THE FOUR PRESAGING TOKENS.
Soothsayers were consulted by King Śuddhodana. They pronounced
the following:—
"The young boy, will, without doubt, be either a king of kings
or a great Buddha. If he is destined to
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be a great Buddha, four presaging tokens will make his mission
plain. He will see—
"(1) An old man.
"(2) A sick man.
"(3) A corpse.
"(4) A holy recluse.
"If he fails to see these four presaging tokens of an avatara,
he will simply be a Chakravartin" (king of earthly kings).
King Śuddhodana, who was a trifle worldly, was very much
comforted by the
last prediction of the soothsayers. He thought in his
heart, "It will be an easy thing to keep these four presaging
tokens from the young prince." So he gave orders that three
magnificent palaces should at once be built—the Palace of Spring,
the Palace of Summer, the Palace of Winter. These palaces, as we learn
from the "Lalita Vistara," were the most beautiful palaces
ever conceived on earth. Indeed, they were quite able to cope in
splendour with Vaijayanta, the immortal palace of Indra himself.
Costly pavilions were built out in all directions, with ornamental
porticoes and burnished doors. Turrets and pinnacles soared into the
sky. Dainty little windows gave light to the rich apartments.
Galleries, balustrades, and delicate trellis-work were abundant
everywhere. A thousand bells tinkled on each roof. We seem to have the
lacquered Chinese edifices of the pattern which architects believe to
have flourished in early India. The gardens of these fine palaces
rivalled the chess-board in the rectangular exactitude of their
parterres and trellis-work bowers. Cool lakes nursed on their calm
bosoms storks and cranes, wild geese and tame swans; ducks, also, as
parti-coloured as the white red and blue lotuses, amongst which they
swam. Bending to these lakes were bowery trees—the champak, the
acacia serisha, and the beautiful asoka tree, with its orange-scarlet
flowers. Above rustled the mimosa, the fanpalm, and the feathery pippala, Buddha's tree. The air was
heavy with the strong scent of the tuberose and the Arabian jasmine.
It must be mentioned that strong ramparts were prepared round the
palaces of Kapilavastu, to keep out all old men, sick men, and
recluses, and, I must add, to keep in the prince.
And a more potent safeguard still was designed. When the prince was
old enough to marry, his palace was deluged with beautiful women. He
revelled in the "five dusts," as the Chinese version puts
it. But a shock was preparing for King Śuddhodana.
This is how the matter came about. The king had prepared a garden
even more beautiful than the garden of the Palace of Summer. A
soothsayer had told him that if he could succeed in showing the prince
this garden, the prince would be content to remain in it with his
wives for ever. No task seemed easier than this, so it was arranged
that on a certain day the prince should be driven thither in his
chariot. But, of course, immense precautions had to be taken to keep
all old men and sick men and corpses from his sight. Quite an army of
soldiers were told off for this duty, and the city was decked with
flags. The path of the prince was strewn with flowers and scents, and
adorned with vases of the rich kadali plant. Above were costly
hangings and garlands, and pagodas of bells.
But, lo and behold! as the prince was driving along, plump under
the wheels of his chariot, and before the very noses of the silken
nobles and the warriors with javelins and shields, he saw an unusual
sight. This was an old man, very decrepit and very broken. The veins
and nerves of his body were swollen and prominent; his teeth
chattered; he was wrinkled, bald, and his few remaining hairs were of
dazzling whiteness; he was bent very nearly double, and tottered
feebly along, supported by a stick.
"What is this, O coachman?" said the prince. "A man
with his blood all dried up, and his muscles glued to his body! His
head is white; his teeth knock together; he is scarcely able to move
along, even with the aid of that stick!"
"Prince," said the coachman, "this is Old Age. This
man's senses are dulled; suffering has destroyed his spirit; he is
contemned by his neighbours. Unable to help himself, he has been
abandoned in this forest."
"Is this a peculiarity of his family?" demanded the
prince, "or is it the law of the world? Tell me quickly."
"Prince," said the coachman, "it is neither a law of
his family, nor a law of the kingdom. In every being youth is
conquered by age. Your own father and mother and all your relations
will end in old age. There is no other issue to humanity."
"Then youth is blind and ignorant," said the prince,
"and sees not the future. If this body is to be the abode of old
age, what have I to do with pleasure and its intoxications? Turn round
the chariot, and drive me back to the palace!"
Consternation was in the minds of all the courtiers at this
untoward occurrence; but the odd circumstance of all was that no one
was ever able to bring to condign punishment the miserable author of
the mischief. The old man could never be found.
King Śuddhodana was at first quite beside himself with
tribulation. Soldiers were summoned from the distant provinces, and a
cordon of detachments thrown out to a distance of four miles in each
direction, to keep the other presaging tokens from the prince.
By-and-bye the king became a little more quieted. A ridiculous
accident had interfered with his plans: "If my son could see the
Garden of Happiness he never would become a hermit." The king
determined that another attempt should be made. But this time the precautions
were doubled.
On the first occasion the prince left the Palace of Summer by the
eastern gate. The second expedition
went through the southern gate.
But another untoward event occurred. As the prince was driving
along in his chariot, suddenly he saw close to him a man emaciated,
ill, loathsome, burning with fever. Companionless, uncared for, he
tottered along, breathing with extreme difficulty.
"Coachman," said the prince, "what is this man,
livid and loathsome in body, whose senses are dulled, and whose limbs
are withered? His stomach is oppressing him; he is covered with filth.
Scarcely can he draw the breath of life!"
"Prince," said the coachman, "this is Sickness. This
poor man is attacked with a grievous malady. Strength and Comfort have
shunned him. He is friendless, hopeless, without a country, without an
asylum. The fear of death is before his eyes."
"If the health of man," said Buddha, "is but the
sport of a dream, and the fear of coming evils can put on so loathsome
a shape, how can the wise man, who has seen what life really means,
indulge in its vain delights? Turn back, coachman, and drive me to the
palace!"
The angry king, when he heard what had occurred, gave orders that
the sick man should be seized and punished, but although a price was
placed on his head, and he was searched for far and wide, he could
never be caught. A clue to this is furnished by a passage in the
"Lalita Vistara." The sick man was in reality one of the
Spirits of the Pure Abode, masquerading in sores and spasms. These
Spirits of the Pure Abode are also called the Buddhas of the Past in
many passages, as I shall shortly show.
In the Southern scriptures it is explained that the Spirits of the
Pure Abode dwell in the heaven of Brahma. *
I may mention, too, that in a valuable inscription, copied from an old
column in the island of Ceylon by Dr. Rhys Davids, it is announced
that in the reign of the king who erected it, the Buddha devatas
"talked with men" †
in the great temple. Here we have plainly the Buddhas of the past, of
the "Lalita Vistara." The disciples of the "Carriage
which drives to the Great Nowhere" have senselessly, interlarded
this book with certain "Bodhisatwas of the Ten Regions,"
which, figuring side by side with the "Buddhas of the Ten
Regions," confess the cheat. When the "Great Vehicle"
movement dethroned the Buddhas of the past, it substituted Bodhisatwas
(mortals who have reached the last stage of the metempsychosis) and
transferred the old saint-worship, the sacrifices, processions, relic
expositions, etc., to them.
For another valuable fact we are indebted to the Southern
scriptures. They announce that the answers of the charioteer were
given under inspiration from the unseen world. ‡
On the surface this is plausible, for we shall see that the speeches
of the charioteer were not always pitched in so high a key.
And it would almost seem as if some influence, malefic or
otherwise, was stirring the good King Śuddhodana. Unmoved by
failure, he urged the prince to a third effort. The chariot this time
was to set out by the western gate. Greater precautions than ever were
adopted. The chain of guards was posted at least twelve miles off from
the Palace of Summer. But the Buddhas of the Ten Horizons again
arrested the prince. His chariot was suddenly crossed by a phantom funeral procession. A phantom corpse, smeared
with the orthodox mud, and spread with a sheet, was carried on a bier.
Phantom women wailed, and phantom musicians played on the drum and the
Indian flute. No doubt, also, phantom Brahmins chanted hymns to Jâtavedas,
to bear away the immortal part of the dead man to the home of the
Pitris.
"What is this?" said the prince. "Why do these women
beat their breasts and tear their hair? Why do these good folk cover
their heads with the dust of the ground. And that strange form upon
its litter, wherefore is it so rigid?"
"Prince," said the charioteer, "this is Death! Yon
form, pale and stiffened, can never again walk and move. Its owner has
gone to the unknown caverns of Yama. His father, his mother, his
child, his wife cry out to him, but he cannot hear."
Buddha was sad.
"Woe be to youth, which is the sport of age! Woe be to health,
which is the sport of many maladies! Woe be to life, which is as a
breath! Woe be to the idle pleasures which debauch humanity! But for
the five 'aggregations’ there would be no age, sickness, nor death.
Go back to the city, I must compass the deliverance."
A fourth time the prince was urged by his father to visit the
Garden of Happiness. The chain of guards this time was sixteen miles
away. The exit was by the northern gate. But suddenly a calm man of
gentle mien, wearing an ochre-red cowl, was seen in the roadway.
"Who is this," said the prince, "rapt, gentle,
peaceful in mien? He looks as if his mind were far away elsewhere. He
carries a bowl in his hand."
"Prince, this is the New Life," said the charioteer.
"That man is of those whose thoughts are fixed on the eternal Brahma (Brahmacharin). He seeks the divine voice. He
seeks the divine vision. He carries the alms-bowl of the holy beggar (bhikshu).
His mind is calm because the gross lures of the lower life can vex it
no more."
"Such a life I covet," said the prince. "The lusts
of man are like the sea-water—they mock man's thirst instead of
quenching it. I will seek the divine vision, and give immortality (the
Amrita) to man."
In the "Lalita Vistara" the remedy for age, sickness, and
death is immortality. *
In Dr. Rhys Davids’ "Buddhism," the remedy for death is
death. If the apologue was composed outside of Bedlam, it is plain
that the "Lalita Vistara" gives us the correct version. If a
prick with a dagger is the amrita, why go through all the tortures of
yoga to gain it?
King Śuddhodana was beside himself. He placed five hundred
corseleted Sakyas at every gate of the Palace of Summer. Chains of
sentries were round the walls, which were raised and strengthened. A
phalanx of loving wives, armed with javelins, was posted round the
prince's bed to "narrowly watch" him. The king ordered also
all the allurements of sense to be constantly presented to the prince.
"Let the women of the zenana cease not for an instant their
concerts and mirth and sports. Let them shine in silks and sparkle in
diamonds and emeralds."
Mahâ Prajâpatî, the aunt who, since Queen Mâyâ's death has
acted as foster-mother, has charge of these pretty young women, and
she incites them to encircle the prince in a "cage of gold."
But the heavenly legions have not forgotten their son. One day,
when the prince reclined on a silken couch listening to the sweet
crooning of four or five brown-skinned, large-eyed Indian girls, his eyes suddenly assumed a
dazed and absorbed look, and the rich hangings and garlands and
intricate trelliswork of the golden apartment were still present, but
dim to his mind. And music and voices, more sweet than he had ever
listened to, seemed faintly to reach him. I will write down some of
the verses he heard.
Mighty prop of humanity
March in the pathway of the Rishis of old,
Go forth from this city!
Upon this desolate earth,
When thou hast acquired the priceless knowledge of the Jinas,
When thou hast become a perfect Buddha,
Give to all flesh the baptism (river) of the Kingdom of Rightness.
Thou who once didst sacrifice thy feet, thy hands, thy precious body,
and all thy riches for the world,
Thou whose life is pure, save flesh from its miseries!
In the presence of reviling be patient, O conqueror of self!
Lord of those who possess two feet, go forth on thy mission?
Conquer the evil one and his army."
Thus run some more of these gâthâs:—
Light of the world! *
In former kalpas this vow was made by thee;
"For the worlds that are a prey to death and sickness I will be a
refuge!"
Lion of men, master of those that walk on two feet, the time for thy
mission has come!
Under the sacred Bo-tree acquire immortal dignity, and give Amrita
(immortality) to all!
When thou wert a king (in a former existence), and a subject
insolently said to thee: "These lands and cities, give them to
me!"
Thou wert rejoiced and not troubled.
Once when thou wert a virtuous Rishi, and a cruel king in anger hacked
off thy limbs, in thy death agony milk flowed from thy feet and thy
hands.
When thou didst dwell on a mountain as the Rishi Syama, a king having
transfixed thee with poisoned arrows, didst thou not forgive this
king?
When thou wert the king of antelopes, didst thou not save thine
enemy the hunter from a torrent?
When thou wert an elephant and a hunter pierced thee, thou forgavest
him, and didst reward him with thy beautiful tusks!
Once when thou wert a she-bear thou didst save a man from a torrent
swollen with snow. Thou didst feed him on roots and fruit until he
grew strong;
And when he went away and brought back men to kill thee, thou
forgavest him!
Once when thou wert the white horse, *
In pity for the suffering of man,
Thou didst fly across heaven to the region of the evil demons,
To secure the happiness of mankind,
Persecutions without end,
Revilings and many prisons
Death and murder,
These hast thou suffered with love and patience,
Forgiving thine executioners.
Kingless, men seek thee for a king!
Stablish them in the way of Brahma and of the ten virtues,
That when they pass away from amongst their fellow-men, they may all
go to the abode of Brahma.
"By these gâthâs the prince is exhorted," says the
narrative. And whilst the Jinas sing, beautiful women, with flowers
and perfumes, and jewels and rich dresses, try to incite him to mortal
love.
But to bring about their plans more quickly, the Spirits of the
Pure Abode have conceived a new project. The beautiful women of the
zenana are the main seductions of Mara, the tempter, whom philologists
prove to be closely connected with Kama, the god of love. The Spirits
of the Pure Abode determine that the prince shall see these women in a
new light. By a subtle influence they induce him to visit the
apartments of the women at the moment that they, the Jinas, have put
all these women into a sound sleep.
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