BIRTH

O n the full moon day of May, [1] in the year 623 BCE [2] there was born in the Lumbini
Park [3] at Kapilavatthu, [4] on the Indian borders of present Nepal, a noble prince who was
destined to be the greatest religious teacher of the world.

His father [5] was King Suddhodana of the aristocratic Sākya [6] clan and his mother was Queen
Mahā Māyā. As the beloved mother died seven days after his birth, Mahā Pajāpatī Gotamī,
her younger sister, who was also married to the king, adopted the child, entrusting her own
son, Nanda, to the care of the nurses.

Great were the rejoicings of the people over the birth of this illustrious prince. An ascetic of
high spiritual attainments, named Asita, also known as Kāladevala, was particularly pleased
to hear this happy news, and being a tutor of the king, visited the palace to see the royal babe.
The king, who felt honoured by his unexpected visit, carried the child up to him in order to
make the child pay him due reverence, but, to the surprise of all, the child's legs turned and
rested on the matted locks of the ascetic. Instantly, the ascetic rose from his seat and,
foreseeing with his supernormal vision the child's future greatness, saluted him with clasped
hands. [7] The royal father did likewise.

The great ascetic smiled at first and then was sad. Questioned regarding his mingled feelings,
he answered that he smiled because the prince would eventually become a Buddha, an
enlightened one, and he was sad because he would not be able to benefit by the superior
wisdom of the Enlightened One owing to his prior death and rebirth in a formless plane
(arūpaloka). [8]

NAMING CEREMONY
On the fifth day after the prince's birth he was named Siddhattha, which means "wish
fulfilled." His family name was Gotama. [9]

In accordance with the ancient Indian custom many learned brahmins were invited to the
palace for the naming ceremony. Amongst them there were eight distinguished men.
Examining the characteristic marks of the child, seven of them raised two fingers each,
indicative of two alternative possibilities, and said that he would either become a Universal
Monarch or a Buddha. But the youngest, Kondañña, [10] who excelled others in wisdom,
noticing the hair on the forehead turned to the right, raised only one finger and convincingly
declared that the prince would definitely retire from the world and become a buddha.

PLOUGHING FESTIVAL
A very remarkable incident took place in his childhood. It was an unprecedented spiritual
experience which, later, during his search after truth, served as a key to his enlightenment. [11]

To promote agriculture, the king arranged for a ploughing festival. It was indeed a festive
occasion for all, as both nobles and commoners decked in their best attire, participated in the
ceremony. On the appointed day, the king, accompanied by his courtiers, went to the field,
taking with him the young prince together with the nurses. Placing the child on a screened
and canopied couch under the cool shade of a solitary rose-apple tree to be watched by the
nurses, the king participated in the ploughing festival. When the festival was at its height of
gaiety the nurses too stole away from the prince's presence to catch a glimpse of the
wonderful spectacle.

In striking contrast to the mirth and merriment of the festival it was all calm and quiet under
the rose-apple tree. All the conditions conducive to quiet meditation being there, the pensive
child, young in years but old in wisdom, sat cross-legged and seized the opportunity to
commence that all-important practice of intense concentration on the breath—on exhalations
and inhalations—which gained for him then and there that one-pointedness of mind known
as samādhi and he thus developed the first jhāna (ecstasy). [12] The child's nurses, who had
abandoned their precious charge to enjoy themselves at the festival, suddenly realising their
duty, hastened to the child and were amazed to see him sitting cross-legged, plunged in deep
meditation. The king hearing of it, hurried to the spot and, seeing the child in meditative
posture, saluted him, saying, "This, dear child, is my second obeisance."

EDUCATION
As a royal child, Prince Siddhattha must have received an education that became a prince
although no details are given about it. As a scion of the warrior race he received special
training in the art of warfare.

MARRIED LIFE
At the early age of sixteen, he married his beautiful cousin Princess Yasodharā [13] who was of
equal age. For nearly thirteen years, after his happy marriage, he led a luxurious life,
blissfully ignorant of the vicissitudes of life outside the palace gates. Of his luxurious life as
prince, he states:

I was delicate, excessively delicate. In my father's dwelling three lotus-ponds were made
purposely for me. Blue lotuses bloomed in one, red in another, and white in another. I used
no sandal-wood that was not of Kāsi. [14] My turban, tunic, dress and cloak, were all from
Kāsi.

Night and day a white parasol was held over me so that I might not be touched by heat or
cold, dust, leaves or dew.

There were three palaces built for me—one for the cold season, one for the hot season, and
one for the rainy season. During the four rainy months, I lived in the palace for the rainy
season without ever coming down from it, entertained all the while by female musicians. Just
as, in the houses of others, food from the husks of rice together with sour gruel is given to the
slaves and workmen, even so, in my father's dwelling, food with rice and meat was given to
the slaves and workmen. [15]
With the march of time, truth gradually dawned upon him. His contemplative nature and
boundless compassion did not permit him to spend his time in the mere enjoyment of the
fleeting pleasures of the royal palace. He knew no personal grief but he felt a deep pity for
suffering humanity. Amidst comfort and prosperity, he realised the universality of sorrow.

RENUNCIATION
Prince Siddhattha reflected thus:

Why do I, being subject to birth, decay, disease, death, sorrow and impurities, thus search
after things of like-nature. How, if I, who am subject to things of such nature, realise their
disadvantages and seek after the unattained, unsurpassed, perfect security which
is Nibbāna!" [16]

"Cramped and confined is household life, a den of dust, but the life of the homeless one is as
the open air of heaven! Hard is it for him who bides at home to live out as it should be lived
the holy life in all its perfection, in all its purity. [17]

One glorious day as he went out of the palace to the pleasure park to see the world outside, he
came in direct contact with the stark realities of life. Within the narrow confines of the palace
he saw only the rosy side of life, but the dark side, the common lot of mankind, was
purposely veiled from him. What was mentally conceived, he, for the first time, vividly saw
in reality. On his way to the park his observant eyes met the strange sights of a decrepit old
man, a diseased person, a corpse and a dignified hermit. [18] The first three sights convincingly
proved to him, the inexorable nature of life, and the universal ailment of humanity. The
fourth signified the means to overcome the ills of life and to attain calm and peace. These
four unexpected sights served to increase the urge in him to loathe and renounce the world.

Realising the worthlessness of sensual pleasures, so highly prized by the worldling, and
appreciating the value of renunciation in which the wise seek delight, he decided to leave the
world in search of truth and eternal peace.

When this final decision was taken after much deliberation, the news of the birth of a son was
conveyed to him while he was about to leave the park. Contrary to expectations, he was not
overjoyed, but regarded his first and only offspring as an impediment. An ordinary father
would have welcomed the joyful tidings, but Prince Siddhattha, the extraordinary father as he
was, exclaimed —"An impediment (rāhu) has been born; a fetter has arisen." The infant son
was accordingly named Rāhula [19] by his grandfather.

The palace was no longer a congenial place to the contemplative Prince Siddhattha. Neither
his charming young wife nor his lovable infant son could deter him from altering the decision
he had taken to renounce the world. He was destined to play an infinitely more important and
beneficial role than a dutiful husband and father or even as a king of kings. The allurements
of the palace were no more cherished objects of delight to him. Time was ripe to depart.
He ordered his favourite charioteer Channa to saddle the horse Kaṇhaka, and went to the suite
of apartments occupied by the princess. Opening the door of the chamber, he stood on the
threshold and cast his dispassionate glance on the wife and child who were fast asleep.

Great was his compassion for the two dear ones at this parting moment. Greater was his
compassion for suffering humanity. He was not worried about the future worldly happiness
and comfort of the mother and child as they had everything in abundance and were well
protected. It was not that he loved them the less, but he loved humanity more.

Leaving all behind, he stole away with a light heart from the palace at midnight, and rode into
the dark, attended only by his loyal charioteer. Alone and penniless he set out in search of
truth and peace. Thus, did he renounce the world. It was not the renunciation of an old man
who has had his fill of worldly life. It was not the renunciation of a poor man who had
nothing to leave behind. It was the renunciation of a prince in the full bloom of youth and in
the plenitude of wealth and prosperity—a renunciation unparalleled in history. It was in his
twenty-ninth year that Prince Siddhattha made this historic journey.

He journeyed far and, crossing the river Anomā, rested on its banks. Here he shaved his hair
and beard and handing over his garments and ornaments to Channa with instructions to return
to the palace, assumed the simple yellow garb of an ascetic and led a life of voluntary
poverty.

The ascetic Siddhattha, who once lived in the lap of luxury, now became a penniless
wanderer, living on what little the charitably-minded gave of their own accord.

He had no permanent abode. A shady tree or a lonely cave sheltered him by day or night.
Bare-footed and bare-headed, he walked in the scorching sun and in the piercing cold. With
no possessions to call his own, but a bowl to collect his food and robes just sufficient to cover
the body, he concentrated all his energies on the quest of truth.

SEARCH
Thus as a wanderer, a seeker after what is good, searching for the unsurpassed peace, he
approached Álāra Kālāma, a distinguished ascetic, and said: "I desire, friend Kālāma to lead
the holy life in this dispensation of yours."

Thereupon Álāra Kālāma told him: "You may stay with me, O Venerable One. Of such sort is
this teaching that an intelligent man before long may realise by his own intuitive wisdom his
master's doctrine, and abide in the attainment thereof."

Before long, he learnt his doctrine, but it brought him no realisation of the highest truth.

Then there came to him the thought: "When Álāra Kālāma declared:

'Having myself realised by intuitive knowledge the doctrine, I abide in the attainment
thereof,' it could not have been a mere profession of faith; surely Álāra Kālāma lives having
understood and perceived this doctrine."
So he went to him and said "How far, friend Kālāma, does this doctrine extend which you
yourself have with intuitive wisdom realised and attained?"

Upon this Álāra Kālāma made known to him the Realm of Nothingness
(ākiñcaññāyatana), [20] an advanced stage of concentration.

Then it occurred to him: "Not only in Álāra Kālāma are to be found faith,
energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom. I too possess these virtues. How now if I
strive to realise that doctrine whereof Álāra Kālāma says that he himself has realised and
abides in the attainment thereof!"

So, before long, he realised by his own intuitive wisdom that doctrine and attained to that
state, but it brought him no realisation of the highest truth.

Then he approached Álāra Kālāma and said: "Is this the full extent, friend Kālāma, of this
doctrine of which you say that you yourself have realised by your wisdom and abide in the
attainment thereof?"

"But I also, friend, have realised thus far in this doctrine, and abide in the attainment thereof."

The unenvious teacher was delighted to hear of the success of his distinguished pupil. He
honoured him by placing him on a perfect level with himself and admiringly said:

Happy, friend, are we, extremely happy, in that we look upon such a venerable fellow-ascetic
like you! That same doctrine which I myself have realised by my wisdom and proclaim,
having attained thereunto, have you yourself realised by your wisdom and abide in the
attainment thereof; and that doctrine you yourself have realised by your wisdom and abide in
the attainment thereof, that have I myself realised by my wisdom and proclaim, having
attained thereunto. Thus the doctrine which I know, and also do you know; and, the doctrine
which you know, that I know also. As I am, so are you; as you are, so am I. Come, friend, let
both of us lead the company of ascetics.

The ascetic Gotama was not satisfied with a discipline and a doctrine which only led to a high
degree of mental concentration, but did not lead to "disgust, detachment, cessation (of
suffering), tranquillity, intuition, enlightenment, and Nibbāna." Nor was he anxious to lead a
company of ascetics even with the co-operation of another generous teacher of equal spiritual
attainment, without first perfecting himself. It was, he felt, a case of the blind leading the
blind. Dissatisfied with his teaching, he politely took his leave from him.

In those happy days when there were no political disturbances the intellectuals of India were
preoccupied with the study and exposition of some religious system or other. All facilities
were provided for those more spiritually inclined to lead holy lives in solitude in accordance
with their temperaments and most of these teachers had large followings of disciples. So it
was not difficult for the Ascetic Gotama to find another religious teacher who was more
competent than the former.
On this occasion he approached one Uddaka Rāmaputta and expressed his desire to lead the
holy life in his dispensation. He was readily admitted as a pupil.

Before long the intelligent ascetic Gotama mastered his doctrine and attained the final stage
of mental concentration, the realm of neither-perception-nor-non-perception (neva-
saññānāsaññāyatana), [21] revealed by his teacher. This was the highest stage in worldly
concentration when consciousness becomes so subtle and refined that it cannot be said that a
consciousness either exists or not. Ancient Indian sages could not proceed further in spiritual
development.

The noble teacher was delighted to hear of the success of his illustrious royal pupil. Unlike
his former teacher the present one honoured him by inviting him to take full charge of all the
disciples as their teacher. He said: "Happy friend, are we; yea, extremely happy, in that we
see such a venerable fellow-ascetic as you! The doctrine which Rāma knew, you know; the
doctrine which you know, Rāma knew. As was Rāma so are you; as you are, so was Rāma.
Come, friend, henceforth you shall lead this company of ascetics."

Still he felt that his quest of the highest truth was not achieved. He had gained complete
mastery of his mind, but his ultimate goal was far ahead. He was seeking for the Highest, the
Nibbāna, the complete cessation of suffering, the total eradication of all forms of craving.
"Dissatisfied with this doctrine too, he departed thence, content therewith no longer."

He realised that his spiritual aspirations were far higher than those under whom he chose to
learn. He realised that there was none capable enough to teach him what he yearned for—the
highest truth. He also realised that the highest truth is to be found within oneself and ceased
to seek external aid.