“You cannot possibly be the leader, Ananda.”
“That is what I told them, master.”
“Good … Good.” (MPB 4)
Near bedtime, I glanced over at Ananda, who was staring back at me with a troubled look on his face. “You have something else you need to speak to me about, old friend?” I inquired gently.
“I need your guidance, master.”
“I am listening, my friend.”
Ananda crossed and sat at my feet. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a hectic rush. “As I have been begging in the nearby village, master, I have seen a woman numerous times and this woman has been quite generous with me, she has invited me into her home, even offered me tea, she is very kind and soft-spoken, master, and curious too, she has asked me about the sangha, about dharma and nirvana, and I have answered her and that is alright, isn’t it, master, isn’t it alright?”
Tears welled in Ananda’s eyes. He was obviously desperately in need of spiritual guidance. “You have fallen under this woman’s spell, I think, haven’t you, old friend?” I said softly, patting his hand.
“I think I have, master, yes.”
“And that is because she is a witch.”
“A witch … ?”
“You have been weak, Ananda, but that is not your fault, because this witch has been weakening you.”
“So … may I not continue visiting with her, master?”
“No, Ananda, you must avoid this witch completely.”
“But what if I do see her?”
“Ignore her completely. Do not even acknowledge her.”
“What if she speaks to me ?”
“Walk past her like you do not even hear her, treat her like she does not even exist, like she is invisible.” (MPB 5:9)
“But master—”
“I have told you this again and again, Ananda: Women are crocodiles in the river of life, do you still not grasp that?”
“I have come to know this woman, master, and I don’t believe she is a witch, or a crocodile either. I cannot help but feel that she and I are both human beings, master, that we are somehow alike, that we might even in some sense help each other.”
I stared at Ananda in silence for a long moment until he suddenly cracked. “Oh, I am so weak, master! In spite of all your magnificent teachings, this harlot has bewitched me.”
“Everything will be alright now, Ananda.”
“Women are so horribly evil, aren’t they, master?”
“Yes, Ananda, they certainly are.”
“I feel so defiled by this witch, so corrupted. Will I ever achieve nirvana, master?”
“It may take an extremely long time, Ananda, hundreds of billions of years, possibly even trillions, but eventually, yes, I think you will.”
I heard Ananda weeping softly as I drifted off to sleep.
The next day we were on the move again. While I was near death, understand that I still maintained many of my “magical abilities.” That day, for example, because I felt quite thirsty, I asked Ananda to get me some water. (I was extremely dehydrated by this time, as you might imagine, due to my violent, bloody diarrhea.) As the only water nearby was a stagnant little pool that had collected along the side of the road, Ananda shook his head. “This water is dirty, master. If you can wait a bit longer, we will be at the river.”
“Bring me water NOW, Ananda,” I insisted. Ananda turned back to the muddy little pool and gasped in shock when he saw that it had turned perfectly clear and bright. (MPB 4:24) Not long after that, more magic: We were standing on the edge of the river, wanting to cross it but with no way of doing so. I waved my arms around and suddenly—we were on the other side! (UD 8:5–6; MV 6:29) Ananda looked at me, stunned. I felt so pleased about this moment that I broke into song:
I am the Perfect One
Vibrant as a perfect sun
I am the Perfect One
Very soon my life is done!
“Master?” Ananda whispered to me later that night.
“Hm?”
“I have been wondering—have you and I shared previous lifetimes together?”
I smiled warmly over at him. “Of course we have, Ananda.”
“And have I aided you, master?”
“Indeed you have, old friend.” With an effort, I went up one elbow and looked at him.
“Once I was a sprite who lived in a forest, Ananda. Near where I lived there was a Wishing Tree, within which another sprite lived. I and that other sprite were great friends.” (WTJAT)
“Was I the other sprite, master?”
“You were, Ananda.”
“Oh I am so very happy.”
“After a time, however, your Wishing Tree was cut down, Ananda.”
“Oh no!”
“Yes, you were extremely sad about it. But do you know who saved you?”
“ … You, master?”
“I tricked the humans and saved your Wishing Tree, isn’t that wonderful, Ananda?”
“Yes, I mean … I was kind of hoping that I had helped you, master.”
I patted his hand tenderly. “Let me tell you about another lifetime, old friend. I was a lion who accidentally got stuck in some extremely thick mud and you were the jackal who helped me.” (LJJAT)
“Are not jackals low and vulgar creatures, master?”
“Ordinarily they are, Ananda, but in this particular case you and I became excellent friends.”
“That is wonderful, master.”
“Of course, my wife didn’t like you and wanted you gone.”
“Oh no …”
“But do you know what I told her, Ananda? ‘This jackal is my friend, wife,’ I said, ‘no matter how small and weak he is, you should not despise him as you do.’ Wasn’t that generous of me?”
“Your wife despised me?”
“Oh yes, very much so. But I told her not to.”
“Thank you, master. I guess what I was wondering though …”
I squeezed his hand, nodded. “Is whether you have ever given your life for me, is that it, old friend?”
“Yes!”
“You have indeed, Ananda.”
“Oh, master, I am so glad! Please tell me about it!”
“Once I was a beautiful young man and you, Ananda, were a crab.” (BYJAT)
“ … A crab?”
“Yes, and we became very close friends.”
“A beautiful young man and a crab became close friends?”
“Yes. Until an evil crow—and I assume you know who that was—”
“Devadatta, master?”
“Precisely, until Devadatta decided that he wanted to feast on my eyeballs.”
“Only your eyeballs, master?”
“They were magnificent-looking eyeballs.”
“Of course.”
“The evil-crow Devadatta then made friends with an evil snake.”
“Was that also Devadatta, master?”
“No, Ananda, the snake was Mara.”
“Ooooohh, Mara …”
“The two of them, Devadatta and Mara, developed a plan to eat my gorgeous eyeballs. But you, Ananda, stopped them by killing them both! Well done, old friend!”
Ananda looked at me, joyful tears streaming down his face. “That is so good to hear, master, oh, I am so very happy at this moment, I wish I was that crab right now so I could save you, so I could …” He broke down in tears.
“I know you do, old friend, I know you do.”
The next morning, I had Ananda gather my monks around me. With an effort, I spoke to them.
“I wish to announce to all of you that my man Ananda has four good qualities. Good quality number one: People are always happy to see Ananda. Good quality number two: People are always unhappy to not see Ananda. Good quality number three …” At that point, I stalled, unable to think of any more good qualities that Ananda possessed. My monks stared at me for a long moment, waiting for more, but I finally just closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep and the moment passed. (MPB
5:16; ANG 4:129–30)
28
The following morning I sat under a tree and meditated. I would die by the end of the day, I knew that. After a moment, a bunch of flowers fell on my head. I was used to flowers falling on my head by now, obviously. I also wasn’t surprised when some powders were sprinkled all over me. Honestly, by this time I’d had flowers, powders and ointments dumped on me so many damned times that I hardly even noticed them anymore. What I did notice, however, was the song praising me which I heard the gods crooning up in heaven. I glanced over at Ananda and smiled weakly. “Never has the Perfect One been so worshipped and adored, eh, old friend?” He nodded vaguely.
Not long afterwards Ananda was massaging my feet while another monk, Upavana, fanned me. Noticing some gods approaching, I suddenly barked, “Move aside, monk!” at Upavana.
“Why do you speak to Upavana in that harsh way, master?” Ananda asked.
“The gods have arrived to behold me, Ananda, millions of them, possibly even billions. They have traveled a long way and do you know what they are saying to each other at this moment? ‘We came to see the Perfect One before he dies but now this idiot monk Upavana is blocking our view!’ That’s what they are saying!” (MPB 5:3–4)
Ananda nodded slightly to Upavana, who quickly scooted away. Glancing around, Ananda asked worriedly: “What kind of gods do you see, master?” “First of all, I see gods with messy hair, Ananda. They are weeping and crying out, ‘Too soon, TOO SOON!!’ Secondly, I see gods standing and staring at me and saying, ‘Well, everything dies, right?’ Which is obviously true, but I do not like those gods very m—UUUHHHHHH.” At that point, I was overcome with sudden excruciating pain in my belly and I passed out.
When I woke up, Ananda was sitting next to me, gazing down at me with tears in his eyes.
“You have another question for me, old friend?” I managed.
“This is so difficult, master …”
“Go on.”
“After you are gone … what should we do with your remains, master?”
“It is an excellent question, Ananda, and I am glad you asked it. First of all, I don’t want you running my funeral, alright?” I lifted my hand, quickly silencing him. “There are others who are more suited for the job, Ananda, that’s all I’m going to say. You may, however, give the following instructions to the sangha: ‘Treat the Perfect One’s remains as you would those of a monarch.’”
“What does it mean, master?”
“It means to first wrap my body in linen. Then after that, wrap it in wool, then linen again, then wool again. Then alternate layers of linen and wool a thousand times.”
“A thousand times, master?”
“Yes. After that, put me into an iron pot. Then put that iron pot into a second iron pot. Are you going to remember all this, Ananda?”
“Yes, master, put the first iron pot into a second iron pot.”
“After that, build a fire (put lots of perfume in it obviously) and burn me in my pot-within-a-pot. After all that, build a shrine to me. Anyone who leaves flowers at my shrine will be rewarded.” (MPB 5:11)
“Will they become gods, master?”
“They will simply ‘receive benefits,’ Ananda, I’m not going to be any more specific than UUUHHHHHHHH …” Once again, I was suddenly overcome with pain and blacked out.
By that evening, I was moments from death. Before I left this world, however, I had one final disciplinary action to carry out. “Chandaka, my old friend and charioteer?” I whispered to my monks.
“Yes, Tathagata?”
I thought back to the day Chandaka had accompanied me in witnessing the Four Sights—the night he had helped me escape Father’s palace—the day he had joined my sangha. “Punish him,” I croaked, fading fast.
“Punish him, Tathagata?”
“Give him the worst possible penalty.”
“But why, Tathagata?”
“Because he has favored women. Ostracize him.” (MPB 6:4)
“Yes, Tathagata.”
I looked around at my monks; their faces were pained, many of them were struggling to maintain composure. I was a minute or two from death, I knew that. “Any final questions for the Tathagata, bikkhus?” I whispered. “Anything at all?” A few of them sniffled, but none spoke. “How wonderful that your monks have no questions for you, master,” Ananda piped up. “It means they feel no doubt!”
I didn’t want to be annoyed with Ananda in the last ninety seconds of my life, I truly didn’t, but what he’d said was impertinent. “Understand, Ananda,” I rasped out, “that you speak merely from faith while I know for certain that my monks have no doubt.” Ananda nodded sheepishly. (MPB 6:6)
I could feel the final darkness closing in on me. Before I died, I spoke to my monks one final time. “Everything dies,” I whispered. “But work hard.” “Perfect,” I remember thinking as I died. (ANG 4:76)
My death occurred in several stages; I moved from one jhana to another until I entered the sphere of Infinite Space, Infinite Consciousness and Infinite Nothingness and then after that the End, which is the Cessation of All Things.
“My master is dead,” Ananda moaned miserably at that moment.
“No, Ananda,” Anuruddha quickly replied, “he’s not ‘dead,’ he’s merely attained Cessation.”
At that moment I turned back from the End and reentered the realms of Infinite Nothingness, Infinite Consciousness and Infinite Space. I then proceeded to travel back and forth between the Realm of Cessation and the Realm of Infinity several times. To be honest, I’m still not totally sure why I did it. Finally, however, I did die. (MPB 6:8–9; SY 6:15)
29
Not long after my demise, my monks started singing and dancing around my corpse, throwing flowers and dumping perfume all over me. I had never been in favor of singing and dancing in general, obviously, but having these things done around my dead body, well, it was highly undignified, that’s all I can say. The monks sang and danced for such a long time that by the time they were worn out it was too late to cremate me. “We’ll do it tomorrow,” they agreed. But the next day, they instantly started singing and dancing again—and still no cremation. The day after that was the same, as was the next and the next and the next. My monks just kept singing and dancing around me day after day! I was starting to look hideous by this time, a real decomposing mess. Finally someone yelled out, “We’ve sung and danced enough, let’s cremate him!” But before they could do it they all started singing and dancing yet again. This time they were joined by the gods, who started doing bizarre “god dances” around my corpse. (A lot of hip gyrations and sinuous arm movements.) (MPB 6:14–16)
Finally, after a week of this nonsense, someone asked Ananda, “What should we do with the Tathagata’s body anyway?” “We must wrap the Tathagata in linen,’ Ananda informed them, “then cover the linen with wool, then alternate linen and wool a thousand times—”
“A thousand times?” someone asked.
“Yes, then after that we must put him into an iron pot, burn him up and build a shrine to him.” “Not bad, Ananda,” I remember thinking to myself, “but you forgot to tell them to put the first iron pot into a second iron pot, which was the most important part!”
After the monks finally cremated me, what was left was nothing but perfect white bones; my flesh had melted away like butter. Even then, however, somewhat unbelievably, my monks started dancing around my skeleton—they did it for a week! They posed my skeleton with spears and sang to it. (MPB 6:23) Then they started arguing over my bones. “We want the Perfect One’s skeleton,” one group demanded. “No, we want it,” another countered. “The Perfect One’s skeleton is ours,” a third protested. Finally, they decided to break my skeleton into eight pieces (Head/Torso/Right Arm/Left Arm/Right Leg/Left Leg/Right Foot/Left Foot) and divide it up that way. (Somehow during the process of my body being sawed into pieces, one of my teeth got knocked out and ended up in heaven—which I had no problem with. Another part, however, ended up with
a bunch of snake-kings, which I did have a problem with.)
After the dismembering of my skeleton was done and the pieces were distributed, a final group showed up demanding a piece of me, but since there was literally nothing left they had to settle for some embers from the fire I’d been burned up in, which I thought was pretty sad for them, honestly. (MPB 6:24) At that point I was ready to move on to my final reward: Nirvana. Before I went, however, there was one last thing I needed to witness: Ananda’s public humiliation. (CV 11:1–10; SY 16:11; THR)
The charges against Ananda were as follows: (1) He had not asked me nearly enough questions (true); (2) He had once accidentally stepped on my robe (also true); (3) He had allowed women to observe my naked dead body (true; the way they had cried all over my corpse was frankly repulsive); (4) He had spoken out in favor of women joining the sangha, thus cutting its lifespan in half (true); (5) And worst of all by far, he had neglected to beg me to live forever (damnably true).
“How do you plead to your charges?” a jury of monks demanded of Ananda.
“I see no fault in what I did, sirs,” Ananda responded shakily. “I loved my master, I devoted my whole life to him, I do not understand why I am being punished in this way. I asked my master endless questions and also I did ask him to live on, twice in fact, I simply didn’t know I needed to do it a third time. If I’d known that, I certainly would’ve done it! And yes, I did accidentally step on his robe one time, but I didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident! As for the women, I will not lie—I genuinely believed they would add to our community.”
“Do you confess your guilt or do you not, boy?”
“I have white hair, sir, I am not a boy.”
“You ARE a boy,” the monk in charge announced, and I nodded firmly to myself, “Put that boy in his damned place.”
“You did not ask the Perfect One enough questions, boy, do you or do you not acknowledge your guilt?”
Ananda lowered his eyes. “I do accept my guilt, sirs.”
“You did step on the Perfect One’s cloak, boy, do you or do you not acknowledge your guilt?”
The Buddha's Story Page 12
