already heralding its coming and n attack by Angulimāla
was absolutely out of the question.
But of all the strange thing that I had experienced
this night, the strangest came now.
The recognition of my immunity was at first accom‐
panied by a feeling of disappointment, rather than any
feeling of relief because of the disappearance of all danger.
But a new thought had suddenly risen and possessed me
utterly:
“What do I really need those robbers for?”
I had longed for their torches and pitch garlands to
come and free me from the burden of this magnificent
property. There are people, however, who of their own
free will divest themselves of their possessions and lay
hold of the wandering seeker’s staff. As a bird, whither‐
soever it flies, flies bearing only its wings and is content
with these, so also it is with the spiritual seeker — they are
content with a robe to cover the body and with alms‐food
to sustain health and life. And I have heard them say in
praise of that life: “The household life is crowded and
dusty; wide open, like the free air of heaven, is the life of
one gone forth.”
I had called upon the swords of the robbers to kill
this body. But if this body crumbles into dust, a new one is
formed; and out from the old life goes forth a new one as
its fruit. What type of life would go forth from mine? It is
true that Vāsitthī and I solemnly swore by yonder Heav‐
enly Gangā, whose silver waves feed the lotus ponds of
the Western Paradise, that we would meet in those Fields
of the Blessèd. And with that vow there was formed, as
she said, for each of us there in the crystal waters of the
sacred sea, a life bud: a bud that would grow by every
pure thought, every good deed, but at which everything
low and unworthy in our lives would gnaw like a worm.
Ah! I felt mine must have been gnawed utterly away long
a
s
a
140
ago. I had looked back over my life; it had grown unwor‐
thy. Unworthiness would go forth from it. What would I
have gained by such an exchange
But there are, as we k
ople who before
they leave this life, destroy
ssibility of rebirth on
earth and
ho win the steadfast certainty of eternal bliss.
And thes
ing,
the wandering seeker’s life.
usly because
ently for
em as my one hope — now I neither feared them nor
alike from fear and
ope, I felt a great calm. In this peace I assuredly experi‐
nced
, as I stood in
perfect peace.
nd o
s
e house I went
and
took
?
now, pe
every po
w
e are the very people who, forsaking everyth
adopt
What then could the burning torches of the robbers,
what could their swords do for me?
And I, who had at first trembled anxio
of the robbers, and had afterwards longed impati
th
hoped for anything from them. Freed
h
e
a foretaste of the joy which is theirs who have
reached the spiritual seeker’s Goal. For
relationship to the robbers, so those seekers surely stand
in relation to all the powers of this world: they neither fear
them nor do they hope for anything from them, they
simply abide with them in serene and
And I — who a mere twenty hours earlier had
feared to start out on a short journey on account of the
hardships and the meagre fare of the caravan life — I now
decided without fear or vacillation to journey shelterless
a
n foot to the end of my days, content to take thing
as they came.
Without once going back into th
straight away to a shed lying between the garden
courtyard, where all kinds of tools were kept. There I
an ox‐goad and cut the point off it, in order to use it as a
staff; and I hung over my shoulder a gourd‐bottle, such as
the gardeners and field‐workers carried.
At the well in the courtyard I filled the gourd, upon
which the house‐steward approached me.
141
“Angulimāla and his robbers will not come now,
Master! Will they?”
“No, Kolita, they will not come now.”
“But, Master — are you going out already?”
“Even so, Kolita, I go. And of this very matter I
e
ath.
ns to
ure of the wanderer had stood, I
on,
ickly, and without looking back, I went through
e su
‐
ll
desire to speak with you. For I go the way now that
people call the way of the noblest birds of passage. From
this way, however, Kolita there is no return for one who
perseveres in it — no return to this world after death, how
much less to this house during life. But the house I giv
into your care, for you have been faithful unto de
Administer the house and fortune until my son attai
manhood. Give my love to my father, my wives, my little
girls and the boy, and — farewell!”
After I had thus spoken and freed my hand from
the good Kolita, who covered it with kisses and tears, I
walked towards the gate, and at the sight of the gate‐post
beside which the fig
thought: “If its likeness to Angulimāla was but a visi
then I certainly have read the vision right!”
Qu
th
burb with its gardens. Before me the desolate, far
reaching country road lay stretched out in the first grey
shimmer of the dawn, as if it went on and ever on for a
eternity.
Thus, Venerable One, did I adopt the life of
homelessness.
142
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