Summary:
The poem "Bodhi
Tree" from the epic Amriteya Buddha revolves around the profound spiritual
transformation of Siddhartha Gautama under the Bodhi Tree, where he attains
enlightenment. It portrays his journey of intense meditation, overcoming
suffering, and finding the ultimate truth. Here’s a summary:
The poem depicts Gaya, the land of sages, as a place of immense spiritual significance. It is where souls attain liberation and where spiritual richness abounds. The Bodhi Tree becomes a symbol of this land, witnessing Siddhartha’s transformation into Buddha and the blessing of the entire cosmos.
The Buddha imparts his wisdom to the merchants, marking them as his first disciples. The poem beautifully captures their moment of awakening as they realize the power of Buddha’s teachings. They declare their commitment to the Buddha and the Dharma, symbolizing the start of a new spiritual path for humanity.
The poem concludes with the world resonating with the newly awakened truth, as the Buddha’s message spreads. The proclamation “Buddham Sharanam Gacchami, Dhammam Sharanam Gacchami” echoes as the world embraces the path of compassion, knowledge, and liberation.
The Poem
The lamp of knowledge has always
burned bright,
In mountains, caverns,
and the secluded wilderness,
In the dense, deep
forests,
Within leafy
hermitages.
There, inspiration was
received,
Fulfilling the
yearning for self-contemplation and introspection.
On the solitary banks
of clear, calm rivers,
Or at the base of
ancient stone slabs.
These trees, the
towering sal and banyan,
Were not mere
instruments
For shelter from the
sun’s blazing heat,
Nor merely vessels for
fruits and flowers.
They carried an
unbroken stream of consciousness,
Flowing through water,
land, wind, sky, and fire,
Perpetually.
Creatures of the
water, birds, and humankind,
Felt this supreme
thread of awareness,
Alive under the shade
of these sal and giant banyans.
The sages and
seers,
Clearly received
answers to their unanswered, suffering questions,
Their inner eyes
opening,
Words etched before
them,
In luminous, electric
letters.
The sound of Brahman
resonated,
Unfolding the petals
of countless notes,
That remained unseen,
imperceptible,
But then became
illuminated, vibrant with the fire of penance.
Nature itself brought
forth, swiftly,
Questions
answered,
Budding into smiling
blooms.
It too became an
ally,
An agent of inner
purification.
Otherwise,
Why?
Only the lonely
wilderness would have served
As a place of
self-extraction.
Yes,
Silent trees, absorbed
in penance,
Peaceful, blessed,
eternal—
The bearers of light
and wisdom,
Messengers of the
self,
Offering refuge.
The giver of
knowledge, the redeemer,
Since time
eternal,
Aware of creation,
destruction, and renewal.
Once, in the shade of
sal, khidir, and arjun trees—
Beneath the shadow of
pakar, tamal, mango, and varun,
Even the banyan came
bearing messages,
Strengthened through
practice.
This ashvattha,
With untold, ceaseless
glory,
Became the protector
of all inauspiciousness.
In the shade of the
ashvattha,
After
circumnavigation, salutation, and offering,
The Lord stood facing
the east,
In an unconquered
stance,
With a calm that
quieted all emotions.
The full moon of
Vaishakh was rising,
Its soft light
spreading on the treetops.
The sun was bidding
farewell in the west.
The tale of rise and
fall continued—
In both ascent and
descent,
There was but one
pain, one agony,
Woven throughout,
One subtle
consciousness touching all.
The forest was
peaceful, melodious, naturally serene,
Yet, in its silent
flow,
There ran an endless
subterranean sorrow.
In the cycle of
creation,
It drew a line through
all causes and effects of rise and fall.
The Lord saw it.
The sun, in life and
death,
Held within it
The deep anguish of
inner suffering.
A pang arose in His
heart—
Birth is
suffering,
Death is
suffering,
And the interval
between them,
Left one disturbed and
troubled.
In such thoughts,
slowly,
He became
immersed
In the cool, dense
shade
Of the ashvattha tree,
its branches sheltering him.
This was the sacred
spot of Brahman-knowers and scholars,
Where deep
contemplation and analysis
Had taken place.
Today,
This ashvattha
tree
Is called the
wish-fulfilling tree,
The Vishnu tree,
It emerged, bearing
the head of the Hayagriva avatar—
And so, it is known as
the ashvattha.
Revered, unmatched,
immeasurable,
Endlessly
glorious,
Bestowing prosperity,
wealth, and unwavering fortune.
Dhanvantari,
The god of
medicine,
Praised it
wholeheartedly.
The Puranas say,
This tree is a
treasury of healing,
From its roots, trunk,
branches, sub-branches, and every leaf,
Vishnu resides.
These are the limbs of
Vishnu,
The destroyer of
countless sins.
In its splendor shines
the infinite.
In the sacred month of
Vaishakh,
Whoever offers water
to it daily,
Receives the reward of
immense virtue and a holy boon.
When Yogeshwar
Krishna, the inspirer of the Gita,
Abandoned the Dwapar
age,
Before ascending to
the highest realm,
He meditated in the
shade of this very tree.
In truth,
In the truth, He found
the light,
The supreme
vastness,
The bliss of the
self.
Today, on the full
moon of Vaishakh,
The sky is spotless,
pure with radiant moonlight.
The Vishnu tree stands
silently, filled with messages.
Vishnu, formless,
immutable, tranquil,
The endless ocean of
immeasurable knowledge.
Beyond the bounds of
form, name, and perception,
He casts aside His
shapes,
The distortions of
nature,
And the markers of
identity.
The complex and
knotted threads of the five elements,
Are absorbed in this
great void.
External and internal
nature—
Point to nothingness
alone,
To liberation.
This attainment is
possible
Only by becoming
detached, untouched,
With the deepest inner
awareness.
The doors to
immortality open freely,
And before one’s
eyes,
The infinite light of
knowledge
Dances and shines.
When the soul,
Abandons the
mesmerized, fragmented world,
This ashvattha tree,
in the form of the Vishnu tree,
Symbolizes nirvana,
eternal knowledge, and unmatched welfare—
A symbol of
emptiness,
Of liberation.
A pure, untouched,
flowing stream—
Blue-black like the
night sky, unstained, and free of illusion,
Serene, the shores of
Uruvela,
Where the holy,
transparent waters flow.
Nature has infused its
light of self into this,
Imbuing it with the
pure essence of enlightenment.
The ashvattha stands,
void and flawless,
Unaffected by any
form,
The ascetic gazes at
it,
An embodiment of
liberation.
The void embraces the
void,
Illusion, desire,
blind attachment—
Will all be
uprooted.
All coverings,
Will be
uncovered.
Revealing the light of
knowledge.
In the churn of
immortality, self-extraction,
Lies unshakable,
unwavering faith.
All that is inert or
mobile—
From earth, air, and
water,
Remain in silence and
stillness.
The full moon
rises—
Its bright, pearl-like
light,
Flowing, pure as
milk,
Spreading across the
vast tree’s shade.
In deep meditation,
resolute,
The great ascetic
remains.
A thought arises—
Of the festival of the
first plow,
From His childhood
days.
In that solitude,
In the profound
stillness of His mind,
A deep serenity
engulfed the sky of His thoughts,
A strong stream of
immersion.
The thoughts of the
mind found no path forward.
The waves of thought
in the ocean of the mind subsided,
And the joy of
self-awareness overflowed—
Baptized in the nectar
of immortality.
The Lord
reflected,
On the meditation that
once enlivened Him,
When, as a child, even
the deer in the forest had been intoxicated.
Why not contemplate in
the same way now?
In the calm flow of
nature,
He surrendered body
and mind, motionless.
Unspoken, untold,
unmeasurable waves of light
Swayed and
pervaded,
Consciousness stilled,
unwavering,
Devoid of
thought—
The mind’s pond a
clear mirror,
Unraveling the
mysteries
Of the internal and
external tangles of illusion.
First came the
severing of outer distractions.
It was the first watch
of the night.
The mind calmed,
desireless.
Thoughts came to a
halt,
The questions—
As silent as they
were,
Grew stronger and more
pronounced.
The Lord
pondered—
The soul! Or life’s
truth?
Unsaid, yet
unmoved.
What is the real
truth?
Who roams through the
universe?
Who moves through
boundless eternity?
In consciousness, life
flows, rich and vibrant,
With which light does
the world shine?
Whose trust sustains
this world,
Illuminating,
exhaling, awakening,
With the joy of
universal consciousness?
This sky of the
mind,
Whose infinite
reflection does it mirror?
To whom do the true
and false tendencies,
Submit entirely in
surrender?
Why?
Who inspires this
endless pursuit,
Like the yellow
blossoms of kadamba,
Scattered, swaying in
unison,
Entwined in their own
web of petals—
Every particle moves,
directed and danced,
By the endless
quest.
Since the
beginningless time until now,
Who has churned this
nectar,
This unceasing
contemplation,
Taking on countless
forms?
Whose essence, in the
mire of the five elements,
Descends again and
again, forcefully?
Whose is this
infinite, unending journey,
Growing with every
moment,
A journey of pain upon
pain,
Where life shudders
each time,
Where feet
falter,
Assailed endlessly by
the ceaseless storm of desires,
Life is tossed about
in the whirlpool of cravings.
With every breath, a
sigh for liberation,
Shattered, anxious,
impatient faith.
Fruitless
efforts—
These eternal,
unanswered questions,
Countless cycles of
destruction and creation,
Whose mind do they
entertain?
Why?
Why does the gaping, eternal
maw of time
Consume all,
As life’s mirror
Wipes away the
ever-growing dust?
A restless,
inquisitive moment—
When, where, from
whom, why was the mistake made?
Outer consciousness,
inner consciousness,
Entangled,
Responding to each
other’s subtle, intertwined questions.
Not just the sky, not
just the earth,
But the horizon of
knowledge, too,
Is bathed in full
moonlight,
A flood of light
spreads everywhere.
Slowly, slowly rises
the pot of nectar,
A tireless, golden
light of creation—
Waves surge,
Nature resonates in
harmony.
The hawk of knowledge
spreads its wings,
Flying ever
upwards.
The horizon of
wisdom—
Vast, expansive,
immense in its pride,
Buzzes with the hum of
bees,
Echoes with the sound
of nature,
The unstruck
sound.
Today,
Chand after chand,
breaks in anguish,
Unfolding leaf after
leaf,
A thousand petals
blossom,
Their bright, radiant
light illuminates the inert.
Inner and outer
worlds,
Breathlessly absorbed
in the void,
Still as the unshaken
meditation,
The complex,
impenetrable ego,
Covered in a difficult
sheath,
The unceasing process
of piercing the light,
Layer by layer,
thinning, shimmering,
Depicting thoughts,
forms, distortions—
The desires,
aspirations of life,
The lower nature and
its experiences—
All are destroyed,
reduced to ashes,
Crumbled, the veil of
illusion torn.
In the light of
consciousness, all merges.
Nowhere remains the
grossness of materiality,
Ripped apart—
The tattered, dirty
veil—
Replaced by the
bright, free, pure, vast knowledge.
The gates open
wide,
An unparalleled,
indescribable,
Unattainable
experience descends—
An unspoken, timeless
feeling,
Calmly flowing,
Bright, pure,
boundless light spreads.
The ego
dissolves—
Fully absorbed,
disappeared.
Silent.
Neither sound, nor
word, nor touch, nor pain
Can be grasped
anymore.
Only the unbroken joy
of the self remains,
Bright, milky-white,
radiant waves
Savoring the
essence.
The bee of
knowledge,
Moves on—
The first watch of the
night,
The mind ascends.
Layer after layer
unfolds,
Forgotten,
The hundred-petaled
lotus of life,
Each petal blooming,
pulsing,
Awakened, alive,
blossoming—
Inscribed with past
lives.
All illusions
shattered,
This constant,
directed cycle of life.
All the lives and
deaths endured—
Familiar,
Those discarded
garments of attachment.
When did the
soul,
In how many
forms,
In surges and impulses
of new beginnings,
Embrace birth once
again?
Why?
For whom?
Why does it run
tirelessly, endlessly in agony,
Pierced by
sorrow?
When, where did it
pause, change its course?
When, by force or
willingly,
Did it abandon certain
villages?
How many relatives,
dear ones—
How many loved ones
were its close companions?
Still, whose
unfathomable pain
Lies deep within?
Who seeks the remedy,
the cure, endlessly?
The resting places of
past lives,
All abandoned
When the soul
receives
The ruthless call of
time.
No! A moment
paused.
Even unwillingly, a
second stood still.
Not for himself, nor
for his kin,
Could he wipe the
endless tears of parting,
The pain of eternal
farewell.
He moved forward,
Without looking
back,
Unaware of the wounds
he left behind—
How their lives
passed,
Those who stayed.
Today,
All those moments gone
by
Stand clear before
him,
Every scene, every
vessel shattered.
Seeing them,
The sage
reflects—
Every birth and death
passed,
And yet,
Your feet remain
rooted in the same place.
This endless cycle of
rebirth,
Of return and
repetition,
Has brought no
elevation.
The soul, from where
it began,
Keeps circling,
And time kicks it
along,
Sweeping it into the
current of days.
What?
Is this all that life
is—
Simply this,
A ceaseless
preparation for birth and death?
The same
life-story
Imprinted on each one
in turn.
That which was,
whatever it may have been,
Was always just the
making of a deathbed.
What?
Is there no life
beyond this?
Is the soul
Merely a morsel for
time to devour?
The meditative Lord's
eyes closed—
But when they
opened,
They beheld the
intricate, woven verses of life.
It was revealed.
This shattered
life,
A water-lily torn petal
by petal,
Each leaf
falling,
Into the vast ocean of
the blazing sun.
Standing alone on the
distant shore,
He watched,
Amazed, enchanted,
absorbed—
These limbs of
mine,
Gathered from birth to
birth,
Stored in time’s
treasure chest.
I—
Made of clay
alone—
Nature,
Barters it with
time.
Colors, forms, touch,
fragrance, sensations—
She gave,
And time, with his
hands,
Bound them in the
thread of moments.
Both played a
game—
Sometimes a
shadow-play,
Sometimes as the
master puppeteer,
Hurling me wherever he
pleased,
Unhindered,
unafraid.
I saw,
Countless forms of my
own,
Dissolving, vanishing
in the sea of time,
Utterly broken.
I realized,
This repeated cycle of
birth and death,
Is merely the dance of
desire
In the courtyard of
consciousness.
I,
Bound by the cords of
your illusion,
Wandered through
countless births.
The very straws with
which you wove
Your nest—
I came to know
them.
The mind has
renounced,
Those causes and
effects
That adorned your
temple.
Destroyed is your
garden,
The alluring grove of
desires.
Now I stand,
In the state of
Arhat.
Wandering in that deep
darkness,
Entangled in the web
of delusion,
I have torn it
apart,
Fragmented its roots.
I—
Am not the eyes.
I—
Am not the ears.
I—
Am not the
breath.
I—
Am not the touch.
Nor sensation.
I am not bound by
time’s laws.
I am free, unchained,
limitless,
Indomitable,
unstoppable.
Some unknown,
unmatched,
Unseen power—
In search of its own
path,
Trapped within forms
and boundaries.
With the inner eye of
my mind,
I watched the entire
past,
The man-made temples
of thought,
Crumble into
dust.
I—
Am beyond all
this.
These five elements,
mere materials—
The ground upon which
these wandering feet trod.
The ancient
seers,
The ones who longed
eternally for the unattainable,
Who prayed with all
their being for it:
"From falsehood,
lead me to truth,
From darkness, lead me
to light,
From death, lead me to
immortality."
Perhaps,
It was but an elusive
hope.
In the ever-rising
ascent of meditation,
I did not seek
it,
Yet, it came to
me.
I realized,
An endless ocean of
knowledge and light.
No sky,
No faith to seek.
Only the boundless,
unstoppable light of wisdom—
Illuminating
everything,
Unfathomable
bliss,
The endless radiance
of immortality.
The gates of eternity
flung open:
"Ignorance is
destroyed,
Knowledge has
arisen.
Darkness is
banished,
Light has dawned.
The gates of
deathlessness are open wide."
These were the Lord’s
first words,
Radiating in a flood
of light,
Overwhelming in
boundless joy,
Sensed by the whole
forest of the world.
The Lord, deep in
thought,
Realized:
Desire is the root of
all.
The ultimate good is
to uproot it completely.
This is the cause of
all suffering.
Sorrow alone fills the
world until death.
As long as desire
remains,
The mind
Chooses and
rejects,
Bringing forth
Form, feeling,
perception, impressions, consciousness,
And the rise of
ignorance.
If there is
suffering,
There is also a
cause,
A diagnosis,
And a certain
cessation.
For it is karma, the
cause, that sustains life.
Carrying the wealth of
past births,
Bound by ignorance and
impressions,
The thirst for
becoming appears.
In the five
aggregates, even before birth,
It forms name and
form.
And with the union of
six elements,
A newborn is
born.
The first cry it
makes,
Caught in the arms of
desire,
Mourns the past birth,
the present, and the future.
Even the child
knows,
It has been cast
From the deep void of
slumber
Into the mire of the
five elements.
Caught in the tangled
web of tendencies,
It is seen by the
lustful eye of desire.
There is no
escape.
No remedy.
No end to this
yearning.
An unbreakable
net—
Nowhere is liberation
found.
Once more, the Lord
reflected—
Simple, untangled, all
complex bonds dissolved.
His heart, soaked in
immense compassion,
Wounded by inner
suffering.
He gazed upon
The pained lives of
the people,
And in the tranquil
sky of his mind,
A bright star of
knowledge arose.
Alas! Sorrow, sorrow
everywhere.
Life brimming with
pain,
Shattered, broken into
fragments.
Everything in this
world
Is bound by cause and
dependence,
But somewhere, surely,
the remedy lies.
If suffering is
born,
Then its end, too, is
certain.
For every affliction,
a cure,
Prescribed and
revealed.
Nothing exists without
a cause.
If there is a cause,
then erosion of it is also present.
These are the Four
Noble Truths,
The facts of
life.
Their cures, their
remedies—
To be followed in the
Twelve Links of Dependent Origination.
The past, the present,
and the future
Hold the key to
virtuous conduct.
Do not yearn for
existence.
Do not be consumed by
desire.
In time, the five
elements will let go of him.
The path becomes
clear,
Bright, and
simple
Through the Eightfold
Way.
It is not necessary to
renounce everything,
Even a householder may
attain
The desired peace and
joy.
The first watch of the
night
Of the Lord’s Full
Moon of Wisdom passed,
As he contemplated the
arising of Dependent Origination.
He gazed,
At the hollow,
meaningless world,
His thoughts
blossomed.
When righteous men
awaken to Dharma,
They vigilantly
examine its cause.
And by stopping the
cause,
They attain the serene
sky of the mind.
In the eternal, undying
light of truth,
The forces of Mara
tremble.
Burning in the
brilliance of pure, enlightened virtue,
They are utterly
destroyed,
Root and all.
Thus,
For one week,
The Lord
meditated
In the shade of the
Bodhi Tree.
The calm river
Niranjana
Flowed silently,
Its waves resting on
its chest like lotus arms,
For—
It had just received
the truth,
A rare, self-moving
reflection
In both the animate
and inanimate.
In the second week of
his meditation,
The Lord looked
upon
The great Ajapala
banyan tree.
Here—
The chaste, pure
Sujata,
Offered rice porridge
in a golden bowl.
Pure, unsullied, and
delicious—
She had come to offer
it to the tree deity.
Indeed,
This banyan tree—
Is a symbol of the
great deluge,
Where,
The ruler of all,
Sucking his
thumb,
Lay on a banyan
leaf,
After the destruction
and creation had passed.
In deep thought, he
was lost,
Who knows in what
contemplation.
But today,
He no longer
sleeps.
He is awakened.
He is no longer the
destroyer,
But the bearer—
Of suffering, pain,
and the nirvana of sorrow.
A supreme knower,
A thinker for the
welfare of the world.
For one week,
He remained seated in
the same posture,
This stance too— calm
and unconquered.
In that isolated
forest,
Amid the dense, deep
wilderness,
A restrained Brahmin
appeared,
Wandering from
somewhere.
He asked the Lord the
reason
For his presence
there.
Why was he absorbed in
meditation?
Had his penance been
successful?
Signaling him to
sit,
The Lord spoke—
"Does penance
with desire
Truly count as
penance?
Penance, as I see
it,
Is when the heart’s
abode
Becomes a great
cremation ground,
Where all tendencies
are reduced to ashes.
Not even nirvana is
desired,
Only selfless service
is meditation.
One with desires is
never a true ascetic,
He does not roam
In the realm of the
formless void."
The Brahmin, bowing
with folded hands,
Paid homage—
"This is an
extraordinary penance,
A humble prayer at
your feet, Lord."
The Lord, smiling,
said—
"Show me honor, O
Brahmin."
The Brahmin asked—
"Gautama!
Who is called a
Brahmin?
What duty does he
perform
That makes him worthy
of the title?"
The Lord replied—
"One without ego,
Without pride,
Disciplined, wise,
celibate,
He is the true seeker
of Brahma,
The one who deserves
the title of Brahmin."
After spending a
week
In liberated
bliss,
The Lord moved to the
shade
Of the Mucalinda
tree.
There—
Dark, dense clouds
gathered,
The thick rain
relentlessly poured,
Like icy spears
piercing the air.
A fierce storm
blew,
Trees were
uprooted,
Lightning, enraged,
struck down.
Nature seemed to seek
vengeance—
Who had dared
disrupt
Her natural flow?
The unceasing
downpour—
In its uninterrupted
fury,
Nature, with its
thunder and destruction,
Displayed its
impenetrable pride.
Today, she would not
cease,
Her impenetrable
fortress
Would not allow a
breach.
The majestic beauty of
her enchanting mystery,
The one who dared to
pierce it—
She would not let him
enter.
This world—
Her playful
creation,
She would not accept
defeat.
Her reign,
Eternal and
unbroken,
Through natural
disasters,
Through the strike of
thunder,
Through the lashes of
lightning,
And earthquakes—
She would surely
punish him.
But—
Where was the
earth?
Where was the
sky?
The ascetic
Had shattered all
faith in both.
The waters flowed
down,
Even crossing the
dense foliage.
The Lord,
Immersed in
meditation,
Was unaware of the
chaos outside,
Unconcerned by it
all.
But— one single soul,
or perhaps a sense,
Which flows equally in
both the animate and inanimate,
Stirred.
The venomous serpent
Mucalinda was troubled—
The life of the
world,
Why should it suffer
without cause?
Encircling the
Lord,
He coiled himself in
rings,
Wrapping layer upon
layer,
Fully covering the
Lord.
Above his head,
He raised his hood as
a shelter.
The one—
Who, beneath the serpent’s
canopy,
Becomes the emperor of
the earth,
Now rested
In Mucalinda’s
fragrant embrace.
The rain ceased.
The Lord saw—
A pure, affectionate
child,
With folded hands,
gazing at his feet.
The Lord spoke to
him—
"The one who has
heard the Dharma
Is always
content,
Disciplined, free from
conflict, without desires,
Detached, ever
blissful.
This is penance,
This is true
asceticism—
To be free from all
cravings."
Thus, one by one,
Under the shade of
these trees,
Passed seven
weeks.
The Lord, once
again,
Seated beneath the
Rajayatana tree,
Began to
meditate.
In his mind,
Many thoughts and
questions arose—
Oh! My Dharma, as
bright as the sun,
Why should its end be
in vain?
This world—
Engrossed in
desires,
Burning with
thirst—
Its eyes, deluded by
lust,
So feeble, so
helpless,
Fail to see the
lurking peril.
This spiritual
realization,
Will it be
wasted?
Are people too
powerless to comprehend?
This pain is
immense.
Will living beings
forever remain,
Chained in
darkness?
Lost, mesmerized,
deceived,
Shrouded in
sorrow,
Their hearts steeped
in despair.
The Lord,
Disheartened,
Engaged in
self-reflection.
Someone arrived— a
wise man,
Humbly bowed with
folded hands,
And said—
"O donor of the
nectar stream,
The beings who lie
dying,
Long for your pure and
holy words.
The sick need
healing,
When did they become
healers themselves?
Lord!
Look from the summit
of your tower,
See how the world
suffers,
How it is severed from
awareness.
Where is the spark of
reason or thought?
These beings lie on
the brink of death,
Pour upon them
The nectar of Dharma
and wisdom."
The Lord,
With his inner
sight,
Saw the world—
Afflicted and in
pain,
Nowhere was there
A trace of hope in
exhausted, weary lives.
But near them, he
saw—
Some lamps of
wisdom,
Some people, sharp and
insightful,
Some humble, gentle,
and soft-spoken,
All thirsting for
knowledge,
Their lives running
dry.
With unblinking eyes,
the Lord gazed upon them,
And gave his
blessing—
Ah!
They, unaware of their
inner light,
Of the power of
knowledge they held—
Surely, this
Dharma,
This wisdom,
Will bring forth
A golden dawn
In this life, full of
motionless darkness.
O listeners, eager to
hear,
The door to the nectar
has now been opened.
O humans, bound in
chains of desire,
Break free, release
your shackles.
The path is laid
before you,
Turn to ascend.
O sharp-witted,
skilled, seekers of wisdom,
I have
Poured the nectar of
knowledge for you all.
O cultivators of
wisdom, be ready—
Rise and till the
field of knowledge."
The Lord,
Awakened to
wisdom,
Enlightened in
boundless consciousness,
Where all tendencies
are pure,
And turned to
ashes.
Seven weeks had passed
without food.
Detached,
Beyond all
attachment—
Like a calm ocean
without a wave,
Or like a bright,
blazing lamp,
In which all small
flames dissolve,
Or like the radiant
sun,
Spreading its arms to
dispel
The thickest
darkness.
The sky, filled with a
fierce, unstoppable tide,
The deadly tongues of
the serpent, unfurled,
All—
The animate and
inanimate,
Powerless, merged and
absorbed.
In the same way,
The sun of knowledge,
brilliant and fierce,
Burnt away all that
was perishable—
The young, sharp
desires of craving,
Leaving only the
fearless, steady, and serene Tathagata,
Who stood, victorious
over the armies of desire.
Unbroken bliss of
liberation,
The bright ocean of
wisdom,
With waves of blue
pearl-like freedom,
The renounced,
withdrawn yogi,
Motionless, steady in
his mind.
Neither longing for
union nor separation.
Inexpressible
void,
Silent witness of wisdom,
This is Nirvana,
This is
liberation—
There is no other
realm of the mind beyond this.
Here is the concluding
passage of the poem "Bodhi Tree" translated into English free verse:
---
This—
Void.
A realm beyond, like
Vishnu’s abode,
A great cremation
ground, grief transcended.
A sacred land—
Consciousness, turned
to ashes, now diminished.
All things merge,
dissolve into the void.
How long will this
unbound, pure joy last?
It remained
unknown,
Never felt in its full
intensity.
Gaya,
The land of sages is
no more,
Rich in boundless
spirituality.
This eternal land of
forefathers,
Where souls receive
their offerings
From Falgu and
Niranjana,
Attaining
liberation.
This ancient place of
freedom,
Calms restless
souls,
Soothes their
unfulfilled longings.
They too,
Become free,
Breaking the tangled
knots of desire.
Here,
In the unseen realm,
the five elements find release.
Today, that sacred
land
Witnesses the
spiritual coronation of the great being,
Bathed in the nectar
of immortality.
The Lord—
In deep
meditation,
Free from hunger,
thirst, and sorrow.
It is said,
As two merchants from
Uruvela passed by,
They heard of a wise
one,
In deep meditation
here,
Fasting for seven long
weeks.
They stopped their
caravan,
And approached the
Lord’s feet,
Bowed with hands
joined and heads lowered,
Humbly trembling,
And spoke with utmost
reverence:
"O Lord,
We are but humble
servants,
Tapassu and Bhallika,
bowing before your feet.
We have seen, in this
forest, the brilliant light of wisdom.
We have come to offer
our respects,
And seek some
knowledge.
Your glory, O Lord, is
immeasurable,
While our lives are as
insignificant as straw,
Drifting without
support.
We lack the strength
to stand firm.
Enchanted and
overwhelmed,
We offer you this
simple meal—
Curd, milk, and modest
sweets—
We have nothing more
to give.
Even as we offer it,
we feel a sense of shame."
But,
The great one—
Sees not the object,
but the heart behind it.
He reads not words,
but the emotions within.
A mere touch of
devotion,
And the entire
universe seems insignificant before him.
"O Lord, delay
not,
Accept this humble
offering, as Vidura’s simple meal was once accepted.
Today, our fortunes,
asleep for countless births,
Have awakened as we
bow at your feet."
With a smile, the Lord
lifted his gaze—
He did not see the
dust-covered, weary,
Worn, and tattered
bodies.
He did not see
The material illusions
of the five elements.
His eyes shone with
pure, universal love.
He extended his hand
to accept,
And noticed
nearby,
A stone bowl.
After seven
weeks,
The Lord took his
first meal.
Tapassu and Bhallika
then said,
"O Lord,
Take us both
Under the shelter of
your sacred Dharma."
The Lord raised his
right hand in a blessing gesture,
And in the world of
the Tathagata,
Tapassu and
Bhallika
Became the first two
disciples.
Both of them
Proclaimed two
priceless gems to the world.
Upon the strange,
world-resonating lyre of Vedic philosophy,
They played the
Bhairavi raga—
A song of knowledge,
purified, refined,
Nurtured by pure
intellect,
Awakening the world
from the darkness of ignorance.
The suffering, deluded
world awakened:
“Buddham Sharanam
Gacchami.
Dhammam Sharanam
Gacchami.”
No comments:
Post a Comment