經律異相 4.8

4.8

The next morning [the king] inquired after him, but none knew where he was. The king then followed his tracks and went forth to the royal fields, where from afar he saw the prince. A tree had bent its branches to cast its shade upon him. The king came to an awakening of surprise; unaware [of his dignity], he dismounted from his horse and bowed to him. The prince bowed and said, “I have only come here once; why should you trouble your chariot?” Longing for the prince, [the king] could not let go of what was in his heart. Returning, he summoned his ministers: “You dandle your sons and hold your grandsons, finding mutual amusement and comfort in each other. I have only one son, who has departed to dwell in the mountains. Take five of your sons and younger brothers to follow and attend upon him. If they return halfway, I shall exterminate your clans.”

The prince took off his jewelled garments and handed them to Chandaka, saying: “Return and inform my royal father, and also tell Gopā: ‘When I attain the Way I shall return; I will not forget this vow.’” Chandaka received the command, his tears falling like rain. The white horse knelt long, licking the bodhisattva's feet. When the king saw the returned belongings, he wept and threw himself to the ground. Gopā embraced the horse, saying: “The prince rode upon you; why have you suddenly returned alone?” Sweet fruits and fine springs were nowhere lacking.

The bodhisattva thought to himself: “I wish to become a śramaṇa and go to the mountains and waters.” A heavenly king knew his mind and descended holding a razor. The bodhisattva shaved his own head and beard. Śakra received the hair, and only the uṣṇīṣa remained; he became a great śramaṇa. Reaching the banks of the Nairañjanā river, he dwelt in quiet seclusion. He encountered a hunter wearing Dharma robes like a śramaṇa. The prince asked him, “What are these Dharma robes called?” He replied, “A kāṣāya. The deer think I practice the Way and, without fear in their hearts, come close to me. I kill them one after another to sustain myself.” The prince felt all the more compassion and asked to trade his own clothing with him. The hunter said, “Your Majesty was raised in a deep palace; your flesh is delicate and tender, unaccustomed to cold and hardship. I fear it would harm Your Majesty's body, and moreover, it is impure.” The prince said, “This is the emblem of the sages; there is no harm in trading it. I shall wash it myself.” When the devas offered food, he refused to accept it.

Moving forward, he arrived in Magadha. The people saw him and thought he was Śakra, the Brahmā King, or one of the gods. The prince knew what they were thinking and sat beneath a tree. King Bimbisāra then went out with his ministers to visit the practitioner of the Way. Seeing his radiant marks from afar, he asked, “What god are you? From what country have you come? What is your name?” The prince replied, “I come from east of the Fragrant Mountain and north of the Snow Mountain. The country is called Kapilavastu. My father’s name is Śuddhodana, and my mother’s name is Māyā.” Bimbisāra asked, “Could you be Siddhārtha?” He replied, “Indeed.” The king then bowed at his feet and said, “Your bodily marks are bright and clear; you ought to rule over the four directions as a wheel-turning sage emperor. The four seas look up to you with longing, hoping for the arrival of the divine jewels. Why abandon the heavenly throne to banish yourself to the mountain wilds?” He replied, “Being born entails death; there are four severe pains, namely birth, old age, sickness, and death, which cannot be escaped. The body is a vessel of suffering, with boundless anxiety and fear. If one abides in honor and favor, arrogance arises; greedily seeking gratification is a misery and affliction to the world. Because I loathe this, I have entered the mountains.”

Thereafter he practiced austerities for six years, eating only one sesame seed and one grain of rice a day, sitting cross-legged without swaying or leaning. Through wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, across the four seasons, he never changed, nor did he ever raise a hand to shield himself. People marvelled at him, stuffing grass and sticks into his ears and nose, yet he did not cast them away. His body was emaciated, only the golden color became more pronounced, and his radiance shone afar. When the six years were complete, he thought to himself: “Being emaciated like this, if I go to the tree of awakening, later generations will mock me, saying that one attains the Way through starvation. I would rather eat soft, tender food to restore my body, and only then attain awakening.”

At that time, the daughter of an elder, having married and given birth to a son, was overjoyed. She took a thousand cows and had them successively suckle one another's milk; using this pure milk, she made porridge, intending to offer a sacrifice to the tree god. She sent a maid to sweep and sprinkle the ground. Seeing the Buddha, the maid did not recognize him, and returned to tell her mistress: “Beneath the tree is a god, handsome and wonderful.” Hearing this, the woman rejoiced and wished to take the porridge away, but the porridge leaped out of the cauldron more than a zhang high and could not be retrieved. The woman wondered greatly at this. A deva in the sky said, “A great bodhisattva has already risen from his seat. You had a former vow that you should feed him first, after which he would attain right awakening.” Hearing the deva's words, the woman immediately took the milk porridge, filled a golden bowl with it, and went to the banks of the Nairañjanā river. By his supernormal powers, the bodhisattva entered the water to bathe. A deva of Tuṣita took a heavenly robe of kāṣāya and offered it to the bodhisattva, who took it and put it on, then stood by the banks of the Nairañjanā river. The elder's daughter offered the milk porridge, and the bodhisattva ate it, his strength gradually being replenished.

He proceeded toward the tree of awakening. On the left side of the road was a man named Svastika, who was reaping fresh green grass that was soft, smooth, and untangled. The bodhisattva said to Svastika, “I wish to have grass to sit upon.” The earth then shook greatly. The devas manifested eighty thousand lion seats beneath trees of awakening; each deva saw the bodhisattva sitting alone upon his own seat, while those of meager merit and virtue still saw him sitting upon the grass. The sentient beings of the three realms saw the bodhisattva sitting beneath the tree of awakening (the Chutai jing says he sat beneath a rose-apple tree for thirty-eight days, contemplating the tree and engaging in walking meditation), emitting a great light that eclipsed the palace of Māra.

Māra Pāpīyas lay sleeping and dreamt of thirty-two transformations: his palace turned dark and gloomy; he entered evil pathways; the pond water dried up; musical instruments broke; the heads of yakṣas and night-spirits all fell to the ground; and the devas abandoned him, refusing to obey his commands. Gathering his ministers, he recounted what he had seen in his dream, raised weapons of war, and summoned his thousand sons. Five hundred of his sons, led by Daoshi and others, had faith in and delighted in the bodhisattva; five hundred sons, led by Emui and others, followed Māra in creating chaos, wishing to subdue [the bodhisattva].

Māra had four daughters: the first was named Desire, the second Pleasing Others, the third Joyful Sight, and the fourth Seen and Followed. They went to the bodhisattva, making flirtatious remarks and enticing him with thirty-two kinds of allure, along with their lips, tongues, and delicate glances (the text is extensive and not recorded in full), saying: “We wish to serve at your side day and night.” He replied, “Though your forms are beautiful, your minds are not upright. Leather sacks filled with dung—what have you come here for? Begone, I have no use for you.” The three jade maidens transformed into old crones; unable to restore themselves, they returned to Māra's place (the Guanfo sanmei jing says the three jade maidens were named Qin, Yifan, and Jianguohuan).

Māra's venom became even more fierce. He summoned eighteen hundred million minions, who transformed into strange shapes: lions, bears, insect heads with human bodies, and serpent-vipers. They carried mountains, spat fire, produced thunder and lightning, and brandished spears and halberds. With a joyful mind, not a single hair of the bodhisattva moved; the demon troops could not approach. At that time, the bodhisattva slowly raised the white curl between his eyebrows and directed it toward the Avīci hell, allowing the sinners to see it. The white curl poured forth [light] as large as a chariot wheel, and the fires momentarily ceased. Remembering their past sinful deeds, their minds attained cool refreshment, and they chanted: “Homage to the Buddha!” Through this cause and condition, once their punishment was exhausted, they would be reborn among humans.

Seeing these signs, Māra was haggard and distressed, and retreated to his palace. The white curl went further, up to the sixth heaven, where in the white pores of the skin there were jewel lotus flowers, with the past seven Buddhas now seated upon the flowers. In this way, the white curl reached up to the formless realm, everywhere illuminating all things like a crystal mirror. Eighty-four thousand heavenly maidens looked upon Pāpīyas’s body, which appeared like chopped firewood; they only gazed upon the light of the bodhisattva’s mark of the white curl. Innumerable devas and devīs gave rise to the bodhi-mind. The Māra King returned to challenge the Buddha again. With the power of his wisdom, the Buddha stretched out his hand and pressed the earth; immediately the earth shook, and Māra and his retinue all tumbled and fell upside down. Having subdued the adversary Māra, he immediately attained right awakening (from fascicles five and six of the Puyao jing).