Summary:
The poem *"Land of Penance"* from the epic *Amriteya Buddha*
captures an important phase in Gautama Buddha's spiritual journey, focusing on
his intense penance, self-denial, and eventual realization that extreme asceticism
was not the path to enlightenment. Here’s a summary of the poem:
The poem begins with Gautama Buddha walking from Rajgriha to Uruvela, through serene and lush landscapes. He arrives at a place of immense beauty and solitude, where the tranquil forests and flowing rivers inspire him to begin a period of intense penance. Here, Gautama reflects deeply on life, seeking liberation through severe self-mortification.
Gautama engages in extreme austerities, renouncing food, clothing, and breath itself. His physical condition deteriorates as his body becomes frail, his ribs protruding, and his once radiant appearance fades into a near skeletal form. Despite his rigorous practices, he finds no peace, satisfaction, or clear method to achieve his spiritual goal.
During his time in Uruvela, Gautama encounters several prominent philosophers and ascetics, including Alara Kalama and Uddaka Ramaputta. He studies their teachings and adopts their practices, but he ultimately finds them inadequate for attaining true liberation. Disillusioned, he decides to abandon these methods and continues his journey.
Gautama's severe self-denial pushes him to the brink of death, and his body and mind suffer greatly. Finally, realizing the futility of extreme penance, he resolves to abandon this path. He decides to nourish his body and takes food in the nearby villages. As his strength returns, his inner clarity grows, and he recognizes the need for a balanced approach rather than extreme self-torment.
However, the five ascetic companions who had been with Gautama for six years become disillusioned by his decision to eat and abandon harsh austerities. Believing that he has failed in his quest for enlightenment, they abandon him in anger and disappointment, leaving for Rishipattan (modern-day Sarnath).
The poem ends with Gautama rejuvenating both in body and spirit, but left alone, as his companions reject his new path. His ultimate realization is that extreme penance is not the way to enlightenment, foreshadowing his discovery of the Middle Way.
The poem reflects the internal and external struggles Gautama faced during his pursuit of truth. It illustrates his transition from severe asceticism to the realization that balance, rather than extremism, is key to achieving enlightenment.
The Poem
With yearning,
the Lord journeyed from Rajgrih,
moving onward to Uruvela.
Upon small mountain peaks,
green blooms flourished—
valleys adorned
with dense, towering trees,
casting dark, cool shadows.
In silence,
dreams rested
in enchanting, serene glades.
Veiled by soft, green grasses,
winding fragrant paths emerged.
Little waterfalls
glistened in vibrant pools,
where forest birds bathed,
spreading their wings wide.
A vast stretch of sandy shore
lay far and wide,
a tranquil, silent land,
untouched and unscathed.
Within its depths,
the river Falgu
flowed silently,
its sandy bed hidden.
Above, it remained motionless,
in stillness,
as gentle touches
made it shimmer and sway.
Inwardly smiling,
the Lord observed,
this was yet another form of woman—
deeply moist within,
embraced by gentle sunshine.
Here, the mountain ranges stood mute,
and the rivers flowed
with indifference,
lost in their own thoughts.
As the moonlit glow faded,
it appeared devoid of luster.
All was seen, everywhere.
The Lord contemplated,
they would not go elsewhere.
This beautiful, delightful forest region
was supreme.
Here, the tranquil yearnings
would find rest.
What is penance?
What does it mean?
In this land of penance,
fearless, detached, and silent,
I shall journey within, unceasing.
Like the silkworm,
enwrapped in silk threads,
so too shall I
burn the web of my desires
in the fire of penance.
I know well—
this path remains ever unknown,
without beginning, without end.
The mind has always been restless.
When have I ever recognized anyone?
Fate has deceived me.
Even the smallest truths, forever
shrouded in falsehoods,
have looked upon me with wonder.
The noble truths,
known even to the lowliest,
have met me, clothed
in layers of illusion,
entangled in magical webs.
I—
the smooth vessel of dreamt pleasures,
of imagined joys,
shattered by the faintest breeze of reality.
Had I ever felt even the slightest wound,
the sky of my mind
would not have been filled
with such dark and restless clouds.
I, too, would have said,
like everyone else:
Let it be,
let it all happen as it always has.
But the bridges of false imaginations
have crumbled,
and the crooked comet of truth
has filled me with dread.
A vast, pervasive darkness
of despair stretches endlessly—
Alas! Is this life? Is this the world?
For what purpose? Why?
I stand firm, resolved,
never to waver.
If two pieces of wood
can produce fire through friction,
and forests can burn in an instant,
so too will my resolve
remain steadfast, unwavering.
Life is victory,
never defeat—
neither past nor future.
Only the radiant, blazing present,
shining bright.
The past and future
shall become a clear, transparent mirror,
a single devotion to truth,
an offering of surrender,
inviting supreme powers.
Just as this ochre robe,
with time, will be worn away
by the relentless bite of time,
so too will desires,
faded and torn,
lose their hold.
And the pure light of truth,
unveiled,
shall smile in all its radiance.
The Lord’s meditation broke.
He saw, along the path,
an ashram—
the abode of Alara Kalama,
a profound scholar of Samkhya philosophy.
He paused there.
Staying for a few days,
observing all the deep practices,
he pondered deeply
on the teachings of Samkhya.
From Alara Kalama,
he learned not only the form-bound knowledge
but also the formless teachings.
Yet, this contemplation, this meditation,
seemed powerless for liberation.
These methods did not appeal.
The Lord reflected within,
“This too is not the way.
There is no peace, no fulfillment,
no certain path to the goal.”
It was wiser to move forward.
Leaving the ashram behind,
he continued on.
This inner churning,
was merely an external friction.
This being,
was trapped in the blind chains of attachment,
hearing only
the relentless, unbreakable wail of immortality.
Each time, it died—
each time, it was reborn—
and remained circling the endless cycle of mortality.
The solitary, eternal traveler,
knowing nothing of return,
only spun endlessly
in the grinding wheel of life.
As he journeyed further,
he came across another ashram,
surrounded by mountain caves—
the dwelling of Uddaka, son of Rama,
a philosopher of the Vaisheshika school.
There, too,
he paused to immerse himself
in the full study of Vaisheshika philosophy.
But for liberation,
he found it utterly inactive.
With great humility,
he declined Rama's son’s invitation
to remain at the ashram.
Leaving the hermitage behind,
he moved onward to Uruvela,
to the royal city of Gaya.
The place was extremely beautiful,
encircled by dark and pale blue hills.
Nearby,
the silent Falgu river flowed.
Solitude, silence,
and seclusion called out to him.
This place felt perfectly suited for penance.
Before Gautama’s arrival,
this place was already served
by five monks—
Kaundinya, Bappa, Bhaddiya, Mahanama, and Ashvajit.
In that very place,
they were deeply absorbed,
focused solely
on rigorous penance for liberation.
Slowly, time passed.
All were silent, absorbed in penance,
yet there was no sign
of the goal’s achievement.
Gautama began
an intense, severe practice of penance.
He renounced food, clothing, wandering, and begging.
His body became thin and frail,
his hair rough,
his skin and flesh withered.
His once soft, long, tender fingers
turned into bony knots.
Ribs, barely covered by skin and flesh,
veins swollen, resembling garlands around his waist.
That beautiful form
had grown extremely distorted.
His body was now
nothing more than the bellows of breath,
which once, adorned with thirty-two marks of perfection,
now had no trace of its former splendor.
In the end, even this
could not serve as a means
to attain the goal.
A fierce resolve to intensify his penance
took hold of his mind.
Already without food,
he now renounced even breath itself.
Seated in lotus posture,
lost in deep, motionless meditation,
yet the five elements took their revenge.
His body grew weak,
his consciousness dimmed.
Time and again,
the Lord collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.
Even taking a single step became unbearable,
the physical exhaustion, intolerable—
this, too, was not the path
to liberation.
How could such mental turmoil
lead to transcendent divinity?
The physical torment,
the unbearable suffering of this method,
accomplished nothing.
The Lord resolved—
this path, too, must be abandoned.
These pretensions were merely a mockery.
He went into the villages
to beg for alms.
Whatever he received,
he accepted peacefully.
Slowly, his frailty began to recede.
Strength returned to his body,
filling him once again
with radiance and grace.
Once more, the lotus bloomed in the forest,
the golden flower blossomed with joy.
A new dawn of life
unfurled in the woods.
But the five monks
were deeply distressed.
Six years of arduous penance,
now in vain—
what was not achieved through fasting,
how could it be attained through food?
Where he had begun,
there it seemed to end,
circling back in a pointless
and painful cycle.
This royal scion has strayed into grave error.
To spend more time with him now
would only waste our inner strength.
He is defeated in every way,
a failure in his life’s goal.
To remain here,
hoping for him to reach the goal,
is like licking dew for sustenance.
Now, he will merely beg for alms,
play the role of an ascetic,
fill his belly,
and eventually re-enter worldly life.
This penance is too harsh,
and the prince, nurtured in luxury,
has failed in every respect.
We have wasted our time
in vain.
It is better to leave him here.
In great anger,
deeply distressed,
and utterly disillusioned with Gautama,
they furiously picked up their robes and alms bowls
and departed from Uruvela
with swift steps,
never to return.
Eighteen yojanas away from Uruvela,
in Rishipattan,
in Varanasi,
they found rest.
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