The Acts of the Buddha 1.8

1.8

外有諸園林，流泉清涼池，
眾雜華果樹，行列垂玄蔭。
異類諸奇鳥，奮飛戲其中，
水陸四種花，炎色流妙香。
伎女因奏樂，弦歌告太子，
太子聞音樂，歎美彼園林。
內懷甚踊悅，思樂出遊觀，
猶如繫狂象，常慕閑曠野。
父王聞太子，樂出彼園遊，
即勅諸群臣，嚴飾備羽儀。
平治正王路，并除諸醜穢，
老病形殘類，羸劣貧窮苦，
無令少樂子，見起厭惡心。
莊嚴悉備已，啟請求拜辭，
王見太子至，摩頭瞻顏色，
悲喜情交結，口許而心留。
眾寶軒飾車，結駟駿平流，
賢良善術藝，年少美姿容，
妙淨鮮花服，同車為執御。
街巷散眾華，寶縵蔽路傍，
垣樹列道側，寶器以莊嚴，
繒蓋諸幢幡，繽紛隨風揚。
觀者挾長路，側身目連光，
瞪矚而不瞬，如並青蓮花。
臣民悉扈從，如星隨宿王，
異口同聲歎，稱慶世希有。
貴賤及貧富，長幼及中年，
悉皆恭敬禮，唯願令吉祥。
郭邑及田里，聞太子當出，
尊卑不待辭，寤寐不相告。
六畜不遑收，錢財不及斂，
門戶不容閉，奔馳走路傍。
樓閣堤塘樹，窓牖衢巷間，
側身競容目，瞪矚觀無厭。
高觀謂投地，步者謂乘虛，
意專不自覺，形神若雙飛。
虔虔恭形觀，不生放逸心，
圓體𦟛支節，色若蓮花敷，
今出處園林，願成聖法仙。
太子見修塗，莊嚴從人眾，
服乘鮮光澤，欣然心歡悅。
國人瞻太子，嚴儀勝羽從，
亦如諸天眾，見天太子生。
時淨居天王，忽然在道側，
變形衰老相，勸生厭離心。
太子見老人，驚怪問御者：
「此是何等人？頭白而背僂，
目冥身戰搖，任杖而羸步。
為是身卒變，為受性自爾？」
御者心躊躇，不敢以實答，
淨居加神力，令其表真言：
「色變氣虛微，多憂少歡樂，
喜忘諸根羸，是名衰老相。
此本為嬰兒，長養於母乳，
及童子嬉遊，端正恣五欲，
年逝形枯朽，今為老所壞。」
太子長歎息，而問御者言：
「但彼獨衰老，吾等亦當然？」
御者又答言：「尊亦有此分，
時移形自變，必至無所疑，
少壯無不老，舉世知而求。」
菩薩久修習，清淨智慧業，
廣殖諸德本，願果華於今。
聞說衰老苦，戰慄身毛竪，
雷霆霹靂聲，群獸怖奔走。
菩薩亦如是，震怖長噓息，
繫心於老苦，頷頭而瞪矚，
念此衰老苦，世人何愛樂？
老相之所壞，觸類無所擇，
雖有壯色力，無一不遷變。
目前見證相，如何不厭離？
菩薩謂御者，宜速迴車還，
念念衰老至，園林何足歡？
受命即風馳，飛輪旋本宮。
心存朽暮境，如歸空塜間，
觸事不留情，所居無暫安。
王聞子不悅，勸令重出遊，
即勅諸群臣，莊嚴復勝前。
天復化病人，守命在路傍，
身瘦而腹大，呼吸長喘息，
手脚攣枯燥，悲泣而呻吟。
太子問御者：「此復何等人？」
對曰：「是病者，四大俱錯亂，
羸劣無所堪，轉側恃仰人。」
太子聞所說，即生哀愍心，
問：「唯此人病，餘亦當復爾？」
對曰：「此世間，一切俱亦然，
有身必有患，愚癡樂朝歡。」
太子聞其說，即生大恐怖，
身心悉戰動，譬如揚波月。
處斯大苦器，云何能自安？
嗚呼世間人，愚惑癡闇障，
病賊至無期，而生喜樂心。
於是迴車還，愁憂念病苦，
如人被打害，捲身待杖至，
靜息於閑宮，專求反世樂。
王復聞子還，勅問何因緣？
對曰見病人，王怖猶失身。
深責治路者，心結口不言，
復增伎女眾，音樂倍勝前。
以此悅視聽，樂俗不厭家，
晝夜進聲色，其心未始歡。
王自出遊歷，更求勝妙園，
簡擇諸婇女，美艷極姿顏。
諂𭶑能奉事，容媚能惑人，
增修王御道，防制諸不淨，
并勅善御者，瞻察擇路行。
時彼淨居天，復化為死人，
四人共持輿，現於菩薩前，
餘人悉不覺，菩薩御者見。
問：「此何等輿？幡花雜莊嚴，
從者悉憂慼，散髮號哭隨。」
天神教御者，對曰：「為死人。
諸根壞命斷，心散念識離，
神逝形乾燥，挺直如枯木。
親戚諸朋友，恩愛素纏綿，
今悉不喜見，遠棄空塜間。」
太子聞死聲，悲痛心交結。
問：「唯此人死，天下亦俱然？」
對曰：「普皆爾，夫始必有終，
長幼及中年，有身莫不壞。」
太子心驚怛，身垂車軾前，
息殆絕而嘆，世人一何誤？
公見身磨滅，猶尚放逸生。
心非枯木石，曾不慮無常？
即勅迴車還，非復遊戲時，
命絕死無期，如何縱心遊？
御者奉王勅，畏怖不敢旋，
正御疾驅馳，徑往至彼園。
林流滿清淨，嘉木悉敷榮，
靈禽雜奇獸，飛走欣和鳴，
光耀悅耳目，猶天難陀園。

Outside there were parks and groves, flowing springs and cool ponds,
manifold flowers and fruit trees, set in rows casting dark shade.
Various kinds of rare birds fluttered and played therein;
the four kinds of water and land flowers had flaming hues and poured forth fine fragrance.
The singing-girls, making music, sang to strings to inform the prince.
Hearing the music, the prince praised those parks and groves.
Within, his heart was overjoyed, and he longed to go out and view them,
just as a chained mad elephant ever yearns for the open wilderness.
When the father king heard that the prince took pleasure in going out to roam those gardens,
he at once commanded his ministers to make splendid decorations and prepare the retinue.
They leveled and cleared the royal road, removing all that was ugly and foul,
the aged, the diseased, the crippled, the frail, the impoverished and suffering,
so as not to cause the pleasure-loving youth to see them and conceive revulsion.
When the preparations were complete, [the prince] requested permission to take his leave.
Seeing the prince approach, the king stroked his head and gazed upon his countenance;
grief and joy intertwined in his feelings—his mouth consented, but his heart held him back.
A carriage adorned with myriad gems was hitched to four swift, smooth-pacing horses;
a virtuous and skilled youth of fair countenance and gentle grace,
wearing clean, splendid garments of fresh flowers, shared the carriage as charioteer.
Flowers were scattered over the streets and alleys; jeweled draperies covered the roadside;
trees lined the way, and precious vessels were set out as ornament;
silk canopies, banners, and streamers fluttered in confusion with the wind.
Spectators flanked the long roadway, standing sideways with eyes joined in radiance,
gazing without blinking, like blue lotuses planted side by side.
Ministers and people all escorted him, like stars following the king of constellations,
praising with different mouths but one voice, celebrating this rarity in the world.
Noble and base, rich and poor, old, young, and middle-aged—
all reverently bowed in homage, wishing only that he have good fortune.
In the towns, cities, and rural villages, hearing that the prince was to go forth,
high and low did not wait to take leave; waking and sleeping gave no notice to one another.
They had no time to gather their livestock, no time to collect their money and goods;
without even closing their gates and doors, they ran swiftly to the roadside.
From towers, dykes, ponds, and trees, between windows and across intersections and lanes,
turning sideways they jostled for a view, gazing insatiably without weariness.
Those high above seemed ready to leap to the ground; those on foot seemed to tread the void;
their minds were so concentrated that unawares, body and spirit seemed to fly together.
Piously and respectfully they gazed, with no thoughts of heedlessness:
"His limbs and joints are full and round, his complexion like an opening lotus;
now that he goes out to dwell in parks and groves, may he become a sage of the holy Dharma!"
The prince, seeing the well-kept road, the splendid retinue,
and the fresh luster of clothes and carriages, felt glad and rejoiced in his heart.
The people of the realm, beholding the prince's majestic bearing and supreme procession,
were just like the heavenly hosts seeing the birth of a heavenly prince.
Then the king of the Śuddhāvāsa heaven suddenly appeared by the roadside,
transforming his shape into an aged, decrepit form, to arouse revulsion [in the prince's heart].
Seeing the old man, the prince was startled and asked the charioteer:
"What sort of person is this? With white hair and a bent back,
dim eyes and trembling body, leaning on a cane as he feebly walks.
Did his body suddenly change like this, or was his nature originally so?"
The charioteer's heart hesitated, not daring to answer with the truth.
The Śuddhāvāsa god augmented him with supernatural power, causing him to speak true words:
"His complexion is altered, his breath feeble and faint; he has much sorrow and little joy;
prone to forgetfulness and with senses enfeebled—this is called the mark of old age.
This man was originally an infant, nourished on his mother's milk,
then as a boy he played and frolicked, handsome, indulging in the five desires;
with years departed, his form has withered and rotted, and now he is ruined by old age."
The prince sighed deeply and asked the charioteer:
"Is he alone aged and decrepit, or must we also be the same?"
The charioteer replied again: "My lord also has this share.
As time moves on, the form naturally changes; it must inevitably arrive, without doubt.
None who are young and robust do not grow old; the whole world knows this, yet seeks [pleasures]."
The Bodhisattva had long cultivated pure deeds of wisdom,
and widely planted the roots of virtue, whose fruits and flowers were now to appear.
Hearing the suffering of old age described, he shuddered and his hair stood on end,
like the sound of thunder and lightning that makes herds of beasts flee in fright.
The Bodhisattva was likewise terrified and sighed deeply;
fixing his mind on the suffering of old age, he nodded his head and stared fixedly:
"Reflecting on this suffering of old age, what can people of the world love and take pleasure in?
What the mark of old age destroys, it strikes without distinction;
though one possesses vigor, complexion, and strength, not one fails to change and pass away.
With the sign verified before my very eyes, how can I not turn away in revulsion?"
The Bodhisattva said to the charioteer: "We should quickly turn the carriage back.
With old age arriving thought by thought, what joy can there be in parks and groves?"
Receiving the order, [the charioteer] sped like the wind, the flying wheels returning to the palace.
With his mind dwelling on decay and the realm of the aged, like returning among empty tombs,
he had no affection for anything he encountered, and found not a moment's ease in his dwelling.
The king, hearing that his son was displeased, urged him to go out to roam once more,
at once commanding the ministers to make decorations far surpassing the previous ones.
The deva transformed again into a sick man, clinging to life by the roadside,
his body emaciated and his belly swollen, panting with deep and heavy gasps,
his hands and feet cramped and withered dry, weeping piteously and groaning.
The prince asked the charioteer: "What kind of person is this again?"
He replied: "This is a sick person; his four great elements are completely disordered;
feeble and weak, incapable of anything, he relies on others even to turn over."
Hearing what was said, the prince at once conceived pity and compassion,
and asked: "Is this man alone diseased, or will others also be the same?"
He replied: "In this world, all are entirely the same:
where there is a body, there must be affliction; yet the foolish take joy in fleeting morning pleasures."
Hearing his words, the prince at once conceived great fear;
his body and mind trembled, like the moon upon rising waves.
"Dwelling in such a vessel of great suffering, how can one be at ease?
Alas, the people of the world, shrouded in foolish delusion and blind darkness,
know that the thief of disease arrives without fixed time, yet they give rise to joyful thoughts!"
Thereupon he turned the carriage back, grieving and sorrowing over the suffering of disease,
like a man who has been beaten and harmed, crouching his body waiting for the blows to come.
He rested quietly in the secluded palace, devoted to seeking the reversal of worldly pleasures.
When the king heard that his son had returned again, he ordered an inquiry into the reason.
The reply was that he had seen a sick man; the king was frightened as if beside himself.
He deeply reprimanded those who cleared the road, but with tied heart his mouth spoke no words.
He increased the multitude of singing-girls, with music doubling that of before,
to gladden his sight and hearing with these, so that he would take pleasure in worldly life and not grow weary of home.
Day and night sound and sensuality were presented, yet his heart never experienced joy.
The king himself went out to travel about, seeking still finer and more splendid parks;
he selected palace women of supreme beauty and charming countenance,
flattering, clever, and skilled in service, with alluring charms able to bewitch men.
He further repaired the royal highway, blocking and preventing all impurities,
and commanded the skilled charioteer to look carefully and choose the road to take.
Then that Śuddhāvāsa deva transformed again into a dead man;
four men carried the bier together, appearing before the Bodhisattva.
The other people were completely unaware; only the Bodhisattva and the charioteer saw it.
He asked: "What kind of bier is this, adorned with various banners and flowers,
while the followers are all sorrowful, with disheveled hair, wailing and weeping as they follow?"
The heavenly deity instructed the charioteer, who answered: "This is a dead man.
His faculties are ruined and life severed; mind scattered, thought and consciousness departed;
his spirit has gone and his form is dried up, stiff and straight like a withered log.
His kinsmen and all his friends, whose loving affection was once entwined,
now take no pleasure in seeing him, and cast him far away among the empty tombs."
Hearing the word "death," the prince's heart was knotted with sorrow and grief.
He asked: "Is this man alone dead, or is all under heaven also the same?"
He replied: "It is universally so for all; whatever has a beginning must have an end.
The old, the young, and the middle-aged—none who have a body escape destruction."
The prince was startled and dismayed; leaning forward against the carriage rail,
with breath nearly failing, he sighed: "How mistaken are the people of the world!
Openly seeing the body worn away and destroyed, they still give rise to heedlessness.
If their minds are not dry wood or stone, how can they never reflect upon impermanence?"
He immediately ordered the carriage to turn back: "This is no longer a time for diversion and play;
with life severed and death coming without warning, how can I give rein to my heart to roam?"
The charioteer, obedient to the king's command, was terrified and dared not turn back;
straightening the reins, he drove swiftly on, going directly to that park.
The groves and streams were abundant and pure; fine trees were all in full bloom;
sacred birds and rare beasts flew and ran, joyfully calling in harmony;
the radiance pleased both ears and eyes, just like the Nandana grove in heaven.