Читать книгу The Life or Legend of Gaudama, the Buddha of the Burmese - Paul Ambroise Bigandet - Страница 10

Table of Contents

A Name is given to the child—Prediction of the Pounhas respecting the child—Death of Maia—Miraculous occurrence at the child's cradle—Adolescence of the Phralaong—He sees the four signs—Return from the garden to the royal city.

Five days after the birth of Phralaong, took place the ceremony of washing the head and giving him a name. In the apartment of the palace several kinds of perfumed wood and essences, such as sandal-wood, lignum, aloes, camphor, &c., were strewed profusely, as well as the most exquisitely scented flowers and parched rice. The nogana (a sort of beverage made of milk, sugar, and honey) was prepared in great abundance. One hundred and eighty Pounhas,[1] the most versed in the science of astrology, were invited to partake of a splendid entertainment in the palace. The king made to every one of them costly presents, and desired them to examine carefully all the signs, prognosticating the future destiny of his son. Amidst that crowd of soothsayers, eight Pounhas were present, who explained the dream that Maia had in the beginning of her pregnancy. Seven of them, lifting up the index[2] of each hand of the child, were amazed at the wonderful signs their eyes met. "If this child," said they, "remain in the society of men, he will become a mighty ruler that will bring all nations under his sway; but if he embrace the profession of recluse, he will certainly become a Buddha." They began to foretell the incomparable glory and high honours that would attend his universal reign. The eighth Pounha, named Kauntagnia, the descendant of the celebrated son of Thoodata, and the youngest of all, raised up the index of one hand of the child. Struck with the wonderful and unmistakable signs that forced themselves on his view, he exclaimed, "No! this child will not remain long in the society of men; he will free himself from the vicissitudes[3] and miseries attending the existence of all beings, and will finally become a Buddha." As the child was to be the instrument for promoting the welfare and merits of all mortals, they gave him the name of Theiddat.

Seven days after her confinement Maia died, and by the virtue of her merits migrated to the seat of Toocita, and became the daughter of a Nat.[G] Her death was not the result of her delivery, but she departed this world because the term of her life had come. On their return to their home, the Pounhas assembled their children and said to them, "We are already advanced in years. We dare not promise to ourselves that we will ever see the son of King Thoodaudana become a Buddha; but to you such a favour is reserved. Listen respectfully to all his instructions, and endeavour to enter the profession of Rahan without delay, and withdraw into solitude. Let us also all join you in that holy vocation." Three Pounhas refused the invitation, and would not enter the profession. The five others cheerfully gave up everything, and became distinguished members of the ascetic body.

[G] Maia was confined in the beginning of the third age. This expression is rather a very loose and general one, and is far from indicating, with any approach to accuracy, the period of Maia's age when she was delivered of her son. The age of man is divided into three parts. The first extends from birth to the sixteenth or eighteenth year; the second goes to the forty-fifth year or thereabout; and the third, from the forty-fifth year to the end of life. Phralaong was born on the 68th year of the Eatzana era, on the 6th after the full moon of the month Katsong. Maia was therefore fifty-six years old. The author of this work strives hard to prove this the age, apparently advanced of Maia, was the best fitted for securing the safety and perfection of the fruit of her womb.

King Thoodaudana, hearing of the explanation given by the Pounhas, inquired whether his son was really to become a Rahan. Having been assured that all the signs predicted the future destiny of his son to such a calling, he desired to know what those signs were. He was told that the four following things were the very signs foreshowing the future career of his son, viz., an old man, a sick man, a dead man, and a recluse.[4] As soon as his son should successively remark those four signs, he would immediately come to the conclusion that the state of Rahan alone is worthy of the warm admiration and eager wishes of a wise man.

King Thoodaudana, who ardently wished to see his son become a great monarch, whose sway would extend over the four great islands and the two thousand smaller ones, gave the strictest orders that none of the four omens should ever meet his eyes. Guards were placed in every direction at distances of a mile, charged with but one care, that of keeping out of his son's sight the appearance of these fatal omens.

On that day eighty thousand noblemen, who were present at the great rejoicings, pledged themselves each one to give one of his male children to attend on the royal infant. "If he become," said they, "a mighty monarch, let our sons be ever with him, as a guard of honour to confer additional lustre on his wonderful reign. If he be ever elevated to the sublime dignity of Buddha, let our children enter the holy profession of recluse, and follow him whithersoever he may direct his steps."

Thoodaudana, with the tender solicitude of a vigilant father, procured for his beloved offspring nurses exempt from all corporeal defects, and remarkable for their beautiful and graceful appearance.

The child grew up, surrounded with a brilliant retinue of numerous attendants.

On a certain day happened the joyful feast of the ploughing season. The whole country, by the magnificence of the ornaments that decorated it, resembled one of the seats of Nats. The country people without exception, wearing new dresses, went to the palace. One thousand ploughs and the same number of pairs of bullocks were prepared for the occasion. Eight hundred ploughs, less one, were to be handled and guided by noblemen. The ploughs, as well as the yokes and the horns of the bullocks, were covered with silver leaves. But the one reserved for the monarch was covered with leaves of gold. Accompanied by a countless crowd of his people, King Thoodaudana left the royal city and went into the middle of extensive fields. The royal infant was brought out by his nurses on this joyful occasion. A splendid jambu tree (Eugenia), loaded with thick and luxuriant green foliage, offered on that spot a refreshing place under the shade of its far-spreading branches. Here the bed of the child was deposited. A gilt canopy was immediately raised above it, and curtains, embroidered with gold, were disposed round it. Guardians having been appointed to watch over the infant, the king, attended by all his courtiers, directed his steps towards the place where all the ploughs were held in readiness. He instantly put his hands to his own plough; eight hundred noblemen, less one, and the country people followed his example. Pressing forward his bullocks, the king ploughed to and fro through the extent of the fields. All the ploughmen, emulating their royal lord, drove their ploughs in a uniform direction. The scene presented a most animated and stirring spectacle on an immense scale. The applauding multitude filled the air with cries of joy and exultation. The nurses, who kept watch by the side of the infant's cradle, excited by the animated scene, forgot the prince's orders, and ran near to the spot to enjoy the soul-stirring sight displayed before their admiring eyes. Phralaong, casting a glance all round, and seeing no one close by him, rose up instantly, and, sitting in a cross-legged position, remained absorbed as it were in a profound meditation. The other nurses, busy in preparing the prince's meal, had spent more time than was at first contemplated. The shadow of the trees had, by the movement of the sun, turned in an opposite direction. The nurses, reminded by this sight that the infant had been left alone, and that his couch was exposed to the rays of the sun, hastened back to the spot they had so imprudently left. But great was their surprise when they saw that the shadow of the jambu tree had not changed its position, and that the child was quietly sitting on his bed. The news of that wonder was immediately conveyed to King Thoodaudana, who came in all haste to witness it. He forthwith prostrated himself before his son, saying, "This is, beloved child, the second time that I bow to you."

Phralaong[5] having reached his sixteenth year, his father ordered three palaces to be built for each season of the year. Each palace had nine stories; and forty thousand maidens, skilful in playing all sorts of musical instruments, were in continual attendance upon him, and charmed all his moments by uninterrupted dances and music. Phralaong appeared among them with the beauty and dignity of a Nat, surrounded with an immense retinue of daughters of Nats. According to the change of seasons he passed from one palace into another, moving as it were in a circle of ever-renewed pleasures and amusements. It was then that Phralaong was married to the beautiful Yathaudara, his first cousin, and the daughter of Thouppabudha and of Amitau. It was in the eighty-sixth year of his grandfather's era that he was married, and also consecrated Prince royal by the pouring of the blessed water over his head.

Whilst Phralaong was spending his time in the midst of pleasures, his relatives complained to the king of the conduct of his son. They strongly remonstrated against his mode of living, which precluded him from applying himself to the acquisition of those attainments befitting his exalted station. Sensible of these reproaches, Thoodaudana sent for his son, to whom he made known the complaints directed against him by his relatives. Without showing any emotion, the young prince replied, "Let it be announced at the sound of the drum throughout the country, that this day week I will show to my relatives in the presence of the best masters that I am fully conversant with the eighteen sorts of arts and sciences." On the appointed day he displayed before them the extent of his knowledge; they were satisfied, and their doubts and anxieties on his account were entirely removed.

On a certain day Phralaong, desiring to go and enjoy some sports in his garden, ordered his coachman to have his conveyance ready for that purpose. Four horses, richly caparisoned, were put to a beautiful carriage, that resembled the dwelling-place of a Nat. Phralaong having occupied his seat, the coachman drove rapidly towards the garden. The Nats, who knew that the time was near at hand when Phralaong would become a Buddha, resolved to place successively before his eyes the four signs foreshowing his future high dignity. One of them assumed the form of an old man, the body bending forward, with grey hairs, a shrivelled skin, and leaning languidly on a heavy staff. In that attire, he advanced slowly, with trembling steps, towards the prince's conveyance. He was seen and remarked only by Phralaong and his coachman. "Who is that man?" said the prince to his driver; "the hairs of his head, indeed, do not resemble those of other men." "Prince," answered the coachman, "he is an old man. Every born being is doomed to become like him; his appearance must undergo the greatest changes, the skin by the action of time will shrivel, the hairs turn grey, the veins and arteries, losing their suppleness and elasticity, will become stiff and hardened, the flesh will gradually sink and almost disappear, leaving the bare bones covered with dry skin." "What?" said to himself the terrified prince; "birth is indeed a great evil, ushering all beings into a wretched condition, which must be inevitably attended with the disgusting infirmities of old age!" His mind being taken up entirely with such considerations, he ordered his coachman to drive back to the palace. Thoodaudana, having inquired from his courtiers what motive had induced his son to return so soon from the place of amusement, was told that he had seen an old man, and that he entertained the thought of becoming a Rahan.[H] "Alas!" said he, "they will succeed in thwarting the high destiny of my son. But let us try now every means to afford him some distraction, so that he may forget the evil idea that has just started up in his mind." He gave orders to bring to his son's palace the prettiest and most accomplished dancing-girls, that, in the midst of ever renewed pleasure, he might lose sight of the thought of ever entering the profession of Rahan. The guard surrounding his palace was doubled, so as to preclude the possibility of his ever seeing the other signs.

[H] In the course of this work the word Rahan is often used. It is of the greatest importance that the reader should firmly seize the meaning that it is designed to convey. We find it employed to designate, in general, the religious belonging either to the Buddhistic or Brahminical sects. When Buddhists happen to mention their brethren of the opposite creed, who have renounced the world and devoted themselves to the practice of religious duties, they invariably call them Rahans. When they speak of Pounhas or Brahmins, who are living in the world, leading an ordinary secular mode of life, they never style them Rahans. Thence we may safely infer that the individuals to whom this denomination was applied formed a class of devotees quite distinct from the laymen.

That class, it appears, comprised all the individuals who lived either in community under the superintendence and guidance of a spiritual superior, or privately in forests under the protecting shade of trees, and in lonely and solitary places. The latter religious are, however, generally designated by the appellation of Ascetics and Rathees. They were the forefathers of those fanatics who up to our days have appeared through the breadth and length of the Indian Peninsula, practising penitential deeds of the most cruel and revolting description. They are described by Buddhists as wearing curled and twisted hair, clad in the skins of wild beasts, and not unfrequently quite destitute of any sort of clothing, and in a state of complete nakedness.

The former, who lived in community, did not lead the same course of life. We find some communities, the three, for instance, under the guidance of the three Kathabas, in the Ouroowela forest, not far from Radzagio, whose inmates are called either Rahans or Rathees. This indicates that their mode of life partook both of the common and hermitical life, resembling, to a certain extent, that which was observed by the Christian communities of cenobites established in the desert of Upper Egypt during the first ages of our era.

Those communities appear to have been the centres in which principles were established, opinions discussed, and theories elaborated. The chiefs enjoyed high reputation for learning. Persons desirous to acquire proficiency in science resorted to their abode, and, under their tuition, strove to acquire wisdom. The following pages of this work will afford several striking illustrations of the view just sketched out.

On another day, Phralaong, on his way to his garden, met with the same Nat under the form of a sick man, who appeared quite sinking under the weight of the most loathsome disease. Frightened at such a sight, Phralaong, hearing from the mouth of his faithful driver what this disgusting object was, returned in all haste to his palace. His father, more and more disturbed at the news conveyed to him, multiplied the pleasures and enjoyments destined for his son, and doubled the number of guards that had to watch over him. On a third occasion, whilst the prince was taking a walk, the same Nat, assuming the shape of a dead man, offered to the astonished regards of the prince the shocking sight of a corpse. Trembling with fear, the young prince came back forthwith to his residence. Thoodaudana, being soon informed of what had taken place, resorted to fresh precautions, and extended to the distance of one youdzana the immense line of countless guards set all round the palace.

On a fourth occasion, the prince, driving rapidly towards his garden, was met on his way by the same Nat under the meek form of a Rahan. The curiosity of the prince was awakened by the extraordinary sight of that new personage: he asked his coachman what he was. "Prince," answered the coachman, "he is a Rahan." At the same time, though little acquainted with the high dignity and sublime qualifications of a recluse, he was enabled, by the power of the Nats, to praise and extol in dignified language the profession and merits of Rahans. The prince felt instantaneously an almost irresistible inclination to embrace that attractive mode of life. He quietly went as far as his garden.

The whole day was spent in all sorts of rural diversions. Having bathed in a magnificent tank, he went a little before sunset to rest awhile on a large well-polished stone table, overshaded by the far-spread branches of beautiful trees hanging above it, waiting for the time to put on his richest dress. All his attendants were busily engaged in preparing the finest clothes and most elegant ornaments. When all was ready, they stood silent round him, waiting for his orders. Perfumes of every description were disposed in a circular row with the various ornaments on the table whereon the prince was sitting.

At that very moment a chief Thagia was quietly enjoying a delicious and refreshing rest on the famous stone table called Pantoo Kambala. On a sudden, he felt his seat as it were getting hot. "Lo! what does this mean?" said the astonished Thagia; "am I doomed to lose my happy state?" Having recollected himself, and reflected a while on the cause of such a wonderful occurrence, he soon knew that Phralaong was preparing to put on for the last time his princely dress. He called to him the son of a Nat, named Withakioon, and said to him, "On this day, at midnight, Prince Theiddat is to leave his palace and withdraw into solitude. Now he is in his garden, preparing to put on his richest attire for the last time. Go, therefore, without a moment's delay, to the place where he is sitting, surrounded by his attendants, and perform to him all the required services." Bowing respectfully to the chief of Thagias, Withakioon obeyed, and by the power inherent in the nature of Nats, he was in an instant carried to the presence of Phralaong. He assumed the figure of his barber, and immediately set to work to arrange the turban with as much taste as art round his head. Phralaong soon found out that the skilful hand which disposed the folds of his head-dress was not that of a man, but of a Nat. One fold of the turban appeared like one thousand, and ten folds like ten thousand folds, offering the magical coup-d'œil of as many different pieces of cloth, arranged with the most consummate skill. The extremity of the turban, which crossed vertically the whole breadth of the countless folds, appeared covered with a profusion of shining rubies. The head of Phralaong was small, but the folds of the turban seemed numberless. How could that be so? It is a wonder surpassing our understanding; it would be rashness and temerity to allow our minds to dwell too much upon it.

Having completely dressed, Phralaong[6] found himself surrounded by all sorts of musicians, singers, and dancers, vying with each other in their endeavours to increase the rejoicing. The Pounhas sang aloud his praise. "May he conquer and triumph! May his wishes and desires be ever fulfilled!" The multitude repeated incessantly in his honour stanzas of praises and blessings. In the midst of universal rejoicings, Phralaong ascended his carriage. He had scarcely seated himself on it, when a message, sent by his father, conveyed to him the gladdening tidings that Yathaudara had been delivered of a son. "That child," replied he with great coolness, "is a new and strong tie that I will have to break." The answer having been brought to his father, Thoodaudana could not understand its meaning. He, however, caused his grandson to be named Raoula. Phralaong, sitting in his carriage, surrounded by crowds of people, who rent the air with cries of joy and jubilation, entered into the city of Kapilawot. At that moment a princess, named Keissa Gautami, was contemplating from her apartments the triumphant entrance of Phralaong into the city. She admired the noble and graceful deportment of Prince Theiddat, and exclaimed with feelings of inexpressible delight, "Happy the father and mother who have such an incomparable son! happy the wife who is blest with such an accomplished husband!" On hearing those words, Phralaong desired to understand their meaning and know their bearing. "By what means," said he to himself, "can a heart find peace and happiness?" As his heart was already disentangled from the thraldom of passions, he readily perceived that real happiness could be found but in the extinction of concupiscence, pride, ignorance, and other passions. He resolved henceforth to search ardently for the happy state of Neibban, by quitting the world that very night, leaving the society of men, and withdrawing into solitude. Detaching from his neck a collar of pearls of immense value, he sent it to Keissa Gautami, as a token of gratitude for the excellent lesson she had given him by the words which she had uttered in his praise. The young princess received it as a mark of favour which she imagined Prince Theiddat intended to pay her. Without further notice of her, he retired into his own apartment to enjoy some rest.