“Extremely.”
“Did his eyes sparkle like diamonds?”
“Yes.”
“Did his feet gleam like polished lacquer?”
“They definitely did.”
“Did everyone love him?”
“Except for one person, the evil King.”
“Who was jealous of you, wasn’t he, Perfect One?”
“Yes. So much so that he (you) tried to get me to walk off a cliff, Devadatta. And do you know what, I did it too. But there was something you did not realize about me.”
“You could fly, couldn’t you, Perfect One?”
“That’s exactly right, I could fly. I was a flying elephant who, in the end, became the emperor of India.”
“That is remarkable because elephants aren’t usually made the emperor of India, Perfect One.”
“No, Devadatta, they are not, but I was.”
“I should listen more carefully to your words, shouldn’t I, Perfect One?”
“Yes, Devadatta, you should.”
“But oh, before you go, may I ask you one question?”
“You may.”
“Would you say it was ‘perfect’ on your part to walk out on my sister and nephew, your newborn son?”
I gazed coolly back at him, shook my head. “I find it sad that you still seem not to grasp that I had a world to save, Devadatta, a universe perhaps. Your sister was thinking only of herself, wanting her beautiful husband with his perfect body and his magnificent mind to stay with her. But this was self-involved. We are not meant to think of ourselves in that way, do you still not grasp that, Devadatta?”
“To be clear then, walking out on your family was ‘perfect’?”
We stared at each for a moment, then I spoke: “I am sorry to have to say this, Devadatta, but you are a degenerate and you are not welcome in my sangha anymore.” And with that, I turned and exited his tent.
Not long afterwards the murder attempts began.
23
Devadatta’s first attempt on my life started off simply: He ordered a man to kill me. Quickly, however, his plot got bizarrely complicated. To cover up my murder, Devadatta ordered two men to kill the first man. To cover up that murder, he ordered four men to kill the two, then eight men to kill the four and sixteen men to kill the eight. When I heard about this plan, I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s the stupidest idea of all time,” I remember thinking. “If Devadatta keeps hiring killers to kill other killers, before long he’ll have a thousand killers killing five hundred killers!” It didn’t matter, however, because when the first killer showed up to murder me, he instantly grew frightened. “Don’t be scared,” I reassured him. “I am pure love and compassion.” Before long my spotless vision had converted him. Before long, in fact, I had converted all thirty-one of Devadatta’s assassins! (CV 7:3–4)
After this initial failure, Devadatta decided to take things into his own hands. He climbed to the top of Vulture Rock, waited for me to pass by, then hurled a stone down at me. (Why Devadatta thought I was so feeble that a thrown rock could kill me I still do not know.) The rock did not kill me, obviously, but a shard of it did hit my foot, drawing a bit of blood. That offended me deeply. I glared up at Devadatta and screamed, “You have drawn the blood of a Perfect One!” I then turned to Ananda and told him the same thing: “Devadatta has drawn the blood of a Perfect One!”
That night, my foot hurt so badly that it kept me awake. For some reason, Mara chose that moment to reappear. “Why are you lying down, monk?” he jeered. “Don’t you have better things to do than rest?” “I rest out of compassion for all living things, Mara,” I instantly shot back and, as always, he instantly deflated and slouched away in defeat. (SY 4:13) I would have to say that I was fortunate in my adversaries. Mara was a witless blowhard; all he ever did was make bombastic threats, then leave as soon as I told him to. Devadatta turned out to be similarly feckless. If he wanted me dead so much, why didn’t he just sneak up on me while I was asleep and cut my throat? His plans were both convoluted and idiotic.
That said, I will acknowledge that Devadatta’s third attempt on my life was genuinely terrifying. Devadatta went to the stable where Nalagiri, the man-killing elephant, was kept and bribed Nalagiri’s keepers to let the elephant loose just as I was strolling past. When Nalagiri saw me, he instantly charged, his trunk raised, his tail straight out. “Look out, master!” Ananda cried. “Nalagiri the killer elephant wants to kill you, run away!”
Did I run away? No, I calmly stood my ground. “When a Perfect One reaches nirvana, it is never through violence, Ananda,” I coolly announced. I heard people screaming: “That handsome man is going to be stomped by that killer elephant!” I appreciated the compliment about my looks, but the lack of faith in me was slightly irksome. As the crazed behemoth rumbled closer, Ananda trembled with fear. “Master?” he whispered. Nalagiri was nearly on us now. I briefly considered popping him in the ear, because that does sometimes work (DP 23), but instead I decided to raise my hands up and hold them palm out, sending powerful beams of loving-kindness directly at Nalagiri. Instantly affected by my compassion, the massive elephant slowed, and then stopped directly in front of me. He bowed his mighty head to me. “Blessed One,” I saw in his great eyes. (CV 7:3)
“You were working for Devadatta, weren’t you, tusker?” I asked Nalagiri silently.
“Yes, Tathagata. Devadatta is consumed with jealousy for you, as I’m sure you already know.”
“Oh yes.”
“I am ashamed of myself, master.”
“Do not be ashamed, dear tusker. I forgive you.”
At this, Nalagiri dropped to his knees before me and gazed up at me with profound gratitude. “I love you, Blessed One,” I saw in his eyes.
“I love you too, tusker,” I told him silently, gently patting his enormous head. “But in that spirit I must tell you that it is now time for you to give up lust, anger and delusion.”
“I will, Perfect One, I promise. Please, may I join your sangha?”
“I am sorry, beloved tusker, but as you are an elephant, no, you may not.”
At that point, having failed for the third time to kill me, Devadatta tried to take over the sangha. You would think he’d have tried to take over the sangha first and then tried to kill me, that definitely would have been more logical, but as I said, Devadatta’s plans never made a whole lot of sense. I remember vividly the day Devadatta openly attacked my leadership. “The Perfect One has been leading us for many years now,” he loudly announced. “Perhaps it is time for him to rest and enjoy his remaining days, allowing someone else to lead the sangha. With that in mind, I humbly offer myself.”
There was something about the unctuous way Devadatta said these words that made me suddenly explode with emotion. “Do you actually think I would allow a clot of spittle like you to lead my sangha, Devadatta??” I bellowed. “Never! NEVER!”
That night at bedtime, Ananda trimmed my toenails. “I am slightly saddened about what I suspect Devadatta’s fate is going to be, Ananda.” (ITI 89)
“Is it going to be terrible, master?”
“It’s going to be very terrible indeed, my friend. Devadatta will go to Hell, where he will be forced to embrace a flaming metal pillar which will burn all of his flesh off, thus turning him into a skeleton.”
“Oh no!”
“His skeleton will then be brought back to life.”
“Dreadful!”
“And forced to hug another fiery pillar, which will turn him into a skeleton once again. His skeleton will then be tossed into a fire and pulled out and thrown in again, over and over and over.” (NRK)
“It sounds excruciating, master.”
“Oh yes, Ananda, extremely excruciating. The point is, one may not criticize a Buddha, Ananda.” (SDI)
“No no.”
“Anyone who does—well, how to put it? ‘For eons he will be born to a whore who will abandon him to wild dogs.’” (NRK)
“Will the wild dogs ea
t Devadatta, master?”
“What else would they do with him, Ananda?”
“ … Raise him?”
“Of course they will eat him, you nincompoop!”
“I’m so sorry, master.”
That night I dreamed of a previous lifetime. I was the captain of a great sailing ship who at one point on a long sea voyage knew with psychic certainty that one of my passengers was planning to kill all of the other passengers. (CCJAT) Why this passenger wanted to kill five hundred people, I did not know. Why all the other passengers would simply allow themselves to be killed by this one man, I did not know either. All I knew was that as captain of the ship, I had only one choice: Kill the murderer before he could kill anyone else. I remember the moment I snuck up behind the man and stuck my knife in his back. He jerked around, looked at me and whispered, “But Captain, what did I even do?” “Nothing yet,” I whispered to him, “but you soon would have. I have saved you from Hell, my friend, and you are welcome.”
“But master,” Ananda asked me the next morning when I told him of my dream, “is not our commitment to do no harm?”
“It is, Ananda, but it turns out that sometimes the best way to do no harm is to kill someone.”
“Did the man on the ship die quickly, master?”
“No, Ananda, I’m afraid it took several minutes for him to bleed out. ‘My family,’ I remember him gurgling up at me. ‘Do not even think about them, friend,’ I responded. ‘They were nothing but shackles on you anyway. Think instead of how I have freed you from Hell and again, you are welcome.’”
A few moments later: “How would you kill Devadatta, master?”
“I’m not entirely sure, Ananda, but I am seriously considering getting Nalagiri the killer elephant to stomp him to death. I am also considering pushing him off a cliff.”
It turned out that there was no need for me to kill Devadatta, however. Once Sariputta, Moggallana and I lured Devadatta’s five hundred followers away from him (which turned out to be easy because they were all nitwits), that was effectively the end for Devadatta. The next day he started vomiting up blood. “Devadatta will die in agony,” I informed Ananda that night. “Vomiting up blood is just the beginning. Devadatta will now experience prolonged misery.” (CV 7:4)
Shortly after that, the earth opened up beneath Devadatta’s feet and swallowed him whole. (SY 3:14–15) I found this to be a rather abrupt conclusion to his story. I wished Devadatta’s death had been somewhat more drawn out, like if crows with metal beaks had slowly pecked him to death or he had slowly drowned in a vat of his own feces. Still, I did comfort myself with the knowledge that immediately afterwards, Devadatta was (and is to this very day I assume) impaled on a fiery iron pillar in Hell.
Had I been physically present when Devadatta died, I would have spoken the following words: “You have behaved badly, cousin, you have tried to obstruct the Buddha. Because of this, you will now go to Hell.” “I understand, Perfect One,” Devadatta would have groaned in response. “I confess my wickedness to you and beseech you to forgive me. I praise you boundlessly, Perfect One, and seek refuge in your loving, compassionate eyes.” “I am afraid it is too late for that, Devadatta, now it is time for you to burn forever, farewell.”
Part 3: End
24
Now I will tell you about the final months of my life.
I was old, over eighty years of age, living near Vulture Rock. I had decided that, much as I yearned for extinction, it would be better for the world if I lived on, not forever exactly, but close to it. In order for this to happen, Ananda had to ask me, beg me really, to continue living. Why things were set up that way, I have no idea. But I started dropping hints. (LSV 2; MPB)
One day Ananda and I were on top of Robber’s Cliff. I glanced over at him and sort of offhandedly remarked, “What a lovely place Robber’s Cliff is, eh, Ananda?” “Oh yes, master, very lovely indeed.” “Did you know, Ananda, that a being who has attained the very heights of awareness, has become a saint, essentially, did you know that such a being could live on for literally eons if he was only asked to? Isn’t that fascinating?” Ananda stared back at me in smiling silence. “Live on, Blessed One!” he was supposed to instantly cry out. “For the good of all the world, LIVE ON!” If he had said that, I was going to refuse him at first and make him repeat his plea, then refuse him again, and only when he had asked me for the third time, accept. But Ananda didn’t say a word. He just yawned and looked away.
I tried a second time a few weeks later at Serpent’s Pool. “What a grand place Serpent’s Pool is, eh, Ananda? Say, did I ever mention to you that a being who has fully awakened, a being like me, that is, could live on for, well, pretty much forever if only someone like YOU begged him to do so, did I mention that, Ananda?” Once again Ananda only gazed back at me and smiled blankly. I stepped things up at that point and started dropping hints everywhere we went, at Sattapani Cave, at Black Rock, even at the Squirrels’ Feeding Ground. “How pleasant this place is, eh, Ananda?” I would invariably begin. “Have I ever mentioned, old friend, that when a being like me has ascended to the very heights of perfection he could live on for a VERY long time if he was only asked to by another person, like you?”
But every single time Ananda only nodded vaguely and smiled back at me. Not only did he not beg me to stay, he never even asked me to. “Why do I require this dunce of an assistant to ask me to live on, why can’t I just do it myself?” I remember fuming on more than one occasion. Finally one night I got so fed up with Ananda’s obliviousness that I barked, “Get out of my tent!” at him. Ananda hustled to his feet, saluted me, and exited. I sat there grinding my teeth for a few minutes, then closed my eyes to meditate, took a few deep breaths—and felt someone standing right next to me. “Time to die, Buddha,” I heard a voice whispering in my ear. Opening my eyes, I saw Mara squatting next to me, smiling maliciously and twirling his moustache. I found this extremely irritating. I was not going to be told what to do by this jackass. “I will not die, Mara,” I replied, “until my followers are ready.”
“But your followers are ready,” Mara quickly countered. “I repeat: Time to die.”
Once again, I shook my head dismissively. “I will not die until my religion has become a success, Mara.”
“But your religion has become a success. So for the third time I tell you: Time to die.” (ANG 8:70)
I stared at Mara, not totally sure what to say next; he’d actually made some valid points for once. “Given that my entire life I have been extolling ‘extinction,’ the fact that I am fighting so hard to stay alive at this point is vaguely ironic,” I remember thinking to myself. “Fine,” I finally growled at Mara, “in three months I will die, satisfied?” Mara gaped back at me, apparently so accustomed to failing in my presence that he was rendered speechless by this success. I decided to confuse him further by singing a little song about myself in third person.
The rest of his life Tathagata’s renounced.
With joy and calm, life’s cause he’s denounced!
Mara got up and wandered away at that point, looking puzzled and insecure; my song had obviously rattled him.
Ananda came rushing back in. “What caused that massive earthquake, master?” he asked breathlessly. (Because there had been a huge earthquake when I announced that I would die in three months.) I was still furious with Ananda for not begging me to live on but this was undeniably a valid question. “There were numerous causes to the earthquake, Ananda,” I began. “First of all, as a purely scientific matter, earth rests upon water, which rests upon wind, which rests upon space. Therefore when the winds blow, that makes the water move, which shakes the earth.”
“I see, thank you, master.”
“But there is a second, deeper answer to your question, Ananda,” I continued. “Earthquakes, you see, occur at six key moments in human life. First, when a Buddha is conceived; second, when a Buddha is born; third, when a Buddha is enlightened; fourth, when a Buddha begins to teach; fifth,
when a Buddha chooses to die; sixth, when a Buddha actually does die. Does that answer your question, my friend?” (UD 6:1; MPB)
“Are you dead, master?”
“Am I—? No, Ananda, I’m not dead, I have decided to die and soon, in three months, I will be dead.”
Ananda shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t say that, master, no no no, you must live on, for the good of the entire world, you must live for EONS!”
“I’m afraid it is too late for that now, Ananda.”
“Master, please! You must live on, oh truly you must!”
At that point I’d had enough. “If you think that, Ananda, then why didn’t you beg me to live on earlier, hm?”
“What do you mean, master?”
“I made it obvious that you needed to beg me to stay, Ananda. Why didn’t you do it?”
“But … I am asking you, master.”
“Yes, but it’s too late now.”
“Why, master?”
“I don’t know why, it just is. You needed to do it earlier, Ananda, and you missed your chance!”
“Oh, master, no!”
“If you’d been persistent, Ananda, if you’d begged me three times, I would have stayed for eons!”
“Master, please …”
“I’m sorry to have to say this, old friend, but it is your fault that I am going to die.”
“Oh nooooooooo …”
“I gave you the most overt hints, Ananda, at Vulture Rock, near Serpent’s Pool, even in the Squirrels’ Feeding Ground, I practically spelled things out for you but you just stood there like a big dummy every single time and now I’m going to die and, yes, it is ALL YOUR FAULT!” (ANG 4:1)
At that point Ananda collapsed to the ground and started to weep. His body shook and shuddered through his terrible sobs. After a long moment, I sighed and spoke to him in a softer voice. “Everything dies, Ananda, that is the nature of existence, you know that. In three months, the Buddha will die, that too is natural.” Ananda stared up at me, eyes brimming with tears. “Now get up, old friend,” I said to him. “I have many people to talk to before I leave this world.”
The Buddha's Story Page 10
