“Pain?”
“Oh no no, on the contrary, I was filled with happiness, Rahula!”
“Please do not say that, Father.”
“‘Why of course you may have my children,’ I quickly cried to the vile man. ‘Their mother is gone and they are all yours!’ ‘You should know that I intend to use them as slaves,’ the hideous man told me.”
“Father, no …”
“‘Splendid, you are their master!’ I instantly replied. The children did not want to go with the horrid man obviously, Rahula, so I leaned down and got very close to my son’s face and whispered to him, ‘Fulfill Daddy’s perfection now, son. Consecrate daddy’s heart. Do you not know that giving brings Daddy happiness, son? Do you not want Daddy to be happy?’”
“But he was your son …”
“‘Omniscience,’ I suddenly proclaimed in a loud voice, ‘is a hundred—no, a thousand—no, a hundred thousand times more precious to me than the lives of my own children!’”
“Father, please …”
“Do you know what my son said to me as he was led away, Rahula? He looked back at me and said, ‘May you be happy, Daddy.’ Isn’t that adorable? ‘May you be be happy,’ so darling. Now I will admit that as I watched that loathsome man drive my children away, I was torn, Rahula.”
“You were?”
“Oh yes. For a moment I even considered running after them, killing the man and bringing my children back.”
“You did?”
“On second thought, however, I decided not to. To take back a gift simply because of the suffering of young children—well, that is simply not what a good man would do, Rahula. It was painful to see my children beaten by this appalling creature, do not misunderstand me. But once a gift has been given you don’t take it back, that is the larger point. As the man led my children away, beating them, my girl turned back and cried out, ‘How can you just watch this happen, Daddy?’ Which was, honestly, amusing in a way, because she did not realize that by watching my children taken away I had just overcome a great flaw: The flaw of affection, Rahula.”
Rahula began to weep. After a moment, I patted his head lightly. “You may continue in the sangha, Rahula. Not as my ‘son’ obviously, for I feel no attachment to you in that way, none whatsoever, but as a monk.”
“Thank you, Father,” Rahula murmured, then off my look, corrected himself: “Thank you, Buddha.” I offered my hand and he kissed it.
At the age of twenty, Rahula finally became a full-fledged member of the sangha. I remember the day well. Rahula sat in front of the whole community as I slowly walked around him, peppering him with questions. “Tell me, monk,” I demanded in a stern voice, “is the eye permanent or impermanent?” (MV 1:6; SY 22:45–78; MJ 147)
“Impermanent, Tathagata!”
“And is the impermanent pleasant or unpleasant, monk?”
Rahula and I had worked on this particular question a great deal. When we had first begun (and for some time thereafter, to be honest), he had occasionally responded with, “Could not impermanence be pleasant, Tathagata?”
“No, Rahula. Change is painful in every case.”
“But what if things change for the better?” he would sometimes persist.
“That is not possible.”
“Would not the cessation of pain be positive change, Tathagata?”
“Truly understood, Rahula, pain never ceases.” (DP 11:147)
In front of the sangha, Rahula hesitated for a long moment, then called out in a strong voice, “All change is unpleasant, Tathagata!”
“And what is the goal of life, monk?” I demanded.
“Extinction, Tathagata!”
“Excellent, monk. Well done.”
21
As I mentioned earlier, at the same time that Ananda had entered my sangha, a second man, Devadatta, had joined too. Devadatta was Yasodhara’s brother, as well as my distant cousin. He was tall and lean with coal black eyes and a blank, even indifferent expression on his face.
I remember the first time Devadatta openly challenged me. I was telling the noble story of my interactions with a young woman named Kisa Gotami. “Kisa Gotami gave birth to a beautiful child, bikkhus,” I had told my monks, “whom she loved very dearly. One day, however, the child died quite suddenly and Kisa Gotami was distraught with grief. No one could comfort her, she carried her dead child around with her for days on end. Fortunately, bikkhus, I myself was passing her village at the time and, knowing of my reputation, Kisa Gotami ran up to me and begged for my help. ‘Please bring my dead child back to life, Tathagata?’ she pleaded. I informed Kisa Gotami that I could indeed bring her child back to life, but only under one condition: That she gather mustard seeds from every home in the village that had not experienced death. Tell me, bikkhus: What do you think happened at that point?” (MUS; THR)
“Every house Kisa Gotami went to had experienced death, Tathagata?”
“Correct, Sariputta. Very good. Yes, Devadatta?”
“I am wondering, Tathagata—what would have happened if Kisa Gotami had in fact found a house that hadn’t experienced death?”
“She wasn’t going to, Devadatta. I obviously knew that.”
“But with all due respect, Perfect One, not all houses have experienced death. There are newer houses, for instance, filled with younger families. What if Kisa Gotami had gone to one of those?”
I stared coldly at Devadatta. “You are missing the point of my story, Devadatta. The point is that once Kisa Gotami understood that all, yes ALL, houses experience death, she became enlightened.”
“I understand that, Perfect One, I am simply asking: Would you actually have been capable of bringing Kisa Gotami’s child back from the dead if for some strange reason she had found a house that hadn’t experienced death?”
I decided to turn things back on Devadatta. “A question for you, bikkhu: Suppose that you were wounded by an arrow smeared with poison and that your friends brought in a doctor to help you. Would you say to your friends, ‘I will not allow this doctor to help me until I know the name of the man who shot the arrow at me, whether he was tall or short, dark-or light-skinned, whether he used a long bow or a crossbow, what kind of feathers he used on his shaft, what kind of arrowhead he used?’ If you said these things, you would soon be dead, Devadatta. So too with your pointless questions.” (CV 1:426–32)
“I see.”
“No, Devadatta, I don’t think you do see. Honestly, trying to explain things to you can be like trying to describe the color of the sky to a blind man. The blind man can’t possibly understand the color of the sky. What he can understand is that he is blind and that his blindness is why he suffers. I am trying to help that blind man understand this but he will not stop asking me what color the sky is and it’s blue, alright, but does that mean anything to the blind man, no! Please understand, Devadatta, that there are many things I know that I do not teach you. What I teach you is like this one leaf; what I actually know is like all the leaves on all the trees in this grove.” (SY 56:21)
“And you say this not out of ‘ego,’ obviously, because, as you have so often told us, you have no ‘ego,’ right, Perfect One?”
I realized at that moment that Devadatta was a true son of filth, so consumed with dark, irrational hatred for me that he would, before long, try to kill me. I would need to be on my guard against him from that point forward.
That night it was quite warm and Ananda was fanning me. After a moment: “The truth is that Devadatta has made numerous attempts to kill me in previous lifetimes, Ananda.”
“That’s terrible, master.”
“Once, for instance, I was a large, beautiful monkey, a monkey-king, in fact, and Devadatta was a crocodile who wanted to eat me. (CMJAT) But do you know what I did, Ananda?”
“Tell me, master!”
“I jumped onto Devadatta’s head and used it to leapfrog onto the opposite riverbank. Oh, he was quite upset by that, let me tell you, Ananda!”
“You outs
marted Devadatta by jumping on his head, master!”
“Yes, it was splendid.”
“Are you going to do that again, master?”
“Am I going to do what again?”
“Jump on his head?”
“Am I going to jump on Devadatta’s head? Why would I jump on Devadatta’s head, Ananda?”
“Because … it worked so well in that other lifetime?”
“I was a monkey in that lifetime and Devadatta was a crocodile!”
“I’m so sorry, master.” Ananda continued fanning me for a few minutes in silence. Then I continued.
“The fact is that Devadatta wants to BE me, Ananda. I think that’s fairly obvious. And it’s not the first time either. Once, in a different previous lifetime, I was a crow named Viraka and Devadatta was another crow who thought he could be just like me, but do you know what happened to that other crow, Ananda?” (MCJAT)
“He died, master?”
“Well, obviously he died, Ananda. The question is, do you know how?”
“Of old age?”
“He drowned, Ananda. And after he was dead, his wife asked me if I’d seen him.”
“The Devadatta crow was married, master?”
“Yes, and when his wife asked if I’d seen him, this is what I said: ‘The poor bird has found a watery grave.’ Ha.”
“Was Devadatta’s wife upset, master?”
“Her husband had just died, so yes, Ananda, she was upset. She wept profusely, in fact.”
“That is so sad.”
“No, it is not sad, Ananda, it’s not sad at all. Devadatta deserved it, he was trying to be like me so he died, just like he will before long in this lifetime.” I took a sip of tea, nodded. “I think everyone in the sangha despises Devadatta and thinks him an arrogant fool, Ananda. I truly do.”
“Other than his five hundred followers, you mean, master?”
“Devadatta’s followers are despicable fools, walking bags of shit and piss, Ananda!” (UD 5:8)
“Yes, master, I’m so sorry, master.”
A few more moments passed in silence, then Ananda said in a small voice: “Are you scared of Devadatta, master?”
I smiled indulgently. “Let me put it this way, Ananda: Is a lion scared?”
“Oh, definitely not.”
“The lion fills other creatures with fear, Ananda. He forces them to hide in their holes or run away when he roars. Even elephants, even elephants, shit themselves when they see the lion, that is how fearsome he is.”
“ … You are the lion, right, master?”
“Obviously I’m the lion, Ananda. I am fearsome to everyone: Animals, humans, Hungry Ghosts, demigods, demons. I even frighten the gods, Ananda.”
“That is amazing, master.”
“When the gods hear my words they are filled with terror. ‘But we thought we were superior, Tathagata.’ ‘Well, guess what, gods, you are not.’”
“Haha, stupid gods.”
“No, Ananda, the gods are not stupid. They are simply ignorant, just like everyone else.”
“Except you, master.”
“Except me, Ananda, that is exactly right. As to your question: Am I scared of Devadatta? What do you think the answer is?”
“ … Yes?”
“I want you to understand something, Ananda. In the end you will be punished for this kind of remark.”
22
But Devadatta did have a strange power over people, I cannot deny it. I later learned that he was a skilled hypnotist who mind-controlled many of his followers. I also later learned that he could shape-shift, that one time he turned himself into a man who wore a girdle made entirely of snakes, which was apparently quite disconcerting. (CV 7:2) In any case, his challenges against me continued; if anything, they intensified.
“Have you not instructed us to behave harmlessly towards all living things, Perfect One?” Devadatta asked one day. (DP 19)
“I have.”
“Should we not therefore refrain from eating animals?” (CV 7:2–3)
“My instructions were to not ‘harm’ animals, Devadatta. I never said don’t ‘eat’ them. If they’re already dead and you merely eat them—well, no harm done.”
“But wouldn’t it be more compassionate to not eat animals at all, Perfect One?”
“I think we all agree that one should not eat tigers.”
“No one eats tigers, Perfect One.”
“Which is good, because we should not. Nor should we eat lions, hyenas or leopards.”
“But again, no one eats lions, hyenas or leopards.”
“Or bears, definitely don’t eat bears. As for all the other animals, I repeat, as long as you don’t kill them it is perfectly fine to eat them.” (MV 6)
“But Perfect One—”
“Being a vegetarian is not what makes one ‘good,’ Devadatta. Understanding that life is pain, that is what makes one good.”
As the lesson ended and the group broke up, I smiled thinly at Devadatta. “No snare like delusion, is there, bikkhu?”
“On that we agree, Perfect One.”
“Easy to see in others, but much harder to see in oneself, eh?”
“Again, we agree. But I wonder, Perfect One: Is it not possible that the ultimate delusion might lie in thinking that one has achieved the ultimate enlightenment?”
“Ultimate enlightenment precludes delusion, Devadatta.” He tried to speak but I talked right over him. “Wake up, Devadatta. WAKE UP.”
“Perhaps I am already awake, Perfect One.”
“No, Devadatta, you are not. What you are, sadly, is a fish out of water, flopping around on the dry ground and honestly, not even worth eating. You are Mara’s fish, Devadatta, a devil fish and not tasty in the least. (DP 3:34) A man whose mind is trained does not smell like dead fish the way you do, Devadatta, rather what that man smells like is—”
“Flowers, Perfect One?”
“Sandalwood flowers, to be specific, and let me assure you, Devadatta, the scent of enlightenment is incomparable.” (DP 4:54–55)
That night, wanting to “nip things in the bud,” I visited Devadatta in his chambers.
“I understand you well, cousin,” I remember telling him. “You are, as you always have been, consumed with jealousy for me.”
“Oh?”
“All you have ever wished for is to be me, Devadatta, it is quite obvious. In one previous lifetime after another, this has been the case. Once, for instance, I was a lion who befriended a jackal—” (JBJAT)
“The jackal was me, obviously.”
“Yes. You said you wanted to serve me so I took you in and fed you but before long, do you know what happened, Devadatta?”
“I became proud?”
“Exactly so, you became proud. ‘I can hunt an elephant just like you can, lion,’ you boasted. ‘Beware, jackal,’ I warned you, ‘you are but puny and no match for an elephant.’ But did you listen to me?”
“I think I did not.”
“Correct, you did not. You tried to jump on an elephant’s head but you missed, landed at its feet and were instantly crushed. You laid there moaning in pain for a while and then you died. Do you know what I said at that point, Devadatta?”
“Something compassionate, I would think?”
“I recited a kind of poem.”
“How deep.”
“Here it is:
A jackal assumed a lion’s pride
Now he’s prone, now he’s died
Now his rashness he repents
Jackal’s worthless life is spent.”
“It’s so moving.”
“Do not challenge those bigger than you, Devadatta, that is what I was trying to tell the jackal, because you will be crushed.”
“I find it interesting that I have no memory of this lifetime whatsoever, Perfect One.”
“Perhaps you remember the lifetime in which you were a cruel elephant who had its eyes pecked out by a crow?” (SYEJAT)
“It sounds memorably painful, but n
o, I don’t.”
“You don’t remember the fly laying eggs in your empty eye sockets and causing you to fall off a cliff?”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Well, I am certain you recall this lifetime, Devadatta: I was a monkey-king named Jolly who lived with his younger brother, Jollikins, and—”
“I’m sorry, Perfect One, but did you just say your name was ‘Jolly’ and your younger brother’s name was ‘Jollikins’?” (JTMKJAT)
“Yes, and we lived with our blind mother. One day, however, an extremely evil man showed up in the forest.”
“That would be me.”
“It certainly would be. You were a cruel, vindictive and ugly man.”
“That is not surprising to hear.”
“You wanted to eat our blind mother, so Jollikins and I sacrificed ourselves, but it did not matter because you killed us all anyway.”
“Well, success for me, I guess.”
“No, Devadatta, NOT success for you, not in the least. At the very moment that you killed us, lightning hit your house, killing your entire family and then when you got home the house fell on your head and crushed you!”
“What a reversal of fortune.”
“After that the earth opened up, swallowed you and deposited you straight into Hell, Devadatta.”
“I find it fascinating that I don’t recall any of these lifetimes, Perfect One.”
“This final one I am quite sure you will remember, Devadatta. Does a white elephant ring a bell?” (OEJAT)
Devadatta’s eyes suddenly widened. “Perhaps I do remember this lifetime, Perfect One. Was the white elephant beautiful?”
The Buddha's Story Page 9
