The Acts of the Buddha 2.4

2.4

須臾夜已過，眾生眼光出，
顧見林樹間，跋伽仙人處。
林流極清曠，禽獸親附人，
太子見心喜，形勞自然息。
此則為祥瑞，必獲未曾利，
又見彼仙人，是所應供養，
并自護其儀，滅除高慢跡。
下馬手摩頭，汝今已度我。
「慈目視車匿，猶清涼水洗，
駿足馳若飛，汝常係馬後。
感汝深敬勤，精勤無懈惓，
餘事不足計，唯取汝真心。
心敬形堪勤，此二今始見，
人有心至誠，身力無所堪。
力堪心不至，汝今二俱備，
捐棄世榮利，進步隨我來。
何人不向利？無利親戚離，
汝今空隨我，不求現世報。
夫人生育子，為以紹宗嗣，
所以奉敬王，為以報恩養。
一切皆求利，汝獨背利遊。
至言不煩多，今當略告汝，
汝事我已畢，今且乘馬還。
自我長夜來，所求處今得。」
即脫寶瓔珞，以授於車匿，
具持是賜汝，以慰汝憂悲。
寶冠頂摩尼，光明照其身，
即脫置掌中，如日曜須彌。
「車匿持此珠，還歸父王所，
持珠禮王足，以表我虔心。
為我啟請王，願捨愛戀情，
為脫生老死，故入苦行林。
亦不求生天，非無仰戀心，
亦不懷結恨，唯欲捨憂悲。
長夜集恩愛，要當有別離，
以有當離故，故求解脫因。
若得解脫者，永無離親期，
為斷憂出家，勿為子生憂；
五欲為憂根，應憂著欲者。
乃祖諸勝王，堅固志不移，
今我襲餘財，唯法捨非宜。
夫人命終時，財產悉遺子，
子多貪俗利，而我樂法財。
若言年少壯，非是遊學時，
當知求正法，無時非為時。
無常無定期，死怨常隨伺，
是故我今日，決定求法時。
如上諸所啟，汝悉為我宣，
唯願今父王，不復我顧戀。
若以形毀我，令王割愛者，
汝慎勿惜言，使王念不絕。」
車匿奉教勅，悲塞情惛迷，
合掌而䠒跪，還答太子言：
「如勅具宣言，恐更增憂悲，
憂悲增轉深，如象溺深泥。
決定恩愛乖，有心孰不哀？
金石尚摧碎，何況溺哀情？
太子長深宮，少樂身細軟，
投身刺棘林，苦行安可堪？
初命我索馬，下情甚不安，
天神見驅逼，命我速莊嚴。
何意令太子，決定捨深宮？
迦毘羅衛國，合境生悲痛。
父王年已老，念子愛亦深，
決定捨出家，此則非所應。
邪見無父母，此則無復論。
瞿曇彌長養，乳哺形枯乾，
慈愛難可忘，莫作背恩人。
嬰兒功德母，勝族能奉事，
得勝而復棄，此則非勝人。
耶輸陀勝子，嗣國掌正法，
厥年尚幼少，是亦不應捨。
已違捨父王，及宗親眷屬，
勿復遺棄我，要不離尊足。
我心懷湯火，不堪獨還國。
今於空野中，棄捐太子歸，
則同須曼提，棄捨於羅摩，
今若獨還宮，白王當何言？
合宮同見責，復以何辭答？
太子向告我，隨方便形毀。
牟尼功德所，云何而虛說？
我深慚愧故，舌亦不能言，
設使有所說，天下誰復信？
若言月光熱，世間有信者；
脫有信太子，所行非法行？
太子心柔軟，常慈悲一切，
深愛而棄捨，此則違宿心。
願可思還宮，以慰我愚誠。」
太子聞車匿，悲切苦諫言，
心安轉堅固，而復告之曰：
「汝今為我故，而生別離苦，
當捨此悲念，且自慰其心，
眾生各異趣，乖離理自常。
縱令我今日，不捨諸親族，
死至形神乖，當復云何留？
慈母懷妊我，深愛常抱苦。
生已即命終，竟不蒙子養，
存亡各異路，今為何處求？
曠野茂高樹，眾鳥群聚栖，
暮集晨必散，世間離亦然。
浮雲興高山，四集盈虛空，
俄而復消散，人理亦復然。
世間本自乖，暫會恩愛纏，
如夢中聚散，不應計我親。
譬如春生樹，漸長柯葉茂，
秋霜遂零落，同體尚分離，
況人暫合會，親戚豈常俱？
汝且息憂苦，順我教而歸，
歸意猶存我，且歸後更還。
迦毘羅衛人，聞我心決定，
顧遺念我者，汝當宣我言，
越度生死海，然後當來還；
情願若不果，身滅山林間。」
白馬聞太子，發斯真實言，
屈膝而舐足，長息淚流連。
輪掌網鞔手，順摩白馬頂，
汝莫生憂悲，我今懺謝汝，
良馬之勤勞，其功今已畢，
惡道苦長息，妙果現於今。
眾寶莊嚴劍，車匿常執隨，
太子拔利劍，如龍曜光明，
寶冠籠玄髮，合剃置空中。
上昇凝虛境，飄若鸞鳥翔，
忉利諸天下，執髮還天宮。
常欲奉事足，況今得頂髮？
盡心加供養，至於正法盡。
太子時自念，莊嚴具悉除，
唯有素繒衣，猶非出家儀。
時淨居天子，知太子心念，
化為獵師像，持弓佩利箭，
身被袈裟衣，徑至太子前。
太子念此衣，染色清淨服，
仙人上標飾，獵者非所應。
即呼獵師前，軟語而告曰：
「汝於此衣服，貪愛似不深，
以我身上服，與汝相貿易。」
獵師白太子：「非不惜此衣，
用謀諸群鹿，誘之令見趣。
苟是汝所須，今當與交易。」
獵者既貿衣，還自復天身，
太子及車匿，見生奇特想，
此必無事衣，定非世人服。
內心大歡喜，於衣倍增敬，
即與車匿別，被著袈裟衣。
猶若青絳雲，圍繞日月輪，
安詳而諦步，入於仙人窟。
車匿自隨矚，漸隱不復見，
太子捨父王，眷屬及我身，
愛著袈裟衣，入於苦行林。
舉首仰呼天，迷悶而躃地，
起抱白馬頸，望絕隨路歸。
徘徊屢反顧，形往心反馳，
或沈思失魂，或俯仰垂身，
或倒而復起，悲泣隨路還。

In a moment the night had passed, / and the light of living beings' eyes came forth. / Looking round, he saw among the grove of trees / the hermitage of the Bhārgava ṛṣi. / The groves and streams were exceedingly clear and open; / birds and beasts were gentle and drew near to men. / Seeing this, the prince was glad at heart, / and his bodily fatigue naturally ceased. / 'This is an auspicious sign: / I shall surely obtain a benefit never had before.' / He saw moreover that those ṛṣis / were worthy of offerings, / and so, guarding his deportment, / he eradicated every trace of arrogance. / Alighting from his horse, he stroked its head with his hand: / 'Now you have borne me across.' / With compassionate eyes he looked upon Chandaka / as if washing him with cool, pure water: / 'Your fleet steed galloped as if in flight, / and you constantly kept behind the horse. / I am moved by your deep reverence and diligence; / energetic and devoted, you never grew weary. / Other matters are not worth reckoning; / I value only your sincere heart. / A reverent mind and a body capable of toil: / these two are seen together today for the first time. / Some people have sincere hearts, / yet their bodily strength is capable of nothing; / others have capable strength, but their hearts are not sincere. / Today you possess them both. / Casting away worldly honor and gain, / you pressed forward and followed me here. / Who does not turn toward gain? / Where there is no gain, even kinsmen depart. / You have followed me now with nothing to gain, / seeking no reward in the present life. / A man begets and raises a son / in order to carry on the ancestral line; / the reason people honor and serve a king / is to repay his kindness and support. / Everyone seeks gain; / you alone journey turning your back on gain. / The truest words need not be manifold; / I shall now speak to you briefly: / your service to me is now complete; / now take the horse and return. / The place I have sought through the long night / has now been attained.' / He then took off his precious necklace / and handed it to Chandaka: / 'Take all this as a gift to you, / to console your sorrow and grief.' / The gem in the crest of his jeweled headdress / shone with light illuminating his body; / he immediately took it off and placed it in [Chandaka's] palm, / like the sun illuminating Mount Sumeru. / 'Chandaka, take this jewel / and return to my father the king; / holding the jewel, bow to the king's feet / to express my reverent heart. / Petition the king on my behalf: / let him deign to abandon his loving affection. / To be freed from birth, old age, and death, / I have entered the forest of tapas. / Nor do I seek to be born in heaven; / it is not that I have no yearning or love; / nor do I harbor malice: / I wish only to cast away sorrow and grief. / Though love and affection be gathered through the long night, / there must inevitably be separation; / because there is inevitable separation, / I seek the cause of mokṣa. / If one attains mokṣa, / there is never a time of separation from kin. / To cut off sorrow I have left home; / let him not grieve for his son. / The five desires are the root of sorrow; / one should grieve for those attached to desire. / Our ancestors, the supreme kings, / had firm resolves that never wavered; / now I succeed to the remaining wealth; / to abandon the Dharma alone would be unseemly. / When a man dies, / his possessions are all left to his son; / sons mostly covet worldly gain, / but I delight in the wealth of Dharma. / If it be said that being young and robust, / this is not the time to roam and study, / know that in seeking the saddharma / there is no time that is not the right time. / Impermanence has no fixed date; / the enemy death is ever watching in wait. / Therefore today is the time / I have resolved to seek the Dharma. / All that I have thus declared above, / proclaim it entirely for me; / I only wish that my father the king / will no longer look back on me with longing. / If by disparaging my character / you can make the king sever his love, / do not hold back your words, / so that the king's yearning may cease.' / Chandaka received the command; / choked with grief, his heart was dazed and bewildered. / Joining his palms and kneeling down, / he replied in turn to the prince: / 'If I proclaim everything according to your command, / I fear it will only increase their sorrow and grief; / their grief and sorrow will deepen ever more, / like an elephant sinking into deep mud. / When love and affection are severed for good, / who with a heart would not mourn? / Even metal and stone would shatter; / how much more those drowned in mournful love! / The prince was raised in the depths of the palace, / pampered from youth, his body delicate and soft; / casting yourself into a forest of thorns and briers, / how can you endure such tapas? / When you first ordered me to fetch the horse, / in my lowly heart I was very uneasy; / but the heavenly spirits pressed upon me, / commanding me to equip it quickly. / What intent had they to make the prince / resolutely abandon the deep palace? / In the land of Kapilavastu, / the entire realm will be seized by grief and pain. / The father king is advanced in years; / his thoughts of his son and his love are deep; / to abandon him resolutely and leave home— / this is indeed improper. / Those of wrong view deny father and mother; / this is not even worth discussing. / Gautamī raised and nurtured you, / breastfeeding you until her form grew withered and dry; / her maternal love is hard to forget: / do not become an ungrateful man. / The mother of your infant, endowed with virtue, / can serve you from a noble clan; / to obtain what is supreme and then cast it away— / this is not the mark of a supreme man. / Yaśodharā's noble son, / who should succeed to the realm and uphold the saddharma, / is still so young; / he too should not be abandoned. / Having already turned against and abandoned your father the king / as well as your kinsmen and family, / do not abandon me as well; / I shall never leave your feet. / My heart feels scalded as if by boiling water and fire; / I cannot bear to return alone to the realm. / Now to abandon the prince in the empty wilderness and return / would be just like Sumantra / casting away Rāma. / If I now return alone to the palace, / what shall I say when addressing the king? / When the whole palace blames me together, / with what words shall I answer them? / Just now the prince told me / to disparage his character as an expedient. / Toward the abode of the Muni's virtues, / how could I speak falsely? / In my profound shame, / my tongue could not speak it; / even if I were to say something, / who in the world would believe it? / If someone said the light of the moon were hot, / there might be those in the world who believed it; / but could anyone believe that the prince / acts in a manner contrary to the Dharma? / The prince's heart is soft and gentle, / ever compassionate to all; / to abandon those whom you deeply love— / this contradicts your former heart. / Pray consider returning to the palace, / to comfort my foolish sincerity.' / The prince heard Chandaka's / plaintive and bitter words of remonstrance; / his mind became all the more firm, / and he spoke to him again: / 'It is for my sake / that you have produced the suffering of parting; / you should cast aside these sorrowful thoughts / and console your heart for now: / beings proceed to different destinies; / parting is in the nature of things. / Even if I today / did not abandon my kinsmen, / when death arrives, body and spirit part; / how could one stay then? / My loving mother carried me in her womb, / bearing pain constantly out of deep love. / Having given birth, she immediately passed away, / never receiving her son's care at all; / the living and the dead go separate ways: / where should I seek her now? / In the wilderness there is a lush, tall tree, / where flocks of birds gather to roost; / gathered at dusk, at dawn they must scatter: / parting in the world is just like this. / Floating clouds rise from high mountains, / gathering from the four directions to fill the empty sky; / in a moment they scatter and dissolve again: / human affairs are also like this. / The world is intrinsically separate; / temporarily brought together, entangled in love, / like gathering and scattering in a dream: / you should not reckon me as your kin. / Like a tree that sprouts in spring, / gradually growing its branches and lush foliage, / yet in autumn frost they wither and fall: / even parts of the same body separate, / how much more when men are joined only for a time! / How could kinsmen always remain together? / Put an end to your sorrow and distress; / follow my instruction and return. / If your thoughts of returning still cling to me, / return now and come back later. / The people of Kapilavastu, / hearing that my mind is resolutely set, / those who miss me and keep me in mind— / you must declare my words to them: / "Only after crossing over the ocean of birth and death / shall I return; / if my wish is not fulfilled, / my body shall perish among the mountain forests."' / Hearing the prince / utter these true words, / the white horse bent its knees and licked his feet, / sighing deeply with streaming tears. / With his webbed hands marked with wheels, / [the prince] stroked the crown of the white horse's head: / 'Do not feel sorrow and grief; / I now thank and apologize to you. / The hard toil of the fine horse— / its task is now complete; / the suffering of the evil destinies will long cease, / and the wondrous fruit will appear now.' / A sword adorned with many gems / Chandaka had always carried in attendance; / the prince drew the sharp sword, / gleaming with radiance like a dragon; / holding his precious headdress and dark hair together, / he severed them and cast them into the air. / Rising aloft, they hung motionless in the sky, / soaring like a luan bird in flight; / the gods of the Trāyastriṃśa heaven descended, / received the hair, and returned to the heavenly palace. / 'We have always wished to serve his feet; / how much more now that we have obtained the hair of his head!' / With all their hearts they offered worship to it, / until the end of the saddharma. / The prince then reflected to himself: / his ornaments were all removed, / but he still had plain silk garments, / which were not the attire of a renunciant. / Then a Śuddhāvāsa devaputra, / knowing the prince's thought, / transformed into the likeness of a hunter, / holding a bow and wearing sharp arrows, / his body clad in a kāṣāya robe, / and went straight before the prince. / The prince thought of this robe: / 'A pure garment dyed in color, / the supreme adornment of ṛṣis; / it is not suitable for a hunter.' / He immediately called the hunter forward / and spoke to him gently: / 'You seem not to be deeply attached / to this robe; / I shall trade you / the clothing on my body for it.' / The hunter said to the prince: / 'It is not that I do not prize this robe; / I use it to outwit the herds of deer, / enticing them so that they approach me. / If it is what you need, / I will trade it with you now.' / When the hunter had traded the robe, / he returned to his heavenly form. / The prince and Chandaka, / seeing this, thought it extraordinary: / 'This must be a robe of detachment, / definitely not the garment of worldly men.' / In his heart he rejoiced greatly, / his reverence for the robe redoubled; / he then parted from Chandaka, / donning the kāṣāya robe. / Like a blue-crimson cloud / encircling the disk of the sun and moon, / with serene and measured steps / he entered the cave of the ṛṣi. / Chandaka followed him with his gaze / until he faded gradually from sight. / 'The prince has abandoned his father the king, / his kinsmen, and myself; / cherishing the kāṣāya robe, / he has entered the forest of tapas.' / Raising his head, he cried out to heaven; / dazed and faint, he fell to the ground; / rising, he embraced the neck of the white horse, / and in utter despair went back along the road. / Hesitating, he looked back again and again; / his body went forward while his heart sped back; / now sunk in thought, losing his senses; / now bowing down and hanging his head; / now falling and rising again, / he returned along the road weeping bitterly.