10 Billion Days & 100 Billion Nights

by Ryu Mitsuse

  Prince Siddhārtha hung his head low.

  They moved through several levels of the city. Along the corridor, he saw large vertical cylinders at intervals on either side, fashioned from some transparent material that transported crowds of people upward and downward. Of course, the prince realized that the figures he saw were devas, not people. And yet some among the devas wore clothes of silver, with hard-looking helmets, and carried what seemed to be strangely fashioned weapons in their hands.

  After a time the five travelers boarded one of the transparent cylinders, and it carried them down into the ground at an alarming speed. The prince’s eyesight dimmed and he found himself suddenly confused as the blood drained from his head.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Just . . . a spell of dizziness.”

  “Ah, I apologize. Pūrna, a bit slower, if you would.”

  The voices of the monks sounded unnervingly distant.

  Then a howling wind sounded in the prince’s ears—a wind that bore a great deal of sand. The flying grains blasted his cheek.

  Why would there be sand flying through the air down here? the prince asked his wavering heart.

  “Prince Siddhārtha, you are in the presence of Brahmā,” Maudgalyayana whispered by the prince’s ear.

  Siddhārtha stood upon the sand, supported on either side by Pūrna and Subhuti.

  It was hard to say from the ink blue sky—there was a sky here, the prince suddenly realized—whether it was night or day, but when he stared upward, he saw an incredible number of stars hanging there.

  “Is it nighttime?” the prince asked, looking up into the thin light.

  “Prince Siddhārtha of Śākya?”

  The ancient, quiet voice seemed to seep into his heart.

  Lord Brahmā!

  The prince fell to his knees upon the sand.

  “You have journeyed a long way to come here.”

  “You must tell me the way to enlightenment. That is my only request!”

  In the deep indigo sky, several hundred billion stars suddenly glared more brightly.

  “Brahmā is deeply impressed by your dedication to the path of salvation, Siddhārtha.” Brahmā’s voice was deep and grand, and it filled the prince’s chest with its energy as it erupted from the very axis of the world—and yet it contained within it a subtle hint of sorrow. “These Heavens, however, now stand in terrible peril. We are pooling all our strength in an attempt to save them, yet the solution is still far from our grasp. It is difficult even to predict what will be required of us. Thus, though I welcome your visit, I cannot guarantee you will be satisfied with what we have to offer you at this moment.”

  The prince peered upward, trying to see Brahmā’s glory; yet though he felt that the god must be near, he saw nothing but the deep spreading indigo of the sky.

  Siddhārtha’s head fell as though he had been struck by lightning.

  Of course—Brahmā has no form. Brahmā is the universal principle, the will of Heaven! Siddhārtha found that he, too, had lost his physical form, becoming part of the vast indigo void.

  “Listen, my prince. Do you know that this place, Tuṣita, is a full sixty thousand yojana above Yāma? By another way of reckoning, that is roughly 160 billion light-years. Up here, we have created clouds of interstellar material by stacking layer upon layer of near-vacuum. And so have we created this great world, an experimental model, here in Tuṣita, which is itself eighty billion light-years across.

  “Listen, my prince.

  “In the center of the universe, Mt. Sumeru extends above the Golden Ring. Its four sides are bounded by seas of fragrant waters, and beyond that, the Seven Golden Mountains and the Seven Seas. Beyond that is an ocean of the kind you are accustomed to, with salt in its water. The outermost perimeter is the great iron ring of the Cakravāḍa mountains—think of them as the rim of the great saucer that holds these many seas and peaks. The Cakravāḍa are made of iron, copper, and steel, and nothing—neither deva nor demon—may ascend their walls. We might interpret this as the limit of the universe as defined by the speed of light.

  “Now, my prince, in the outer ocean float four continents, one in each of the cardinal directions. The continent to the south is Jambudvīpa, where man dwells—your world.

  “The summit of Mt. Sumeru is the place called Trayastriṃśa, where Śakra, lord of the devas, maintains his Seeing-Joy Palace. Looking from the palace, down the slopes of the mountain, one can see three terraces below—Sadāmada, Mālādhara, and Karoṭapāni. Gazing farther to the south one sees Jambudvīpa; to the east is Pūrvavideha, to the north is Uttarakuru, and to the west is Aparagodānīya, all great continents, each with seasons of warmth and icy cold. Just below Tuṣita is Cāturmahārājika, where reside the Four Heavenly Kings: Dhṛtarāṣṭra in the east, Virūḍhaka in the south, Virūpākṣa in the west, and Vaiśravaṇa in the north, all serving Śakra and each commanding a retinue of elites—though not the Eight Generals, who fall directly under Śakra’s command. In particular, Virūpākṣa—who is called ‘he who sees all’—is in charge of the advance warning system. It is he who monitors all surrounding space for shifts in the gravitational field.

  “The warning system is part of a defense network split between the two heavens upon Mt. Sumeru and coordinated through the four heavens above that, all of which are called together the Six Heavens of the Realm of Desire. Some distance above Tuṣita are the three Heavens of the First Meditation, which include the Mahā Brahmā, ruled by Brahmā himself. Above that are the Three Heavens of the Second Meditation, and above that the Three Heavens of the Third Meditation and the Nine Heavens of the Fourth Meditation, with Akaniṣṭha at the very top. This world is thought to lie beyond the light-speed barrier—and thus its existence has not yet been confirmed, my prince.”

  Siddhārtha’s mind strained to comprehend this model of the universe. He felt overwhelmed.

  “In Tuṣita there are forty-nine satellite cities surrounding this city of the Pearl Palace. The Pearl Palace is the last line of defense, responsible for protecting all the Heavens. It is our last hope,” said Brahmā.

  Finally Siddhārtha found the courage to speak. “Allow me to ask you, Brahmā . . . Why do these vaulted heavens harbor such catastrophe? On my way here, the monks led me through countless places where I saw nothing but waste and destruction. I thought in my journey I would witness the truth behind those dark principles that bring ruin to the world of men—yet what I find here is more of the same: devastation and death. Lord Brahmā, what is the cause of this heavenly catastrophe that affects Tuṣita?”

  Brahmā answered in a voice filled with bitter grief.

  “My Prince, it is the invasion of these heavens by the asura that has brought us to these desperate straits, where we struggle even to defend Tuṣita.”

  “The asura?”

  “Yes. Misshapen creatures—beings with three faces and six arms. Whence they come we do not know. But their leader, whom we call “Asura,” is full of cunning and violence. His warriors are many and deadly; even our powerful yakṣa cannot defend against them without great casualties. Asura has warred with Lord Śakra, defender of Tuṣita, for some four hundred million years and shows no sign of ever abandoning the assault. Asura is the very essence of evil in the universe. Be warned, my prince, and be wary.”

  Siddhārtha felt Brahmā’s mind focus intently upon him, and with a start he realized that all of their discussion had taken place without a single word being uttered. As he lacked form, so too did he lack words.—No, he thought, it is not a lack or loss. For where one must rely upon words to convey meaning, one can never have a true dialogue.

  In gratitude Prince Siddhārtha turned to the vast space above and pressed his hands together, formless though he was.

  “My prince, the first thing you must learn is the nature and appearance of the destruction that assails this world. How might we save Tuṣita from its fate? The many sorrows of the human world originate here, you understand. W
here will you find the source of this destruction, this unhappiness? That is the question to which you must find an answer.”

  A long silence passed. Siddhārtha could not say how long he had sat hunched upon the dry, drifting sands.

  “My prince, let us be off,” Maudgalyayana said, and he and Subhuti helped the prince to his feet.

  The immense sea of sand had disappeared before the prince’s eyes, replaced by a long corridor of scintillating light. They were just outside the boundaries of the city.

  Which is the real Kabahla, Siddhārtha wondered, the barren desert where the wind whips the sand through the air, or the shining city I see now before me? In what world did I meet with Brahmā? He could not say with certainty which it had been. And it didn’t really matter. He would have been equally pleased by a sand-strewn wasteland or a perfectly constructed city of ideal beauty. No matter where he was, he knew that his body was void, already a part of the cosmos. And he would be taking that void-body to confront the very substance of evil.

  “Maudgalyayana. I wish to meet Asura. I would encounter this most evil of all evil kings and ask the true meaning of his actions.”

  The four Brahmin monks exchanged glances, seeming impressed at Prince Siddhārtha’s willingness to face the ultimate evil and his desire to find the path to enlightenment.

  “Very good, my prince,” said Maudgalyayana. “You would do well to meet Asura and ascertain for yourself the true nature of that being. However—”

  “Yes?”

  “We are students of the Way of the Heavens under Brahmā, and as such, are unable to escort you to such a one as Asura.”

  “I understand. You need only tell me the way to Asura’s camp and how to contact him.”

  Subhuti nodded thoughtfully. “There is a single subspace communication circuit established between Asura and Śakra. You may use that.”

  “Yes,” Mahākāśyapa said, “though it has lain dormant for many tens of millions of years, ever since Śakra and Asura abandoned the way of peace. Now—” the monk’s voice took on a new urgency—” we must relocate to an expansion of refracted subspace at once, before Asura’s attack begins.”

  The thin crimson curtain of light near the horizon had begun to flicker intensely.

  “What’s that?” the prince asked, casting an unsettled look at the sky.

  “The aurora. Asura is beneath that changing light.”

  It occurred to the prince that the shifting colors in that arc of brightness revealed minute changes in the heart of the enemy.

  “Here,” said Maudgalyayana, “I will instruct you in the operation of the gravity bubble.” Guiding the prince with a hand on his back, the monk directed their progress into the walled city of Tovatsue.

  From the moment they entered the giant cylinder it was clear that the city was well defended against all manner of attacks. And yet the place had a smell of tragedy, as though it had already lost something it would never be able to reclaim. It was alone, resigned to await its fate.

  How odd to think that Tuṣita was a city of future glory—for as Siddhārtha’s studies had taught him, 5,670,000,000 years from now this place was to be the city of Maitreya, the being who would save humanity by opening the way to a perfect world.

  But 5,670,000,000 years was such a long time that it was effectively an eternity for Tuṣita and the distant world of men to wait. And yet waiting—that simple act—was all they could do in the face of Asura’s promised destruction. Unlike the city, holding on for a distant salvation, Asura was acting in the now. Asura had no tomorrow.

  “Perhaps,” Siddhārtha muttered, “Asura has nothing to lose.”

  Gradually, the silent, barren sea of sand took on the same deep indigo color as the sky. Occasionally, a stiff wind would pass across the dunes, lifting up a dust cloud that raced along as though some invisible creature were galloping across the landscape, kicking up a long trail in its wake.

  The gravity bubble carrying the prince moved slowly across the sand toward the burning crimson aurora on the horizon.

  Siddhārtha was uncertain whether the passage of time continued or whether it had stopped. Surely, if it continues, it is not proceeding in the normal fashion, he thought, resigned to wait. The nature of time in these heavenly realms seemed bizarrely different from that in the world of men. Much to his own surprise, the prince was stricken by a sudden feeling of longing for his own distant kingdom.

  The fragments of once-great buildings dotted the dry desert around him. Mighty edifices lay stricken and crumbled into ruins on the ground. Sections of walls, huge pillars, and leaning towers loomed like phantasms in the indigo light. Some were made of metal, others of beautiful translucent crystal, and still others of some rare and precious wood.

  A large dome stood cracked and partly fallen. Through the rifts in its beautifully patterned surface he saw the light of the aurora shining.

  Occasionally on the sand he saw what appeared to be parts of living things. Shriveled bits of living tissue, they seemed wracked with raw emotion—choked with sand, panicked at their own rapid loss of moisture. Their voiceless screams stabbed at the prince’s heart. Far beyond the horizon, he saw an incredible number of lighted spheres flying wildly across the sky. The spheres seemed to form a line, moving from right to left as though joined by a single thread. He watched them waver upward and then plunge abruptly below the curve of the land. Where they landed, violent gouts of light and flame burst up and whirled heavenward.

  This, Siddhārtha was sure, was nothing other than a horrific battle being waged far, far away. And yet he could sense none of the fear or disturbance that comes with such bloodshed. It was like viewing a strategist’s painting of a war upon a scroll—he saw in it the cold calculation and heartless direction of killers who seek to take the maximum amount of life with a minimum of effort.

  “Prince Siddhārtha?”

  A young girl stood, her back to the flickering light of the aurora.

  “Asura?”

  The girl’s skin was the color of barley, and her brown hair, tinged with purple, was bound into a knot atop her head, fixed with a tiny hairpin.

  “Yes.”

  The prince quickly found his imagination captured by her boyish, muscular frame and clear, piercing black eyes. Siddhārtha leaned forward. “Asura, I would ask you a question.”

  The girl frowned, and in her innocent expression, Siddhārtha saw a single-mindedness of purpose and a passion burning hot enough to kill.

  “The Brahmins tell me that, driven by former karma, you have invaded Tuṣita and fought with Śakra’s armies for some four hundred million long years.”

  “This is true,” the girl said in a voice like a song.

  “Asura—”

  The girl frowned again slightly. It seemed to be a habit of hers whenever she looked at something intently—and the effect was not unattractive. Quietly, she began to toy with the necklace she wore. It seemed to be made of fragments of bone strung on a silver thread. Their dry clacking sounded like the ringing of tiny bells to the prince’s ears.

  “Can you tell me why you have invaded Brahmā’s heavens?” he asked her. “What is it that you desire? And where have you come from? Where is the world in which you dwell?”

  The prince sat down on the sand, straightening his back and staring at the girl. A smile played around one corner of her mouth; her lips parted to reveal a startlingly white canine tooth.

  “Asura?”

  “Siddhārtha!”

  Suddenly, the girl’s voice was the voice of all creation. The wind began to blow with fury, and her long hair fluttered like flames. Her anger and sorrow were transformed into a blinding shower of fiery sparks.

  “Siddhārtha! Go to see Maitreya! Go to see this Maitreya who is destined to save you 5,670,000,000 years from now!”

  Not thinking, the prince threw himself bodily upon the sand. His hands shook with embarrassment as he clasped them together.

  Asura vanished in the wind. But her voice see
med to continue on, from somewhere far off toward the distant horizon.

  See Maitreya—those words pierced the prince’s chest through to his back and burned the bottom of his heart to a cinder.

  “Siddhārtha! I have heard the Brahmin talk of a śramaña called Maitreya in the Pure Land of Tuṣita who will come at the end of this world and save us all. But tell me, my prince—”

  Asura was there again before him. She put her hands behind her and gracefully knelt down, her large eyes glimmering with sardonic mirth.

  “Tell me, what will be here 5,670,000,000 years from now? What sort of destruction will visit us then? Can you even imagine such a thing?”

  Prince Siddhārtha shook his head sadly, remaining silent as a stone.

  “Did you ever think, my prince,” Asura continued, “that perhaps it is because Maitreya knows what form this destruction will take that he chooses to wait such a very, very long time? Perhaps he would claim that he is only able to save humanity because he can predict the nature of the destruction so precisely. I wonder then why he does not describe it to us. Should he not describe it? And should he not explain how he intends to save us? If he truly were a savior, shouldn’t we expect him to prevent the destruction from coming in the first place?”

  Asura leaned forward, as though to peer directly inside the prince’s heart.

  “Well, it seems to me—” Siddhārtha began, seeking some counterargument, but no more words came to him.

  “Do you have the answer, my prince?” Asura asked, fixing him with an icy stare.

  “It seems to me that he does not save us because the destruction has yet to come.”

  She laughed without a sound, one edge of her mouth drawing back into a lopsided smile. “The destruction has yet to come?! My prince, have you not seen the devastation all around you? Examine any of these worlds stacked upon worlds and you will find them filled with ruin and despair so deep they appear beyond recovery. Is this not destruction? The very destruction for which Maitreya waits and waits?”