out and have almost disappeared, it must be far into the
night — let us lay ourselves down to sleep.”
“As you will, brother,” answered the Master kindly.
And, drawing his robe more closely around him, he laid
ng
himself down on his mat in the posture of the lion, supporti
himself on his right arm, his left foot resting on the
right.
And having in mind the hour of awakening, he
instantly fell asleep.
168
~ 21 ~
I
N MID‐CAREER
W
HEN THE MASTER awoke in the grey dawn
he saw Kāmanīta busy rolling up his mat, hanging his
wn.
te‐
water. And what do you suppose I learned from
er? T
agine
ry
I shall have seen him — I, who
gourd over his shoulder and looking round for his staff,
which he hadn’t at once been able to see in the corner
in which he’d placed it, owing to its having fallen do
While thus engaged, there was in his every movement
the appearance of a man in a great hurry.
*
*
*
The Master sat up and gave him a friendly greeting:
“Are you going already, brother?”
“Oh yes, yes!” called out Kāmanīta, full of exci
ment, “just think, it’s hardly to be believed — absolutely
laughable and yet so marvellous — such rare good fortune!
A few minutes ago I awoke and felt my throat quite
parched after all the talk of yesterday. Without more ado, I
jumped up and went to the well just across the way,
beneath the tamarinds. A maiden was standing there
drawing
h
he Master isn’t in Sāvatthi at all. But can you im
where he is? Yesterday, accompanied by three hundred
monks, he arrived here in Rājagaha! And at this ve
moment he is in the Mango Grove on the far side of town.
In an hour, maybe less,
believed that I should have to journey for another four
171
weeks! What do I say — in an hour? It is only a good half‐
hour to there, the maiden said, if you don’t go through the
ain
e
hall
nd r
when he reached the city gate of Rājagaha
was
me —
t
t of a certain tower so that he might
g
In his urgency
e kn
t a woman who was rinsing dishes at the
ed into a water‐carrier. But the
buse
m
streets but run through the lanes and squares to th
west gate... I can scarcely believe it. The ground burns
beneath my feet — farewell, brother! You have meant well
by me, and I shall not fail to bring you also to the Master,
but now I really cannot delay a moment longer!”
And the pilgrim Kāmanīta dashed out of the
a
an away along the street as fast as his legs would
carry him. But
it
not yet open and he was obliged to wait for a short
ti
time which seemed to him an eternity and which
raised his impatience to the highest pitch.
He employed the minutes, however, in getting
from an old woman carrying a basket of vegetables to the
town, and who, like himself, was obliged to halt at the
gate, exact information with regard to the shortest way —
as to how he was to go through such and such a lane, pas
a little temple to the right and to the left past a well, and
then not to lose sigh
perhaps recover in the town the time he had lost standin
outside its walls.
As soon, then, as the gate was opened he dashed
recklessly away in the direction indicated.
h
ocked down a few children, then he brushed with
such violence pas
kerbstone that one of these rolled rattling away from her
and broke, then he bump
a
which followed him fell on deaf ears, so utterly was
he possessed by the one thought that soon, so wonderfully
soon, he should see the Buddha.
“What rare fortune!” he said to himself, “how many
generations pass and have no Buddha who sojourns on
the earth in their time; and of the generation that has a
Buddha for its contemporary, how few ever behold him.
172
But this happiness will certainly be mine now. I have
always feared that on the long and dangerous road wild
beasts or robbers might deprive me of this joy, but now it
from me.”
e
at f
om
dashing towards him, and he
iled
of
hind
him
ed
et out of the way did
e see
e bloodshot
yes a
e
,
who had warned him brought
ater
‐
fear that he might not
Buddha. In a deeply agitated tone of voice he
cannot be taken
Filled with such thoughts, he turned into a narrow
little lane. In his foolish onward rush he failed to observ
th
rom the other end of it a cow, mad with fear fr
some cause or other, was
fa
also to notice that while several people in front
him fled into a house, others concealed themselves be
a projecting bit of wall — nor did he hear the shout with
which a woman standing on a balcony tried to warn
— but he dashed on, with his eyes fixed on the pinnacl
tower, which was to prevent his taking some wrong
turning.
Only when it was too late to g
h
with horror the steaming nostrils, th
e
nd the polished horn which, the next instant, drov
deep into his side.
With a loud scream he fell down by the wall. The
cow dashed onward and then disappeared into another
street.
*
*
*
People instantly hurried up, in part from curiosity
in part to help. The woman
w
with which to cleanse the wound. They tore up his
robe to make a bandage and, if possible, to staunch the
blood which gushed forth as if from a fountain.
Kāmanīta had hardly lost consciousness for an
instant. It was clear to him at once that this meant death.
But neither that knowledge nor the agonies he was endu
ring were such torture to him as the
now see the
173
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