With these words, the pilgrim Kamanita brought his narrative to a close, became silent, and gazed meditatively out upon the landscape.
And the Lord Buddha also became silent, and gazed meditatively out upon the landscape.
Lofty trees were to be seen, some near, some farther off, some grouping themselves in shadowy masses, others dissolving airily in cloudlike formations and disappearing into the mists in the distance.
The moon now stood directly over the porch, and its light shone into the outer part of the hall, where it lay like three white sheets upon the bleaching-green, while the left side of the pillars gleamed as though mounted in silver.
In the deep silence of the night one could hear a buffalo cow somewhere in the neighbourhood, cropping the grass with short measured jerks.
And the Master pondered within himself—
"Should I indeed tell this pilgrim all I know of Vasitthi?—how faithful she was to him; how, without fault of her own, she was by base fraud brought to marry Satagira; how it was her doing that Angulimala appeared in Ujjeni; and how, owing to that very visit, he himself, Kamanita, is now treading the path of the pilgrim instead of sinking in foul luxury. Should I reveal to him the path that is Vasitthi's now?"
But he decided that the time was not yet come, and that such knowledge could not be helpful to the pilgrim in his efforts.
The Master, therefore, spoke and said—
"To be separated from what we love is suffering, to be united to what we do not love is suffering. When this was said, it was said of such an experience as thine."
"Oh! how true," called out Kamanita, in an agitated voice," how profoundly, deeply true! Who, O stranger, uttered those wonderful words?"
"Give thyself no concern about that, pilgrim. It is all the same who uttered them, if thou dost but feel and recognise their truth."
"How should I not? They contain indeed in a few words all my life-trouble. Had I not already chosen a master, I should seek no other than the admirable one with whom these words originated."
"Then thou hast, O pilgrim, a Master, whose teaching thou dost acknowledge, and in whose name thou hast gone forth."
"In truth, O Reverend One, I went forth in the name of no master. On the contrary, my idea at that time was that I should win my way to the goal unaided. And when I rested by day in the neighbourhood of a village, at the foot of a tree, or in the recesses of a forest, then I gave myself up with fervour to the deepest thought. And to such thoughts as these, O Reverend One:—'What is the soul? What is the world? Is the world eternal? Is the soul eternal? Is the world temporal? Is the soul temporal? Is the soul eternal and the world temporal? Is the world eternal and the soul temporal? Or: Why has the highest Brahma caused the world to go forth from himself? And if the highest Brahma is pure and perfect happiness, how does it happen that the world he has created is imperfect and is afflicted with suffering?'
"And when I gave myself up to such thoughts, I reached no satisfactory solution. On the contrary, new doubts constantly arose, and I did not seem to have neared, by so much as a single step, the goal for whose sake noble-minded sons abandon home for ever and voluntarily become homeless."
"Yes, pilgrim, it is as if one were to pursue the horizon: 'O that I might but reach to-day or to-morrow the line that bounds my vision?' In the same way does the goal escape him who gives himself to such questions."
Kamanita nodded thoughtfully, and then went on—
"Then it one day happened, when the shadows of the trees had already begun to lengthen, that I came upon a hermitage in a forest glade, and there I saw young men in white robes, several of whom milked cows, while others split wood and yet others washed pails at the spring. On a mat in front of the hall sat an aged Brahman, from whom these young people evidently learned the songs and sentences. He greeted me with friendliness, and although it would take, as he said, scarcely an hour to reach the next village, he begged me to share their meal and to spend the night with them. I did so gratefully enough, and before I had laid myself down to sleep I had heard many a good and impressive utterance.
"On the following day, when I was about to go on my way, the Brahman addressed me with: 'Who is thy Master, O pilgrim, and in whose name hast thou gone forth?' And I answered, as I have answered thee.
"Upon which the Brahman said: 'How wilt thou, O pilgrim, reach that high goal, if thou dost wander alone like the rhinoceros, instead of in a herd and led by an experienced leader as is the way of the wise elephant?'
"At the word 'herd,' he glanced benevolently towards the young people standing round about; at the word 'leader' he appeared to smile with much inward satisfaction.
"'For,' he went on, 'this is indeed too high and too deep for one's own thought, and without a teacher it must remain a closed book! On the other hand, the Veda, in the teaching of Çvetaketu, says "just as, O beloved, a man who has been led blindfolded hither from the land of the Gandharer, and then let loose in the desert, will strike too far eastward, or it may be too far to the north, or the south, because he has been led hither with his eyes bound, and with bound eyes let loose; but will, after one has unbound his eyes and said to him, 'There, in that direction live the Gandharer, go thither,' ask his way from village to village, and reach his home, richer in knowledge and wisdom; so also is the man who has found a teacher here below, and has in himself the consciousness which he expresses thus:—'I shall have part and lot in this world's turmoil but till my salvation comes, and then I shall go to my place.'"
"I saw, of course, at once, that the Brahman was planning to secure me as a pupil. But this very desire of his destroyed any confidence which might have been awakening within me. On the other hand, I was well pleased with the saying from the Veda, and, as I went on my way, repeated it over and over again to myself, in order to fix it in my memory. In doing so, a sentence occurred to me which I had once heard used regarding a master—
"'The master does not crave disciples, but the disciples, the master.' What a very different man he must be, I thought to myself, from this forest Brahman! And I longed, O Reverend One, for the master who was above all such craving."
"Who is this master whom thou didst hear so praised? and what is his name?"
"It is, O brother, the ascetic Gautama, the Sakya son, who has renounced the heritage of the Sakyas. This Master, Gautama, is greeted everywhere with honour and the joyous cry: 'This is the Sublime, the Holy One, Blameless in Life, and Knower of all Things, Master of Gods and Men, the Enlightened One, the Buddha.' In order to reach that Sublime One, and to acknowledge myself his disciple, I journey now."
"But where, pilgrim, does he now reside—this Sublime, this Enlightened One?"'
"Far to the north, O brother, in the Kingdom of Kosala, lies the town of Sravasti. Just beyond the town is the richly wooded Jetavana park, filled with mighty trees, in whose deep shade, far removed from all noise, human beings are able to sit and meditate. Its crystal ponds ever exhale coolness and its emerald meadows are strewn with myriads of vari-coloured flowers. Years ago, the rich merchant Anatha-Pindika purchased the grove from Prince Jeta—for so much money, that, if spread over the surface of the ground, it would have concealed the whole property—and presented it to the Buddha. There, then, in this delightful Jetavana over whose meadows the feet of so many of the wise have passed, the Master, the Fully Enlightened One, at present makes his abode. And in the course of about four weeks, I hope, if I step bravely out, to have accomplished the distance from here to Sravasti and to sit at the feet of the Master."
"But hast thou, O pilgrim, ever seen him, the Blest One, and wouldst thou, if thou didst see him, recognise him?"
"No, brother, I have not yet seen him, the Blest One, and if I saw him I should not recognise him."
Then the Master reflected: "For my sake, this pilgrim is now on the way; he acknowledges himself my disciple; how would it be if I should unfold my doctrine to him?" And the Master turned to Kamanita and said—
"The moon has just risen directly over the porch, we are not yet far into the night, and too much sleep is not good for the mind. So then, if it be agreeable to thee, I will, in return for thy narrative, unfold to thee the doctrine of the Buddha."
"It is just what I should wish, O brother, and I pray thee to do so."
"Listen then, O pilgrim, and mark well what I say."