The Forest of Ascetic Practice

Buddhacarita, Chapter Seven: The Forest of Ascetic Practice

Having sent Chandaka away, the prince made his way alone into the dwelling of the seers, his dignified body shining with its own light, illuminating the whole forest of ascetic practice.

Complete now in every meaning he sought, he went forward according to that very meaning — like a lion-king entering the midst of a herd of lesser beasts — every worldly appearance now entirely set aside, showing only the true form of one upon the path.

The ascetics there, suddenly beholding a sight they had never before seen, were struck with a mixture of awe and delight; they joined their palms and fixed their eyes upon him — the men and women alike, though still occupied with whatever task was at hand, kept their gaze on him without ever breaking their composed bearing.

As the gods gaze upon Indra, staring without so much as a blink, so these seers, without a single step, stared at him in exactly the same way.

Even those whose hands were occupied with heavy labor kept their reverent gaze fixed on him without ever setting down their task — like an ox yoked to its harness, whose body remains at its work while its heart follows elsewhere.

All the students of the way of seers and sages declared with one voice that they had never before seen such a thing; peacocks and every other kind of bird cried out in confused clamor as they wheeled through the air.

Brahmins who kept the deer-vow, wandering the mountain forests in the company of deer, whose wild and skittish creatures would ordinarily startle at anything — even these deer stared fixedly at the prince, and the brahmins who followed after them stared in exactly the same fixed way.

Like a sugarcane lamp doubling its own light, or like the sun at its very first rising, his presence moved the herds of milk-cows there to yield forth milk sweeter and more fragrant than before.

The brahmins, astonished and delighted, spoke to one another in wonder: "Is this one of the eight Vasu gods? One of the twin Aśvins? Is it the sixth heaven's own Māra? One of the Brahmakāyika gods? Could it be the very son of the sun or the moon, come down to us here?"

Certain that he was one deserving reverence, they rushed forward eagerly to offer him homage; and the prince, in turn, humbled himself as well, greeting them with respectful words.

The bodhisattva surveyed the whole assembly, all the brahmins there in the forest, each cultivating some meritorious practice of his own, every one of them seeking the bliss of rebirth in heaven.

He asked the eldest and most senior of the brahmins about the true path they followed there: "Having only just arrived, I do not yet know what practice is followed here.

Let me ask you about it point by point — I beg you to explain it to me."

At this, the two twice-born elders explained to him, one by one and point by point, the full range of their austerities and the fruits each was meant to bring.

Some ate only pure, water-grown things that had not come from any village; some ate only roots, stems, and leaves; others ate only flowers and fruit.

Each followed its own particular path, and their manner of eating differed accordingly; some took up the way of birds, gathering food with the two "pincers" of their mouth alone.

Some followed the deer and ate only grass; some, like serpent-sages, subsisted only on air; some ground wood or stone between their teeth without truly eating at all, leaving only tooth-marks in it.

Some begged for alms and gave them to others, taking only the leftovers for themselves; some bathed their heads constantly in water; some devoted themselves to the service of fire; some, like fish-sages, dwelt entirely in the water — and so on, in every manner of variation.

These brahmins cultivated their austerities so that, at the end of their lives, they might be reborn in heaven; through the cause of ascetic hardship, they hoped to obtain the fruit of ease and bliss.

The Two-Footed Honored One, hearing of these many austerities, found in them no true or ultimate meaning, and his heart took no delight in them; reflecting on this, he felt only pity for them, and spoke silently to himself:

How pitiable — this great asceticism, seeking only the reward of rebirth as a human or a god, still circling on through birth and death, its suffering great and its fruit so slight.

To turn one's back on kin and abandon a life of ease, resolved only to seek the bliss of heaven — even should one thereby escape some lesser suffering, one remains bound, in the end, by a far greater one.

To waste and wither one's own body in the practice of every kind of austerity, and yet still seek further rebirth — this only strengthens the very cause of the five desires all over again.

Because they fail to see through birth and death itself, they use suffering to seek yet more suffering; and every kind of sentient being, in its heart, forever fears death.

Striving diligently to seek further birth, only to die once that birth has come — even while dreading suffering so greatly, they remain sunk forever in this sea of suffering.

This present life is already exhausting enough, and yet, in seeking a future birth, they find no rest even in that; enduring hardship now for the sake of some present pleasure, and laboring also to seek future birth in heaven — their very wish for happiness is itself base and inferior, and both paths alike fall into what is without true meaning.

Compared to what is most base and inferior, mere diligent effort might indeed count as superior — but this is nothing next to the cultivation of true wisdom, which sets both extremes aside entirely and rests in what is forever free of contrivance.

To hold that afflicting the body is itself the true Dharma, and that ease and comfort are contrary to it, is to think that only after practicing hardship does happiness follow — as though hardship were the true cause, and ease were somehow not its rightful fruit.

Yet whatever the body does, its arising and its ceasing alike, all of it comes from the power of the mind and its intention; apart from mind and intention, this body is no different from a withered log — and so one ought, rather, to bring the mind itself into proper order, for once the mind is ordered, the body naturally follows into rightness of its own accord.

If eating only pure things were itself the true cause of merit, then the birds and beasts, and the destitute and the poor, who live always on nothing but fruit and leaves, ought by this logic to possess the greatest merit of all.

And if it is said that a good heart gives rise to ascetic hardship as the true cause of merit — then why should those who dwell in ease and comfort not also give rise to that very same good heart?

Happiness does not arise from an evil heart, nor is goodness itself caused by suffering.

And as for those outsiders who hold that water itself makes one pure — the creatures who happily dwell in water all their lives would, by that logic, have their evil deeds forever washed clean.

[As for reverence for a particular place —] it was, originally, only because sages of true merit and virtue once dwelt there that such a place came to be honored at all.

It is because sages of merit and virtue once dwelt in a place that the whole world comes to hold it in reverence — one ought, then, to revere their merit and virtue itself, and not simply revere the place where they happened to dwell.

As he expounded on all this at length, the day drew on toward dusk, and he saw those who served the sacred fire, some kindling it by friction, some by blowing upon it.

Some sprinkled it with ghee, some chanted invocations and blessings aloud; and having observed their practices in this way throughout the whole day and night, and finding in them no true or ultimate meaning, he resolved to take his leave.

At this, all the brahmins came and begged him to stay, cherishing and admiring the bodhisattva's own virtue, every one of them urging him earnestly to remain.

"You have come from a place without the true Dharma to this forest of the true Dharma — why, then, would you wish to abandon it now? It is for this reason that we urge you to stay."

The eldest brahmins, their hair matted and their bodies clothed in bark, followed after the bodhisattva, begging him to linger a little longer.

The bodhisattva, seeing these elders grown weary from following after him, stopped beneath a tree, and comforted them, sending them back to their own places.

The brahmins, both old and young, gathered around him and, joining their palms, entreated him: "You have only just come to us, and this whole grove is filled with your wondrous presence — and now, if you abandon and leave us, it will become nothing more than a barren, empty waste again.

Just as a person cherishes his own life and does not wish to give up his body, so do we feel toward you — we ask only that you stay with us a little while longer.

The brahmins here — royal seers and celestial seers alike — all rely upon this very place, which lies, besides, close by the snowy mountains.

For fostering human ascetic practice, no place surpasses this one; it is by this very path that so many students of the way have gone on to be reborn in heaven.

Those who seek merit and study the way of the seers all come from this region northward; those of wisdom do not wander south of here, embracing instead the true Dharma found in this place.

If you find that we are indolent and lacking in diligence, that we practice things that are impure, and that this is why you take no pleasure in staying with us —

then let all of us leave instead, and you remain here in our place — for these brahmins here are forever in search of companions in ascetic practice.

You yourself have become the very foremost among us in ascetic practice — how, then, could you abandon us now?

Should you be willing to remain here, we would serve you as the gods themselves serve Indra, or as Indra himself once served the sage Bṛhaspati."

The bodhisattva then explained to the brahmins the true aim of his own heart: "What I cultivate is the correct means to an end — I seek only to extinguish every mode of conditioned existence entirely.

Your hearts are honest and upright, and your practice of the Dharma is quiet and still; you have shown genuine warmth toward a mere visitor such as myself, and my own heart has taken true delight in this.

Your fine words have moved my very heart, the way one is refreshed by bathing in clear water; hearing what you have said has only deepened my own love for the Dharma, and I have come to regard every one of you as my own good companions on the path.

And so, to abandon you now leaves my own heart filled with real regret; having already gone against my own kin, I now find myself parting from you as well — the suffering of parting after having once come together is, in either case, exactly the same.

It is not that my heart takes no pleasure in your company, nor that I have found any fault in you; it is only that your austerities are all aimed at the bliss of rebirth in heaven, while what I seek is the extinguishing of the three realms of existence entirely — our bodies may turn the same direction for now, but our hearts run contrary to one another.

What you practice, you have each inherited from the work of your own former teachers; but I seek to extinguish every accumulation of craving entirely, seeking instead the very Dharma that is free of all such accumulation — and it is for this reason that there is, in the end, no reason at all for me to remain long in this forest."

At this, all the brahmins, hearing what the bodhisattva had said — words both genuinely true and skillfully reasoned, their logic of the highest order — felt their hearts fill with great joy, and their reverence for him deepened all the more.

At that time there was one brahmin who always lay upon the bare dust, his hair matted and his body clothed in tree bark, his eyes a tawny yellow and his nose long and prominent.

He said to the bodhisattva: "Your resolve is firm and your wisdom is clear; you have determined for yourself the very fault of birth, and understand well the peace that lies beyond it.

Sacrificial rites offered in prayer to the gods, and every kind of ascetic austerity — all of these seek only the bliss of rebirth in heaven, and none of them has yet departed from the realm of craving and desire.

But one who is able to contend against craving and desire itself, whose resolve seeks true liberation — such a one alone is a true man, certain to become one of perfect and complete awakening.

This place is not one where you ought to remain. You should go instead to Mount Vindhya, where there dwells a great sage named Ārāḍa, who alone has attained the very ultimate — the supreme and most excellent eye of insight.

You should go and visit him, and hear the true path from him directly; and should he bring true joy to your heart, you should then take up and practice whatever he teaches.

Yet, observing your own aim and aspiration, I suspect that even his teaching may not, in the end, bring you full peace, and that you will go on to leave him as well, seeking still further learning beyond him.

Your nose stands high, your eyes are wide and long, your lips are red and your teeth white and sharp, your skin is fine and your face lustrous, your tongue is red, long, soft, and thin — every one of these wondrous marks shows that you will drink deep of that very radiant water of wisdom.

You are certain to cross over depths that cannot otherwise be fathomed, unmatched by anything in this world — and what even the seers of old, for all their age and experience, were never able to attain, you yourself are certain to attain."

The bodhisattva took these words to heart, and took his leave of all the seers there; and the whole company of seers circled him respectfully to his right before each returning to his own place.