The Acts of the Buddha 2.8

2.8

車匿牽馬還，望絕心悲塞，
隨路號泣行，不能自開割。
先與太子俱，一宿之徑路，
今捨太子還，生奪天蔭故。
徘徊心顧戀，八日乃至城，
良馬素體駿，奮迅有威相。
躑躅顧瞻仰，不覩太子形，
流淚四體垂，憔悴失光澤。
旋轉慟悲鳴，日夜忘水草，
遺失救世主，還歸迦毘羅。
國土悉廓然，如入空聚落，
如日隱須彌，舉世悉曛冥。
泉池不澄清，華果不榮茂，
巷路諸士女，憂慼失歡容。
車匿與白馬，悵怏行不前，
問事不能答，遲遲若尸行。
眾見車匿還，不見釋王子，
舉聲大號泣，如棄羅摩還。
有人來路傍，傾身問車匿：
「王子世所愛，舉國人之命。
汝輙盜將去，今為何所在？」
車匿抑悲心，而答眾人言：
「我眷戀追逐，不捨於王子，
王子捐棄我，并捨俗威儀，
剃頭被法服，遂入苦行林。」
眾人聞出家，驚起奇特想，
嗚咽而啼泣，涕淚交流下，
各各相告語，我等作何計？
眾人咸議言：「悉當追隨去，
如人命根壞，身死形神離。
王子是我命，失命我豈生？
此邑成丘林，彼林城郭邑，
此城失威德，如殺毘梨多。」
城內諸士女，虛傳王子還，
奔馳出路上，唯見馬空歸，
莫知其存亡，悲泣種種聲。
車匿步牽馬，歔欷垂淚還，
失太子憂悲，加增怖懼心，
如戰士破敵，執怨送王前。
入門淚雨下，滿目無所見，
仰天大啼哭，白馬亦悲鳴，
宮中雜鳥獸，內廐諸群馬，
聞白馬悲鳴，長鳴而應之，
謂呼太子還，不見而絕聲。
後宮諸婇女，聞馬鳥獸鳴，
亂髮面萎黃，形瘦脣口乾。
弊衣不浣濯，垢穢不浴身，
悉捨莊嚴具，毀悴不鮮明。
舉體無光耀，猶如細小星，
衣裳壞襤縷，狀如被賊形。
見車匿白馬，涕泣絕望歸，
感結而號咷，猶如新喪親，
狂亂而搔擾，如牛失其道。
大愛瞿曇彌，聞太子不還，
竦身自投地，四體悉傷壞，
猶如狂風摧，金色芭蕉樹。
又聞子出家，長歎增悲感：
「右旋細軟髮，一孔一髮生。
黑淨鮮光澤，平住而灑地，
何意合天冠？剃著草土中。
𦟛臂師子步，脩廣牛王目，
身光黃金炎，方臆梵音聲。
持是上妙相，入於苦行林，
世間何薄福，失斯聖地主？
妙網柔軟足，清淨蓮花色，
土石刺棘林，云何而可蹈？
生長於深宮，溫衣細軟服，
沐浴以香湯，末香以塗身。
今則置風露，寒暑安可堪？
華族大丈夫，標挺勝多聞，
德備名稱高，常施無所求，
云何忽一朝，乞食以活身？
清淨寶床臥，奏樂以覺惽，
豈能山樹間，草土以籍身？」
念子心悲痛，悶絕而躄地，
侍人扶令起，為拭其目淚。
其餘諸夫人，憂苦四體垂，
內感心慘結，不動如畫人。
時耶輸陀羅，深責車匿言：
「生亡我所欽，今為在何所？
人馬三共行，今唯二來歸，
我心極惶怖，戰慄不自安。
終是不正人，不昵非善友，
不吉縱強暴，應笑用啼為？
將去而啼還，反覆不相應。
愛念自在伴，隨欲恣心作，
故使聖王子，一去不復歸。
汝今應大喜，作惡已果成。
寧近智慧怨，不習愚癡友，
假名為良朋，內實懷怨結。
今此勝王家，一旦悉破壞，
此諸貴夫人，憂悴毀形好，
涕泣氣息絕，雨淚橫流下。
夫主尚在世，依止如雪山，
安意如大地，憂悲殆至死，
況此窓牖中，悲泣長叫者，
生亡其所天，是苦何可堪？
告馬汝無義，奪人心所重，
猶如闇冥中，怨賊劫珍寶。
乘汝戰鬪時，刀刃鋒利箭，
一切悉能堪，今有何不忍？
一族之殊勝，強奪我心去，
汝是弊惡蟲，造諸不正業。
今日大嗚呼！聲滿於王宮，
先劫我所念，爾時何以瘂？
若爾時有聲，舉宮悉應覺，
爾時若覺者，不生今苦惱。」
車匿聞苦言，飲氣而息結，
收淚合掌答：「願聽我自陳，
莫嫌責白馬，亦莫恚於我。
我等悉無過，天神之所為，
我極畏王法，天神所駈逼。
速牽馬與之，俱去疾如飛，
厭氣令無聲，足亦不觸地。
城門自然開，虛空自然明，
斯皆天神力，豈是我所為？」
耶輸陀聞說，心生奇特想，
天神之所為，非是斯等咎。
嫌責心消除，熾然大苦息，
躃地稱怨歎：「雙輸鳥分乖，
我今失依怙，同法行生離，
樂法捨同行，何處更求法？
古昔諸先勝，大快見王等，
斯皆夫妻俱，學道遊林野。
而今捨於我，為求何等法？
梵志祠祀典，夫妻必同行，
同行法為因，終則同受報，
汝何獨法慳，棄我而隻遊？
或見我嫉惡，更求無嫉者？
或當嫌薄我，更求淨天女？
為何勝德色，修習於苦行？
以我薄命故，夫妻生別離，
羅睺羅何故，不蒙於膝下？
嗚呼不吉士！貌柔而心剛，
勝族盛光榮，怨憎猶宗仰。
又子生未孩，而能永棄捨，
我亦無心腸，夫棄遊山林，
不能自泯沒，此則木石人。」
言已心迷亂，或哭或狂言，
或瞪視沈思，哽咽不自勝，
惙惙氣殆盡，臥於塵土中。
諸餘婇女眾，見生悲痛心，
猶如盛蓮花，風雹摧令萎。
父王失太子，晝夜心悲戀，
齋戒求天神，願令子速還。
發願祈請已，出於天祠門，
聞諸啼哭聲，驚怖心迷亂，
如天大雷震，群象亂奔馳。
見車匿白馬，廣問知出家，
舉身投於地，如崩帝釋幢。
諸臣徐扶起，以法勸令安，
久而心小醒，而告白馬言：
「我數乘汝戰，每念汝有功，
今者憎惡汝，倍於愛念時。
所念功德子，汝輙運令去，
擲著山林中，猶自空來歸。
汝速持我往，不爾往將還，
不為此二者，我命將不存。
更無餘方治，唯待子為藥，
如珊闍梵志，為子死殺身，
我失行法子，自殺令無身。
摩㝹眾生主，亦當為子憂，
況復我常人？失子能自安？
古昔阿闍王，愛子遊山林，
感思而命終，即時得生天。
吾今不能死，長夜住憂苦，
合宮念吾子，虛渴如餓鬼，
如人渴探水，欲飲而奪之。
守渴而命終，必生餓鬼趣。
今我至虛渴，得子水復失，
及我未命終，速語我子處，
勿令我渴死，墮於餓鬼中。
我素志力強，難動如大地，
失子心躁亂，如昔十車王。」
王師多聞士，大臣智聰達，
二人勸諫王，不緩亦不切：
「願自寬情念，勿以憂自傷，
古昔諸勝王，棄國如散花。
子今行學道，何足苦憂悲？
當憶阿私記，理數自應然。
天樂轉輪聖，蕭然不累清，
豈曰世界王，能移金王心？
今當使我等，推求到其所，
方便苦諫諍，以表我丹誠，
要望降其志，以慰王憂悲。」
王喜即答言：「唯汝等速行，
如舍君陀鳥，為子空中旋，
我今念太子，便悁心亦然。」
二人既受命，王與諸眷屬，
其心小清涼，氣宣飡飲通。

Channa led the horse back, his hope shattered, his heart blocked with grief; / weeping and wailing along the path, unable to comfort himself. / Formerly, together with the prince, it had been a single night's journey; / now, leaving the prince behind and returning, it was as if he were violently stripped of heaven's shelter. / Hesitant, his heart yearning, only after eight days did he reach the city. / The fine steed had originally been swift in body, spirited and of majestic bearing; / now pacing restlessly, gazing up and about, he saw not the prince's form; / tears flowed, his four limbs drooped, exhausted and shorn of his luster. / Turning round and round, he neighed in bitter sorrow, day and night forgetting grass and water; / having lost the savior of the world, he returned to Kapilavastu. / The land was wholly desolate, like entering a deserted village; / as when the sun hides behind Mount Sumeru, the entire world is plunged into darkness. / Springs and ponds were no longer clear and pure; flowers and fruits did not flourish; / the men and women in the streets and lanes, sorrowful, lost their joyful countenances. / Channa and the white horse, dejected, could not advance; / questioned about the matter, they could not reply, moving sluggishly like walking corpses. / When the crowd saw Channa return and did not see the Śākya prince, / they lifted their voices in loud lamentation, as when Rāma was abandoned and [Sumantra] returned. / Someone came beside the road, leaned forward, and asked Channa: / "The prince is beloved by the world, the very life of the people of the whole realm. / You have presumptuously carried him away; where is he now?" / Channa restrained his sorrowful heart and answered the crowd: / "Yearning with deep affection, I followed him, not abandoning the prince; / but the prince cast me aside, and renounced worldly decorum, / shaved his head, put on the Dharma robes, and thereupon entered the forest of austerities." / When the crowd heard of his renunciation, astonishment arose at this extraordinary wonder; / choking with sobs, they wept, tears streaming down together, / each asking one another: "What plan shall we make?" / The crowd all discussed and said: "We should all pursue and follow him, / as when a person's life-faculty is destroyed, the body dies and form separates from spirit. / The prince is our life; having lost our life, how could we live? / This city has become a woodland, and that forest has become a fortified city; / this city has lost its majesty and virtue, like a slain preta." / The men and women within the city falsely spread the word that the prince had returned; / they rushed out onto the road, only to see the horse returning alone; / not knowing whether he was alive or dead, they wept in various cries. / Channa walked, leading the horse, sobbing and shedding tears as he returned; / to his grief at losing the prince, fear was now added in his heart, / like a soldier defeated by the enemy, seized by the foe and brought before the king. / Entering the gates, his tears fell like rain, blinding his eyes so that he saw nothing; / looking up to the sky, he wept loudly, and the white horse also neighed in sorrow. / The various birds and beasts in the palace, and the herd of horses in the inner stables, / hearing the sorrowful neigh of the white horse, neighed long in response, / thinking the prince had returned; but seeing him not, their voices fell silent. / The palace women in the inner apartments, hearing the cries of the horse, birds, and beasts, / had disheveled hair and sallow faces, their bodies emaciated and lips dry; / in ragged clothes unwashed, their bodies soiled and unbathed, / they had cast off all ornaments, distressed and shorn of radiance; / their entire bodies lacked luster, like tiny stars; / their garments were torn into rags, in appearance like those plundered by bandits. / Seeing Channa and the white horse return weeping and despairing, / overcome with deep anguish they wailed, as if having just lost a parent; / distraught and perturbed, like cattle that have lost their way. / Mahāprajāpatī Gautamī, hearing that the prince had not returned, / threw herself to the ground, bruising and injuring her limbs all over, / like a golden plantain tree broken by a violent wind. / And hearing that her son had gone forth, she sighed deeply with increasing sorrow: / "His fine, soft hair turned to the right, one hair growing from each pore, / black, pure, fresh, and lustrous, hanging evenly to sweep the ground— / for what reason did it unite with a celestial crown, only to be shaved off into the grass and dust? / His arms rounded and lion-like his stride, long and wide his eyes like a bull-king's, / his body radiant with golden light, his chest square, his voice like Brahmā's. / Bearing these supreme and wondrous marks, he has entered the forest of austerities! / How deficient is the world in merit, to lose such a holy lord of the earth? / His fine webbed, soft feet, of pure lotus color— / over earth, stones, thorns, and brambles, how can they tread? / Grown up in the deep palace, with warm clothing and fine, soft attire, / bathed in perfumed water, his body anointed with powdered incense, / now exposed to the wind and dew, how can he endure the cold and heat? / A great man of noble clan, outstanding and superior in vast learning, / complete in virtue and of exalted fame, ever giving without seeking anything in return— / how can he suddenly, in a single day, beg for food to sustain his body? / Lying upon a pure, jeweled bed, with music played to wake him from sleep— / how could he lie among mountain trees, with grass and dust beneath his body?" / Thinking of her son, her heart was racked with pain; fainting, she fell to the ground; / her attendants helped her up and wiped the tears from her eyes. / The other consorts, drooping in four limbs from sorrow and anguish, / felt their hearts bound in grief within, motionless as painted figures. / Then Yaśodharā deeply rebuked Channa, saying: / "Whether alive or dead, where is he whom I revered now? / Three of you—men and horse—set forth together; now only two have returned! / My heart is exceedingly terrified, trembling and unable to find peace. / Truly you are an unrighteous man, neither an intimate nor a good friend; / inauspicious, indulging violence—why weep when you ought to laugh? / Having led him away, you return weeping; the beginning and the end do not accord! / Beloved, wilful companion, acting freely according to your heart's desire, / it is you who caused the holy prince to depart once and never return! / Now you should rejoice greatly: your evil deed has borne fruit. / Better to be near a wise enemy than to associate with a foolish friend; / one falsely called a good friend harbors enmity and grudges within. / Now this supreme royal house has in a single day been utterly ruined; / these noble consorts are withered with grief, their fair forms destroyed, / weeping until their breath fails, tears streaming down like rain. / While the lord and husband is still in the world, they relied on him as on the Snow Mountains, / with hearts at peace as on the great earth, yet they are distressed almost to death; / how much more for me, who within these windows weep and cry out long, / alive yet having lost my lord—how can such suffering be borne?" / Addressing the horse, [she said:] "You are unrighteous, having stolen away what people hold dear, / just as in the darkness an enemy bandit robs precious treasures! / When he rode you in battle, against blades, edges, and sharp arrows, / you could endure all of them; what now could you not bear? / The excellence of an entire clan, you have forcibly carried away my heart's delight! / You are a wretched, wicked beast, committing these unrighteous deeds! / Today, loud wailing! Your cries fill the royal palace; / previously, when stealing away the one I cherished, why were you dumb then? / Had you made a sound at that time, the whole palace would have been awakened; / had they been awakened then, this present misery would not have arisen." / Hearing these harsh words, Channa choked on his breath, his breathing obstructed; / wiping his tears and joining his palms, he replied: "Please deign to hear my explanation; / do not blame and rebuke the white horse, nor be angered with me! / We are completely blameless; it was the work of the gods. / I was exceedingly terrified of the king's law, but was driven and compelled by the gods. / Quickly I led the horse to him, and together they departed swift as flight; / their breaths were restrained so as to make no sound, nor did [the horse's] hooves touch the ground; / the city gates opened of themselves, and the sky brightened of itself. / All this was the power of the gods; how could it be my doing?" / Yaśodharā, hearing this explanation, gave rise to thoughts of wonder in her heart: / it was indeed the doing of the gods, not the fault of these [two]. / Her mind of reproach vanished, and the blazing great sorrow subsided. / Throwing herself to the ground, she lamented in grievance: "A pair of cakravāka birds separated— / now I have lost my protector; torn apart while living from my partner in the Dharma! / Delighting in the Dharma, he abandons his companion; where else shall he seek the Dharma? / In ancient times, the past supreme ones, kings like Mahāsudarśana and others, / all together with their wives pursued the path and wandered in the wild forests. / But now he has abandoned me; what kind of Dharma does he seek? / In the sacrificial scriptures of the brahmins, husband and wife must practice together; / sharing the practice of the Dharma as the cause, they ultimately share the fruition. / Why are you alone stingy with the Dharma, abandoning me to wander in solitude? / Did you see me as jealous and wicked, and so seek one without jealousy? / Or did you disdain me as inferior, and so seek pure goddesses? / For what superior virtue or beauty do you practice austerities? / Because of my meager merit, husband and wife are parted in life; / for what reason does Rāhula not receive [the blessing of being held upon] your knees? / Alas, inauspicious man! Gentle in appearance, but hard in heart! / Possessing the flourishing glory of an exalted clan, revered even by enemies, / yet with your son not yet grown, you could abandon him forever! / I too have no heart: my husband having abandoned me to roam the mountains and forests, / yet I cannot take my own life—I am truly a person of wood and stone!" / Having spoken, her mind was distraught; now weeping, now raving, / now staring fixedly in deep thought, choked with sobs and unable to contain herself, / faint and almost breathless, she lay in the dust. / The rest of the host of palace women, seeing this, gave rise to sorrowful hearts, / like blooming lotus flowers withered and destroyed by wind and hail. / The father-king, having lost the prince, yearned with grief day and night; / observing fasts, he prayed to the gods, wishing for his son's speedy return. / Having made his vows and prayers, he stepped out of the gate of the heavenly temple; / hearing the sounds of weeping, he was terrified and his mind bewildered, / like a herd of elephants scattering in panic at a great heavenly thunderclap. / Seeing Channa and the white horse, he questioned them thoroughly and learned of the renunciation; / casting his entire body onto the ground, he fell like Indra's collapsed banner. / The ministers gently helped him up, and comforted him with the Dharma to bring peace; / after a long while, his mind revived slightly, and he spoke to the white horse: / "I often rode you in battle, and always remembered your merit; / but today I loathe you twice as much as I loved you then! / My virtuous son whom I cherished—you presumptuously carried him away, / cast him into the mountain forests, and yet returned empty yourself! / Quickly take me there, or else go and bring him back; / if you do not do one of these two, my life will not endure! / There is no other remedy to cure me; I await only my son as medicine. / Like the brāhmaṇa Sañjaya, who killed himself over his son's death, / having lost my son who practices the Dharma, I shall take my own life so that I am no more. / Even Manu, lord of living beings, surely grieved for his son; / how much more I, an ordinary man? Having lost my son, how could I be at peace? / In ancient times King Aja, because his beloved son roamed the mountain forests, / died of yearning and grief, and was immediately reborn in heaven. / Now I cannot die, but dwell in sorrow and suffering through the long night; / the whole palace longs for my son, empty and parched like hungry ghosts (pretas); / like a thirsty man reaching for water, wishing to drink, but it is snatched away— / dying while holding to thirst, he will surely be born in the realm of hungry ghosts. / Now I have reached extreme emptiness and thirst: having obtained the water of my son, I lost it again. / Before my life ends, quickly tell me my son's whereabouts; / do not let me die of thirst and fall among the hungry ghosts! / Originally my resolve and strength were firm, hard to shake like the great earth; / but having lost my son, my heart is agitated and wild, like King Daśaratha of old." / The royal preceptor, a man of vast learning, and the chief minister, wise and discerning— / the two admonished the king, neither lax nor harsh: / "May you broaden your thoughts, and not harm yourself with grief! / In ancient times, the supreme kings abandoned their realms like scattering flowers. / Now your son has gone to practice the path; why suffer in grief and sorrow? / You should recall the prediction of Asita: according to principle and destiny, it must be so! / The bliss of heaven and the sacred rank of a Cakravartin—he is detached and untangled from both; / how could it be said that being king of the world could move the Golden King's heart? / Now you should dispatch us to search and go to his presence, / to urge and dispute with him with skillful means, so as to express our sincere devotion, / hoping to bend his resolve, in order to comfort Your Majesty's sorrow." / The king rejoiced and replied at once: "Only you two must go swiftly; / like a śakunta bird circling in the sky for its young, / now as I long for the prince, my anxious heart is just the same." / When the two had received their orders, the king and all his retinue / felt their hearts slightly cooled, and their breath and appetite returned.