“Kind enough to show me an image of grief? I am past grieving,” Gautama said.
“Then take this image as a greeting from Ganaka instead. I know him well,” said Mara. “He is in my care now.”
“Then he must be in a place of torment. But I am beyond horror too. So tell me quickly why you’ve come, with as few lies as you can.”
“I’m here to teach you. Remember, that was my offer when you were young,” Mara said. “But you misjudged me, as everyone does. Now you must be wiser.”
“You think it’s wiser to have a demon for a teacher?” As they bantered, Gautama felt nothing toward Mara, neither fear nor dislike. Even wondering why the demon had sought him was a faint impulse on the edge of his mind.
“You still misjudge me,” Mara said in a cajoling voice. “I know the secrets of the universe. No knowledge can be kept from me since my role is to see into the crevices of every soul. I will share all that I know with you.”
“No.”
“I didn’t hear that. You’ve craved knowledge ever since I met you. I saw it in your eyes. Why turn your back on me now? I’m greater than these yogis you’ve wasted your time with,” the demon said.
“The one who wanted to know everything no longer exists,” said Gautama. “I have nothing left to ask.”
“Stubbornness doesn’t become you, my friend. I’m disappointed.” Mara’s tone of voice was smooth and assured, but he was sitting close enough that Gautama felt the demon’s body tremble with suppressed rage. Mara said, “I thought you were above other souls. But if you insist on being common, let me satisfy what you really want.”
These words were greeted with peals of laughter. Through the trees came three beautiful women carrying oil lamps; incense swirled around them. As Gautama watched, a pool of water appeared in the forest. The women began to disrobe, casting glances at him and giggling softly.
“My three daughters,” said Mara. “They never fail to charm, so why pretend? You want them.”
The women had silky pale skin and full breasts. Gautama looked on while they bathed themselves, using every suggestive gesture they could find; their hands were delicate, and the way they touched themselves only faintly hinted at lewdness.
“I told them you weren’t coarse, but as you can see, they will adapt themselves to your every desire,” said Mara.
“Yes, I see that,” said Gautama. “The man who once had a wife no longer exists. I can accept your daughters as new wives. Tell them to approach.”
Mara smiled with satisfaction. The three women emerged from the bathing pool and draped themselves with gossamer saris that showed their naked bodies in the moonlight. Mara made a gesture, and the first daughter knelt submissively before Gautama.
“What is your name, beautiful one?” Gautama asked.
“I am Tanha.”
“Your name means ‘desire.’ I will take you for a wife, but unfortunately I have no desire for you. If you marry me, you will never feel desire or be desired ever again. Is that acceptable?”
Before his eyes the lovely face of Tanha turned into the face of a long-toothed demon, and with a howl she vanished from sight.
“Let me see your second daughter,” said Gautama. Mara, looking displeased, waved his hand abruptly, and the second young woman knelt before them.
“What is your name, beautiful one?” asked Gautama.
“Raga.”
“Your name means ‘lust.’ I was born a male, and therefore your appeal is well known to me. I will take you for a wife, but if we marry, you must respect my vows. Your heart of fire will be turned to ice, and you will never lust or be lusted after again. Is that acceptable?”
In an instant Raga was transformed into a ball of fire, which rushed at Gautama to sear his flesh. Instead, the fire passed through him and vanished.
“Show me your last daughter,” Gautama said. “The first two won’t have me.”
Mara jumped to his feet in a rage. “You treat my gentle girls badly. They only want to serve you, and in return you cruelly abuse them.”
“But your third daughter is so beautiful, I can’t possibly mistreat her. Bring her to me. I’m sure we will be married,” Gautama said gently. Mara regarded him with dark suspicion but made a small gesture. The third daughter knelt before them.
“Don’t ask me my name,” she said. “I am free of all desire and lust. I am as indifferent to you as you are to me. We are perfectly matched.”
“You’re very subtle,” said Gautama. “But I already know your name. It’s Arati, or ‘aversion.’ You want nothing because you hate everything. I will make you my wife, but only on the condition that you open yourself to love. Is that acceptable?”
Arati’s face assumed a look of unspeakable disgust. In alarm Mara reached his arms out to hold on to her, but he was too late. In an instant she vanished like the others. The demon gave a howl that grew louder and fiercer until it filled the whole forest. He swelled in size, and the form of Ganaka dropped away. Mara began to grow his four horrible faces.
“I’m going to see you as you really are. Good,” said Gautama.
“Arrogance!” Mara screamed. “You shall see me, all right, and the moment you do, you will die.”
He began to make mysterious signs in the air that Gautama didn’t understand, and like magic, the kingdom of the demons descended to earth. The forest floor crawled with poisonous snakelike demons, slithering over Gautama’s lap, while batlike demons tried to bite his face. A phalanx of elephants crashed through the trees, trampling other demons of damned souls whose bodies were crushed underfoot. Because the demon world consists of the most disgusting and terrifying forms that the human mind can conceive of, there was no end to the waves of Mara’s subjects that emerged in the moonlight.
Mara himself rode a massive bull elephant that held writhing souls between its jaws. At first he remained aloof, waiting for his army to annihilate Gautama by sucking it into a maelstrom of torment. But when he saw the calmness of Gautama’s gaze, Mara became agitated.
“Resist me all you like. I will never depart from you, and neither will my subjects. This spectacle is what you will see for the rest of your life.”
“I am not resisting. You are all welcome to stay,” said Gautama. “You cannot attack what isn’t here, and I am not here.”
“Not here?” said Mara. “You’re insane.”
“Or perhaps I just lack a soul. Doesn’t it take a soul to be damned?”
The calmness of Gautama’s speech not only infuriated the demon king but caused his subjects to begin to fade away like shadow puppets on a screen or summer lightning inside a cloud.
“Prove it to yourself,” said Gautama. “If you can find my soul, it’s yours. I have stopped caring, myself.”
Mara leaped from the elephant and crouched on the ground in front of Gautama. “Done!” he hissed. He had never experienced any creature, mortal or divine, without a soul, and now this fool had freely surrendered his. “You’re mine, and I will claim you when it pleases me.” Every other spectre had disappeared by now. Mara’s four malignant faces lingered for a few more seconds before he too vanished.
Gautama doubted he would ever see him again. The existence of his soul, like everything else, held no interest. Total detachment is the one great healer of karma. Yet the whisper of desire softly said, “Do not kill me. Have pity. Let me know even your slightest wish.”
He looked up and remembered the moon, which was perfectly full as it floated above the jungle canopy.
“Let me become the moon,” Gautama replied. “I have nothing to wish for down here.”
He had only wanted to have sway over his own destiny. It was the simplest of human wishes, yet it had been a source of fear and uncertainty his whole life. Everyone had told him, directly or indirectly, that it was impossible. Gautama felt a slight resistance even now, as if the gods would destroy him on the spot for usurping their power. Instead, he felt the last veil fall away from his mind, a sensation a hundred times more delicate than dropping a layer of gossamer. Then he became the moon and experienced what the moon experienced. It was impossible to put into words: a cool serenity that thrilled at its own existence. A concern for nothing but light itself. Gautama was aware of all these ingredients, yet the thing itself was ineffable.