Now Anigha grasped Buddha’s feet and was sobbing loudly as his pain poured out. Buddha took his hands away and lifted him up. “If you are part of me, you need nothing else to be saved,” he said.
Anigha said, “But I have killed.”
“You fell into evil so that you could prove to yourself that there is a reality that evil cannot touch. Will you let me show it to you?”
Anigha listened quietly, then he looked down at his filthy body clothed in bloodied hides. They were unrecognizable now as part of him. He led Buddha to a stream and washed the dirt away. When he had washed off as much as he could, he came out of the water. “I will follow you anywhere,” he said. “Angulimala is dead.”
“You will always be with me. But for the moment you need to stay here,” said Buddha. “Devote yourself to atonement. Leave food for the poor. Offer flowers and water at the temple gate for those who want to make sacrifice. Help lost travelers whom you once terrified. Whatever you do, don’t show yourself. I will return for you very soon.”
Anigha didn’t find it easy to let Buddha go; he still half-believed that he was in a dream devised by a mischievous demon. After a while, though, his exhaustion made him nod off as the two sat under a tree talking. Buddha arose and left quietly. He gave no thought to where he was going next. But something had happened that he alone knew. He had altered the course of evil with a touch and a word.
He was still a new Buddha, four days out of the womb, but every moment was bringing him greater power and more wisdom to use it well.
18
The five monks had retreated to a forest glade near Benares after they parted from Gautama. Months passed. Now the glade was beautiful with overhanging trees in the riotous bloom of spring. They knew Gautama must be dead, although the subject was never raised. The five monks lived a secluded life, but their time of extreme austerity was over and done with.
Returning to a moderate life seemed sensible, but a faint gloom settled over their existence because every forest monk wanted to reach enlightenment. Gautama’s failure spelled failure for them too. Therefore, when he walked into their camp one morning, the five monks were relieved for themselves as much as for him.
After they greeted him with exclamations and expressed their joy, the monks sat and waited for their brother to describe what had happened. It was as if someone had returned from the dead. They expected a miracle story. At the very least, he would describe the wonders of enlightenment. But Buddha only wanted to be with them quietly, his glance occasionally moving from one to the other.
“We mourned for you, Gautama,” Kondana, the youngest, said.
“Because you knew that Gautama was no more,” said Buddha. “And you were right.”
This was something they understood since it’s a matter of course that someone who reaches enlightenment has severed all connections to his former personality. But none of the five monks had actually met anyone who had gotten there.
“If you aren’t Gautama, who are you?” Assaji asked.
“I keep Gautama’s body, and you can call me by his name if you like,” said Buddha, smiling. “You need some way to find me in the dark. But I am not this body or this name. I am not a person any longer as you know it.”
“That tells me what you are not, but I still don’t know what you are,” said Assaji, pressing the point.
Instead of replying, Buddha closed his eyes and went into samadhi, something they had seen Gautama do a thousand times. Assaji was about to signal that they should follow suit when Gautama unexpectedly opened his eyes again. The monks were used to him being lost in silence for days.
“Do you want to meditate alone?” Assaji asked. “We can leave you.”
“It’s not that, dear friend,” said Buddha. “I have talked with only a few people since I came to be awakened. One blessed me with knowledge of good and evil. But no one has asked me who I am until now. You have given me another blessing.”
Assaji looked confused. “How is that?” he asked.
“When I closed my eyes, I saw my past lifetimes. Ten thousand of them, and I lived each one moment by moment.”
The five monks were amazed. “In the blink of an eye?” Kondana exclaimed.
Buddha smiled. “Two blinks, if you like. We have all been told since childhood that the cycle of birth and rebirth has brought us back many times. But as I went back to those lifetimes, I found that all of them were equal. I am every life I’ve ever lived, and yet I am none of them, for I can be here or there whenever I want.”
“Is this the knowledge that set you free?” said Assaji.
“Do you ask me that because you really want to know or because you feel worried and insecure?” asked Buddha.
Assaji looked uncomfortable. “Your feat seems superhuman,” he said. “If it takes something like that to reach enlightenment, what hope do we have? We’re just ordinary monks.” The others murmured in agreement.
“I didn’t return to discourage you or to awe you. You asked me who I am, and now I can tell you. I can also tell you who you are. You are not the separate self. You have a name that you answer to, but you have also answered to ten thousand other names. Which one is the real you? None of them. You identify with a set of memories. You know who your father and mother are. You set your sights on a goal that you cherish.
“But you have done exactly the same thing ten thousand times before. Therefore your memories, your parents, and your cherished goals are transient. They change as swiftly as mayflies, which are born and die in a single day.”
The five monks were riveted by Buddha’s talk, but more than that, his words drew them deep inside themselves. It was almost like going into samadhi with one’s eyes open. They saw exactly what he had described. But Assaji was still worried.
“I would be wasting my life to try and unravel ten thousand past lives,” he said. “And if you want me to renounce this lifetime as a phantom, haven’t I already renounced it by becoming a monk?”
“You renounced only the outer trappings,” said Buddha. “A saffron robe doesn’t make you free of desire, and desire is what has kept you a prisoner.”
“You already told us that on the mountain,” Kondana said. “But in six years we never rid ourselves of desire. Our karma still follows us and makes us obey its commands.”
“Which is why I have come for you instead of going first to my family,” said Buddha. “What I urged you to do on the mountain was a mistake. I want to make amends.”
“You owe us nothing,” Assaji said quickly.
“I’m not speaking of a debt,” said Buddha. “Debts end when karma ends. My mistake led you into a trap. I believed that I was in a war with desire. I despised the world and my own body, which craved all the delights of the world.”
“Surely that’s not a mistake,” said Assaji. “Otherwise it would be pointless to take vows. The holy life must be different from the worldly life.”
“What if there is no holy life?” asked Buddha. The five monks became extremely uncomfortable, and none answered. “You see,” said Buddha, “even holiness has become food for your ego to feed on. You want to be different. You want to be safe. You want to have hope.”
“Why is that wrong?” asked Assaji.
“Because these things are dreams that lull you,” said Buddha.
“What would we see if we weren’t dreaming?”
“Death.”
The five monks felt a chill pass over them. It seemed pointless to deny what their brother said but hopeless to accept it. Buddha said, “You are all afraid of death, as I was, so you make up any story that will ease your fears, and after a while you believe the story, even though it came from your own mind.” Without waiting for a reply, he reached down and picked up a handful of dust. “The answer to life and death is simple. It rests in the palm of my hand. Watch.”