BUDDHIST STORIES
DEATH AND LIFE
IN a certain place, not far from Benares, there lived a man, by name Gautama, who, after having experienced something of life, resolved to leave all behind him, and with one or two others to depart from his native place and travel far away.
So, along with these others, he forsook his village, and took nothing with him but a staff and a calabash, and on his body a red robe.
Now when they came to the cross-roads, his companions went straight on. But Gautama thought, " Why should I go straight on? I will turn to the left." The others, however, called to him, " This is where the way lies, Friend Gautama ! " But he answered, "My way lies this way," whereupon the others considered, "Leave him alone. What is it to us ? He is a fool !
But now, as Gautama went on alone, he soon found himself in a place where he had never before been. "How is this?" he asked himself. " I am well acquainted with this neighbourhood all around, and yet I never saw this place before." Indeed, it seemed to him as if the sun shone here with another light than it did elsewhere. But he kept stepping boldly on, always towards the east.
As evening approached, he came to a vast desert that spread all round him like a smooth cloth, and before him, like some monstrous thing, lay always his shadow.
Now when Gautama saw the vast desert and the long shadow before him, he thought, " What is this life to me if I do not prevail over death ? The lust of money have I overcome. The lust of honour have I overcome. The love of woman have I overcome. But what is all this to me if I do not also vanquish death ? "
Thoughtfully and with lowered eyes he went further on.
When next he lifted up his eyes, he saw before him a lovely little wood, and in it a hut, in front of which in the evening calm sat a grey old man.
Gautama greeted him respectfully. He thought, " I will ask this grey old man. May be hopp he knows how one may vanquish death/' So he went up to him, and, sitting down respectfully by his side, he began — " Does the venerable one happen to know how one may vanquish death ? "
The old man smiled.
" Hast thou yet overcome the lust of gold ? " he asked.
" Yes," answered Gautama.
" Hast thou yet overcome the lust of fame?"
" Yes," answered Gautama.
" Hast thou yet overcome the love of woman ? "
" Yes," answered Gautama.
" Through what hast thou vanquished the lust of gold?"
" Through doubt."
" Through what hast then vanquished the lust of fame ? "
"Through doubt."
" Through what hast thou vanquished the love of woman ? "
"Through doubt."
" Tell me," said the old man.
Then this Gautama began to tell — Long time I lived in that place not far from Benares, and earned my bread by trafficking. Then one day it happed that all unforeseen I made a great gain. When I saw all the money in a heap together, greed laid hold of me. I began to add to my store penny by penny. When the amount became so great that I could not any longer well keep it by me for fear of thieves, I entrusted it to a brother trader. But now that I possessed money, I lived more miserably than ever. My only joy was the increase of my treasure ; my only sorrow that I might some day lose what I had gathered together. But this was the thing most wretched about this wretched condition — I was so entirely taken up with my greed that I had not the faintest notion of its wretchedness. My constant care and anxiety seemed to me to be so natural that I never once thought of asking myself, ' Must this be ? '
"One day the man I trusted went bankrupt. My whole fortune was gone. Groaning and rending my hair, I lay in my lodging. Then there came a religious mendicant to my door and begged an alms. I screamed out at him with all my might, 'I have lost my all, and yet you require an alms/ " Thereupon he silently took his alms-bowl and shook half of its contents into my vessel.
" I said, "Of what use is that tome?' He said, " To satisfy your hunger. What more do you wish ? '
" I replied, ' I have whereof to eat and to drink without this, but my fortune is gone, all my hoardings, " The beggar turned to go. Doing so, he said, ' O thou fool, if thou knewest how sweet is the poverty of those that understand, "When he had departed I looked at the rice in my vessel. I became thoughtful. 'This man,' I reflected, 'lives from hand to mouth, and yet he gives away the half of that which he has begged.' But when any one begins to reflect upon his misfortune, already it has lost its bitterest taste ; for all lamentation arises from lack of reflection.
" A doubt awoke in me as to whether my previous manner of life had been the right one. Already half comforted, I fell asleep. On the very next day I was thinking quite otherwise of my misfortune. What does it matter to you, I said to myself, ' whether or not you live with the consciousness that such and such a purse of money lies deposited with such and such a merchant ? You would just as little have touched any of it as if it had belonged to another; you would have starved yourself to death first. Have you not hitherto lived like one who has placed the most vulnerable part of his body just where it can be got at by every one? Have you not been like a ship in a storm that trails its cargo, tied to a rope, behind it through the waves? Are you not living now just as you were before ? Nay, will you not now live more richly and more at peace than ever you did before ? '
'I was not very long before I had made such progress in this new way of thinking, that I was earnestly convinced that I had secured a lifelong advantage through the loss of my money.
"With this newly-acquired knowledge I ought well to have been able to lead a quiet and rational life, a life of outward as well as inward equipoise. But further doubts began to torment me. 'Do I now stand
sufficiently secure for life, now that I have lost my fortune and carry on this trade ? May not this business also some day go to ruin, and shall I not then once more experience a similar, nay, perhaps a greater grief? Were it not better that I take my place of my own free will upon the lowest step, where I can no longer lose anything, simply because I have no more to lose ?
" Thus night and day was I tortured by doubts and fears, like a man unable to confine himself to the happy mean. At last I resolved to give up all and to spend my life in the penance-groves as a religious mendicant.
" Since my mind was in a state of strain when I entered upon this mode of life, I threw myself with ardour into the study of the Vedas and the practice of mortifications. From the words of another ascetic I one day perceived that I was beginning to attract attention by my strict manner of life.
Immediately my ardour redoubled, and soon I was the shining light of this religious company. To me alone was the honour permitted of wearing an iron girdle round my body, to signify that I might burst if my wisdom and intellectual bulk should increase much further.
" Then one day there came to us an alien priest out of the East. He had a reputation for the profoundest learning. A tournament of knowledge was arranged between us, like those contests which men are wont to have between fighting-cocks. Through one question about the seat of the highest Brahman I involved myself in contradictions. I had a mind to extricate myself by means of an untruth. But when my opponent said to me, ' I see a spirit over you with drawn sword, who will cleave your head in twain if you speak falsehood,' I yielded and owned myself vanquished.
" And so my reputation was gone for ever, and in addition I had the consciousness of having been minded to tell a lie in order to save this reputation, which is the worst thing of all for one who strives after purity.
" ' Hither then has thy lust of fame brought thee/ I thought, as, dejected and despairing, I sat before the door of my cell. The sweat of the effort and the excitement of the tourney still stood undried upon my brow.
"It happened that a fan lay near me, though I could not say how it came to be there. I took it up mechanically and began to fan myself. As the cooling air passed over my face, the thought came to me —
"'What is this now? When this fan is moved backwards and forwards, a wind arises. May not the great wind that blows over the four quarters of the world arise in a similar fashion ? We say, " That is Indra's* doing, that is Varuna's doing;" but may it not also be merely the effect of a cause like this tiny breeze here blowing on my face ? May not that Gautama be right who call himself the Buddha, and has begun at Benares to turn the wheel of the Law, when he says that there is nothing in the universe save that which, as effect, follows upon cause ? And so, gone are all the gods ! '
" ' Honestly, how do I know that there is something supreme which leads this entire universe along its own chosen path ? It may be so ; it may not be so. Who can ever prove it one way or another ? Oh, if we would only cease from our conjecturings upon the highest things ! If we would only seek after what is certain in ourselves ! Whether there are gods or not might keep us arguing for a whole year of Brahma. Lies, however, still remain lies ; evil dispositions of the heart still remain evil dispositions of the heart, whether with gods or without them. Verily we must lay hold there where we can hold.'
* The king of heaven. The god of rain, clouds and ocean.
" After such a form of doubt as this had laid hold of me, I thought I understood the utter pitiableness of this lust of fame. ' The two of us/ I said to myself, * have been striving over a thing about which we neither of us know anything, nor ever shall know anything. Is that other any the greater that his sharpness has been proved superior to mine ? Is such a thing really worthy of our having sacrificed to it our rest at nights ? '
" By main force I tore from my body the girdle of iron that encircled it, and resolved on the spot to renounce the worldly doings of this ascetic life, that I might seek peace in some quiet hut and in the pursuit of some useful occupation. And so I became a schoolmaster in a neighbouring village, and lived there quietly for several years that brought me neither joys nor sorrows.
" One day I had to make a journey to a distant village. When I arrived there in the evening, I saw a girl with a pitcher on her head, at sight of whom it seemed as if I wholly and completely burst into flames like the camphor that is burnt before the shrine of Siva.* After I had made the customary inquiries, I sued for this maiden's hand in marriage. I was rejected on the ground that I was too poor. Gone was the peace of my hut. I again took up business and worked as diligently as an ant. As soon as I had saved up something, I bought a golden bracelet and sent it to my adored one as a bridal present. She accepted it kindly, for she also loved me.
" Now it happened about this time that we had great floods, by reason of which the Ganges overflowed its banks to an extent never before known in the memory of man. The place, however, where I lived lay upon a hill.
" At night I went along the stream in order to see the rising of the waters. Then I saw lying on the bank a human form that had been floated down by the flood. It lay on its face and moaned. Full of sympathy, I sprang to its help, for the lower part of the body still lay in the water. As I bent over it, I saw that the hands were tightly clasped about a little case. At that moment greed came over me, sudden as a lightning flash. I thought, * Here is thy marriage settlement.' And without once thinking of straightening myself up and reflecting (even as I half stooped I was transformed from a compassionate saver of human life to a murderous shore robber) I wrenched the case out of the hands that held it and rolled the body quickly back again into the water. As it rolled, the hair which had hitherto enveloped the entire head like a hood parted a little. Just then the moon emerged from behind a cloud, and I beheld the face of my beloved sweetheart.
" With a mighty effort I plucked the fainting form back out of the flood and threw myself down on the earth near her. Here I must have lain for quite a long time, like one bereft of his senses. Then the thought drove me to my feet, ' She will die here if you do not get help/ I took the heavy body in my arms and, by a superhuman effort, dragged myself to the nearest hut. Through the efforts of the good people there, who were more skilful than I, she came back to life. Meanwhile I slipped away to my lodging, for it would have been impossible for me to look her in the face.
" That night it was as if a storm-wind raged within me, tossing my heart ceaselessly to and fro. I did not know what to do; whether to fling myself into the flood where I would have cast her, or to throw myself at her feet, confess everything, and implore her pardon. Any third course did not seem to me to be possible. Ever tenser stretched
the strings in this inward stress and struggle. One view seemed just to hold the balance with the other, until at last my brain, in this condition of forced equipoise, fell into a sort of stupor resembling sleep.
" I awoke with the thought, 'What, after all, is this love through attachment to which thou hast been willing to become a murderer, nay, hast become a murderer ? ' And in the light of this doubt I began to look sharply into this love, and suddenly I perceived its uncertainty and its misery. But I could now see clearly, because all the love in me had been burnt up in this one night, as a mighty conflagration in one night may burn up a whole forest. All others, however, when they think upon love, peer through the smoke and mist of the love that is present in them.
" Then there came over me, as it were, indignation, and I resolved to cast from me for ever this love to which I had hitherto clung so closely.
" On the morrow the entire village resounded with my fame, because, at the danger of my own life, I had saved my betrothed from death. I had become a hero, and the father of the girl came to me and said, * Because you have saved my daughters life, I give her to thee, and with her the due dowry. For she loves thee, and when the flood came, she took nothing but thy letter and thy bracelet and put them in that little case.'
" I could not answer a word, but turned away in silence ; and because I saw some people just leaving the village, I hastily donned this red robe, took staff and calabash, and went with them.
"My thoughts were turned towards nothing but death. It was to me as if only through longing for death could I at all endure life. I clung to that longing. So soon, however, as I remarked that, I started, for I knew that all clinging brings suffering. I thought, What boots it that I have vanquished the lust of gold and the lust of fame and the love of woman, if now I cling to this thing death ? How can I live serenely so long as there is aught to which I cling ? '
" So I resolved to vanquish death also, even as I had vanquished these three. Therefore I ask once more, ' Does the venerable one know how one may vanquish death ? '
The old man smiled. " Remain here ; sweep my hut ; bring me fresh water ; beg alms for me and speak no word. Do this for three years, and after that ask your question again ! "
Gautama replied, " Venerable one, what good will that do me ? How can I wait for three years ? May not death come tomorrow, nay, today ? I would vanquish him at once that I may at last have peace."
Then the old man smiled again and said, " Then go to the old man of the mountain !"
" Of what mountain ? "
" Of Mount Meru ! "
" How can I get there ? "
? Only keep going along the banks of this sacred Ganges, until you come to where it springs out of a blue-gleaming cleft in a glacier. There you will see Mount Meru." But how shall I recognise it ? "
" When you see it, it will see you."
" And how shall I recognise the old man of the mountain ? "
" When he sees you, you will see him."
Gautama arose in silence, that he might, on the instant, enter upon his pilgrimage. The old man called after him —
" Only give heed to this, my son ! When you have left behind you the haunts of men, you will come to wide wastes of sand and endless fields of snow. There you may wear your robe of red no more, nor speak aloud, nor take with you your calabash, else raging storms will fall upon your head. For, this you must know, 'Whoso turns against the realm of nature, against him also nature turns. But the wise man subdues her by his wisdom.' You may keep your staff, however."
Gautama promised to lay all this to heart.
Thereupon the old man again began, One thing more, my son: When you have found Mount Meru, you can only reach it by going towards it with closed eyes. As often as you open your eyes, it will recede again to the horizon."
After Gautama had thus been informed of everything, he went fortfiboldly on his way.
When now he had been travelling many days, he came to the sacred city of Mathura. There stood the great image of Mahakala, which is otherwise known as Vishnu.* Skyblue in colour, with four arms, it stood there four and twenty feet high, with naked paunch and teeth protruding like monstrous fangs. In its ears it wore snakes in place of rings, and two enormous snakes encircled its body. On its head it bore a crown of human skulls ; around its throat a necklace of human skulls. From the elephant's hide, however, with which its back was covered, there fell drops of blood.
Now, when Gautama saw all the faithful who lay there' rubbing their foreheads on the ground, he asked —
"Who is that?"
The people answered, " Do you not know Mahakala, the Mighty Lord of Time, the All-destroyer ? "
" Is Mahakala death ? "
" We do not know."
"Is Mahakala life?"
"We do not know."
" Why then do you pray to Mahakala ? "
" We do not know. Our fathers prayed to him, and their fathers before them."
Then Gautama thought, "These are infatuated fools. I like not fools," and passed on his way.
When, again, he had been travelling many days, he came to Hastinapura, the elephant town. There, a powerful king reigned who
had twenty thousand war elephants and a hundred thousand warriors. And the inhabitants of his city dwelt under his protection in plenty and in safety.
Now when Gautama entered the city and saw the garlanded houses, and on all hands heard the sounds of games and dance and song, he inquired what festival they were celebrating that day. The man whom he asked, however, answered - Stranger, our festivals are every day."
Meanwhile, a company of gaily-adorned young men and women came along the street. When they saw Gautama they said —
" Come with us, O stranger, to yonder shady wood."
But Gautama answered, " I cannot go to the shady wood while my task remains undone."
Thereupon they all laughed, and asked, " What sort of task have you got, you poor man?"
Then Gautama replied, " I want to go to Mount Meru, there to vanquish death."
They were filled with astonishment when they heard him say this, and each said to the other —
" He wants to go to Mount Meru, there to vanquish death ! "
" Why do you bother yourself about death ? Why do you wish to vanquish him ? "
" Because I have desire for him, because I cling to him — therefore do I wish to overcome him."
When now Gautama saw how astounded they were, he asked —
"Will you also go with me to overcome death?"
" Stranger," they replied, we have no time."
"What, then, have you got to do now ?
"We must dance the processional dance in the shady wood."
"And then?"
" Then we must bathe and anoint our- selves before the sun goes down."
* And then ? "
" Then we must eat and drink."
" And then ? "
" Then comes the night and its shining pleasures."
"And then?"
" Then we must bathe again and anoint ourselves and eat and make sport with our friends, and rest upon soft cushions in the breath of the breeze."
" And then ? "
Then we must again dance the processional dance even as now."
Then Gautama thought : " These are wise fools. I like not fools," and passed on his way.
When, again, he had been travelling for many days, he came to Indraprastha, the great ascetic grove. There he found a thousand holy men, who by powerful penances would fain have fought their way
to the highest knowledge, for that is the ancient wisdom : " Knowing Brahman, he himself becomes Brahman."
One of them ate only stone-apples and the young shoots of trees. Another ate only one grain of rice a day, for, a fixed diet purifies.
Another stood up to his hips in water day and night, and continually poured water over himself, for, water purifies. Another stood there motionless and stared into the sun's face with eyelids torn off, for, sunlight purifies. Another stood naked in thesun with four fires built up round him, for, fire purifies. Others again did other things.
And thus in this grove such a mass of merit was heaped up by the pious penitents, that all the world wondered how the four quarters of the earth could continue to support the weight of this merit.
As Gautama approached this sacred assembly, the pious penitents asked him —
" Wilt thou also become one of us and practise the great penance ? "
But Gautama answered —
" I have no time to tarry with you and to practise the great penance ; I wish to go to Mount Meru, there to vanquish death."
" Venerable one," those penitents then replied, "indeed we also wish to vanquish death."
" How, then, would you vanquish death ? "
" Even by becoming one with highest Brahman, for, 'Whoso himself is Brahman — him death no more compels.' '
But how would you become one with that highest Brahman ? "
By the highest knowledge, for, ■ Whoso knows Brahman, he is Brahman.' That is the ancient wisdom."
" But how would you attain to this highest knowledge ? "
" By penitential practices and by reflection."
"Where, then, dwells that highest Brahman ? "
" It dwells in us, venerable one; yea, in us. Even because of that is it said : 'Knowing Brahman, he becomes Brahman/"
" Can you, then, see this highest Brahman in you with your eyes ? "
" Nay, venerable one ! How could the eye see Him through Whom it itself is the eye.
" Then you are well able to perceive it with the understanding?"
Nay, venerable one ! How could the understanding perceive Him through Whom it itself is the understanding ? "
"Then you are well able to feel it with the heart ? "
" Nay, venerable one ! How could the heart feel Him through Whom it itself is the heart ? "
" But how now, O venerable ones ? You see not this great Brahman with the eye, you perceive it not with the understanding, you feel it not with the heart. Whence, then, have you the knowledge that this great Brahman really is ? "
" The rishis teach it."
"Then the rishis have perceived it and know that it is ? "
" We believe so."
" And so you have desire for that highest Brahman ? "
" How should we not ? We long for Him as the wanderer for his home, as the weary eagle for its nest."
Then Gautama thought, " These pious men cling to that highest Brahman. Verily these pious men know not that all clinging brings pain. But must it not bring double pain when one clings to that of which he does not know whether it is or not ? These holy men do not wish to overcome death, but only to escape him by hiding themselves in their own sophisms. They are foolish sages. I like not the foolish."
Thereupon he took his departure from thence.
After he had again been wandering many days, he came to those endless wastes of sand and those fields of snow of which the old man had told him, and he put away from him his red robe and his calabash. " How should I let forth spoken words from me here ? " he thought, " since there is no one here with whom to hold speech ? "
He kept his staff however.
So he wandered on until he came to the place where the sacred Ganges breaks forth from a blue-gleaming cleft in a glacier.
And here he looked around for Mount Meru. He examined one after the other the mountain peaks that towered around him ; each resembled every other in all particulars. Then one of the mountains, as his eye fell upon it, began to grow ever higher and higher, so that at last Gautama was obliged to throw his head far back in order to be able to look up to its summit, notwithstanding that the mountain lay far away on the horizon. Then Gautama knew that this was Mount Meru, and with long strides made towards it. But, no matter how fast he walked, he never came any nearer to the mountain.
Exhausted, he stopped to draw breath. Only then did the words of the old man occur to him —
" You can only reach it by going towards it with closed eyes."
But now the way led over boulders and past precipices. " How can I go on such a road with closed eyes ? " thought Gautama. " I shall tumble into a ravine and be dashed to pieces."
He closed his eyes by way of trial, and carefully and anxiously groped his way forward. After a while he thought, " I will just take a little careful wink to see if I am any nearer yet to this mountain." But the mountain still stood there far away on the utmost horizon, and its summit towered so high that Gautama was obliged to bend his head far back in order to be able to see to the top. The mountain was tremendous to look at in its mantle of ice and snow that gleamed purple. But the clefts shone green like emeralds.
Again and again in like manner Gautama tried to advance towards it, but every peep he took revealed the mountain as far away as ever. At last desponding he sat down on the ground. " The old man has hoaxed me," was his thought. " For, even if I went on for seven whole days with my eyes shut, at the very moment when I opened my eyes the mountain would recede again to the horizon. On the other hand, if I keep my eyes closed, how shall I ever know whether
I have reached it ? "
Anger at the old man wholly mastered him. " Rascal ! " he shouted, and shook his clenched fist.
And then the storm was upon him. From the mountain afar it came raging on, but to our Gautama it was as though it were roaring in his ears. He jumped up in terror. Not a single place anywhere around wherein to hide himself! And now the snow began to fall like the blossoms of the champak tree, and hailstones came down as big as mangoes.
Gautama turned around and threw himself flat on the ground. " Now," he thought, " it will blow me over into the abyss like a tuft of cotton from the bush. Very good! So be it ! " And then suddenly all was deathly still. He got up. Mount Meru stood before him, notwithstanding that it ought now to haye been behind him. " How wonderful ! " thought Gautama. " I will follow the old man's counsel." And without once looking behind him to see if there might not be another Mount Meru still towering aloft in the old place, he closed his eyes and strode straight forward in the direction of the mountain, giving no thought to boulders or abysses, and immediately his mind within him became so strange, so still. Wholly at peace he walked on, and the road seemed suddenly to become as smooth as the path before his hut and as the sandy seashore at the ebb of the tide.
Then thought Gautama, " How splendid, after all, are closed eyes ! How wonderful that I never yet tried to go with closed eyes at home ! " So he kept on walking quietly along, and never thought of the old man of the mountain nor yet of death, enjoying only
his felicity.
At last he became weary and fell asleep as he walked, but only for as long as is needed to pass from the right foot to the left, or from the left foot to the right. But when he opened his eyes, it was to him as if he had slept through the whole night, and just in front of him there sat a little old man mending his clothes. Of the mountain, however, nothing more was to be seen.
Gautama thought, "I will ask him there whether he cannot show me the old man of the mountain."
Then the little man lifted his eyes and looked at him, whereupon Gautama saw that it was the old man of the mountain himself.
Meanwhile the man opened his mouth and said —
" Art thou there, Gautama ? "
Dost thou know me then ? " asked Gautama.
The old man smiled. „" I have known thee for countless thousands of years, but only by name. Wherefore dost thou come to me ? "
" I would ask thee how one may vanquish death ? "
The old man smiled again. " Hast thou yet vanquished the lust of gold ? " he asked.
" Yes," replied Gautama.
" Hast thou yet vanquished the lust of fame ? "
"Yes."
" Hast thou yet vanquished the love of woman ? "
" Yes."
" Through what hast thou vanquished the lust of gold ? "
" Through doubt."
" And through what hast thou vanquished the lust of fame ? "
"Through doubt."
"And through what hast thou vanquished the love of woman ? "
"Through doubt."
" Tell me."
Then Gautama began and again told his story.
When he had ended the old man nodded his head and said —
" Good, good, my son ! Thou hast vanquished the lust of gold, thou hast vanquished the lust of fame, thou hast vanquished the love of woman. But hast thou yet vanquished life also ? For else thou canst not vanquish death."
" I know not," answered Gautama. " What is life, my father ? Show it to me. I would fain overcome it also."
" Thou art life."
" And what am I, my father ? "
" Thou art the love of thyself. It thou must overcome before thou canst vanquish death."
Then Gautama stretched forth his arms so that the muscles stood out upon them and he said —
" Very good, my father, teach me. I am ready."
The old man still smiled. " Son," he said, " thou hast done many deeds, but know that the highest lies not in doing, but in ceasing from doing."
" Have I not ceased from all, my father?
" Thy ceasing is naught but a doing ! "
" Then teach me, my father."
The old man gave him three doves which were black as night, with not a single white feather upon them.
" Come again to-morrow and tell me what thou hast seen on these."
Then Gautama took the three doves and departed thence. But his thought was :
" What have I to do with these three birds ? They are black as night, and there is not a single white feather on them."
When he came to the old man next morning the latter said to him —
" Hast thou seen anything, my son ? "
Then Gautama answered —
" Each of the three has got a white feather."
Sadhu, my son ! Have courage ! Thou shalt yet vanquish death. This is the token thereof. Every day they will each get a fresh white feather, so wait in patience until the last black feather has gone. Then thou must eat all three birds. As soon as thou hast done that, come again to me.
Then I shall be able to tell thee how thou mayst vanquish death."
This seemed to our Gautama a very easy task, and, light of heart, he departed thence.
So he waited day after day, and month after month, and year after year, and counted each fresh white feather. And, because he saw progress every day, he remained at peace and lived content and free from desires.
At first, indeed, he thought: "Ah, if only the last black feather were gone ! " But, when he had waited and watched and counted for three long years, this thought no longer came to him, and that was why he lived free from desires.
When now six years were come and gone and he was entering upon the seventh, almost all the black feathers were gone. And the three doves from day to day became ever more beautiful to look upon in their gleaming white feathers. Also they sat amicably all together and cooed to each other, whereas in the beginning they had often pecked at each other. Also they now began to sing, so wonderful to hear, whereas in the beginning they had only croaked hoarsely. And all day long Gautama stood and watched and peeped at them.
When now the day came upon which the last black feather had appeared, Gautama thought: "To be sure I came hither that I might vanquish death. But what boots it to rob these creatures of their lives ? Were it not better that I contained myself in equanimity ? Were it not better that I hold death even as life, and life even as death ? Why should I strive ? I am aweary of willing."
So he went over and opened the cage. The three doves fluttered out, encircled him three times, and thereupon soared straight aloft until they appeared only as tiny gleam- ing points, and then still higher soared until they quite disappeared in the blue ether.
Then Gautama thought, " I will go to the old man of the mountain and tell him."
But when he came to the place, behold there was no old man of the mountain there ; there was, however, a still lake which lay before his eyes like a mirror of crystal, and out in the middle there swam a crane. It sat motionless, and had its head hidden under its wings.
Gautama slipped down quietly to the water's edge, and looked out at the crane, and looked down to the very bottom of the lake, where the many-coloured pebbles lay and the white sand-grains with the nimble fish darting to and fro. And he felt so wonderfully at peace, so full of delight in his mind, that he thought within himself: " When was I ever so wonderfully at peace, so full of delight in my mind, as now when I sit by this clear lake, and see the sleeping crane and the many-coloured pebbles and the little fish down below. How sweet is
peace ! "
Thus he sat till the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Then he got up and went homewards, and although there was neither sun nor moon, yet he saw his way before him as if it had been day.
And next morning he stood before that old man in the hut. The old man smiled and said :
" Art thou there, Gautama ? Hast thou vanquished death ? "
" Venerable one," replied Gautama, " I have not vanquished him, because I could not eat those three doves. But what do I care about death ? Death is to me even as life, and life is to me even as death. Venerable one, I live in peace, without discord."
" Tell me," said the old man. Then that Gautama began to tell what had happed to him upon his wanderings and when he was with the old man of the mountain. And when he had ended, the other said :
" Sadhu, my son ! Thou hast vanquished death ! "
Now when this Gautama came again to the cross-road and turned to the right into the high-road, there came from the other direction those others together with whom he had once left the village, and at this very same time they turned to the left into the high-road. And as they drew near to each other, those others greeted Gautama with much respect for they did not recognise him. All about them they carried sacks beneath the weight of which they groaned and sweated. But Gautama carried nothing but his stick in his right hand, and went along quietly and in comfort.
Whoso reads this story, let him know that that turning to the left when the others turned to the right signifies the love of solitude, and is the beginning of all that is good. For, as everything of the fruit nature requires warmth for its proper development, so everything in man that is good requires solitude that it may come to ripeness. The boundless plain around that stretched out like a smooth cloth — that is freedom from worldly thoughts ; and the shadow is conscience. For, as it is only in the open plain that we can see the full measure of our shadow, no matter in what oosition the sun may be, so it is only in freedom from worldly thoughts that we experience the full power of conscience. And as at times our shadow lies behind us and at times runs before us, so conscience runs back and forth between the events of the past and the projects of the future.
The old man before the hut, whom Gautama saw when he lifted his eyes, is the voice of reason which always speaks so soon as the confusion and foolishness of what is worldly is stilled. The Ganges is the stream of human sufferings, up which he must go who strives for the highest, until he comes to the source, that is, to the origin of all sufferings. The red robe is the token of lust and sensuality, the calabash the sign of self-conceit and arrogance, and loud speech the sign of anger and hatred. All three must be laid aside by whoso passes beyond the haunts of men, that is, by him who could flee from the tumult and turmoil of the world out into the loneliness of the /". The staff is right thought. The storms and snowy weather are the voices of conscience, which here in these solitudes speak in tones of thunder what they only whisper among the abodes of men. As one who stops his ear with his finger hears the sounds in his body like a deafening uproar, so one who has closed his ears against the tumult of the world hears the voice of conscience resound within himself like thunder.
Mount Meru, however, is that holiest in us which is capable of raising us above our-selves. Gautama saw Mount Meru so soon as it saw him, and it grew before his eyes till it reached the zenith, and lay behind him as it also lay before him, all which means : This all-holy, so soon as we get sight of it, is known by us as verily the all-holy, and we see nothing else beside it. It fills up the entire field of our spiritual vision. Wheresoever we turn our gaze, there it is : there is nothing else beside it. And as Gautama could only reach Mount Meru with eyes closed — in sleep, so to speak — so we can attain this holiest in us, not by action and strain, but by letting go.
The old man of the mountain is the voice of this holiest within us, and as Gautama, when the old man saw him, saw also the old man and knew that it was the old man, so is it with the voice of this holiest within us. Its speech is truth, and at the same time the evidence of the truth of that which is spoken.
Word is here no longer mere formula or sign, but being itself.
The three black doves are self-ness in its threefold fundamental form of love for one's own /, ill-will against any other external /, and the delusion which represents these two as natural and justifiable. The gradual transition from black to white is the gradual dying out of this three-headed self-ness through a life of attentiveness and reflective-
ness. In whomsoever this three-headed selfness has died out — for him there is no longer any death. For as night is only present where day is present, and only so long as there is day, so is death only present where there is life, and only so long as there is life ; but life is self-ness.
That crystal-clear mountain lake is the fruit and reward of that renunciation, of that letting go. As, however, that crane hid his head in his own feathers, so this letting go hides its reward in itself, is deed and the reward of deed in one, because it is the state of letting go.
He in whom the holiest is awake — he is inward light, hence he needs no outward light. Going homeward is this : As a man who has raised himself by a mighty upward leap must yet come back to earth again, so one who has raised himself above his own / must yet come back again to this /. But he brings somewhat with him of that from which he returns. And this is just the reason that he is greeted with respect, and that the others do not know him. That in going forth he turns to the left off the high-road, and in returning turns once more to the right into the high-road — this means that in the beginning he is as a fool in the eyes of men, but in the end, a sage and a saint.
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