Summary:
The poem “Rishi Patan"
from the epic “Amriteya Buddha” narrates a key phase in the life of the Buddha,
focusing on his time at the Rishipatana Deer Park in Varanasi, where he
delivers his first teachings after attaining enlightenment. This poem
highlights the transformative journey of Buddha’s followers, the dissemination
of his teachings, and the birth of the Buddhist monastic community (Sangha).
The poem opens in Rishipatana, near Varanasi, where Buddha has begun spreading his teachings. The Deer Park becomes a sacred place where Buddha, along with five monks, reside, dedicated to enlightening others about the path of truth and liberation.
Yash’s dramatic transformation surprises his friends and fellow wealthy townsfolk, who reflect on how a man immersed in luxury could abandon everything to become a monk. They, too, are inspired by his example and decide to follow his path.
The poem concludes by narrating how Yash’s friends and family, as well as many townsfolk, come to the Deer Park and receive ordination from Buddha. They take refuge in the three jewels—Buddha, Dharma (the teachings), and Sangha (the monastic community)—and the Sangha grows to sixty-one monks.
Overall, the poem “Rishi Patan" captures the early spread of Buddha’s teachings and the formation of a monastic community. It illustrates how individuals from all walks of life, even those steeped in worldly pleasures, can be transformed through spiritual awakening and how the path of truth leads to the formation of a compassionate and disciplined society.
The Poem
Varanasi,
or Kashi.
Nestled between the
Varuna and Assi—
two rivers,
like the Ida and
Sushumna veins.
Kashi, the point at
the Ajna chakra,
an ocean of
knowledge.
A place of spiritual
reflection,
of cultural
grandeur,
and unparalleled
dignity in dharma.
Here, flows the
sanctifying Ganga,
which, unable to
restrain its course,
turns in the opposite
direction,
bows at the feet of
Chandra-Mouli,
again and again, like
a serpent,
purifying the holy
feet,
taking, with
reverence,
onto its head,
the countless streams,
bursting forth,
becoming a sacred
nectar cascade,
offering deep,
respectful salutations,
expressing
gratitude—
this is the
sanctifying Jahnavi,
from which the land
becomes lush,
fertile, fragrant,
blooming, and abundant.
Today,
towards that very
Kashi,
from Gaya, the Lord
moves on his journey.
Though the distance
walked
was eighteen
yojanas,
no matter how sparse
the path,
when did the
celebrated, brave, and patient one ever falter?
The Lord faces
westward,
and along the
way,
amid the blazing sun,
he sees fresh green grass,
adorned with dew,
a dense forest.
The monsoon
season,
cool, green woods and
groves,
clouds as dark as
ripened jamun fruits,
swaying,
a garland of dark,
heavy rain clouds.
Arjuna, Ashwattha,
Ashoka,
Shirish, Bakul,
Muchkunda, Kund, Pakad,
Tamal, Nyagrodha,
Kadamba—
all draped in new
leaves,
swaying, their
branches heavy with fruits and flowers.
The trees,
mangoes—some short, some towering,
branches dancing in
the monsoon breeze.
Flocks of peacocks
dancing,
herds of deer roaming.
Water-filled ponds,
teeming with playful fish,
a chain of lakes,
blooming with varied,
intricate lotuses.
Small streams,
waterfalls from the
mountains,
wild, intoxicated,
flowing free,
hundreds of streams
wandering in amazement.
Village women,
dressed in vibrant
colors,
walking clumsily on
the path,
their pots, filled to
the brim, balanced on their heads and waists, spilling over.
Gradually, evening
arrives,
the first watch of the
night passes.
In the dense banana
grove,
the bamboo
thickets,
the long, tall
grasses,
the sapphire glow
spreads across the land,
as if distant stars
are alight in the night.
The night
deepens,
filled with
exhaustion.
Yet before the inner
eyes,
there still sways a
luminous,
vast ocean of peaceful
knowledge.
Before the unblinking
gaze,
a solitary,
unparalleled,
silent world of
liberation.
He spoke to
himself:
"I have returned
from the gate of Nirvana.
I shall return,
countless times,
until the entire world
is healed.
All burning desires
shall turn to ash.
The mental world has
become a vast cremation ground.
Craving, expanding,
overpowering,
the soul,
endures a thousand
rebirths.
Countless past lives,
births, and deaths—
how the once-vibrant,
sweet-seeming desires
now seem so
futile,
meaningless,
void.
How could the blazing
lamp
of desires,
burning fiercely,
ever find
extinction?
The soul has endured
untold suffering,
relentless agony.
How much longer will
it be tortured in pain?
I,
alone,
liberated,
beyond grief,
scattered like
ashes,
cast off the toxic
fangs of desire,
and now stand,
solitary,
bearing this bliss of
liberation.
I have renounced
family and kin for this achievement,
so why not share this
treasure with all?
The inner
consciousness directs—
this eternal,
deathless, boundless fragrance of wisdom,
like a fully blossomed
flower,
spreads its sweet
nectar.
It does not
gather
within the folds of
its petals.
The world,
suffers immense
pain,
worn by its own
cravings, its twisted desires.
Wandering in thick
darkness,
it must be shown the
glowing light of wisdom.
The tangled web of
desires,
the venomous hiss of
the fierce serpent—
let a few drops of
nectar
cool these burning
blisters.
Too much joy is
unbearable,
too much sorrow
stings.
The world suffers from
both extremes,
chained by its own
self-forged bonds.
It knows not balance,
nor harmony.
It cares not to share
its own joy.
Hoarding like a
miser,
it suffers from
depletion.
It drinks all the
honey for itself,
but even sweetness,
when in excess,
turns bitter,
poisonous.
How can one, then,
mature?
Like honey flowing in
melody,
in rhythm, bound by
time,
like the strings of a
veena—
either too loose or
too tightly stretched.
I saw on the
path,
rivers flowing
silently,
yet they do not bathe
in their own waters.
When they surge,
restless,
breaking through stone
hearts,
they pour forth,
filling cracks,
moistening the dry
shores,
feeding trees, plants,
fruits, and flowers,
filling the earth’s
empty, outstretched lap.
No pride.
The waters, like the
self,
flow out and merge
into the ocean.
The ocean too,
is never bound by the
shorelines.
It rumbles under the
sun’s heat,
weaving nets of vapor
in the wind,
and like the
clouds,
showers both heaven
and earth,
cooling them again and
again."
When all
beings—animate and inanimate, silent or expressive—
are driven by the urge
to act,
why does man, the
pinnacle of nature's beauty,
forget his inherent
generosity?
He is not merely the
finest creation of the five elements;
within his inner
sanctum resides an unshakable, steadfast essence,
detached from personal
joys and sorrows.
Should he not then
engage in the pursuit of ultimate truth?
If tear-filled eyes
can learn to smile,
if dry, desolate lips
can curve into a grin,
this is the desired
life of an Arhat.
A life where the
heart's compassion flows in waves,
moistening every
parched soul it encounters.
The world has seen
many days and nights pass,
countless years of
solitary contemplation.
Today, amidst the
bustling crowds,
I witness a world
ensnared by ignorance and delusion.
Every human appears
despondent,
burdened by immense
suffering.
I pondered:
The world needs more
than just knowledge;
It requires the warmth
of compassion.
The ascetic has always
been neglected in this world.
But if I go to Kashi,
And raech Rishi Patan,
Mrigdaav,
and meet the five
monks who, disillusioned with me,
left Uruvela in
anger,
perhaps I can share
with them this profound wisdom.
If they are influenced
by my insights,
I will know that
others too can benefit from this teaching.
Alara Kalama or Uddaka
Ramaputta would have been delighted
to embrace this
understanding.
But wisdom remains
thirsty, eternally longing,
until one fathoms the
depths of this profound inner vessel.
Lost in deep thought,
the Lord entered Rishi Pattan.
From a distance, the
five monks saw an ascetic approaching.
Recognizing Gautama,
they resolved not to greet him,
labeling him a failed
practitioner, unworthy of respect.
However, upon seeing
his pure, radiant form,
their preconceived
notions wavered.
Their obstinacy melted
away,
like an unexpected
flood in a tranquil land,
or a sudden storm in a
calm sea.
Their minds became
unsettled,
their inner resentment
trembled.
Mesmerized and
astonished,
they were moved by his
serene and compassionate presence.
One took his bowl and
robe,
another offered a
seat,
while others provided
water for washing his feet.
The monks asked,
"What brings you from Uruvela to this distant place?"
The Lord spoke in a
soft voice—
"Bappa,
Kaundinya, Mahanama, Bhaddiya, Ashvajit,
Are you all well
here?
Are you content and at
peace?"
One of them, in a tone
tinged with suppressed indifference, replied:
"As things are,
they are fine.
The days are passing
by in the same manner.
There is no joy, no
sorrow,
No effort, no
excitement.
No anticipation, no
discontent,
No expectation, no
neglect.
Life is but a shadowed
reflection,
A silent, monotonous
calm.
Everything remains the
same,
Like a stone lying in
a deserted, secluded forest,
Enduring the ruthless
heat, rain, cold,
Silently bearing all
of nature's cruel blows.
Life—
A neglected, unnoticed
mendicant,
Trapped in the dust
and dirt.
But Gautama,
Why this self-radiance
in you?
Your face aglow,
Your actions calm and
detached,
Your entire being
luminous.
The light of celibacy,
the illumination of the soul,
Is spreading around
you.
Tell us, have you
attained what you sought?
Or has your life too
been troubled by the cycle of existence?"
Gautama said,
"Friends!
Be not so
agitated,
Nor address me with
disdain.
Do not call me
'friend' or 'Avuso'.
I am no longer who I
was.
I am now the fully
awakened,
The Arhat, the
Tathagata.
I am detached, liberated
from worldly desires."
Hearing this,
Bappa, Kaundinya,
Mahanama, Bhaddiya, and Ashvajit,
Were astonished.
They spoke with
disbelief,
"You? An
Arhat?
A disciplined recluse,
who,
Once faltered in
asceticism,
Suffering from
physical pain,
Yearning for coarse
food,
How can such a
one,
Be illuminated with
divine vision?"
The Tathagata
responded, "Monks!
Be not disturbed, nor
displeased.
Did you sense any
firmness in my voice?
Or the strength to
speak with conviction?
But doubting my
words,
One monk said,
'Gautama!
How can one who
partakes of coarse food,
Traverse the subtle
realms?
One’s conduct,
thoughts, and sustenance,
Shape the body, mind,
and consciousness.
How can we
believe,
That you have attained
enlightenment?'"
The Buddha said,
"Monks!
Physical suffering
alone
Does not lead to
realization.
Wisdom is not the
achievement of one life alone,
But the gradual
nurturing of understanding,
Through many
births.
In meditative
realms,
The mind ascends
steadily, focused and unwavering,
Step by step.
The knowledge that
comes is not
The fleeting surge of
a single moment,
But the accumulation
of effort,
Like water, confined
within an oyster,
Endures the tides
until it becomes a pearl."
Motionless—
The mind, like a sea
without waves.
The gates of the
ultimate temple open on their own,
Revealing an
indescribable, unspoken world.
This is what I came to
attain,
Through continuous
penance,
For six long years,
enduring day and night.
You alone,
Were witnesses to my
suffering.
I would have told all
this to Alara Kalama,
And even to Uddaka,
son of Rama,
The scholar of
Vaisheshika philosophy.
But alas!
Both great
pundits,
Masters of spiritual
knowledge,
Are no longer in this
world.
It was they who taught
me
The path of meditation
and contemplation.
I tell you now
because,
You all once opposed
me.
I must first convince
you all—
The nectar I have
received,
You must share in it
continually.
This Nirvana—
I cannot bear it in
solitude.
How can I be
free,
While the world
remains in pain?
I could never tolerate
that.
What is this
knowledge?
What is this
realization,
If there is no one to
partake in it?
Arjuna had spoken the
truth:
Of what use is ruling
the three worlds,
When one is without
friends or kin?
So,
Bappa, Kaundinya,
Mahanama, Bhaddiya, Ashvajit,
If I fail to bring
happiness to you all,
Or to this suffering
world,
Then my purpose,
My goal,
This noble work,
Shall remain forever
incomplete.
I left my home,
Abandoning my weeping
family,
Not so that the light
I have attained,
Would shine solely to
dispel my inner darkness."
Hearing this, the five
monks replied,
"No, Bhante!
No!
Tell us, how did you
attain this divine vision?"
Gautama spoke,
"Listen in peace.
This is my turning of
the wheel of Dharma.
The eternal, noble
truths,
I have a new way of
expressing them.
This doctrine, bathed
in the nectar of knowledge,
Sprinkled with the
essence of Vedantic wisdom,
Is like a flowering,
fragrant vine,
An immortal
remedy,
To alleviate age,
disease, and death.
Step by step, through
meditation,
The path to end
suffering was revealed.
The four stages of
meditation,
The journey through
formless realms,
The realization of the
state of no-thingness,
The knowledge beyond
the body.
Yet, all this was but
a ladder,
Leading toward the
immortal state.
To attain that,
I renounced the realms
of desire, form, and formlessness.
What remained was
only,
Detachment,
indifference.
A sense of
nothingness.
Even the meditation on
Nirvana,
Faded into a state of
desirelessness,
Dispassion,
The great
cessation.
Without extinguishing
all cravings,
Spiritual practice
remains incomplete.
For who has ever
seen,
A sodden log submerged
in a river,
Ignite and burn?
A mind filled with
desires and attachments,
How can it ever be
free?
The quest for complete
purity,
First burns away the
darkness of ignorance.
Then comes the
unspeakable,
The experience of the
formless void."
This,
This is Nirvana.
Eternal
liberation.
Attained through trial
and purification,
This unparalleled
knowledge,
Self-realization.
As the *Dhammapada*
says:
“Burnt to ashes is all
pride,
Untouched by all that
is worldly,
Abandoning all
desires—
Liberated, with pure
wisdom,
Severed from the roots
of karma.”
I have fully
experienced
The realizations of
all knowledge.
I am well-versed,
In the deepest truths
of all religions.
Yet, I have found only
one root cause
Of all suffering—
Desire.
And liberation is
attained
When this root is
uprooted.
No one was my
guide,
No one my
teacher.
Through my own ascetic
practice,
I discovered this
truth.
Liberation is not
found
In mountains, caverns,
forests, or groves.
It is not
attained
Through painful bodily
mortifications,
Nor in temples,
Where the mind grows
weary in its solitude.
It is achieved
only
In the calm of a mind
at peace,
When—
The mind becomes,
Still, silent,
Unshaken, motionless,
free from all distortion.
All actions
cease.
All waves of thought
are stilled,
In the serene ocean of
the mind.
The mind,
Neither distressed nor
elated,
No longer aware
of—
Names, forms,
perceptions,
Doubts, desires,
enmity,
Pride, arrogance,
ignorance,
Sensation,
consciousness—
All vanish,
All the roots of
existence crumble,
Boundaries between the
finite and infinite dissolve.
The ego fades,
Rising into the
bodiless state—
Thoughtless, beyond
sorrow.
This is the true
awakened knowledge,
The ultimate
truth—
Liberation,
The pure, perfect
Nirvana.
The Lord spoke to the
monks—
“Seek not
elsewhere.
Where will you find
the nectar of immortality?
In restraint, truth,
non-violence, and the renunciation of ego,
As the webs of desire
slowly wither away.
As the darkness of the
mind is dispelled,
Light spreads
evermore.
Renunciation does not
come suddenly.
For this,
One must ascend the
ladder of discipline and wisdom.
First, hold within
your mind
An analytical
view—
This world is nothing
but suffering.
Yet, its cause can be
eradicated.
If a person
embraces
Right vision,
resolution, speech,
Effort, conduct, a
pure livelihood,
Nourishment, thoughts,
morality, wisdom, and concentration,
These virtues
eliminate all afflictions.
I realized these
truths
On the banks of the
Niranjana River,
When, week after
week,
I meditated on
liberation.
In the shaded
refuge
Of the grand
trees—
Rajayatana, Ajamal,
and Mujalinda—
With the medicine of
liberation
Held in my hand,
How could I stand
silent and unmoved,
If I do not cure the
poisonous afflictions of the mind?
This medicine would be
in vain.
How can I, seeing a
world tormented by sorrow,
Stand still in
silence,
When I know?
I knew you were at
Rishi Patan,
In a serene, secluded
forest grove,
Eighteen yojanas from
Gaya.
So, I journeyed
here,
To this place of great
beauty,
Adorned with the
natural splendor of the earth.
Herds of deer and
antelope roam freely,
Fearless among the
verdant grasses.
Everywhere, ponds and
lakes brim with water,
Adorned with
multicolored lotuses.
Groves of mangoes,
bamboo, and towering banyans stand heavy with fruit.
A deep silence
reigns,
Purity pervades the
atmosphere,
Filled with the calls
of parrots, peacocks, swans, and cranes.
Three miles from
Varanasi,
Two miles north of the
Varuna River—
This place,
Near the city,
Offers all
comforts.
Here, where the Varuna
embraces the Ganges.
In the midst of
righteous deeds,
The inner light of the
self awakens.
And there,
descended
A sublime, unbroken,
divine radiance.
On the way, the Lord
spoke—
‘Look at the silent,
ever-flowing Ganges.
This holy stream,
The key to spiritual
insight,
Has been joyously
flowing since time immemorial,
Its waves
gleaming,
Like clusters of
diamonds dancing on the current.’”
The dawn, placing the
golden urn on her tiger-striped waist,
Spreads gulal,
laughing,
Rises, tall and
bright, in the east.
Slowly, the golden
urn,
Touches the sacred
feet of Ganga,
Cleansing them with
its divine touch,
Draping each wave with
a golden bracelet.
In every mirror-like
wave, reflected—
The golden urn's
radiant charm.
The dawn of the rising
sun, a vision so serene.
Indeed,
This city is most
dignified, most sacred,
A place of auspicious
peace.
Its holy soil,
Moistened with the
fragrance of wisdom.
The entire
atmosphere,
Veiled in the sacred
smoke of incense.
In every
particle,
The essence of the
self,
Knowledge permeates.
They say, Varanasi is
the forest of bliss,
At its feet, lies the
paradise of Indra, the heavenly grove.
This—
A steady flame,
A conscious
brilliance,
The essence of
knowledge, the thousand-petaled lotus,
Where Shiva and the
goddess Tripura Sundari reside.
Here, the wandering
monks seek
The honey of
wisdom.
Rare and divine,
Unmatched, beyond
words.
This sacred city—
Behold, this unshaken
field.
I am overwhelmed,
Gazing upon the
eternal Kashi.
This is the field of
knowledge,
The giver of
liberation.
I too came here,
To give my first
sermon.
On the banks of this
Ganga,
So many sacred texts
were composed,
In all of them, the
spiritual quest—
The aching desire of
the soul.
This is the institute
of self-inquiry,
Where the soul reaches
its highest elevation.
Knowledge—
Knowledge draws
knowledge.
Otherwise, why would
I,
Choose to come here
first?
She too, in the joy of
her good fortune,
Welcomed my flower of
wisdom,
With her vast
heart,
Bestowing eternal
honor upon me.
The ever-eternal,
venerable Kashi, full of love,
A place of unwavering
faith in spiritual attainment.
You have all come
here,
Surely, your
impurities will wane,
The dust of lifetimes
will be swept away.
Listening closely to
the Lord’s discourse,
The five monks,
Exclaimed, “O
Lord!
The great Arahant, we
bow before you in reverence.”
The prophecy of your
birth was fulfilled—
When we received
you,
The giver of the true
Dhamma.
Kondanna
understood,
With the eye of
wisdom,
He saw the Four Noble
Truths,
And the Eightfold
Path.
Rising,
He bowed his head and
saluted the Lord.
The Lord said,
“From now on, you
shall be known as Annata-Kondanna.”
Taking hold of the
holy feet,
Kondanna said, “O
Lord!
Grant me
ordination,
Let me receive the
higher ordination.
I bow before your
feet,
Forever your
disciple.”
The Lord said,
“This Dhamma is
well-known,
A stream of nectar,
flowing with divine sweetness.”
"Kaundinya!
This path is open for
all.
Come, see, and test it
for yourself.
Do not tread blindly
on a path
Laid by someone else’s
word.
Listen, reflect,
Become your own
light.
The only witness to
true meditation
Is your own mind,
Your true
teacher,
The seeker of
truth.
The path of truth will
unfold,
Cleansing every
impurity,
Ending all defilements.
The sealed doors of
immortality
Will open.
Here, the five monks
and the Lord
Dwelt together,
Spreading the wisdom
of Buddha.
The fragrance-filled
hut was built,
The first council
formed,
For the welfare of
all.
A great wave of world upliftment
followed.
Slowly, the town began
to know
That in the north of
Varanasi,
In the Rishipatana
Deer Park,
The Lord's teachings
were spreading,
A new discipline, a
new awakening,
Wondrous, rare, and
extraordinary.
Yash, the son of the
chieftain,
Oppressed by
indulgence,
Weary of lifeless
luxury,
One day rose at Brahmi
hour,
Donning his golden
sandals,
And walked
northward.
No one knew how far he
walked,
But when he reached
the Deer Park
And saw what he
saw,
He stood in awe—
Stunned and
speechless.
The stars still dotted
the blue sky,
A cool, fragrant
breeze swept the forest.
Beneath the silent
stars,
A sage walked,
Peaceful and
still,
Pacing in the
half-light.
Yash sensed a
presence,
A voice invited—
‘Come, take your
seat,
You are welcome
here,
At the Lord's
feet,
O son of the
chieftain.’
When Yash's friends
heard in the town,
They marveled,
Saying to one another
in astonishment,
'Ah! Yash, who had
three palaces built
For summer, rain, and
winter,
Who always indulged in
wine and women,
Surrounded by songs,
dance, and pleasure,
Adorned in gold and
precious silks,
Perfumed with fragrant
oils,
Who never knew hunger
or thirst,
Whose wealth flowed
like water,
And whose mirror was
the face of beauty—
How did he
renounce
All desires,
delusions, and indulgences?
Today, he walks the
path of a monk,
Dwelling in the realm
of meditation.'
Surely, the Lord’s
teaching
Is a rare, wondrous
marvel.
We four, sons of the
chieftains—
Vimal, Suvahu,
Purnajit, and Gavampati—
Shall hurry to the
Deer Park.
If such a lover of
indulgence
Can become an
ascetic,
Why should we not
become his companions?'
All four went and
bowed
At the feet of the
Lord.
They said, 'Lord, we
are burdened
With worldly
afflictions.'
The Lord raised his
right hand
In the gesture of
fearlessness,
And in a gentle
voice,
He proclaimed the
teaching:
'This path is
well-known,
The path of ending
sorrow.
Follow it with
discipline,
Practice
celibacy,
And subdue all
cravings.'
Yash and his
companions
Received initiation
and ordination.
When the townsfolk of
Yash’s city,
Fifty in all,
Heard of the
renunciation
Of their wealthy,
prosperous sons,
They could not resist
knowing
What teachings could
so swiftly
Uproot desire and
delusion,
What made them
forsake
Earthly and bodily
comforts,
And wander the
wilderness as monks.
They too came to the
Lord’s feet,
And received the
ordination.
The three
refuges,
First received by
Yash’s mother and wife—
'I take refuge in the
Buddha,
I take refuge in the
Dharma,
I take refuge in the
Sangha'—
Were also accepted by
Yash’s descendants.
Thus, a sangha of
sixty-one monks was formed."
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