Page:Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition, v. 4.djvu/479

Rh "she does not understand," said to her, "My good girl, I myself have no such medicine as you ask for, but I think I know of one who has." "Oh, tell me who that is?" said Kisagotami. "The Buddha can give you medicine; go to him," was the answer. She went to Gautama; and doing homage to him said, "Lord and master, do you know any medicine that will be good for my child?" "Yes, I know of some," said the teacher. Now it was the custom for patients or their friends to provide the herbs which the doctors required; so she asked what herbs he would want. "I want some mustard-seed," he said; and when the poor girl eagerly promised to bring some of so common a drug, he added, "you must get it from some house where no son, or husband, or parent, or slave has died." "Very good," she said; and went to ask for it, still carrying her dead child with her. The people said, "Here is mustard-seed, take it;" but when she asked, "In my friend's house has any son died, or a husband, or a parent, or slave?" They answered, "Lady! what is this that you say? the living are few, but the dead are many." Then she went to other houses, but one said "I have lost a son," another "We have lost our parents," another "I have lost my slave." At last, not being able to find a single house where no one had died, her mind began to clear, and summoning up resolution she left the dead body of her child in a forest, and returning to the Buddha paid him homage. He said to her, "Have you the mustard seed?" "My lord," she replied, "I have not; the people tell me that the living are few, but the dead are many." Then he talked to her on that essential part of his system, the impermanency of all things, till her doubts were cleared away, she accepted her lot, became a disciple, and entered the "first path." For forty-five years after entering on his mission Gautama itinerated in the valley of the Ganges, not going further than about 150 miles from Benares, and always spending the rainy months at one spot—usually at one of the vihāras, or homes, which had been given to the Society. In the twentieth year his cousin Ānanda became a mendicant, and from that time seems to have attended on Gautama, being constantly near him, and delighting to render him all the personal service which love and reverence could suggest. Another cousin, Dewadatta, the son of the rāja of Koli, also joined the society, but became envious of the teacher, and stirred up Ajātaṣatru (who having killed his father, Bimbisāra, had become king of Rājagriha) to persecute Gautama. The account of the manner in which the Buddha is said to have overcome the wicked devices of this apostate cousin and his parricide protector is quite legendary; but the general fact of Ajātaṣatru's opposition to the new sect and of his subsequent conversion may be accepted. The rival teachers, or sophists, as might be expected, were bitter enemies of the new philosophy, and the Brahmins did all they could to put down a faith which inculcated such dangerous doctrines as the equality within the Society of all ranks and castes, and the possibility of salvation without sacrifices or the assistance of the priests. They instigated certain men to murder Moggallāna, one of the two chief disciples, and made several attempts on the life of the teacher himself; but many of the chiefs, and the great bulk of the common people, are represented, with probable truth, as being uniformly in favour of his doctrine, though the number of those who actually joined the Society was comparatively small. The confused and legendary notices of the journeyings of Gautama are succeeded by tolerably clear accounts of the last few days of his life. On a journey towards Kusi-nagara, a town about 120 miles N.N.E of Benares, and about 80 miles due E. of Kapilavastu, the teacher, being then eighty years of age, had rested for a short time in a grove at Pāwā, presented to the Society by a goldsmith of that place named Chunda. Chunda prepared for the mendicants a mid-day meal, consisting of rice and pork; and it may be noticed in passing how highly improbable it is that any Buddhist would have invented the story of the Buddha's last illness having been brought on by such a cause. He started for Kusi-nagara in the afternoon, but had not gone far when he was obliged to rest, and soon afterwards he said, "Ąnanda, I am thirsty;" and they gave him water to drink. Half-way between the two towns flows the River Kukushṭā. There Gautama rested again, and bathed for the last time. Feeling that he was dying, and careful lest Chunda should be reproached by himself or others, he said to Ānanda, "After I am gone tell Chunda that he will receive in a future birth very great reward; for, having eaten of the food he gave me, I am about to pass into Nirvāna; and if he should still doubt, say that it was from my own mouth that you heard this. There are two gifts which will be blest above all others, namely, Sujātā's gift before I attained wisdom under the Bo tree, and this gift of Chunda's before I enter the final rest of Nirvāna." After halting again and again the party at length reached the River Hiranyavatī, close by Kusi-nagara, and there for the last time Gautama rested; and lying down under some Sal trees, with his face towards the south, he talked long and earnestly with Ānanda about his burial, and about certain rules which were to be observed by the Society after his death. Towards the end of this conversation, when it was evening, Ānanda broke down and went aside to weep, but Gautama missed him, and sending for him comforted him with the promise of Nirvāna, and repeated what he had so often said before about the impermanence of all things,—"O Ānanda! do not weep; do not let yourself be troubled. You know what I have said; sooner or later we must part from all we hold most dear. This body of ours contains within itself the power which renews its strength for a time, but also the causes which lead to its destruction. Is there anything put together which shall not dissolve? But you, too, shall be free from this delusion, this world of sense, this law of change. Beloved," added he, speaking to the rest of the disciples, "Ānanda for long years has served me with devoted affection. He knows all that should be done; after I am gone listen to his word." And he spoke to them at some length on the insight and kindness of Ānanda. About midnight Subhadra, a Brahman philosopher of Kusi-nagara, came to ask some questions of the Buddha; but Ānanda, fearing that this might lead to a longer discussion than the sick teacher could bear, would not admit him. Gautama heard the sound of their talk, and asking what it was, told them to let Subhadra come. He began by asking whether the six great teachers knew all laws, or whether there were some that they did not know, or knew only partially. "This is not the time," was the answer, "for such discussions. To true wisdom there is only one way, the path that is laid down in my law. Many have already followed it, and conquering the lust and pride and anger of their own hearts, have become free from ignorance and doubt and wrong belief, have entered the calm state of universal kindliness, and reached Nirvāna even in this life. Save in my religion the twelve great disciples, who being good themselves rouse up the world, and deliver it from 