法苑珠林 10.129

10.129

Furthermore, the Puyao jing states: Thereupon, when the Bodhisattva had just gone out of the city gate, all the masses of Kapilavastu knew the prince had departed and talked about it with joy. When Gopī awoke from sleep the next day and heard the people's words from afar, she became aware that he had already left; listening to the great clamor, she did not see the Bodhisattva, nor the horse, nor Chandaka. The king's mind was overcome with despair, and he threw himself to the ground, crying out loudly in complaint: “My hopes are severed forever! What can I rely on?” Gopī tossed and turned from her bed onto the ground, tearing her hair and snapping the precious necklaces on her body: “How painful this is! He was my guide on the Path, my refuge like heaven; yet he has abandoned me and gone away—what use is it to go on living? Our love was not yet long, and then came parting once more.” Her tears fell like rain, beyond her control; of all who did not see the Bodhisattva, none failed to harbor sorrow. The trees in the land immediately withered and shed their leaves, devoid of flowers and fruits. All the pure lands brought forth dust and filth. When the king heard of it, he walked with his ministers and family to the pleasure garden, also harboring grief and bitterness. Gopī hoped in her heart that the Bodhisattva would return. Chandaka said, “The Bodhisattva instructed me to inform the king and the Śākya princess: only after attaining the Buddha-path will he return to meet you.” When the king saw the precious garments, Chandaka, and the white horse returning alone without the prince, he threw himself down to the ground: “Alas, my son! You were bright and versed in the scriptures, and universally accomplished in all extraordinary arts; where have you gone now, abandoning the myriad people of the country? Chandaka, speak of it! Where has my son, the Bodhisattva, wandered? Who opened the gates for him? How did the gods and humans make offerings?” Chandaka addressed him: “May the king listen! I was asleep peacefully in my usual place, and the city gates were already closed. At that time the Bodhisattva told me to saddle the horse. The myriad people of the city were all asleep and heard nothing. Śakra opened the gate. The Four Heavenly Kings commanded four spirits to hold up the horse’s hooves. Hundreds of thousands of devas, Śakra, and Brahmā accompanied and escorted him. They cleared and adorned the path, emitted great light, scattered flowers, and burned incense. The celestial music played together at the same time, leaping into the void, while the gods surrounded him to escort him. When we were extremely far from here, he took off his garments, precious necklaces, and the white horse, sending me back to report to the king and apologize to the consort: ‘Only when I have surely attained Buddhahood will I return to meet you; do not sorrow.’” Then, hearing Chandaka’s words, Gopī was even more grieved. Embracing the white horse’s head, she lamented with sorrow, “The prince rode you—why have you come back alone? His countenance was exceedingly wondrous, like the full moon; adorned with the major marks and minor characteristics, he has departed once more. Those far and near sigh in admiration, and none do not pity him. Why did he go alone? Who will lead him now? Chandaka, for no reason you have gouged out my two eyes!” At that time, Chandaka, seeing the bitter pain of what the king and Gopī had spoken, grew still more sorrowful, and shedding tears, related his previous bitter remonstrations: “Everything the prince has done accords with the Dharma of the Path. Now do not grieve any longer.”