佛本行集經

Chapter 22: CUTTING THE HAIR AND DYEING THE ROBE

(Part 2)

At that time, with his left hand the Prince removed the priceless celestial mani jewel from the heavenly crown upon his head, handed it to Chandaka, and instructed him:

“Chandaka, I now entrust this mani jewel to you. Take it back to the royal palace and offer it to my father, King Suddhodana. When you arrive, bow countless times before the King.

You surely understand what I am about to instruct you; heed my words. Take this jewel back, clearly report everything to my father, and dispel all the King’s sorrow and suffering. On my behalf, report wholeheartedly to the King as follows: ‘I have not suddenly departed from serving at Your Majesty’s side because I was scorned by the people of the world, nor because I harbored anger, sought wealth, lacked grants or stipends, or wished to seek rebirth in heaven.

I have gone forth only because all sentient beings do not abide upon the true path, but are deluded by the dark veil of ignorance and follow crooked ways. I wish to become a lamp of wisdom that shines with radiant light, to extinguish the phenomena of birth and death, and to sever all conditioned, outflow-tainted, and impermanent phenomena. Therefore, I have gone forth.

May Your Majesty open your heart of great loving-kindness and great compassion and understand that these are the reasons for my going forth. Father, you should not grieve.’”

Then the Prince spoke this verse:

After reciting the verse, the Prince continued:

“I have renounced the household life and gone forth because I wish to escape sorrow, distress, and suffering. You must therefore tell my father, the King, that he should not grieve. If anyone in the world treats sorrow as delighting in the pleasures of the five desires, such a person truly ought to grieve.

Why? In this world, parents often beget and raise children in the hope of gaining wealth. Yet how rare it is to find anyone who upholds the Dharma and repays the kindness of their parents!

If my father thinks, ‘My son has gone forth at an improper time,’ I beseech him not to hold such a view. Seeking the Dharma is not confined to any particular time. Why?

Because the lifespans of people in this world are unequal. Knowing this, the wise renounce household life, go forth, and seek the supreme state. It would be utterly unreasonable for someone living in the same house as the hostile bandit of death to boast, ‘I shall live long.’

“Chandaka, these words arise from my resolute heart. Return to the palace, go before my father, King Suddhodana, and report all these words so that his mind may become peaceful. Speak with the utmost skill, employing every means to console and explain matters, so that the King will not continue thinking of me.

“Nevertheless, Chandaka, I further instruct you: When you go before my father, King Suddhodana, speak only of my faults, misconduct, and lack of virtue, saying things such as, ‘The Prince knows no gratitude and possesses no loving heart.’ Do not speak of my filial conduct. Why do I say this? So that the King will no longer cherish me and will relinquish all longing and sorrow.”

After hearing the Prince speak these words, Chandaka’s whole being was overcome with anguish. Tears streamed down his face as he joined his palms toward the Prince and said:

“O Great Sage, Prince, the words you have just instructed me to deliver will cause the King and your relatives the deepest sorrow. My heart cannot bear the sight of affection being severed. It is like an old elephant that has fallen into a muddy swamp and cannot pull itself free. Who could hear such words without shedding tears?”

With utmost sincerity, Chandaka further said to the Prince:

“Even strangers would be moved and grieved upon hearing this; how much more must Chandaka be, who has lived beside you since childhood, was born on the same day, grew up together with you in loving reverence, and has cherished you without cease?”

Then Chandaka spoke this verse:

After speaking the verse, Chandaka again addressed the Prince:

“I led the royal horse for the Prince to ride only because the spiritual power of the devas caused my mind to bring him here; it was not of my own volition. How could I have prevented the Prince from going forth? I am a servant born on the same day as the Prince, and this royal horse is likewise no different. We have never left the Prince even for an instant. Yet now you command me to return alone to the palace—this can never be. The Prince will not return to the palace with us, but orders only me and the horse Kanthaka to return, and even commands me to report these sorrowful words of separation to your royal father.

“Today the Prince forsakes reunion with his family, acts against the wishes of his aged father, and goes forth on his own. Is such conduct right or wrong? No noble and wholesome Dharma can surpass filial devotion to the parents who gave one birth. Nor should the Prince abandon his maternal aunt Mahaprajapati, who once nursed him. People will judge from this that the Prince is ungrateful and treacherous, forgetting the kindness with which he was first reared. Your chief consort, Yasodhara, is a chaste and virtuous woman, yet instead of living with her, you depart and bring about separation.

“Today the Prince leaves all his relatives of the Sakya clan. I am your servant, born on the same day as you, yet you will not allow me to remain at your side and serve you, but instead drive me away. Prince, wherever you go, this servant vows to follow and attend you, never parting from you. O Great Sage, Prince, my heart cannot bear to carry the red fire of sorrow back to burn those bound to you by affection and gratitude, returning alone with only the horse to the royal city while leaving the Prince by himself in this desolate wilderness. Even if I depart from here and return to the royal city, do you know how King Suddhodana will rebuke me?

“Furthermore, when you do not return to court and I return alone, do you know what your friends and acquaintances, all the queens, consorts, and palace women will ask me? Yet the Prince still orders me to return and say: ‘Go and speak wicked words that revile me before the royal family, so that my relatives will reproach and resent me and no longer think of me.’ O Great Sage, Prince, how could this servant dare utter falsehoods and revile you? Would my own heart not know shame? Even if my heart and tongue spoke wickedly of you, and even if I falsely slandered you, who would believe my words?

“O Prince, it would be no different from someone slandering and reviling the Moon Deva. If people hear that the Prince, whose heart always cultivates compassion, has ordered me to speak unwholesome words, would they believe it? You have cultivated great loving-kindness and compassion and always comfort sentient beings with loving speech. Your departure from the royal family today is, I fear, inauspicious. Therefore, it would be better for the Prince to change his mind, return to the palace, and enjoy its happiness.”

Having heard Chandaka speak these sorrowful and anguished words, the Prince told him:

“You must now relinquish your anguish and cease grieving. Why? All sentient beings who are born must grow old and must part. Chandaka, all sentient beings possess afflicted minds of craving and attachment. Conception in the womb and subsequent nurture are both illusory; wherever there is union, there must be separation. Those people are not I, and I am not those people.”

Then the Prince continued in verse:

Through shared karma we were born in this place;
Now each returns to their own nature.
Do not speak of self and others as different;
Going or staying, here or there, are attachments.

Like plants and trees producing flowers and fruit,
Which fall when they become fully ripe,
So too are human lives, whether long or short:
The long-lived and short-lived alike end in death.

After speaking these verses, the Prince told Chandaka:

“Therefore, do not harbor sorrow. You must resolutely return. Why? You cannot bear to leave only because you cherish me, but you may return to court and afterward come seek me again. When you reach the city of Kapilavastu and see the royal family grieving over me, tell them: ‘Relatives of the Sakya clan, you should cut off your loving attachment to the Prince. Why? Because I know that the Prince has made an unshakable vow.’”

The Prince then gave Chandaka this verse of resolve:

Hearing these words, Chandaka prostrated himself, his four limbs touching the ground. Grasping both the Prince’s feet with his hands, he said:

“Excellent, Prince! I will now rejoice, but please do not utter such painfully grievous vows. O Great Sage, Prince, what power, spiritual might, or majestic virtue do I possess that could cause you to return to the inner palace? Yet if I return alone from here, your relatives will surely beat me. Or King Suddhodana, your royal father, and Mahaprajapati, your maternal aunt, will certainly ask me, ‘Where have you cast away the child whose voice is like Brahma’s before returning here?’”

The Prince then told Chandaka:

“Chandaka, do not speak so! Do not speak so! When my parents and relatives see you return alone from here, they will not blame you at all. How do I know this? Because all my relatives cherish you.

“Chandaka, rise quickly! Rise quickly! Everything you have said until now is like this: ‘If a person in the world conveys words and counsel that please others, that person will receive a reward.’ You must return swiftly to the palace. When my father sees you return alone, he will regain his composure. But when my father sees that I have abandoned the court and hears that I have gone forth, his heart will suffer deeply. My father and all my relatives will wail, grieve, choke with sobs, and weep bitterly. All the people in the city will also suffer because of me. While everyone is in anguish, their hearts will be greatly gladdened when they see you return.”

Chandaka rose from the ground, joined his palms, and, with tears streaming down and his cries resounding, addressed the Prince:

“For that very reason, I now wish to bring the Prince back to the palace, lest the Great King’s lineage be cut off.”

After Chandaka had risen from the ground, the royal horse Kanthaka knelt upon his forelegs, stretched out his tongue, and licked the Prince’s feet, his eyes brimming with tears.

Chandaka said to the Prince:

“O Great Sage, Prince, though this horse bears the body of an animal, he still sheds tears out of love. How much more deeply will your relatives suffer! I beseech you to look directly at the royal horse Kanthaka. Seeing that the Prince will not return to the palace, he has knelt upon his forelegs, opened his mouth, and licked your feet. Because his heart is full of sorrow and love, tears fall from both his eyes.”

The Prince’s right hand was golden, with webbed fingers; upon its palm were wheel and svastika markings with a thousand spokes. Adorned with every virtue and soft as a young banana leaf, that hand stroked the head of the royal horse Kanthaka as the Prince said:

“Kanthaka, you have now fulfilled your duty and borne the heavy responsibility of carrying me here. From this day onward, return to the court and live freely. This was the last time I shall ride upon your back over a long road; the task for which I relied upon you is now complete. Kanthaka, do not grieve or weep. What you have done today will bring you great recompense in the future. I now seek the fruit of unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment. After attaining awakening, I shall bestow the ambrosial Dharma upon you.”

Then the Prince spoke this verse:

The Prince’s right hand was like a web,
Its thousand-spoked wheel and svastika manifest;
Pure gold in color, tender and soft,
It stroked the head of the royal horse Kanthaka.

Chandaka then addressed the Prince:

“O Great Sage, Prince, today you occupy the station of a Great King. Within the palace you possess every precious maiden to attend you, and the five desires provide marvelous pleasures unequaled anywhere in the world. Since the Prince has obtained all this, why do you abandon such exquisite happiness? What does your heart delight in here in this wilderness, filled with hundreds of thousands of birds and beasts and many terrifying bandits and robbers, where you walk alone, far removed from every comfort?”

The Prince replied:

“Worthy Chandaka, what you say is reasonable. Listen carefully now, and I shall explain it to you. The five desires of the world are ultimately impermanent. They are not the final Dharma and cannot bring peace to the mind. No sooner are they gained than they are lost, swiftly as flowing water that never pauses; like dew upon grass that soon dissolves; like an empty fist used to deceive a child; like the core of a banana tree, which has no substance; like autumn clouds that appear and immediately disperse; like a flash of lightning that vanishes as soon as it shines; like bubbles upon water that never remain still; and like a mirage that deceives the thirsty.”

Then he spoke this verse:

After speaking these verses, the Prince told Chandaka:

“Chandaka, such are the perils of the pleasures of the five desires. Chandaka, kingship is also the same. Seeing how frightening are all these disturbances, dangers, and sufferings, I have resolved to dwell in these desolate mountains and forests among flying birds, running beasts, and terrifying bands of robbers, walking alone and far removed from sensual pleasure. My heart delights in dwelling here, though this is not what ordinary people desire. Chandaka, having heard these words, do not oppose my great undertaking. Within this practice of Dharma, I shall open the Dharma eye. You should rejoice in it and must not hinder me.”

Chandaka addressed the Prince:

“O Great Sage, Prince, if your resolve is indeed thus, I dare not defy your command. I shall follow your instruction and return to the royal court.”

The Prince praised Chandaka:

“Excellent, excellent! Chandaka, this is very good. By now complying with my wish, you will gain great benefit. You have done well.”

The Prince then removed all the jeweled necklaces from his body and proclaimed this vast vow: “Today these are the final ornaments of household life upon my body. Today these are the final ornaments upon my body.” Having removed them, he held them in his hand, gave them to Chandaka, and instructed him:

“Chandaka, take these jeweled necklaces back and give them to my relatives.”

After receiving the jeweled necklaces, Chandaka again said to the Prince:

“O Prince, when I return to the palace and deliver these jeweled necklaces to your relatives, they may ask me, ‘Chandaka, why did you drive our Prince into a foreign land today and then abandon him there to return alone? Chandaka, did Prince Siddhartha send us any message?’ Prince, if your relatives question me in this way, how shall I answer?”

The Prince replied:

“Chandaka, when you return to the palace, bow on my behalf to my father, King Suddhodana, and to my maternal aunt Mahaprajapati. Convey my greetings to the venerable elders of the royal family. Chandaka, on my behalf report to my father: ‘Today the Prince is deeply mindful of the King’s kindness, but because he seeks unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment, he has temporarily taken leave of Your Majesty.’

“On my behalf, report especially to the Great Royal Lady, my maternal aunt Mahaprajapati: ‘The Great Royal Lady should not grieve excessively over the Prince. He will certainly accomplish a great benefit and then return to pay his respects to you, and together you shall rejoice.’

“Also convey this message on my behalf to all the palace women, all the young boys and youths among my relatives, and every member of the royal household: ‘Today the Prince wishes to tear apart the dark veil of ignorance and realize the light of wisdom. After he has realized luminous wisdom, he will return to the city of Kapilavastu.’”

Standing beside Chandaka, the Prince took hold of the sword’s mani-jeweled scabbard inlaid with the seven precious substances. With his right hand he drew the blade, while with his left he grasped his dark-blue topknot, the color of a blue lotus. Holding the sword in his right hand, he cut off the topknot himself, then cast it into the air with his left hand.

Sakra, Lord of the Devas, saw this rare event and rejoiced. He caught the topknot so that it would not fall to the ground, received it in a supremely beautiful celestial robe, and the devas offered various celestial treasures to it.

At that same moment, the great assembly of devas from the Pure Abodes cast a sumana flower garland at a place neither near nor far from the Prince. When the garland fell to the ground, it became a barber holding a razor and standing not far from him.

Seeing the barber, the Prince asked:

“Barber, can you shave all my hair clean?”

The barber replied:

“Prince, I can do this.”

The Prince said:

“If you can do so, now is the proper time to shave it.”

The magically manifested barber then took a sharp razor and shaved the dark-blue hair from the crown and ushnisha. While the hair was being shaved, Sakra, King of the Devas, regarded the event as extraordinary. He caught the freshly shaven hair in a celestial robe so that none would fall to the ground, gathered every strand, and returned to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three to make offerings to it. From that time onward, the seers established the festival for making offerings to the bodhisattva’s topknot, and this observance has continued to the present day.

After the Prince had removed all his jeweled necklaces and heavenly crown and shaved his beard and hair, he saw that he was still wearing a celestial robe. He thought, “This garment is not the attire of one who has gone forth. I shall dwell in the mountains and forests. Who might possess a properly dyed kasaya robe, in accordance with the Dharma for one who has gone forth, so that I may wear proper attire in the wilderness?”

The devas of the Pure Abodes knew the Prince’s thought. They manifested as a hunter wearing a dyed kasaya robe and carrying a bow and arrows. He gradually approached the Prince and suddenly stopped not far away.

Seeing the hunter wearing a kasaya robe and holding a bow and arrows, the Prince said:

“Worthy one of the mountain forest, can you give me your kasaya robe? If you agree, I shall give you in exchange my celestial Kasi robe. This garment is worth hundreds of thousands of kotis in gold and has been perfumed with sandalwood and other renowned fragrances. What use have you for this kasaya robe? You may take this precious Kasi garment.”

Then he spoke this verse:

This robe of liberation worn by sages
Should not be worn by one who bears bow and arrows.
Joyfully give it to me,
And do not begrudge exchanging it for a celestial robe.

The hunter said to the bodhisattva:

“Excellent, Venerable One! I now give you this robe without the least reluctance.”

The magically manifested person then gave the kasaya robe to the bodhisattva and received from him the Kasi robe, worth hundreds of thousands in gold and perfumed with various kinds of sandalwood fragrance.

The bodhisattva accepted the kasaya with great joy, thinking himself exceedingly fortunate. He immediately removed the Kasi robe from his body and gave it to the hunter.

The magical being manifested by a deva of the Pure Abodes received the Kasi robe from the bodhisattva, then used spiritual power to rise from the ground into the air and, in a single thought-moment, returned to the Brahma heaven. Wishing to make offerings to this wondrous robe, the deva displayed before the bodhisattva the spiritual power of flying through the air. Seeing this extraordinarily rare event, the bodhisattva rejoiced greatly and developed even deeper reverence and esteem for the dyed kasaya robe.

With his beard and hair shaved and his body clothed in the dyed kasaya, the bodhisattva’s appearance was completely transformed, and his bearing became solemn and dignified. He made this great vow: “Only now have I truly gone forth.” The bodhisattva then told Chandaka to return. Chandaka departed with tears streaming down and soaking his face. After Chandaka disappeared from sight, the bodhisattva remained alone, clothed in the dyed kasaya, and walked serenely toward the dwelling of the seer Bhargava.

Chandaka bowed at the bodhisattva’s feet, circumambulated him three times, and then returned to the palace. He had seen that the bodhisattva was firmly resolved not to return to court. Moreover, the bodhisattva now wore a kasaya and had shaved his beard and hair. He no longer wore a heavenly crown, the precious celestial Kasi robe, or jeweled necklaces. All such things were gone.

Seeing this, Chandaka tore at his hair with both hands, lamented to heaven and earth, cried out uncontrollably, and fell headlong to the ground. His spirit scattered, he remained unconscious for a long time before reviving. Upon regaining consciousness, he rose and carefully looked over the place, but saw that the bodhisattva had departed. He cried out with still greater anguish, threw both arms around Kanthaka’s neck, and for a long while lamented and sobbed in grief, choking with sorrow, before finally growing quiet.

Realizing that the bodhisattva was resolutely determined not to return and that no hope remained, he gathered the necklaces and garments and led the royal horse back toward the royal city. Though Chandaka’s body returned toward the city, his heart never left the Prince. On the road back to the palace, at times he sank into thought, at times he cried aloud, at times he fainted and fell headlong to the ground, at times he stood still and could not advance, and at times he sat motionless, longing sorrowfully and finding no joy. Bearing such anguish in his heart and displaying these states again and again, Chandaka gradually returned to the city of Kapilavastu.

The royal horse followed behind Chandaka, constantly turning his head toward the bodhisattva and neighing as though calling him, tears streaming down his face. Before this royal horse had departed, he had been full of vigor, frolicking, running, and leaping. But after seeing the bodhisattva shave his beard and hair, renounce household life, and go forth, his heart became filled with grief and suffering.

Continually distressed and sorrowful, his body grew thin and his strength declined. Even if Kanthaka were now adorned with jeweled necklaces, no majestic power would have been visible in him. Grieving over his separation from the bodhisattva, he constantly looked back, his eyes always brimming with tears that soaked his face.

Along the road he neighed mournfully, and his sorrow was so great that he neither ate grass nor drank water. His strength therefore gradually declined; his body became emaciated, and he could not walk quickly. His eyes were always filled with tears.

When the bodhisattva rode Kanthaka beyond the city to the land of Minika, the journey took only half a night. But now, oppressed by grief and weakened in body, Kanthaka took eight full days to return to Kapilavastu.

A verse says:

The bodhisattva departed in only half a night;
Chandaka, parted from him, led Kanthaka home.
Grief and anguish robbed them of majestic strength;
Their return to the royal palace took eight days.

Chapter 23: CHANDAKA AND THE HORSE RETURN TO THE PALACE

(Part 1)

After bidding farewell to the Prince, Chandaka led Kanthaka back. When they reached Kapilavastu and had just entered the city, it seemed as though they were walking through a deserted house. Because the Prince had renounced household life and gone forth, all the flower gardens, springs, ponds, ravines, rivers, and animal parks within and outside the four sides of Kapilavastu had lost their vitality. Rivers and lakes had dried up, and the landscape lay desolate.

All the people of Kapilavastu, young and old, saw from afar Chandaka leading Kanthaka back toward the palace, but they did not see the Prince. Because the Prince was absent, they followed Chandaka and Kanthaka one after another and asked:

“Where is Prince Siddhartha now?”

Tears streamed down Chandaka’s face, and he choked, unable to speak. Seeing this, the crowd wailed and wept, following beside Chandaka and Kanthaka with doubt in their hearts. As they walked, they asked:

“In what land is the Prince today? If he remains within the kingdom, we would be greatly relieved. Why have you abandoned the Prince and returned here alone?”

As he walked, Chandaka answered:

“I truly did not dare abandon the Prince. It was the Prince who left his own palace, removed the attire of the royal court, and ordered me and Kanthaka to return. He alone remained among the mountains and rivers to practice the life of renunciation.”

When everyone heard this, they considered it an extraordinarily rare event in the world and together praised this unprecedented deed. Facing one another, they said, “Prince Siddhartha has accomplished what is difficult to accomplish.” Although everyone in the city praised him with their mouths, tears still streamed from both eyes. Each reproached himself, saying, “Alas!

Why can we not all follow the Prince and go forth? Let us go and see how the Teacher of devas and humans lives, walks, and acts. We would rather go there and live according to his practice than remain here alive for even one day separated from the Prince.

Why? Because without the Prince, this city has no majestic power or strength. Deprived of him, it is silent and empty, no different from a desolate wilderness.

But because his majestic power and strength are present in that forest dwelling, though it consists of swamps, ponds, mountains, and woods, it is no different from a populated settlement.”

A verse says:

The royal horse Kanthaka then neighed loudly. Hearing his neigh while in their homes, all the citizens and the many palace women in both palaces thought, “Surely the Prince has returned to the inner city.” Some people and palace women opened windows, while others raised the curtains of the great gates. Their hearts thrilled with joy as they gazed into the distance, hoping to see the Prince. But the people and palace women saw only Kanthaka and Chandaka returning alone after parting from the Prince. At this sight, everyone closed their doors, went into their chambers, and wailed bitterly.

At that time, King Suddhodana, tormented in body and mind by longing for the Prince, was thinking of some way to see him again. He had entered the fasting hall, upheld the precepts, purified body and mind, and practiced austerities. Filled with sorrow and suffering, day and night he inwardly entreated the devas and spirits and sought every expedient cause and condition through which he might see the Prince and ease his heart.

Then Chandaka, suffering, grieving, and weeping with tears falling like rain, led Kanthaka with one hand and carried in the other the priceless jeweled crown and the necklaces that had adorned the Prince’s body. He entered King Suddhodana’s palace like an attendant returning from the battlefield to report that the Prince had been slain. Such was Chandaka’s appearance as he brought the jeweled necklaces back to the royal palace. The servant Chandaka, parted from the Prince, returned with the horse and the precious jeweled garments; tears falling like rain, he entered the Great King’s palace in just this manner.

When Chandaka entered the palace, Kanthaka remained outside the palace gate, stamping all four hooves upon the ground and neighing loudly. Those who attended the Prince’s quarters thought that he had returned and wished to enter the palace to behold him. But when they did not see him anywhere, they wept sorrowfully, tears flowing like streams, and some voiced their anguish before the assembled crowd.

The birds within King Suddhodana’s palace—peacocks, parrots, mynahs, jivajivakas, kokilas, and others—heard Kanthaka’s neighing and also believed that the Prince had returned to the palace. Delighted, they raised their gentle, melodious songs.

When all the Great King’s horses in their stables heard Kanthaka neigh so loudly, they too believed that the Prince had returned to the palace, and all neighed with joy.

There were hundreds of thousands of palace women in the Great King’s palace, including Mahaprajapati, while the Prince’s palace contained sixty thousand women, including his chief consort Yasodhara. All remembered the Prince with profound sorrow. Tears soaked their faces, and they no longer cared for their appearance. Their bodies were unwashed and soiled; they did not adorn themselves or their garments and had removed all their beautiful jeweled necklaces. Grief-stricken and distressed, their minds found no peace. Some wept and lamented, while others sat remembering him.

Suddenly hearing Kanthaka’s neigh, they all thought, “Kanthaka’s neigh is so loud that the Prince must certainly have returned. There can be no doubt.” Upon hearing Kanthaka, their hearts became exuberant. Longing deeply to see the Prince, Mahaprajapati, Yasodhara, and the hundreds of thousands of palace women hurriedly rose together from their own chambers, whether they had been in towers, palaces, or rooms, and ran toward Chandaka and Kanthaka. But from afar they saw only Chandaka and Kanthaka returning alone to the palace after parting from the Prince. At this sight, they tore at their heads and necks with both hands, wailed aloud with faces covered in tears, and praised the Prince’s virtues.

A verse says:

The palace women’s hearts were filled with pain;
Longing and thirsting, they awaited the Prince’s return.
Suddenly they saw only Chandaka and Kanthaka;
Their tears overflowed as they cried aloud.

They wore no necklaces or beautiful garments;
Their hair was disheveled, their bodies thin.
Clutching their heads with both hands, all hope gone,
They wailed and passed the entire night without sleep.