Summary
The poem “Rajgrih” from the epic *Amriteya Buddha* explores themes of
renunciation, wisdom, and the internal and external challenges faced by
Siddhartha (the Buddha) as he journeys toward enlightenment. The
dialogue-driven poem portrays Siddhartha’s encounters with the king of Rajgrih,
who implores him to abandon his pursuit of asceticism and enlightenment.
Siddhartha’s mission is portrayed as a selfless one, aimed at liberating
all beings from suffering. The poem reflects Siddhartha’s unwavering focus on
achieving Nirvana through personal experience and self-discovery.
The Poem
In the dense, dark mango groves of Anupiya,
The Lord wandered for seven days.
Living on wild fruits and flowers,
His life was a journey of simple sustenance.
The desolate, silent forest,
Illuminated by that radiant beacon of light,
Stood still—
The Ashwattha, Shishimpa, Arjun,
Thick clusters of the Khidir woods,
The tender new leaves of Pakar, half-unfurled,
Seemed like embers, smoldering all around.
The Palash, sighing deeply,
Filled its being with the crimson blush of life.
Amidst it all,
In the tangled web of memories,
He walked in silence—
But who could know what thoughts lay within Him?
In that solitude, beside the tranquil, tear-soaked banks,
Memories of the past wandered, restless and forlorn.
In those eyes, tender with affection,
Fell shadows of lost love—
Like a shadow-dancer, alive, vivid with moisture.
In the lamp, the flame burns bright—
Having surrendered all,
Experiencing the ultimate fulfillment, coolness,
In unbroken meditation.
Here, beneath the shade of light,
Memories fluttered like moths,
Struggling to break the bonds—
But the path, seemingly simple,
Was distant, intricate, and elusive.
Siddhartha was lost in thought.
I had set out—
Leaving behind all attachments, desires, separations.
I became like a flower, detached and weightless.
Now, what power do desires still hold over me?
Yet, the pain of parting from my loved ones lingers,
An ever-present, faint attachment that I cannot fully release.
Most of all, it is Gopa’s pure, simple love
That binds me like an unbreakable chain to my feet.
My steps move forward mechanically,
But my heart, it still waits with longing.
Her closed eyes—are they still heavy with sleep,
Or are they awake, restless like mine?
Birth, childhood, youth—
Those rhythms of life,
Their memories live in every breath,
The pulse of emotions, trembling with feeling.
Freedom from these is not easy to find.
Even after forsaking all comforts,
Leaving behind royal luxuries and pleasures,
Do I still, like a musk-deer chasing Gopa’s memory,
Remain pierced by the thorn of attachment, restless, helpless—
Wandering aimlessly, lost,
Caught in the wilderness of sorrow,
Directionless, without purpose?
Sometimes I see her—
Her hair untied, rough, flowing freely,
Walking along the banks of the ponds in the gardens.
Sometimes I see her in the mango groves,
Among blossoming flowers and fragrant forests,
Wandering aimlessly, forlorn.
At times, with swans or deer,
At times, behind half-open doors,
Her eyes, filled with tears, gazing in solitude.
Sometimes, with Rahul, anxious, helpless.
Mara!
He came in many forms,
Breaking every bond,
But even Mara could not sever my heart from Gopa’s enchantment.
My heart trembled,
I felt it—
The intoxication of renunciation—
It is fading now, fading.
The relationship, the pain,
The torment of separation,
Sweeping through me like a fierce storm,
Tearing my body and mind apart.
But still—
Within my mind, the battle between light and darkness wages on.
In the struggle of ‘yes’ and ‘no,’
Only the resolute will always prevail.
A voice spoke clearly and firmly from within,
"Siddhartha! Be aware!
Do not forsake your determined path.
Do not turn back to gaze at the past."
Coward!
Only escapists
Lose themselves in memories of the past,
Recalling their once-glorious golden histories,
And weeping for what once was.
This is the nature of the weak—
Always depending on others for support.
They walk the paths
That others before them have already paved.
But you!
The present and the future lie in your hands.
The past—crushed, trampled, lies lifeless at your feet.
The dead do not return to life.
That which is alive
Can be immortal,
For it can, like a ball,
Be tossed upward by its own impulses—
Flung toward both the present and the future.
The resolute,
Single-minded and focused, absorbed in their own dedication,
Perform their tasks selflessly,
Regardless of the outcome.
In the heat of penance, they forget—
Whether success comes or not,
Even the desire for it fades away.
The detachment born of self-purification
Takes them far,
Where all desires lose their glow,
Becoming lifeless, conscious only of their demise.
Action!
This too is a difficult discipline.
Look! In your mind’s courtyard,
A battle of gods and demons rages.
This consciousness—
It is the universe.
Nature’s core.
The soul is not unaware of it.
It is the soul’s ancient nest,
Where it soars,
Its keen gaze scanning everything,
Constantly seeking truth,
Breaking through the tangled web of mortal frailty,
Becoming the great-winged bird,
Striking down the venomous, hissing fangs of desire—
That which we call the world’s charm.
It is but a fleeting moment of the eternal,
Yet wounded—
Not just the body, but the mind.
How does one flee from the pleasures once tasted?
Again and again, the memory of the beloved returns,
The heart grows weak, melancholy.
Even when the truth of ‘now, now!’ is proclaimed,
Does the heart ever truly forget the past?
The more intoxicating the pleasure,
The deeper the pain it leaves behind.
From the horizon of the mind,
Flashes of painful, moist memories
Strike relentlessly.
It is not only fresh, deep wounds
That pierce the soul,
But even small, forgotten moments—
Seemingly insignificant—
Deliver a lasting blow to consciousness,
A deep, hidden wound.
Amidst the fresh, rain-filled clouds of memory,
He walked, alone, utterly detached,
The lord of the autumn night,
Guided only by the unwavering flame
Of his pure, resolute will.
At the banks of the Anoma River,
In the mango groves of Anupiya,
For a few days, the Lord wandered,
Centering and calming his mind,
Siddhartha,
Renouncing the world,
By the power of his own will.
In the mind’s sacrificial fire,
Rose fragrant smoke
Of debates, resolutions, reflection, contemplation.
With a calm heart, the Lord spoke.
The beautiful prince of Kapilavastu had seen—
The allure of indulgence and desire,
Their enchantment, their unyielding grip, their harshness,
Realized this deeply within,
Having journeyed through the subtlest sensations
Of this inner pilgrimage.
In the tranquil courtyard of his mind,
The golden dust of fleeting detachment swirled,
And the dispassionate mind watched,
As countless sharp thorns
Pierced the hollow, colorless body of the seven-hued rainbow.
Better it is
To forsake these material desires,
For the pure, clear fire of true knowledge
Burns all impurities,
Like a raging inferno.
I—
Committed to the search for liberation,
Determined to seek truth.
My mind is fixed, focused, unwavering,
Ready for this quest.
"The pleasures of the senses
must be abandoned
For the sake of true security.
We will strive for that in which my
mind is enraptured,"
“Kamesvadinavam disvi nekkhambha dattha khemato.
Padhanaya gamismabhi ettha me ranjit manoti.
Sut Nipat.”
Thus he pondered within.
The dispassionate mind,
Engaged in deep reflection,
Kept moving toward Rajgrih,
The furrows of thought heavy upon his noble brow.
Beneath the shade of a tree,
He paused for a brief rest,
Then resumed his journey, lost in meditation.
As he walked, he saw along the path
Three kinds of ascetics.
Some lived by gathering grain,
Living for the sake of self-purification.
Some depended on roots, fruits, leaves,
And green herbs.
The third, the most austere and severe,
Had renounced even food—
Living only on air.
Watching them engaged in such extreme physical austerities,
A question arose in his mind—
Is this self-purification,
Or simply the depletion of the elements within?
That which is unchanging, indestructible, eternal,
Never finds itself entangled in the fleeting.
So, this timeless truth—
This stubborn, rigid, narrow path—
Cannot be the means to its attainment.
Why would material consciousness
Wander through the vast mental realm?
Indeed, there is but one life force
Flowing through both the inert and the conscious,
Yet the subtle senses
Have always been at odds with the gross and transient.
These physical, crude instruments
May attempt to grasp the ultimate truth,
But a signal, rising from deep within,
Echoes, as if rubbed against the heat of intense practice—
The truth will spontaneously emerge,
Illuminated like a blazing light.
Only transience offers its faint reflection.
In the delicate fabric of this impermanence,
In its beauty, freshness, and enchantment,
Lies the essence of that living, eternal truth.
Listen to its constant call.
Dive deep!
Immerse yourself endlessly in the depths,
Explore every path,
Examine and test them all,
For no task is ever achieved
By mere preconception.
The answers received from those ascetics
Did not satisfy the prince.
Their knowledge, bound by neither science nor reason,
Was all memorized, far from the core of self-knowledge.
They were followers of blind faith,
Treading the paths carved by others.
They lacked curiosity for knowledge,
Had no innate drive,
No desire to make decisions in life.
They were intellectually crippled,
Advancing blindly with borrowed crutches of wisdom,
Their thoughts decayed and lifeless.
There was no freshness, no freedom, no clarity in them.
They lacked inner strength or discernment.
The Bodhisattva, discerning like the royal swan that separates milk from
water,
Wielding the sharp blade of reason,
Was tearing apart
The complex web of blind faith.
He saw the spread of blind faith along the path:
Worship of tree deities in one place,
Offerings placed in the middle of the road to avert obstacles,
Rituals of harm, protection, and banishment.
O living beings!
Caught in this futile burden,
Carrying the weight of superstition.
Some, fasting men and women,
Chanting prayers to the stars, planets, celestial beings, and gods.
Elsewhere, ascetics, eyes closed,
Surrounded by flames,
Chanting mantras beneath the open, cloudless sky.
They stood on burning coals.
Revolutionary thoughts arose,
The prince was disturbed.
Why? Why? Why all this?
Mankind,
Ensnaring itself in self-made entanglements,
Abandoning the simple, straight, and easy path,
Fleeing from its own cherished goals.
These charms, rituals, and external pretenses—
Layer after layer of dust upon the bright mirror of the mind,
Making what could be direct and evident
So unnecessarily difficult.
These rites, these ceremonies,
Will they ever lead to eternal truth?
No, merely the tragic irony of mankind.
Calling its own inability "ability,"
Merely deceiving itself.
As these thoughts churned in his mind,
He walked on, deep in contemplation.
Suddenly, from afar, through the spaces between the mango groves,
The distant sound of gurgling water reached his ears,
Coming from beyond the confluence of Varuna's banks.
The Lord was startled!
What riverbank was this?
How had he wandered here in meditation?
Before him, a crystal-blue expanse,
Clear, peaceful, flowing,
The pure and majestic Ganges,
Flowing gracefully and serenely.
The branches, ever-laden with vibrant, fragrant flowers,
Their weight bending them low.
The buzzing of honeybees,
The fragrant, moisture-laden breeze,
Gently stirring the soft waves.
Green carpets of grass, sparse paths.
Everywhere, the reign of greenery, silence, solitude.
Quiet forests and groves,
Encircled by hills,
Draped in milk-white robes of mist,
The gentle, murmuring river Mandakini,
Flowing alone.
A moment—
He stood entranced, lost in awe,
Beholding that unparalleled beauty, endless in both directions.
The air still carried the fragrance
Of centuries of worship, reverence, and prayers,
The incense smoke, the sandalwood,
The sacred offerings of yagnas and havans.
It was the river of ancient cultures,
The eternal Ganges,
Flowing with the nectar of truth,
Resounding with the eternal waves of immortality,
Enfolded in a shimmering veil of water,
The luminous, golden-wombed, radiant, motherly Mandakini.
For those with an inward vision,
Could see.
The proud, exalted Indian philosophy, adorned with the nectar-filled
urn,
This unparalleled, world-enchanting beauty—
With both hands wide open, it reveals the gateway of wisdom.
It speaks in a joyous voice, time and again,
"O guest! Oh, how fortunate! Come, behold!
The unfettered, open world of my wisdom's glory.
Choose from the pearls of knowledge.
O royal swan of the mind!
This world, untouched by duality, is yours.
Sip from this water,
Or sing praises in the floral language.
Embrace these rolling waves,
Or dive deep into their embrace—
Yet know, liberation is not found here.
This is but the mirage, the illusion of desires.
The quelling of desires,
The path of inner journey—dense, intricate, smooth—
Cutting through the bonds.
Delve deep into the inner self,
With focused, unwavering contemplation.
Swim freely in the river of the mind,
Selecting the jewels of knowledge—
This is the first step towards certain liberation.
Come, O Yogi!
Relieve the toil of your path.
This is the pure, unsullied offering of austerity.
Test all that has been
Predefined and prescribed by others,
See the evident, unveiled truth,
Radiant, pure, sharp, and bright.
The Bodhisattva beheld the vast form of the Ganges.
For a moment, he stood transfixed,
Unable to resist this celestial splendor.
It beckoned him,
Like the affectionate, sacred embrace of a mother.
Gradually, the Lord regained consciousness.
He entered the golden, illuminated water.
The Ganges, joyous within,
Rejoiced.
A golden lotus of a thousand pristine petals bloomed,
Countless waves swayed in mad delight,
Reflecting within them that unparalleled, eternal image—
The Lord's form.
The waves, like mirrors,
Danced with the reflections of a thousand radiant stars,
Flickering in delicate harmony.
Lightning-like brilliance,
Ripples upon ripples echoed with swift, resonant anklets.
All beings, sentient and inert,
Drew in their breath—
In the center of the river stood
This divine being! Or perhaps Varuna himself!
Surely, something celestial.
On the riverbanks lay the kingdom of Magadh.
This was the capital of Magadh,
Rajgrih.
A forested land encircled by mountain ranges,
So serene, so beautiful.
It was also called Girivraja,
Surrounded by five mountains:
Rishigiri, Vaipula, Vaibhara, Pandava, and Gridhakuta.
Like desire roams within the five elements.
Just as within them, the river of asceticism, Tapoda, flowed.
In this picturesque, flourishing, verdant forest land.
Beneath their shadows or within the mountain caves,
Resided ascetics, hermits, renunciates, absorbed in deep penance.
Their fiery austerities
Flowed through seven hot water streams.
Nearby, the sacred Sagni river also coursed.
Its banks were thickly populated with dense trees—
Ashvattha, Shishimpa, Banyan, Mango, Tamala, Pakar, Arjuna,
And other rare herbs and plants.
This secluded mountainous region,
Endowed with grandeur and incomparable beauty,
Was proud of its abundant forest wealth.
The city, adorned with glory and grandeur,
Was equally enriched,
With delightful hermitages, dharmashalas, and ponds,
Pure natural water channels,
Lofty, grand mansions,
Charming, decorated bazaars, crossways, and streets.
The city, wealthy in its intoxicating luxury and opulence,
Sparkled with the gleaming light of lamps.
The Lord beheld,
Both the forest and the city brimming with their splendor.
Solitary contemplation, reflection, or alms-gathering—
Both respectfully extended their invitation.
The prince entered the city.
That grand beauty, grace, and elegance, without end,
As if from a powerful light
Everything was suddenly enchanted.
Encircled by a radiant aura,
A divine light arose,
Leaving no trace of shadow.
City chambers, windows, balconies, doors, royal roads—
All, as they were, appeared like painted images,
Breaths drawn in, spellbound, motionless,
None had ever, anywhere,
Even mistakenly, seen such a form before.
Neither this figure, nor that brilliance.
Nor such an unearthly, soft, smooth, unmatched youthfulness.
As if the moon's dreamy eyes
Held the blush of dawn’s youth.
Melted crimson, warm gold
Flowed over the golden lotus body,
With the blooming redness of fresh saffron rising.
A cup of gold, filled with ruby wine.
Deep, intense, half-closed lotus eyes, dark as the sky—
A dawn of wisdom in the blue ocean of those eyes.
A pure, radiant new awakening.
In the ocean of knowledge descended,
The bright swan of consciousness, focused, absorbed, unwavering.
Body and mind controlled, in deep meditation.
His steps, deliberate, measured, steady, balanced.
Eyes calm, still, lowered in serenity.
Free from disturbance, unclouded by desire,
The sky of the mind, clear and vast.
Upon the shining canvas of his gaze, firm and resolute faith.
His entire existence, luminous,
Emanating a gentle, cool, tender sunlight.
An indescribable, unparalleled form—
That divine, transcendent figure,
A radiant being of light.
A luminous, radiant arc soared,
Self-illumined, spreading light in a circular form.
The embodiment of supreme knowledge, pure and serene, came alive.
Beholding the saffron robes and garments of the Lord,
His hands holding a newly polished alms bowl.
Those adorned in fine garments and precious jewels,
Felt an unbearable, sharp discomfort in their bodies.
The very weight of their own flesh became hard to bear.
One prostrated completely in reverence.
Pride, solid as stone, began to crumble into pieces.
Filled with intense emotion,
Many royal men rushed towards the king.
They spoke, hands folded in humble reverence,
"O Lord!
There is one wandering through the city,
A divine, unmatched Arhat,
Silently seeking alms.
He neither looks nor asks nor speaks.
He is a unique, unparalleled treasure of beauty.
We know not from where he came.
Perhaps a god, a Yaksha, a Gandharva, or a celestial being.
He rises in the morning sky like
The golden sun of the eastern horizon.
A multitude of divine arts adorn him,
Crushing the pride of desire, diminishing it—
He.
A blazing mass of radiance, luminous, golden,
Like the fierce, resplendent sun.
Divine, shining garments,
Overflowing with the nectar of intoxicating beauty, boundless.
His eyes, that unspoken, indescribable form,
Cannot be contained.
A divine presence of immense grace,
Like quicksilver, slipping upon the screen of the mind,
Falling, falling away.
How can the mind grasp it?
Bewildered and confused, it does not comprehend.
That form,
Called infinite,
Yet seen to have boundaries.
He.
His feet do not touch the earth,
But tread gently upon the trembling petals of the city dwellers'
heart-lotuses,
Step by step,
Untroubled, he walks his path.
Those delicate lotus feet,
May they feel no pain, as the hearts beneath them quiver.
He, the radiant sun
That rises in the dark, restless sky of the mind.
Time, stars, moments, and constellations,
Seem frozen, unmoving in an impenetrable, eternal pause.
Enchanted and awed, all beings, moving and still,
Touched by him,
Feel the serene, selfless stream of life flow through them.
He is the unwavering needle
Balancing the scale between the worldly and the otherworldly.
Immovable, unshaken.
Beholding his complete grace and beauty,
Eyes well with tears.
After hearing all this,
The king of Magadha, Lomashbhrū, deeply focused,
Steadied his mind, controlled,
Spoke, "Be not so agitated, unstable.
Let me see him with my own eyes."
Ascending the steps, the king climbed to the terrace of the palace,
And beheld—
A supremely sacred self-illumined being,
Glowing, calm, without disturbance—
A great human.
The king was utterly amazed.
Never before had he seen such an unparalleled guest.
Even Lomashbhrū could not determine for himself—
Who is this detached being,
A godly man?
Is he human or a divine figure from another world?
All were shaken, yet he remained composed,
Drawn to no one.
Where had he come from?
How had he arrived?
Why had he come?
None could answer.
The king spoke to the royal men standing by—
"If he is the eternal son, a supreme being,
His feet shall never touch the earth,
Nor will his lotus-petal eyes open.
If he is a Yaksha, a god, or a celestial, he will vanish swiftly.
If he is a Nāga, he will hide himself within the earth.
Follow him.
If he is neither god,
Nor Yaksha, nor Nāga,
Still, observe him closely."
After some time, the attendants reported—
"O King! He is no ordinary man;
A great human indeed,
But even he feels hunger, thirst, weariness,
And suffers the physical pain of exhaustion.
Yet, he is no common man—
He hails from a noble, high-born family.
He has been nurtured in great comfort,
Always nourished by the finest of foods.
For when he received alms in the shadow of the Pandava Mountain,
He placed them upon the earth during his begging rounds,
And took water from the flowing stream.
As soon as he took the first morsel,
It did not sit well with him.
A furrow of pain creased his calm face.
For a moment, he gazed at the alms bowl.
His stomach churned, and he gripped his belly tight.
Yet, he absorbed all the pain within
And took only a small meal.
In renunciation, there are no other choices—
He treated his own mind with care."
The king, deeply troubled within and without,
Could not steady his own thoughts.
Leaving the palace, he crossed the forest,
And arrived at Pandava Mountain,
Where he found the solitary great man
Seated at the mountain’s base.
A body strong and tall,
Broad shoulders,
A neck like a conch shell, long and graceful.
A noble, bright forehead,
Like the rising sun in the eastern sky.
The king, with folded hands, humbly approached,
Bowing his head, speaking with soft, gentle words—
"O Lord,
Your body is most delicate, soft as a lotus petal.
It seems tired, exhausted from toil.
Perhaps this is your first journey far from your kin,
And separation has pained both your body and mind.
O Lord,
Perhaps this is your first encounter
With the reality of the world.
The world—
Full of contradictions, challenges, and harshness—
Shatters the sweetness of untouched dreams.
You, radiant and graceful,
Seem unaware of worldly matters,
As soft as freshly churned butter.
Have you felt the cruelty, the mercilessness,
The hardness of this world?
Has your innocent, unwavering faith
Shaken,
Upon clashing with its sharp, cold stones?"
O Lord,
A lotus is extremely soft,
But even water can freeze into stone.
The mirror that reflects this softness,
It—
Is hard,
It never absorbs that softness.
Thus, you—
Though descended upon this harsh earth,
Are but a reflection, unable to change it.
Many have come and gone,
Yet time has remained just the same.
The Upanishads, Vedas, Sankhya, Puranas, their pages have turned,
But that unparalleled, unsaid truth,
Has forever flowed, unchanged, ever-moving.
Strange, colorful images have appeared and faded with time,
Yet the canvas has stayed unshaken, unmoved.
Therefore, O Lord,
Whoever you may be,
Reveal yourself,
Abandon this thought of renunciation here.
This delicate body of yours—
Even lotus petals have their roughness,
And sometimes even butter turns hard.
Yet this radiant form of yours,
So luminous that even millions of moons would bow in awe.
Worldliness—
It is a fierce, burning, bone-shaking, blind storm.
Surely, one of its scorching, searing, cruel gusts
Has already reached you, O Lord.
All the enchanting illusions have shattered,
Pierced through, laid bare by the mocking laughter
Of reality’s horrifying, grotesque skeleton.
Thus, with your wounded body and sorrowful mind,
You left your home, utterly detached.
I stand here, bowed in reverence, eager to know you.
Having seen you, and knowing without words,
I long to hear from your noble lips.
Yet, who can describe the sun,
And who can claim to know the virtues of the moon?
What need is there to illuminate
That which already shines by its own grace?
The Lord, with utmost humility and a loving smile,
Gazed briefly at the King of Magadha,
And spoke—
"O King,
I am the eldest son of Shuddhodhan,
Of the Shakya clan of the Solar dynasty,
Dwelling in the shadow of the Himalayas, in Kapilavastu.
Having left my home, I now seek the truth,
Wandering through these forests.
I have undertaken the vow
To find a way to end old age, death, pain, and disease.
I shall not rest
Until I have grasped this victory in my hands."
The king pleaded,
"O Great Man!
You are not of the age to renounce the world.
There is still the rosy hue of youth
On the dark horizon of your eyes.
The midday sun of youth shines brightly.
This golden body of yours,
Filled with the nectar of life,
Its grace flowing like waves of ambrosia—
Why do you subject it to suffering?"
The eternal law of perpetual change,
Immutable, the law of nature.
Behold—
Its playful act, changing form every moment.
Eras have passed,
And no matter how wise or enlightened,
The drums of emptiness have always beaten,
Leaving them hollow,
For this supreme mystery—
A wonder to all—
Has never been conquered.
Curiosity soared high, freely,
Across the horizon of the mind,
But no one has yet attained true knowledge.
Why?
Because this supreme mystery,
Mortality and impermanence are but the foundation
Of that eternal, unchanging truth.
This ever-changing nature,
Is but the enchanting acceptance of form-shifting.
The eternal self,
Propelled by the five elements—
Neither destroyed nor erased,
It remains—
The life-giving current of the entire universe.
This mortality—
Is a beautiful invitation
To the pure, sublime knowledge of the divine sacrifice.
Whatever water can be held
In the palms of the hands,
Speaks—
This is all—
This is the measure of the boundless sea.
Listening with utmost absorption,
The Lord smiled gently and spoke to the king—
"Indeed, supreme self-knowledge is vast,
Infinite, immense, and far-reaching.
No knowledge of the world,
Has ever been able to measure it.
All the known and unknown seas,
Are not even a particle of that great knowledge.
Physical suffering, material pursuits—
They cannot serve as methods
To identify that subtle, untouched truth."
The king then spoke—
"Prince!
Seeing you brings great pain to my heart.
How will you tread the thorny path of renunciation?
How will you endure the bitter, harsh, and meager meals
Of wild roots and fruits?
Will you not grow weary, thirsty, hungry,
Wandering in solitude, endlessly?
How will you trust the wild beasts and dangerous creatures?
Accept half of my kingdom,
But do not deny me.
Do not say no and leave me in despair."
The Lord smiled—
"I am the crown prince of Kapilavastu,
With every comfort at my beck and call.
If that had been my desire,
Why would I have left my home,
And caused my loved ones so much pain?
I am a renunciant,
Trusting in all.
Here today, tomorrow—who knows where?
The entire world has become my home.
I belong to no one,
Yet I belong to all.
It is for this very purpose
That I have left my home."
The king, with folded hands, said—
"O Arhat! O Perfect One!
Before you depart, grant me this counsel:
What is the true duty of a king?
What is the work most important to him?"
The prince replied—
"O king, with brows as firm as the sacred Lomasha!
The needs of a man are simple—
Two garments, two meals at dusk, and a place to sleep.
That is all.
No more is his rightful claim.
Whoever takes more than this
Acts unjustly, depriving others of their share.
All beings are one—there is no lesser, no greater.
It is social and economic disparity
That crushes the weak,
Revealing the naked brutality of the powerful.
The one who exploits
Is not a king, nor a protector—he is a destroyer.
A king should ensure equal rights for all.
All are born the same way,
And all suffer pain in equal measure,
Whether high or low in status.
Fair skin or dark, these are but outer veils.
Within, the heart is but a handful of flesh,
A single organ caged in bone,
Sensing and trembling, its blood flowing the same."
Having spoken, the Lord made preparations to depart.
The king, humbled deeply,
In a voice filled with anguish and compassion,
Spoke in eager desperation—
"O Lord! Once again, I make my humble plea:
Stay here, in this land, and seek alms.
I will arrange everything for you with utmost care.
Bowing my head, I beg of you—
This serene, beautiful, silent forest,
Has always granted peace to sages and hermits.
Please partake of this humble abode,
And do not wander alone
Through the mountains, the caves, and the forests.
In some cities, you may find chaos.
In some forests, wild beasts.
No one will truly benefit
From such a divine, majestic presence as yours.
First, the ignorant, inert, and still,
Will not understand your profound thoughts.
They, bound by rigid superstitions,
Will feel disturbed by your new ideas.
The luminous light of knowledge
Rising on the horizon
Will only bring unrest to the darkened expanse of their minds."
"O Lord,
This path you have chosen—
Do you not know
How full it is of contradictions, obstacles, thorns,
And endless hindrances?
These ritualistic ascetics,
The priests, the hermits, the tantric practitioners,
The brahmins, the abbots, the heads of monasteries—
When will they ever allow
The foundations they've laid to be shaken?
When will they let your thoughts,
Unfettered and fearless, be spoken aloud?
When will they open
Their impenetrable barriers
And allow all classes to enter within?
Therefore, O Lord,
Fiery rebellion, opposition—
These will block your way entirely.
Please, rest here in peace.
I, my servants, all of us—
We are devoted to serving you.
I am wholly ready to offer my mind and body
At the service of your sacred feet."
The Lord smiled—
"O King! I have set out to serve,
Not to be served.
Taking the soul as my own teacher,
I have renounced the world on my own.
I am a recluse,
One who has abandoned all desires.
My home—
It is where every open door leads.
My pain—
It has broken through all boundaries.
Now, it is no longer my pain,
But the pain of the entire world
That lives within me.
I have broken free of limits and the limitless.
I have turned away from both yes and no.
A river
Does not bind itself to mountains.
The ocean
Is not confined by shores.
This lamp I have lit for the welfare of the world
Will burn away all impurities
And move forward.
How can any obstacle or barrier
Prevent or halt its course?
There comes a time
When I am simply journeying—
That motherland lies ahead.
And it is certain—
My own light of knowledge
Will be my guide on this path.
No crutch of another’s wisdom
Will move me even one step further.
I will light my own lamp,
And through its glow,
By my own experience and trial,
I will arrive at my own conclusions.
I am not a star,
Pulled by another’s orbit or attraction.
I am the sun, burning alone
On the dark horizon,
A solitary light.
An untouched path,
A new truth,
A life tested by truth—
That will always be my goal.
I will return only after I have attained Nirvana."
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