釋迦譜 1.403

1.403

At that time, after a short while, the prince again petitioned the king to go out on an excursion. Hearing these words, the king thought to himself: "Now that Udāyin is a friend of the prince, if he goes out on an excursion now, it will be better than before; he will no longer have a mind weary of the mundane world or joyful at leaving home." Having thought this, he granted permission. The king then assembled his great ministers and addressed them all, saying: "The prince now again seeks to go out on an excursion. Unable to bear opposing him, I have permitted it. Previously, when the prince went out the east and south gates, he saw old age and sickness and returned each time in grief and sorrow. Today, he should be made to go out through the west gate. In my heart, I worry that he will return unhappy again. Udāyin is his good friend, and I hope that upon returning from this outing it will no longer be so. You should properly have the roads repaired, and make the park, groves, terraces, and pavilions all neat and magnificent, with incense, flowers, banners, and canopies several times more than before. Do not let old age, sickness, stench, or filth be by the roadside again." The ministers, having received the command, told the outer officials to strictly prepare the roads and the parks, making them twice as splendid as usual. The king also sent exquisite singing girls in advance and placed them in that park. He further commanded Udāyin, saying: "If there should be any inauspicious thing by the roadside, you may use skillful means to entice and persuade his mind." He also commanded the ministers accompanying the prince to keep watch, and if there was anything inauspicious, to drive it far away. At that time, the prince, together with Udāyin, led by the hundred officials, with burning incense and scattered flowers, and with various kinds of music playing, went out through the city's west gate. Then the gods of the Śuddhāvāsa Heaven thought to themselves: "Previously, old age and sickness were manifested at the two city gates, and the entire assembly saw them, causing King Śuddhodana to become angry and rebuke the attendants and the outer officials. Now that the prince is going out, the king's regulations are strict. If I now manifest a corpse and everyone sees it, it will increase the king's wrath, and punishment and execution will surely fall unjustly upon the innocent. What I manifest today shall be seen only by the prince and Udāyin, so that the other officials will not receive blame." Having thought this, he descended and transformed into a dead man carried by four people, with various incense and flowers scattered over the corpse, and his household, old and young, wailing and weeping as they escorted him. At that time, only the prince and Udāyin saw it. The prince asked: "Who is this person, that they adorn him with incense and flowers above, and a crowd wails and weeps as they escort him?" Udāyin, because of the king's order, remained silent and did not answer. When asked thus three times, by the awesome spiritual power of the king of the Śuddhāvāsa Heaven, Udāyin inadvertently replied: "This is a dead person." The prince again asked: "What is meant by 'dead'?" Udāyin said: "What is called 'dead' is when the wind-knife dismantles the form and the consciousness departs; the four limbs and all the sense faculties no longer perceive anything. While this person was in the world, he greedily clung to the five desires, begrudged money and wealth, and toiled bitterly to make a living; he only knew how to amass wealth and did not recognize impermanence. Today, suddenly abandoning it, he has died. Moreover, he was dearly loved by his parents, relatives, and kin; after the end of life, he is just like grass or wood, and affection, kindness, likes, and dislikes no longer concern him. A death such as this is truly lamentable." When the prince heard this, his heart trembled with great terror. He asked Udāyin again: "Is it only this person who dies, or must others be so as well?" He replied again: "All people of the world must be like this; none, noble or lowly, can escape." The prince was by nature calm and difficult to stir, but having heard these words, he could not compose himself. In a low voice he said to Udāyin: "In the world there is actually this suffering of death! How can people act with heedlessness within it, their hearts like wood and stone, knowing no dread?" He then ordered the charioteer: "Turn the carriage back." The charioteer answered: "On the previous excursions through the two gates, we turned back halfway before reaching the park, which caused the great king to be deeply enraged. Today, how could I dare do so again?" Udāyin said to the charioteer: "As you say, we should not return at once." They then proceeded forward to that park. With incense, flowers, banners, and canopies, various kinds of music were played. The singing girls were as upright and beautiful as heavenly maidens, no different. In front of the prince, they vied with one another in singing and dancing, hoping that their charms would please and move his mind. The prince's mind was steadfast and could not be swayed. He then stopped in the park, rested in the shade among the trees, dismissed his attendants, and sat upright in contemplation. He remembered once sitting under a jambu tree, leaving far behind the desire realm, up to attaining the fourth dhyāna. At that time, Udāyin came to where the prince was and spoke these words: "The great king commanded me to be a friend to the prince, so that if there are gains or losses, we may enlighten each other. The principle of friendship has three essentials: first, seeing a fault, to admonish and enlighten each other; second, seeing a good thing, to rejoice deeply in accord with it; third, in times of suffering and distress, not to abandon each other. Now I offer sincere words, and pray not to be blamed. The kings of antiquity as well as those of the present all indulged in the pleasures of the five desires and only then left home. Why does the prince renounce them forever without looking back? Furthermore, when people are born into the world, they should follow human ways; no one abandons the kingdom to cultivate the Path. I only wish that the prince would accept the five desires so that he may have offspring and not break the royal lineage." At that time, the prince answered him: "It is truly as you say. Yet it is not that I wish to harm the kingdom that I do so, nor do I say that the five desires have no pleasure. It is because I dread the suffering of old age, sickness, birth, and death that I dare not harbor attachment to the five desires. The kings of antiquity you mentioned earlier, who first experienced the five desires and then left home—where are those kings now? Because of craving and desire, they are either in the hells, or among the hungry ghosts, or among the animals, or among humans and gods. Because there is such suffering of transmigration, I therefore wish to leave behind the suffering of old age and sickness, and the phenomena of birth and death. Why do you now bid me accept them?" Although Udāyin exhausted his eloquence to urge and encourage the prince, he could not turn him. He then withdrew, sat down, and returned to his place. The prince then ordered the carriage prepared to return to the palace. The company of singing girls and Udāyin were grieved and dejected, their faces frowning, like people who had just lost beloved kin. When the prince arrived at the palace, he was grieved twice as much as usual. King Śuddhodana called Udāyin and asked him: "Did the prince have any joy on his excursion today?" Udāyin said: "Not far after leaving the city, we encountered a dead person; nor do I know from where he came. The prince and I saw it at the same time. The prince asked, 'Who is this person?' and I inadvertently answered that it was a dead person." The king then asked the attendants: "Did you all see a dead person outside the city's west gate?" The attendants replied: "We did not see one." Hearing these words, the king felt a sudden realization and thought to himself: "Only the prince and Udāyin saw it; this is the power of the gods, not the fault of the ministers. It will surely be as Asita said." Having thought this, he felt great anguish. He again added singing girls to entertain him, and sent someone every day to comfort and entice the prince, saying: "The kingdom is yours; why are you grieved and unhappy?" The king also strictly ordered the company of singing girls to please the prince's mind and not leave him day or night. Although King Śuddhodana knew it was the power of the gods and no longer human affairs, he loved and cherished the prince so dearly that he could not refrain from speaking. He thought to himself: "The prince has already gone out through three city gates; now only the north gate remains. He will surely seek to go out again before long. I must again adorn the outer park and groves, making them twice as resplendent, and let there be no displeasing things." As he thought, he fully commanded the ministers. The king then also wished in his heart: "When the prince goes out through the north gate of the city, may the gods no longer manifest inauspicious things to make my son's heart grieve again!" Having made this wish, he ordered the charioteer: "When the prince goes out, make him ride a horse so that he can look in all four directions and see the people splendidly adorned." At that time, the prince petitioned the king to go out on an excursion. The king could not bear to refuse. Accompanied by Udāyin and the other officials, with attendants before and behind, he went out through the city's north gate and arrived at that park. The prince dismounted, rested under a tree, dismissed his attendants, and sat upright in contemplation, mindful of the suffering of old age, sickness, and death in the world. Then a god of the Śuddhāvāsa Heaven transformed into a bhikṣu, wearing Dharma robes and holding an alms bowl, carrying a tin staff in his hand, walking with eyes cast upon the ground before the prince. When the prince saw him, he asked: "Who are you?" The bhikṣu replied: "I am a bhikṣu." The prince asked again: "What is meant by a bhikṣu?" He replied: "One who can destroy the bandits of defilement and receive no further existence is called a bhikṣu. The worldly is all impermanent, precarious, and fragile. What I cultivate is the undefiled noble path: not clinging to forms, sounds, scents, tastes, tangibles, or phenomena, eternally attaining the unconditioned and reaching the shore of liberation." Having spoken these words, he manifested supernatural power before the prince and leaped into the air, flying away. At that time, all the accompanying officials saw it. Having seen this bhikṣu and heard the extensive explanation of the merits of leaving home, which resonated with his long-held inclination of revulsion toward desire, the prince proclaimed: "Excellent, excellent! Among gods and humans, only this is supreme. I will resolutely cultivate and study this Path." Having said this, he called for his horse and returned to the palace city. At that time, the prince felt joy and celebration in his heart, and thought to himself: "I previously saw the suffering of old age, sickness, and death, and day and night I constantly feared being oppressed by them. Now seeing the bhikṣu has enlightened my feelings and shown the road to liberation." Having thought this, he pondered skillful means to seek the conditions for leaving home. At that time, King Śuddhodana asked Udāyin: "Did the prince have any joy on his excursion today?" Udāyin replied to the king: "The road the prince traveled when going out earlier had no inauspicious things. After arriving at the park, the prince was alone under a tree. From afar he saw a man with shaved hair and beard, wearing dyed robes, who came before the prince and spoke with him. When the speaking was done, he leaped into the air and flew away; nor do I know what they discussed. Because of this, the prince had the carriage prepared and returned. At that time, his expression was joyful, but only after returning to the palace did he become sorrowful." When King Śuddhodana heard these words, doubt arose in his heart, nor did he know what auspicious omen this was. Deeply distressed, he thought to himself: "The prince is resolved to leave home and cultivate the Path. Moreover, he took his consort long ago, but has no son. I should now command Yaśodharā to think of skillful means so that the royal lineage is not broken. Furthermore, we must be vigilant so that the prince does not depart unnoticed." Having formed this thought, he gave the command to Yaśodharā just as he had pondered. Having heard the king's command, Yaśodharā felt ashamed and remained silent, never leaving the prince whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down. The king again added exquisite singing girls to entertain him.