The Way (Maggavaggo)

1. In days of old there was a Brahman, who when young had left his home for the purpose of religious seclusion, and who remained a solitary student till he was sixty years of age, but even after this long period he was unable to arrive at supreme wisdom (Bôdhi). Now, according to the law of the Brahmans, if a man at sixty years of age has not reached wisdom, it is his duty to return to his home and marry a wife. Accordingly, the man having so done, there was born to him a very graceful boy, who when seven years of age, being already deeply read in the books of his religion, and possessed of wonderful dialectic skill, was suddenly struck by a fatal disease and died. The father, overwhelmed by sorrow, gave himself up to immoderate grief, and was quite unable to control himself. He threw himself on the corpse of his child, and lay there as one dead. On recovering himself, the child’s body was enshrouded and coffined—the father having been remonstrated with by his relatives and those of his caste—and finally taken without the city for interment. On this occasion the Brahman began to reflect with himself thus—“What use is it thus giving way to tears? It is not of any service; but I will go at once to the abode of Chen-lo-wang (Yamarâja), and beg him humbly to give me back my child alive.” On this the Brahman, having gone through certain religious rites and offered flowers and incense, departed from his home, and wherever he came he asked of all he met whether they knew where Yamarâja held his court and ruled. After wandering onwards thus for several thousand lis, he came to a deep mountain pass, where he met with a party of Brahmans who had acquired supreme wisdom. He inquired again of these if they could tell him where Yamarâja ruled and held his court. To this they replied, “And why do you, honourable sir, desire to know?” On this he told them his sad grief, and explained his intention to beg back his child from the God of the lower world. Then all the Brahmans, pitying his self-delusion, replied—“No mortal man can reach the place where Yama reigns; but about 400 lis to the westward of this place there is a great valley, in the midst of which there is a city. In this city the gods and heavenly spirits, who sometimes dwell among men, take up their abode, and Yama, on the eighth day of the month, constantly visits the spot. By going there, and practising a strictly religious mode of life, you may, honourable sir, see the King of the Dead.” Then the Brahman, rejoiced to hear this news, departed, and arriving at this valley, lo! in the midst of it he saw a beautiful city with palaces, and towers, and residences, like those in the Trâyastriñshas Heaven. Then coming before the gate, he began to burn incense, and recite his religious formularies (Mantras), with a view to gain admission and obtain sight of Yamarâja. At length he was admitted into the dread presence of the King, and, on being asked his wish, he related his case as before. To him the King thus replied—“What you ask, honourable sir, is pious and good of you. Your son is now in the Eastern garden disporting himself there; take him and go.” On this the Brahman forthwith hastened to the place, and there he saw his loved child playing with other children. He immediately ran to him, and embracing him, with the tears coursing down his cheeks, exclaimed—“How can I forget you, my child, over whom I have watched so long and lovingly! Remember you not me, my child, your father? Do you not recall our grief as we tended you in your sickness, my child?” But the boy repelled the embrace of the Brahman, and upbraided him for using such foolish terms as father and child, who perish as the grass. “In my present state,” he added, “I know no such words, and I am free from such delusive thoughts.” On this the Brahman, with many tears, departed; and as he went he bethought himself of the Shaman Gôtama, and he resolved to go to him and lay bare his grief, and seek for some consolation. Accordingly he arrived at the Jetavana, and having paid the usual homage, he explained his circumstances, and how his child had refused to come back with him. To him replied the World-honoured—“Truly you are self-deluded and foolish, for when the spirit of a dead man departs, know you not that it forthwith receives another bodily form, and then all the relative terms of father, son, wife, mother, are at an end, just as a guest who leaves his lodging has done with it as though it were a thing of the past? Sad is your case, and much to be pitied, not to know that such changes will ever go on till you reach a condition of true wisdom, and give up, once for all, every thought about such worldly things as these. In this way alone can you make an end of future birth and death, and become for ever free.” And then he added these stanzas:—

“Men concern themselves about the matters of wife and child; they perceive not the inevitable law of disease (and death), and the end of life which quickly comes, as a bursting torrent (sweeping all before it) in a moment. ¹ Then neither father or mother can save one; what hope, then, can be placed in all one’s relatives (kinsfolk)? At the end of life parent and kinsman are as a blind man set to look after (keep) a burning lamp. A wise man understanding this should carefully practise himself in the Rules of Religion (moral life); he should walk diligently so as to help (save) the world, with a view to destroy completely (the sources of) sorrow, to get away from the seething whirlpool (of life and death); as the wind drives away the clouds, so should he strive to destroy all remnant of thought (consciousness, ‘sahttps://s3-euw1-ap-pe-df-pch-content-public-p.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/9781315011790/3af49043-8fa4-41cc-8e27-9a53e1a023b6/content/mtilde_B.tif" xmlns:xlink="https://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"/>jña);’ this is the office of knowledge. Wisdom is superior to all worldly (devices)—it makes a man indifferent to its joys, and renders him unconcerned about its business; whoever receives this true instruction shall get rid for ever of renewed birth and death.”