Nirvāṇa (I)

Buddhacarita, Chapter Twenty-Five: Nirvāṇa

The moment the Buddha departed toward the place of his final nirvāṇa, Vaiśālī fell into utter emptiness, like a night sky covered in cloud, its stars and moon deprived of every light.

A land once so peaceful and content now suddenly withered away, like a motherless girl left alone, endlessly grieving the loss of her own beloved father.

It is like a person of fine appearance yet without learning; one intelligent yet meager in virtue; one clever at heart yet stammering in speech; one bright with wisdom yet lacking any real talent —

or one possessed of spiritual powers yet without dignity of bearing; one with a compassionate heart yet false and insincere; one exalted in rank yet without any real power; one dignified in manner yet without any true principle behind it.

Vaiśālī, in just this same way, its former glory now suddenly turned to ruin, was like a seedling in an autumn field, deprived of water and left entirely withered.

Some let their own cooking fires and hearths go cold and dark; some sat before their own food and forgot even to eat; every public and private duty was set aside, and no one attended to the ordinary business of life at all.

Thinking of the Buddha and the depth of the kindness he had shown them, they fell silent, each one unable to speak a word.

At that time, the Licchavi noble Siṃha, forcing himself to bear his own grief and sorrow, wept and cried out in mournful lament, giving voice to his own deep longing: "You who broke apart every crooked path and revealed the true Dharma in its place, who subdued every heterodox teacher — and now you go, never to return again.

Once the world's own path away from the world is cut off, impermanence itself becomes the greatest sickness — and now that the World-Honored One has entered great quiescence, we are left with nothing to rely upon, no one left to save us.

This most excellent one, so skilled in every means, has now concealed his own light in the ultimate place beyond all further seeking — and we, having lost our own firm resolve, are left like a fire suddenly deprived of any fuel to sustain it.

Now that the World-Honored One has cast aside the very shade he once gave the world, how deeply sentient beings are to be pitied — it is as though a man had suddenly lost his own spiritual powers, and the whole world grieved together over it.

Those fleeing the summer heat took refuge in his cool, refreshing pool; those caught in winter's cold relied on his warming fire — and now, in a single day, all of this has vanished into emptiness. Where, then, will sentient beings turn for refuge now?

He who had penetrated this most excellent Dharma was himself the world's own master craftsman, molding and shaping it — and now that the world has lost its rightful governor, humanity has lost the very path itself along with him; old age, sickness, and death now hold free rein once more, for the path is lost, and what is not the path now runs unobstructed.

He who alone could destroy the very mechanism of great suffering — where else in this whole world could his equal ever be found?

A fierce and towering blaze can be quenched by a great rain-cloud — but the fire of craving and desire, once it blazes up, who else could possibly extinguish it now?

He who was firm and steady enough to bear this heavy burden has now set down the weight of the world entirely — what power of wisdom remains now, capable of being a friend to those who never even thought to ask for one?

It is like a condemned prisoner facing execution, who drinks himself into a stupor rather than face death directly — sentient beings, their own consciousness clouded in confusion, are born only, in the end, to die; and it is impermanence, like a sharp saw, that cuts this whole world apart in just this same way.

Ignorant darkness is itself a deep and vast water, craving and desire its towering waves, the afflictions its scattered foam, and false views the great capricious fish lurking within it — only the boat of wisdom is able to carry one across this great ocean.

Every sickness is like the tree's own blossom, old age its slender branches, death its very deep root, and conditioned existence its sprouting seed — and it is the sharp, unyielding blade of wisdom alone that can cut down this tree of the three realms of existence.

Ignorance is the very fire-drill, craving and desire its blazing flame, and the realm of the five desires its fuel — and it is only by the water of wisdom that this fire can be extinguished; he, complete in this most excellent Dharma, had already destroyed this ignorant darkness entirely.

He who could see the safe and true path, who had brought every affliction to its ultimate end, who taught and transformed sentient beings with compassion, making no distinction at all between enemy and kin, whose penetration of all-encompassing wisdom was complete — and now, all of this, he has entirely set aside.

That gentle and pure voice, that broad body and slender, long arms — if even this greatest of sages has his own limit, then who could ever hope to attain what is truly without end?

One ought to awaken now to how swiftly time slips away, and apply oneself diligently to seeking the true Dharma — like a traveler on a perilous road who, upon finding water, drinks quickly and presses onward at once.

Impermanence is a thing of the utmost violence and cruelty, destroying everything everywhere without regard for rank or station — one ought to hold true contemplation always in one's heart, remaining ever watchful even while asleep."

From that time on, the Licchavi noble Siṃha kept the Buddha's own wisdom constantly in mind, grew weary of and renounced birth and death, and gave himself over to admiration and longing for this Lion among Men.

No longer holding to any worldly bond of love and affection, he honored deeply instead the virtue of freedom from desire, subduing his own restless and frivolous impulses, and settling his heart in a place of true quiescent stillness.

He devoted himself diligently to the practice of generosity, departed far from pride and arrogance, delighted in solitude and quiet withdrawal, and reflected always on the true Dharma.

At that time the all-knowing one, turning his whole body around with the very gaze of a lion, looked back upon Vaiśālī, and spoke this verse of final farewell: "This is the last time I shall ever wander through Vaiśālī; I now go on to the birthplace of the Malla people, where I shall enter final nirvāṇa."

Traveling gradually onward, he arrived at the city of Bhoganagara, and, settling in the Ānanda Shrine grove, instructed the assembled monks: "This very night, at its middle watch, I shall enter final nirvāṇa — you must rely, then, on the Dharma itself, for this alone is the most honored and excellent refuge.

Should any teaching fail to accord with the sūtras, or fail to conform properly to the discipline, running contrary to the true and ultimate meaning of things, it ought never to be accepted.

Whatever is neither the Dharma nor the discipline, and is not, besides, something I myself have taught — this is nothing but a false and misleading claim, and you ought to reject it at once.

But to hold fast to what is clearly and correctly taught, without any distortion at all — this is what I myself have actually taught, in accordance with both the Dharma and the discipline.

Whatever accords with my own Dharma and discipline as I have taught them may rightly be trusted; whatever is said to contradict my own Dharma and discipline ought never to be trusted at all.

One who fails to grasp the subtle and precise meaning of a teaching, and mistakenly clings only to its literal words, is nothing but a foolish man, speaking falsely of what is not truly the Dharma at all.

One who cannot distinguish the true from the false, and accepts a teaching blindly, without any real insight into it, is no different from a shop that mixes brass in among its gold, deceiving and misleading the whole world.

The foolish, trained only in shallow understanding, fail to grasp the true and ultimate meaning, and mistake a mere semblance of the Dharma for the genuine Dharma itself.

And so one must examine such things with the greatest care, observing carefully whether a teaching is truly the Dharma and the discipline or not — just as a skilled goldsmith heats and hammers the metal to extract only what is genuinely pure gold.

One who does not know the scriptures and treatises cannot rightly be called wise or discerning at all; he ought not to speak of what he does not truly understand, nor should he act on what he has not truly seen for himself to be correct.

One ought instead to receive a teaching with even and impartial judgment, putting its words and meaning into practice exactly as they are taught — for one who grasps a sword without the proper skill only ends up wounding his own hand instead.

Should the words of a teaching be poorly and clumsily rendered, its true meaning becomes difficult to grasp at all — like searching for a room at night, in a vast and empty house, with no way of knowing where it might be found.

To lose the true meaning is to lose the Dharma itself, and to lose the Dharma is to leave the mind scattered and confused — and it is for this very reason that the wise never depart from the true and ultimate meaning of things."