The Life of Buddha, by A. Ferdinand Herold, tr. by Paul C Blum [1922], at sacred-texts.com
The Life of Buddha, by A. Ferdinand Herold, tr. by Paul C Blum [1922], at sacred-texts.com
THE Buddha never moved. He remained under the tree, his legs crossed. He was filled with bliss at having attained perfect knowledge. He thought, "I have found deliverance." One whole week he remained under the tree of knowledge, without moving.
The second week he went on a long journey; he travelled through all the worlds.
The third week he again remained under the tree of knowledge, and he never once blinked his eyes.
The fourth week he went on a short journey, from the eastern sea to the western sea.
It was then that Mara, whom defeat had left inconsolable, went to the Buddha and spoke these evil words:
"Blessed One, why do you tarry, you who know the path to deliverance? Blow out the lamp, quench the flame; enter nirvana, O Blessed One; the hour has come."
But the Blessed One answered:
"No, Mara, I shall not quench the flame, I shall
not enter nirvana. I must first gain many disciples, and they, in turn, must win others over to my law. By word and by deed I must silence my adversaries. No, Mara, I shall not enter nirvana until the Buddha is glorified throughout the world, until his beneficent law is recognized."
Mara left him. He was crestfallen, and he seemed to hear divine voices mocking him.
"You have been defeated, Mara," they were saying, "and you stand wrapped in thought, like an old heron. You are powerless, Mara, like an aged elephant stuck fast in a swamp. You thought you were a hero, and you are weaker than a sick man abandoned in a forest. Of what avail were your insolent words? They were as futile as the chattering of crows."
He picked up a piece of dead wood, and began drawing figures in the sand. His three daughters, Rati, Arati and Trishna, saw him. They were taken aback at the sight of his grief.
"Father, why are you so melancholy?" asked Rati.
"I have been defeated by a saintly man," replied Mara. "He is proof against my strength and my cunning."
"Father," said Trishna, "we are beautiful; we have seductive ways."
"We shall go to this man," continued Arati; "we
shall bind him with the chains of love, and we shall bring him to you, humbled and craven."
They went to the Buddha, and they sang:
"Spring is here, friend, the loveliest of the seasons. The trees are in blossom; we must be merry. Your eyes are beautiful, they shine with a lovely light, and you bear the marks of omnipotence. Look at us: we were made to give pleasure and happiness to both men and Gods. Rise and join us, friend; make the most of your shining youth; dismiss all solemn thoughts from your mind. Look at our hair, see how soft it is; flowers lend their fragrance to its silkiness. See our eyes wherein slumbers the sweetness of love. See our warm lips, like fruit ripened in the sun. See our firm, rounded breasts. We glide with the stately grace of swans; we know songs that charm and please, and when we dance, hearts beat faster and pulses throb. Come, friend, do not spurn us; he is foolish, indeed, who would throw away a treasure. Look at us, dear Lord; we are your slaves."
But the Blessed One was unmoved by the song. He frowned at the young girls, and they turned into hags.
In despair they returned to their father. "Father," cried Rati, "see what he has done to our youth and our beauty."
"Love will never hurt him," said Trishna, "for he was able to resist our charms."
"Oh," sighed Arati, "how cruelly he has punished us."
"Father," implored Trishna, "cure us of this hideous old age."
"Give us back our youth," cried Rati.
"Give us back our beauty," cried Arati.
"My poor daughters," replied Mara, "I grieve for you. Yes, he has defeated love; he is beyond my power, and I am sad. You plead with me to give you back your youth and your beauty, but how can I? The Buddha alone can undo what the Buddha has done. Return to him; admit that you were blameworthy; tell him that you are repentant, and perhaps he will give you back your charms."
They implored the Buddha.
"Blessed One," said they, "forgive us our offense. Our eyes were blind to the light, and we were foolish. Forgive us!"
"Yes, you were foolish," replied the Blessed One; "you were trying to destroy a mountain with your finger-nails, you were trying to bite through iron with your teeth. But you acknowledge your offense; that already is a sign of wisdom. O maidens, I forgive you."
And the three daughters of the Evil One left his presence, more beautiful than ever before.
The fifth week the Blessed One remained under the tree. But, suddenly, there blew a bitter
wind, and a cold rain fell. Then Mucilinda, the serpent-king, said to himself: "The Blessed One must not suffer from the rain or from the cold." He left his home. Seven times he coiled himself around the Buddha, and he spread his hood above the Buddha's head to shelter him. And thus the Buddha suffered not at all during this period of bad weather.
The sixth week he went to a fig-tree where goatherds often forgathered. There, some Gods awaited him, and they humbly bowed as he approached. He said.
"Meekness is sweet to him who knows the law; kindness is sweet to him who can see; meekness is sweet to all creatures; kindness is sweet to all creatures. Blessed is he who has not a desire in the world; blessed is he who has conquered sin; blessed is he who has escaped the torture of the senses; blessed is he who no longer thirsts for existence!"
The seventh week he remained under the tree of knowledge.
Two brothers, Trapusha and Bhallika, were returning to the northern countries. They were merchants and had five hundred chariots in their train. As they came near the tree, the chariots stopped. In vain did the drivers try to encourage or goad the beasts that drew them; they could not advance a step. The wheels kept sinking in the
mud up to the hubs. Trapusha and Bhallika became alarmed, but a God appeared who reassured them and said:
"Walk a little way, O merchants, and you will find one to whom you should do homage."
Trapusha and Bhallika saw the Blessed One. His face was radiant.
"Is it the God of some river or the God of the mountain?" they wondered. "Could it be Brahma himself?"
But upon looking at his garments, they thought:
"It must be some monk. Perhaps he would like something to eat."
Trapusha and Bhallika went to the chariot that carried the provisions. They found flour and honey cakes, and they brought them to the Buddha.
"Take them, saintly man," they said, offering him the cakes, "take them and be gracious to us."
The Blessed One had no bowl in which to receive alms. He did not know what to do. The Gods, who were watching at the four quarters of the earth, saw his perplexity, and they quickly brought him bowls made of gold. But the Blessed One said to himself:
"Truly, it would be unseemly for a monk to receive alms in a golden bowl."
And he refused the golden bowls. The Gods then brought him silver bowls, which he also refused.
[paragraph continues] He likewise refused emerald bowls, and he would only accept bowls made of stone.
He then received the cakes the merchants offered him. When he had finished eating, he said:
"The blessing of the Gods be with you, merchants! Prosper and be happy!"
Trapusha and Bhallika bowed, and they heard a God say to them:
"He who is before you has arrived at supreme knowledge. This was his first meal since he found the path to deliverance, and to you fell the signal honor of offering it to him. He will now go through the world and teach the true law."
Trapusha and Bhallika rejoiced, and they were the first to profess their faith in the Buddha and in the law.
