together. This is still the very same palace, no different from before, yet my heart has suddenly become joyless and is instead filled with sorrow and anguish. How much less could I take pleasure in music and entertainment?

“Alas, my lord and husband! Your body was adorned with supremely beautiful flower garlands and jeweled necklaces. Fragrant oils and scented powders were always provided in abundance, without anything lacking. You were at the very height of enjoying pleasure, your heart filled with joy and delight, yet for some unknown reason you suddenly departed. It is like the sky suddenly becoming shrouded in mist and clouds, with thunder and lightning arising and a hailstorm descending, only for it all to clear away at once. So too was the Holy Prince about to ascend the royal throne and enjoy its pleasures, with nothing he desired left unfulfilled, yet he abandoned the sacred throne and departed.

“Could it be that in a former life I diligently gave away many precious things but afterward gave rise to regret, and because of that regret I now incur this karmic retribution? Although I received an exceedingly beautiful reward, I suddenly lost it again. Because of the karma of regret, I have now abruptly become a widow. Today my merit is meager, and therefore I have lost this unsurpassed and most excellent lord and husband.

“Alas, our loving and harmonious union endured for only a short while before we were separated. It was like a performance in a theater that lasts but a brief time before the gathering disperses. My loving union with the Holy Prince has likewise been the same.”

It is also related in an ancient account that long ago there was a king who practiced as a seer. He cultivated the practice of quiescence, subdued his faculties, and attained meditative concentration. He entered the mountain forests, observed the precept against killing, devoted himself to ascetic practices, drank wondrous medicines, and ate sweet and delicious fruits. He also brought his wife and children with him to dwell in seclusion in the forest and cultivate the holy life together. Why, then, has the Crown Prince now entered the desolate mountain forest alone to practice diligently and vigorously?

Then Gopika again threw her arms around the neck of the horse Kanthaka and cried aloud:

“Alas! Kanthaka, you have not the slightest compassion! Where is the Holy Prince who was born on the same day as you? Why did you carry my Holy Prince away at midnight without letting me know?”

Then she reproached Chandaka:

“Alas! Chandaka, your heart is exceedingly cruel! When I had inadvertently fallen into a deep sleep, why did you not awaken me and let me know? The Crown Prince is the one whom I have always revered and loved in my heart. Today he suddenly departed; why did you not call me? From this day onward, for all the time remaining to me, I must endure a solitary life, walking, standing, lying down, and sitting alone. Truly, this is suffering beyond measure. Alas! Chandaka, tell me: how did the Holy Prince depart? Who showed him the way through this royal palace? When he left the city, who guided him, and in which direction did he go? And where is the Holy Prince today?”

After the secondary consort Gopika had reproached Chandaka in this way, she softened her voice and said to him:

“Good Chandaka, although this has already come to pass, you attended the Crown Prince on his departure and have now returned here. You must know where the Crown Prince is staying. You should lead me there so that I may always remain near him, practicing asceticism and single-mindedly seeking the Way, with the aspiration that I may be reborn in the heavenly realm together with the Holy Prince.”

Having heard all Gopika’s anguished reproaches as well as her gentle words, Chandaka became exceedingly sorrowful, distressed, and afflicted. The anguish oppressing his body and mind increased manyfold, and tears streamed down and covered his face. Yet he forced himself to appear composed and slowly consoled Gopika:

“Madam, please listen. You should not grieve, nor should you weep like this. Before long, we shall see the Holy Prince again.

Why is this? When the Holy Prince ordered me to return to the royal palace, he said: ‘Chandaka, when you return to the royal palace, convey My greetings to all My relatives, the royal consorts, and all My young companions, friends, and acquaintances. I now order you to return to the inner palace and comfort everyone.

Say to them on My behalf: I have now cast aside the net of greed, anger, and delusion. Before long, I shall attain the wisdom of perfect and complete awakening. After attaining the Way, I promise that I shall return to the city of Kapilavastu.’ I know that the Holy Prince will certainly attain the great wisdom that fulfills his original vow.

He will return without the slightest doubt, for I know that the most excellent among beings will assuredly speak no untruth.”

At that time, after King Suddhodana, overwhelmed with anguish, had completed the rites of sacrifice to the devas within the palace, he heard from afar the resounding cries and lamentations coming from the Crown Prince’s palace. The king immediately came out of his own palace. Just then, he encountered Chandaka carrying the Crown Prince’s parasol and jeweled necklace and leading the horse Kanthaka. Chandaka laid out these objects and, following the Crown Prince’s instructions, respectfully conveyed his greetings. He bowed with his head and face at the king’s feet, tears streaming over his face, and, in accordance with the Crown Prince’s instructions, reported everything to the king in a choked voice.

When King Suddhodana saw the Crown Prince’s jeweled necklace, parasol, and horse Kanthaka, and at the same time heard the Crown Prince’s respectful and filial greetings, he suddenly cried aloud in shock and grief:

“Alas, my beloved son! Who could have imagined this?”

Then King Suddhodana, overcome in body and mind by grief and longing for the Crown Prince, collapsed to the ground and lost consciousness.

There was a verse:

The king heard the Bodhisattva’s profound vow,

And saw Chandaka and Kanthaka return.

Suddenly he fell, his mind unconscious,

Like Sakra’s banner breaking of itself.

At that time, when all the relatives and kinsmen in King Suddhodana’s palace saw the king collapse to the ground, they were filled with grief and anguish and no longer felt the slightest joy. They raised their own voices in lamentation, uttering words of sorrow and distress.

All the people, young and old, in the city of Kapilavastu also cried out and wept bitterly because they had been separated from the Crown Prince. The members of the royal household came forward in turn to console King Suddhodana.

The king’s heart remained tormented by sorrow and longing for the Crown Prince. Some of his kinsmen offered words of consolation, while others helped him sit up. Yet he had not been seated for long before he again fell to the ground unconscious. Whenever he happened to regain consciousness, he would cry aloud, his face drenched with tears, and say to Chandaka:

“Chandaka, why did you not bring the Crown Prince back to the palace?”

Chandaka replied:

“Your Majesty, please understand that I too earnestly used every possible means to persuade the Holy Prince to return to the royal palace. But the Holy Prince’s heart no longer delighted in any worldly thing in this life. He abandoned everything without the slightest attachment. He also said to me: ‘Do not remonstrate with Me. I have no need of any of the five sensual pleasures. Leaving behind My relatives, kingdom, and city, I delight only in the quietude of mountain forests, ravines, and streams.’”

When King Suddhodana heard Chandaka’s report and saw the Crown Prince’s personal effects—the jeweled necklace and the other objects—lying on the ground, he bowed before them. Tears drenched his face as he cried aloud, and then he said to Chandaka:

“My strength is now exhausted, and I no longer have any spirit. My hands and feet have all grown feeble, like a withered and bare tree. Today, separated from the Crown Prince, I am like a tree stripped of branches and leaves, with only its trunk remaining. When the neighboring kingdoms see this, they will despise me. Alone and powerless, I am like a tree battered by hail, made into a plaything for children.

“Alas, my son! You are the supreme Great Man, handsome and pleasing in appearance beyond compare. You are a gentle youth, yet you have gone against my wishes. Why did you renounce the household life and leave far behind the five sensual pleasures? You are the son whom my heart loves, yet you abandoned me and departed!

“Alas, my son! Your body is endowed with all the marks, and each mark is adorned with a hundred merits.

“Alas, my son! Your entire body is endowed with all the excellent characteristics.

“Alas, my son! You waited until the palace maidens had fallen into a deep sleep and then secretly departed.

“Alas, my son! In former times, while you were in the palace, I had not the slightest sorrow.

“Alas, my son! Among kings, you are the foremost.

“Alas, my son! From time immemorial, you have always been born into royal lineages.

“Alas, my son! Why have you now abandoned the royal throne and renounced the household life?

“Alas, my son! So many people delight in beholding you—men and women, old and young, and noble men alike. Once their eyes behold you, not one of them fails to rejoice.

“Alas, my son! You are a man of great ability and abundant wisdom.

“Alas, my son! You have now relinquished all your relatives, the four continents under heaven, and the seven treasures, renouncing the household life to dwell alone.

“Alas, my son! Your departure from the royal palace to renounce the household life is like a great white elephant shaking and uprooting an ancient tree.”

Alas, my son! When you left the royal palace, you passed through so many city gates. Every gate was difficult to open and close, and moreover, the sound of their opening and closing carried very far. Why, then, did I not hear it today? Surely the devas prevented the sound from being heard.

Alas, my son! Today, in this city of Kapilavastu, all the kinsmen of the Sakya clan have lost every hope because Prince Siddhartha has renounced the household life and gone forth.

Alas, my son! However much wealth in gold, silver, and precious gems, granaries of wheat and barley, money, goods, and other possessions the kinsmen of the Sakya clan in the city of Kapilavastu may have, they cast it all aside as though it were phlegm and spittle, because the Prince has departed to go forth.

Alas, my son! Your father built palaces for you for the four seasons—spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Why have you now abandoned those palaces and gone forth, delighting in dwelling in lonely, uninhabited places and taking pleasure in mountain forests filled only with birds and beasts?

Alas, my son! Formerly, when you were born, the seers foretold two possibilities. Because of this, your father was so filled with joy throughout his entire body that he could not contain himself, and at that moment he suddenly bowed his head at the infant’s feet.

Alas, my son! Now that you have gone forth, all the deities who protect the city have departed far from this place.

Alas, my son! Your face is full and round like the moon at its fullest. Your teeth are pure white. Your eyes are like those of a king of bulls.

Alas, my son! Formerly, whenever your father heard the sound of your voice, he rejoiced greatly; now, whenever he recalls it, his sorrow only deepens.

Alas, my son! I always anointed your body with the finest fragrant sandalwood perfumes, such as tagara and ox-head agallochum; adorned your body with jeweled necklaces; and perfumed your tender form with many kinds of incense. Yet now, suddenly, your father can no longer see you.

My son! Your father’s loving attachment to you penetrates his very skin, flesh, sinews, veins, bones, and marrow; yet now, all of a sudden, you have gone forth into the mountain forests!