A Desire to Renounce

It had been a tiring night. The old man’s cough wouldn't stop despite all his efforts. Jivak tried the medicine given by the vaidya and when it was finished, he boiled some water in the dead of the night. On a good day, he could have added some cloves to it but today, there was none to be found. But the fits wouldn't stop. He sat by his bedside trying to soothe him by putting a wet towel on his head or by rubbing his chest. It was only when the dawn broke up that his father could catch some sleep. Jivak wrapped the rug around him tightly and despite his best efforts to remain awake, slept with his hand still on his forehead. Soon, his father was wheezing again. The medicinal syrup was over and there was not enough money to buy another one. The last time when Jivak went, the vaidya was kind enough to render a week’s medicine with only half the payment. Jivak thought of heating up some water again but the coughing was growing severe with time.

It was springtime and Siddhartha, like every day, was sitting near the pond in the middle of the royal garden. The lotuses were in full bloom swishing sideways due to the gentle breeze. An invisible bond had developed between Siddhartha and the lotuses. Both were prisoners of pleasure languidly enjoying the fruits prosperity brings. The royal Gardener had noticed the liking of the prince for the flowers and had been taking special care of them. Any slime in the pond was removed, any dead petal cut and plants pruned before the prince of Kapilvastu laid eyes on them.

He looked inside the clothe-purse; there were only two ardha-pana in it; not enough to buy a day’s medicine. Jivak decided to try his luck again at the vaidya. There was still some time, almost four dandas, before the vaidya’s shop would open. Nevertheless, Jivak started from his home as he couldn’t see his father suffering any longer. The shop had not opened yet when he reached. After many excruciating minutes of waiting, each of which bought worrisome images of his writhing father, the vaidya arrived. He gave one glance to the boy waiting and knew what bought him here. ‘I wouldn't give you any medicine today. I have a business to run’, he said stiffly.

‘Sir, since last night, my father’s condition has deteriorated quite significantly. This is the only money I have. Please be kind enough. I would try to pay you back this week.’

‘You said the same thing last time also’, the vaidya said in an adamant voice but when he looked at the boy, an emaciated miserable figure, he couldn't hold his tone any longer. ‘Son, I understand your position but I can’t do much. The business is not as good as it used to be. Why don’t you go to the state medical shop near the city palace? They, sometimes, give medicine for free.’

Siddhartha had heard stories of his own birth and its association with lotus. But there was no one to ascertain such stories as his mother died soon after his birth. But he did love those flowers, especially the white ones. In one corner of the pond, at a hand’s reach, was a white lotus leaning gently to one side. The white ones calmed his senses; they held some power over him which could not be denied. Siddhartha could spend hours staring at them. He reached out to pluck it. Before his hands even reached the flower, he was surrounded by several attendants. Shaken out of reverie, his eyes hovered from one servant to another and before he knew, one of them kneeled down and in his hand was the white flower still bent. Some kind of rage boiled inside him and he arose without accepting the offering. The attendants followed him giving each other surreptitious glances trying to gauge the cause of their master’s anger.

It took almost an hour for Jivak to reach the state medical shop. He had not eaten anything for two days trying to save each morsel for his father. The sun was burning bright and hunger was taking toll on him. He went to the person standing in the middle of the shop and with folded hands told him about the condition of his father. Looking at his weary frame, the shopkeeper took pity of him.

‘Where is your home?’ he asked him kindly.

‘It took me more than two dandas to reach here’, Jivak answered.

‘Take this. It will be enough for at least two weeks’, he told Jivak handing over some syrup. ‘Do you want to eat?’ he asked. Jivak nodded in response. ‘Take something from the basket’, he said pointing to the basket on the floor containing varieties of fruit. ‘And don’t eat here. I have customers to attend to. I will ask Virat to find you a place.’ Jivak picked a few berries and some oranges. The man came out of his shop and shouted for Virat. Virat was the security officer at the palace gates. He took Jivak inside a guardhouse, a small room with a cot laid in the middle with a small opening facing the palace and a large rectangle opening up to the city where Virat stood.

Siddhartha had never been out of the palace. He reached the palace gates with his servants following closely and peered outside. ‘How it must be outside?’ he thought. There was a vast expanse of land lying before him cleared out for getting a clear view of the enemy in case of any attack with just a few houses of eminent courtiers and shops for essential supplies marking it. 

‘Where do you live, Channa?’ he asked one of his servants.

‘Not far off from here, rajkumar. I live in a small hut near the holy river Banganga’, Channa answered with folded hands.

‘Do you own any cattle?’ Siddhartha was lost in an imagery of his own.

‘Yes, sir, I have three goats.’

‘How beautiful it must be to listen to the song of the river throughout the day, to sit idle on its banks in the night. I want to visit your home, Channa?’ A thin smile creased Siddhartha’s lips as he imagined himself sitting at the banks of Banganga river.

‘Mine is a humble adobe, prince, not fit for the person of your stature’, Channa now spoke kneeling with his head bowed and his hands folded raised above his head. ‘Everything you need is available in this palace and it would be a matter of utmost shame for us, if it is not. A person of your position is not created to peer inside the disgusting hut of a poor man. I wouldn't put you up to such sight.’

Channa was the son of the most dutiful servant who had served Suddhodhana, father of Siddhartha, when he was young. Siddhartha understood the words uttered by him are his genuine emotions but those words made him bristle inside. ‘I am the ugliest lotus in a majestic pond which no one wants to pluck’, he muttered under his breath and in the next moment, he made a decision to ask his father to allow him to visit the city. He was almost twenty nine years now, married, had a child of his own and to remain imprisoned behind the palace walls was not something he desired.

The oranges were juicy and delicious and Jivak sat savoring every bite of it. He saved two for his father while eating the third one. He was regretting his reticence to take more but was happy that he had medicine for many more days to come. ‘Hope father gets well soon and together, we can start tending the fields again’, he wished. He peered through the small window in front of him. There was a huge garden in front of him with lush green grass dotted by variety of trees. He could clearly hear chirping of many birds and was delighted to see two parakeets adorning a nearby tree. A magnificent pond with lotuses of different colors was in the middle of the garden. He caught sight of a white lotus towering above the pink ones. He thought of the days when he used to steal flowers for her mother’s morning prayers when she was alive from the public garden. She would have been so happy if he gave her that lotus. With his eyes making way through the trees, he saw an enormous structure, bigger than anything he had ever seen, the city palace of Kapilvastu standing majestically. There were people running inside the palace gates. All looked quite busy and had a purposeful gait about them. Their clothes looked quite expensive and some of them even wore shiny metal objects which shone brightly in the sun. ‘I hope someday I am able to wear such clothes’, thought Jivak. His thoughts were broken by kind but authoritative words of Virat. ‘Son, you must leave now. We are not allowed to put strangers in the guardhouse for long.’

Suddhodhana had just finished his morning sabha and was preparing to take a round around city which was a daily ritual when Siddhartha entered his chamber. ‘Father, I want to come with you to visit the city’, Siddhartha said determinedly.

Suddhodhana smiled at his request, ‘And may I know the purpose?’ he asked.

‘I have never been out of the palace. I want to see my people, see how do they live, how they interact among themselves and what does my city holds apart from this palace.’

Suddhodhana was never against Siddhartha visiting the city but he didn’t find it necessary. After his mother’s death, he had tried to provide everything to Siddhartha to help him lead a luxurious life away from all the sorrows and now, when he was married and had a son, he felt satisfied by his own duties towards him as a father. There was a certain amount of protectiveness inside him for Siddhartha whom he found a little emotional easily moved by harsh realities of life but someday, the nestling does leave the nest. ‘Only to come back’ he thought. Listening to his son’s request, he could see how much he wanted to look outside the gates. He felt happy too, to see Siddhartha wanting to push his vistas of experience and learn more about his subjects. He patted his shoulders, ‘I think my son has grown up. For today, I will ask the Mahamantri to take you around the city. Take Channa with you’, he said smilingly. ‘But let me perform my duties from tomorrow’, he added kissing his forehead.

Soon, Siddhartha, with his charioteer Channa rode through the gates. His excitement knew no bounds as he tried to absorb all the scenery through his keen eyes. He made the procession stop at the city bazaar and was exhilarated to see such a large milieu bargaining, cajoling and jostling over different stalls. He had never seen so many people at one place in his life time! Everything was so structured and routine behind the palace walls unlike here where there seemed no method to the madness. There were shops of all kinds; selling vegetables, fruits, medicines, clay pots, metal containers, farming equipments and all the things he could imagine. Men and women of all ages were thronging the shops of their choice. He was impressed by the skill of the traders who were interacting with so many customers at one go. Next, he encountered the state playground. Young men were trying their hands at various games. From wrestling which Suddhodhana had encouraged Siddhartha to undertake in which he was least interested, there were games which people were playing in teams. Siddhartha made a mental note to ask his father’s permission to come to the playground regularly once he returns. Though he felt a little disappointed for being denied this opportunity till now, the ride had certainly been more than he had asked for. ‘Take me to the banks of Banganga’, he asked Channa. Channa stopped the horses in their tracks and looked at his master. ‘Please’, Siddhartha implored. Channa whipped the horses towards Banganga with other riders and royal elephants following the prince’s chariot.

Soon, they were at the outskirts of Kapilvastu. The brick buildings gave way to wooden houses which were swiftly turning into thatched huts. The procession slowed down as the streets were getting narrower. ‘Prince Siddhartha, most of your father attendants live in this area. The king is very kind and generous. He visits our area quite frequently and looks for ways for our betterment.’ Channa kept giving running commentary to the curious prince.

‘Take me to your house, Channa’, the prince asked.

‘I would be highly grateful, sir’, said Channa as he whipped the horse to turn slight left.

The streets were turning desolate and filthy but the procession veered along. Suddenly, Siddhartha jumped from his seat. Channa took the cue and screeched the chariot to halt. ‘Who’s that?’Siddhartha asked. ‘He is an old man, master. Everyone ages.’ Channa replied. ‘But I have never seen an old person inside the palace. Why is it so?’ Siddhartha was troubled by his ignorance. ‘Palace chores need energy and strength, master, which are drained off with age,’ said Channa and the chariot trundled along. Soon, another sight caught Siddhartha’s attention and he asked the chariot to stop. ‘He is sick, master. I have seen him coughing and spitting blood. Not a very pleasant sight! We should move along. The sun is about to set and we do not want to make your father worry.’ Siddhartha, again, made no reply and remained silent. He was troubled by his unawareness of such truths of life which seemed so natural to Channa. As the chariot moved along, Siddhartha saw a pretty moving sight. He saw a young man, in his twenties, sitting at the head of an old man lying on the ground wrapped in white cloth. Two oranges and a bag containing some kind of medicine were lying near him. Siddhartha recognized the bag as belonging to the shop just outside the gates through the royal insignia stamped on it. The old man was not moving and seemed to be in deep trance. The man sitting had tears in his eyes. For a moment, there eyes met but Siddhartha was more interested in the whole setting. ‘What’s wrong with the man lying?’ Siddhartha asked. ‘He is dead, master. Poor guy! Must be his father.’ Channa whips the horses to make them move faster. ‘Why do people die, Channa? What happens to them after death?’ Siddhartha was moved by the scenes he saw. Channa smiles ‘Everyone dies; master and only God knows what happens after death.’

Sitting behind in the chariot, Siddhartha was overwhelmed by the truths even a small city like Kapilvastu had to offer. His father had put a veil between the real world and his life. He was far removed from the everyday misery people face while living in his own darkness stupefied by his limited knowledge. All the luxuries surrounding him were so hollow. ‘What is the point of existence when the ultimate purpose of life is to die?’ Deep down, Siddhartha knew that he won’t be able to enjoy the luxuries of the royal life anymore. The questions he faced today needed to be answered before he was at peace with himself. As they reached the banks of Banganga, Siddhartha saw a peaceful, serene man who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts sitting below a tree. ‘Who is this, Channa? His mere presence has filled me with certain calmness.’ He asks Channa. ‘People say he is the enlightened one, master. Legend has that he was meditating in the Himalayas for last ten years and it is only now that he has decided to return. He had conquered the cycles of birth and death and for him the painful pictures we saw today are nothing but mere maya, an illusion’, replied Channa. ‘I think he is the happiest person in the world and I would like to follow his path towards happiness’, Siddhartha murmured. All his fineries, the palace, his relations seemed so fragile before the calmness the man emanated and he decided to cast away this veil of ignorance and search for truth.

Jivak’s father had died before he reached home. His neighbor, Vikata, an old friend of his father, came to his house when he was away. He checked his friend’s pulse, took a deep sigh and covered him in the shroud. He laid the body on the ground outside for the people to see and mourn the death of the loved one as was the custom. Jivak returned with the medicine and oranges and on seeing, his father dead started crying inconsolably. Vikata tried to comfort him but Jivak couldn't control his tears. He blamed his circumstances for his father’s death. ‘A rich person never dies such death coughing helplessly in his bed’, he said. As the afternoon drew to close, he asked Vikata and other people to leave as he wanted a few moments alone. The crowd respected his will and departed. Jivak sat there for almost an hour lost in his own thoughts when he heard several hooves approaching. It looked like the procession of the king. The whole show of pomp and grandeur consisting of various chariots gleaming, even in the setting sun, accompanied by few elephants adorned with royal insignia marked clothes with line of soldiers moving in disciplined way on either side was in stark contrast to its surroundings. Jivak’s eyes followed the royal chariot. It was not the king in the middle but a young man who looked a little perturbed. ‘Fretting over petty issues!’ Jivak thought, ‘If only I was at his place, I could have saved my father.’ At that moment, Jivak resolved not be the slave of his circumstances but take control of them and mould them to his desires.

It was almost six years now that Siddhartha, now known as Gautama Buddha, gave up his right to be the king of Kapilvastu. It had been a busy day and he was looking forward to some time for self-reflection; something he didn't get throughout the day. In the morning, at Sarnath near the holy lands of Varanasi, Buddha had delivered his first sermon and the news that the enlightened one has graced them with his presence spread like wild fire through the city. People started thronging the arena since afternoon and it was only now, as the moon rose that he got some time to be alone. He hadn't rested or eaten anything since morning and was famished. A large bowl containing different fruits bought by the disciples was kept on floor. Buddha picked an orange and as he was about to take the first bite, he suddenly, remembered the earlier days when he didn't had an inkling of what hunger meant, when he never spent a hard day at work, when he slept on soft cushions rather than straw mat and when his skin was supple and youthful rather than coursed and tanned by hot sun. ‘Mahatma’, the voice of one of his disciples bought him back to the present, ‘there are people outside who want to be part of the sermon tomorrow.’ Buddha nodded in confirmation; he was not feeling hungry anymore and soon, he was lost in sleep.

It was a full moon night and the water was shimmering in the pond. A white lotus slightly bent stood in contrast to the pink ones surrounding it. Jivak, like every day, was sitting at the edge of the pond. Six years before, he had enlisted himself as a soldier in the Kapilvastu’s army and within two years, through his grit and determination rose to the ranks of General. The king allotted him one of the tallest buildings inside the palace walls for his service. He was an icon for the young Turks to emulate and a source of envy for the older Generals who didn't like his meteoric rise. He was living a life of comfort with things made available at the clap of the hand. There was nothing he could desire which cannot be met. He looked at the lotus and remembered how once he sat peering through the small opening craving for it but now he didn't had any desire for it. How those oranges felt like the treat of the lifetime as he savored them slowly. The taste of oranges came back to his memory but now he wasn't fascinated by it. ‘Master’, his train of thoughts was interrupted by his servant, ‘It is time for dinner.’ He dismissed him by the wave of his hand. He tried to remember the last time he was hungry and soon, he was lost in his thoughts again.