Gautama Buddha

by Rohini Chowdhury

  On his way home, Siddhattha received the news that his wife had given birth to a son; he decided to call his son ‘Rahula’ which means ‘bond’. As he rode by in his chariot, Kisagotami, a young noblewoman, saw him from her balcony. She was enchanted by his handsome looks, and filled with love for him, sang aloud a song which contained the word nibbuta, which means ‘at peace’. Siddhattha was touched by the significance of the word—his own thoughts had been with the ascetic and his look of peaceful happiness. In gratitude, he sent Kisagotami the necklace that he was wearing. He reached home in a very thoughtful mood.

  That night, at the palace, Siddhattha woke suddenly to find that the musicians and dancers who had been entertaining him earlier in the evening had fallen asleep around his couch. In sleep they had lost all their beauty and grace—some slept with their mouths open, some were snoring, and each and every one of those beautiful women looked ugly and repulsive. Disgusted with the sight, and his heart full of the suffering that he had seen in the old man, the sick man and the corpse, Siddhattha decided there and then to leave the worldly life.

  He called Channa his charioteer, and asked him to saddle his horse Kanthaka. He went to his wife’s room for a last look at her and their newborn son. He did not want to wake her because he knew that if he spoke to her he would not be able to leave; he gazed at her silently, then turning, tiptoed away. Some versions of the story say that Siddhattha left seven days after the birth of his son. This important event in Siddhattha Gotama’s life is known as the Renunciation.

  Gotama left Kapilavatthu on his horse Kanthaka; Channa followed him, clinging to the horse’s tail, begging him not to leave. As Gotama passed the gates of the city, he was overcome by doubt—what if he stayed behind and became instead a great ruler, as his father wanted him to be? Wouldn’t that be easier? He could end the world’s suffering through his wise governance. Was it really necessary to give up everything he knew, and leave behind all the people he loved? But Gotama shrugged off his fears and continued on his way. Outside the city, he stopped and turned his horse around for one last long look at the city of his childhood and youth. Then, with Channa still following him faithfully, he rode through the lands of the Sakyans, the Koliyas and the Mallas till he reached the river Anoma. Kanthaka crossed the river in a single powerful leap. On the other side, Gotama took off his ornaments and fine clothes, and put on the yellow robe of the ascetic; taking up his sword, he cut off his hair and beard. He then asked Channa to return to Kapilavatthu with Kanthaka. But the horse refused to leave his master, and broken-hearted, died there beside the Anoma river.

  This version of Gotama’s renunciation is taken from the Nidana Katha. Passages in the Pali scriptures show that his decision to leave the world was a gradual process, and not brought about by any dramatic events. Though in the Pali texts Gotama himself refers to the Four Signs, he talks about them as events not in his own life, but in the life of Vipassi, another Buddha who had lived several centuries before him. The story of the Four Signs leading up to the renunciation is not meant to be taken as historical truth. It is a mythological tale, which symbolizes Gotama’s acceptance of suffering as a reality of human existence, and his realization that denying it, or closing his eyes to it, would not make it go away.

  The Pali texts record Gotama’s own explanation for his decision to leave home. He gave up the worldly life, he said, to search for freedom from the bondage of birth, death and rebirth which led only to death again. He was troubled by questions of life and death: Why am I alive? What is the meaning of this life? Why are we born, only to die again? All that he had done and learnt seemed meaningless. So he decided to seek a new way, by giving up all that was familiar and comfortable and beloved. It could not have been an easy decision for him. It would have needed tremendous courage and determination for him to actually go through with it. It also caused great grief to those who loved him. His parents begged him to stay back, and wept to see their son leave his comfortable home to become a wandering monk. His wife gave up all luxuries, and lived as he would have lived, dressed in yellow robes and eating only one meal a day.

  The path he had chosen to tread would not be easy. It would be full of struggle and doubt and uncertainty. He did not know what lay ahead of him, and whether he would ever reach the truth that he was seeking. But Gotama was not to be deflected from his purpose—there must be a way to rise above suffering, and he was determined to find it.

  * * *

  Mara

  Buddhist books contain many stories of a being called Mara. This was not a real person, but a mythological figure, the personification of Death. He is also the Evil One, the Tempter who tries to distract Gotama and his monks from following the path to Enlightenment.

  The later books, especially the Nidana Katha, describe the many encounters that Gotama has with Mara. One such encounter occurs on the night of his Renunciation: as he leaves Kapilavatthu, Mara stops him and urges him to return home, promising him that he would become a great king in a week’s time. Of course, Gotama does not listen to Mara and continues on his way. Mara appears again when Gotama is on the verge of attaining enlightenment. The stories describe how Mara gathers a huge army and prepares to attack Gotama, who is sitting in meditation. Once again Gotama vanquishes Mara.

  Mara is therefore nothing but the doubts and fears that assailed Gotama and his monks as they struggled to reach the Truth. He represents the irritations and inconveniences, the distractions and worldly temptations that appeared to lead them astray.

  Mara has the ability to change his form, and appears in various shapes and guises in the stories. Once, while Gotama was preaching to the monks, Mara arrived in the form of a bullock and broke their earthenware bowls which had been set out to dry. At another time he came as a peasant who interrupted Gotama’s discourse to ask if anyone had seen his oxen. A third time he entered into the householders of a city where Gotama and his monks had gone to beg for food; none of the householders gave them anything and the monks returned with empty bowls. Mara whispered to Gotama to go back and try again, but Gotama refused saying he preferred to remain hungry that day.

  In Pali literature, Mara has many names. He is called ‘Namuci’, the one whom none can escape, and ‘Vasavatti’, the one who rules all. The stories around Mara are very complex and it is not always easy to understand their meaning.

  * * *

  5

  Enlightenment: 528 BCE

  After leaving home, Gotama walked for many days, till he crossed the Ganga and reached the city of Rajagaha, modern Rajgir, the capital of the powerful kingdom of Magadha. In Gotama’s day, Rajagaha was one of the most prosperous and heavily populated cities of the world. High mountains encircled the city protectively while tall stone walls provided further defence against enemy attack. Rajagaha was a major commercial centre, and a constant stream of merchants, traders and travellers flowed in and out of its gates. It was also an industrial centre, with copper and iron mines close by. Natural springs provided a regular supply of water, and parks and gardens graced the city. It was a favourite gathering place of monks and ascetics, who could always be sure of a welcome from the citizens of Rajagaha, and from their king Bimbisara.

  As we saw earlier, some versions of the Buddhist scriptures say that Gotama and Bimbisara had been childhood friends. But, according to the oldest part of the Pali Canon, Gotama and Bimbisara met only after Gotama’s renunciation. As Gotama walked through the streets of Rajagaha begging for alms, Bimbisara saw him from the roof of his palace. Taken by the young monk’s noble appearance, the king sent his men to find out who he was and where he was staying. The king’s men followed Gotama to the foot of the hill known as Pandava Pabbata, where Gotama sat down to eat his meal and rest. The men rushed back to the king, who, mounting his chariot, came at once to meet the monk. He was so impressed by Gotama that he offered to make him his heir. Gotama refused, explaining to the king that he had left the worldly life and was in search of the path that would take him beyond human suf
fering. Bimbisara accepted his refusal, but made him promise that once he had found the answers he sought, the first city he would visit would be Rajagaha.

  It is not important which version of the story is historically true; what is of greater significance is the fact that Gotama, as the son of an important nobleman of Kosala, was comfortable interacting with kings and aristocrats. Pasenadi, king of Kosala, was his contemporary and most likely a friend from his youth; Bimbisara, the most powerful monarch of the region, perhaps knew him since childhood, or if not, knew his father as chief of the Sakyas. Though Gotama never introduced himself as the son of Suddhodana, it cannot be denied that later, after he became a Buddha and set out to establish an order of monks to spread his teachings, the friendships of his youth stood him in good stead. Many of the men who had known him as Suddhodana’s son came to listen to him preach, and became his followers. Many of them were both wealthy and influential and they helped Gotama in different ways—they set up monasteries, made sure that his monks had food, clothing and medical aid, and were free from inconvenience and discomfort. Most importantly, their support and protection made it possible for Gotama and his monks to move about freely and safely from land to land, spreading his word. The people, seeing their king or chieftain treat Gotama with reverence, also paid him the same respect. These factors are important in explaining the rapid spread of Gotama’s teachings, both during his lifetime and after his death.

  The Pali scriptures relate that Gotama did not stay long in Rajagaha this time, but continued on his travels in search of the path that would help him overcome suffering. From Rajagaha he journeyed to Vesali in the republic of Vajji; Vesali was the capital city of the Licchavi tribe. Here he became a disciple of a teacher called Alara Kalama. Alara’s philosophy was based on the idea that ignorance, not desire, was the cause of human suffering. He believed that the only way to end suffering was to rise above this transient world by uniting with Brahman, the Absolute Spirit. He said that this could be achieved through intense meditation on ‘nothingness’. Gotama quickly mastered Alara’s teachings, and soon surpassed him, but did not find in his methods an end to suffering. He left Alara and joined another teacher, Uddaka Ramaputta; but Uddaka’s teachings also did not give him the answers he sought, and very soon he left Uddaka as well.

  After leaving Alara and Uddaka, Gotama went to a place called Uruvela, which is today the busy, bustling town of Bodh Gaya. In Gotama’s time, Uruvela was a small settlement on the banks of the Neranjara river. Here Gotama met other monks like himself, many of whom were on quests similar to his own. The Buddhist texts mention five men in particular—these were the five Brahmins Kondanna, Bhaddiya, Vappa, Mahanama and Assaji. Kondanna was the youngest of the eight Brahmins who had foretold Gotama’s future at his naming ceremony; the other four were the sons of four of the other Brahmins who had been present that day. They had been told by their fathers of the prophecy made at Gotama’s birth, and to join him should he renounce the world. They therefore joined him at Uruvela as his friends and close companions. These five men are known in the texts as the Panchavaggiya monks. With their support, Gotama experimented with the most severe austerities—perhaps penance, he thought, would show him the way to overcome suffering.

  Later, he described the tortures to which he subjected himself. He barely ate, he said, so that he became so thin that his bones stuck out. His arms and legs became like sticks of bamboo, his eyes sunk deep into his skull, his belly stuck to his backbone, his skin wrinkled and shrivelled up, and the hair on his body rotted at the roots and fell out. For six long years he abused his body, desperately searching for answers to his questions. But he found neither peace nor wisdom.

  Gotama was not willing to give up. There must be another way, he said to himself. He then remembered the incident from his childhood when, taken to the farming festival by his father, he had been left alone under a rose-apple tree. He remembered how he had fallen into a meditative trance, and the feeling of extreme joy that he had experienced. Perhaps that could be the way to rise above suffering, he thought. For six years he had punished himself, denying every comfort, every pleasure. He had fought against desire in an effort to end suffering, but he had not succeeded. Yet, as a child, he had reached a state of joy without any effort at all. So, reasoned Gotama, could it be that it was possible that there was a less extreme way, a middle way, that avoided both the extremes of asceticism and the excesses of a life of self-indulgence? Gotama decided to find out.

  Gotama knew he could not achieve any state of bliss while his body continued to suffer. He decided to go back to eating normal food, and ate some kummasa, a dish made of rice and thickened milk. His friends, the Panchavaggiya monks, thought he had given up; disappointed and losing all faith in him and the prophecy, they left him and went away to Isipatana (modern Sarnath) near Varanasi.

  Gotama, of course, had not given up his search at all. He continued to live at Uruvela, slowly nursing his body back to health. He realized that before he could aspire to any state of bliss, he needed to understand his own human nature. He spent his days perfecting the practice of what he later called sati or ‘mindfulness’, which, he explained, meant becoming completely aware of what was happening in his own body, as well as in the world around him. Gotama became aware of how he walked, sat, stood, ate, drank, and even breathed; he became aware of every thought that passed through his mind, and every feeling that arose in him. He became convinced that the answers he sought lay within himself. Only by understanding his own nature, and by training his mind to be free of greed, desire and egotism, could he rise above suffering.

  The practice of mindfulness also made Gotama realize more clearly the nature of suffering—it was not just old age, sickness and death; even the little daily disappointments and frustrations of life made up suffering. He also realized that the cause of this suffering was craving or desire—want or desire led to greed, anger, envy, fear and hatred. All this was suffering. Human beings were in a state of constant wanting, and the world, by its very nature, was shifting and transient. Gotama realized that to live in the world with any possibility of happiness, it was necessary to stop worrying about what had happened in the past or what may happen in the future. It was important, instead, to focus on the present; the present, said Gotama, was the fruit of the past, and the seed of the future. Only by being mindful of the present, he said, could one hope to engage with the world with detachment, compassion and clarity.

  Gotama did not stop at mindfulness. He also trained his mind to become free of the thoughts and emotions that led to suffering. He did this through intense yogic exercises and meditation. Each day he would sit in meditation and empty his mind of the thoughts that led to anger, anxiety, uncertainty, hatred, greed or laziness. His aim was to free himself completely from egotism, so that he had no personal wants or desires, and could look upon the world with compassion and kindness. This state of compassion, if taken to very high levels, would free the mind, make it limitless and able to embrace all creation without hatred or anger. This ‘release of the mind’ was the awakening, the enlightenment, which Gotama sought.

  Buddhist scriptures say that Gotama attained supreme enlightenment in a single night. This, of course cannot be true—the process would have been a long and difficult one, even for Gotama. The scriptures were not concerned with historical accuracy; they wished only to record this great event in the most effective manner possible.

  So, according to the oldest part of the Pali Canon, after his five friends left him in disgust, Gotama walked to the banks of the Neranjara river in search of a peaceful spot where he could meditate as he had done under the rose-apple tree in his childhood. Close to the village of Senanigama, Gotama noticed a leafy old pipal tree. It was the ideal spot, he decided, for his final meditation towards enlightenment. He sat down cross-legged under the spreading branches of the pipal in the meditative yogic position and vowed he would not move till he attained enlightenment.

  Gotama sat in deep meditation all
night. In the first watch of the night he gained knowledge of all his former births; in the second watch he gained the divine eye, the dibbachakkhu, which let him see that which the physical eye cannot see; in the last watch he understood the Chain of Causation, that is, how all phenomena, physical and psychic, are related to each other. As dawn came, the earth trembled and Gotama attained enlightenment. From that moment on he became a Buddha. He was thirty-five years old.

  * * *

  The Bodhi Tree

  This is the name given to the pipal tree in Uruvela (modern Bodh Gaya) under which Gotama sat the night he attained enlightenment. The botanical name of the pipal is Ficus religiosa, which translates roughly as ‘Sacred Fig’. The tree, a native of the Indian subcontinent, has distinctive heart-shaped leaves.

  After Gotama’s death, the pipal tree became a symbol of his presence, and an object of worship by Buddhists round the world. The original tree in Bodh Gaya was destroyed in the second century BCE, and the tree planted to replace it was destroyed in the seventh century CE. The tree that grows at Bodh Gaya today was planted in 1881 by a British archaeologist. It is believed to be a descendant of the original Bodhi tree.

  It is said that the Buddhist nun Sanghamitta, daughter of King Ashoka who ruled India in the third century BCE, took a cutting from the original tree to Sri Lanka. She planted the tree in the temple at Anuradhapura, where it still grows.