Buddha usually urged them to sleep nearby, but they might have been worried to see that he needed no sleep anymore. He rested his body, but his mind remained awake all the time. Now he sent a blessing to Yashodhara and visited his six-year-old son, Rahula, who could hardly stay in bed with the excitement of once more having a father. The boy had been raised to believe secretly that Siddhartha was still alive, so he wasn’t as wonder-struck as the courtiers who set eyes on Buddha. Buddha repeatedly told them that he hadn’t come home to assume the throne, but many kept hoping he would do so.
When the sun rose and all the monks were awake, Buddha pointed to the scene down below, where clusters of soldiers stirred around their campfires. Some ate hurriedly, but most were tending to their horses, sharpening their swords, and repairing ripped leather armor.
“How many will die?” asked Assaji soberly.
“All of them, if not today then one day,” said Buddha curtly. The monks had never heard a heartless remark from their master, and this astonished them. His voice softened. “I told you that the first fact of the world is suffering. We can end suffering, but not by speaking of God.” Buddha’s arm swept across the entire battlefield. “Which of these fighters doesn’t believe that God is on his side?”
“But God relieves suffering too,” said Assaji.
“Never promise such a thing,” said Buddha, shaking his head. “All this religious talk has nothing to do with us. I will tell you how to consider any person you meet. Look on them as being like a man whose house has caught on fire. Would such a man cry, ‘I’m not leaving until someone tells me why God made this happen’? No. He runs out of a burning house as fast as he can. The same is true of suffering. We must show people how to run away from it as fast as they can. It’s no use spending years discussing whether someone is cursed or loved by the gods.”
The closest fighting was no more than a quarter mile away, and they reached it in a few minutes. One horseman had chased another away from the center of battle. He had gotten close enough to thrust a spear into his enemy’s mount, which had stumbled and thrown its rider. Now both soldiers were on their feet fighting hand-to-hand; they both were experienced enough to use a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other.
As they walked closer, the monks attracted no attention-the two soldiers were blind to everything but their struggle. Even so, the five monks were shaken at the sight of violence. Buddha stopped for a moment to let them regain their nerve.
“When I was a warrior,” he said, “I learned that victory could never be achieved without weapons. We have no weapons, but we will prevail anyway.”
Without a word he walked directly up to the two fighters and without hesitation strode into the space between them.
“Get away, stranger,” one soldier shouted. “If you don’t move, you’ll be hurt.”
“Is that possible?” said Buddha. “Try.”
The two enemies stared at him in disbelief. “You must be insane,” said one. “Run away, monk. If I have to, I’ll slice you through with my blade.”
“That would be interesting to see,” Buddha said. His calmness was so unnerving that the two soldiers lowered their weapons, losing the edge of their fighting rage. From the sidelines Assaji shouted, “If you touch him, you are hurting a holy man. That’s a sin.”
Buddha turned and gave him a sharp look. “None of that,” he rebuked. He shifted his attention back to the two soldiers. “You both do your duty to the gods, but that hasn’t saved you from a lifetime of killing and fear. Why stop now? If you are so reckless with fate that you risk meeting your dead enemies in hell, I won’t stop you. I invite you to run me through with your blade. I will even forgive you in advance.”
By the time he spoke the last word, the two fighters were hanging their heads. Buddha reached out and lightly touched the daggers and swords, which dropped to the ground. “Shame has made you lose your taste for killing,” he said. “Go home and find a better way to live.”
“I can’t,” said one fighter. “If I run away from battle, the king will take away my house; there will be no food for my family.”
“I promise you that won’t happen,” said Buddha. “Your king is going to disband his whole army today.”
The two soldiers were amazed and wanted to ask more questions, but Buddha signaled to the five monks and walked on. When they looked over their shoulders, the fighters were gone.
“I’ve shown you the first way peace can prevail,” said Buddha. “Some people can be reached by speaking to their conscience. Those are the ones who already know that they want to find an end to suffering. Through conscience, guilt, and shame, they will recognize their wrong when it is told to them.”
“How many people are like that?” asked Assaji.
“Not enough.”
Next Buddha led them to where the fighting was more concentrated: clusters of soldiers clashed in a whirling chaos of steel, horses, and shouts. For a moment Buddha stood apart. “What do you see?” he asked.
“Bloodshed and carnage. Something I wouldn’t look upon willingly,” said Assaji.
“Look a little deeper,” said Buddha. “These are people who cannot listen to conscience, not because they are bad but because they are too caught up in action. You cannot preach to someone who is fighting for life and breath, not just in war but in the ordinary struggle of existence.”
Buddha approached the fray, and a wildly flailing sword missed his head by inches. The monks cried out, but Buddha reached out and caught the blade in midair. He seized it from the swordsman, who turned his head with eyes that began to bulge out. Buddha was holding the sharp edges of the blade tight in his fist. The opposing swordsman saw his chance and lunged at his enemy. Buddha reached out and grabbed the second sword by the blade, wrenching it from the soldier’s hand.
The soldiers were stunned with disbelief. “Who are you?” one cried as they fell to their knees.
“I am what you need at this moment,” said Buddha.
He dropped the weapons and walked deeper into the combat. As he got nearer, the fighting calmed. Fighters held their weapons frozen in midair like statues. Buddha seemed to cut an open swath in the battlefield as he passed. The five monks rushed after him in his wake.
“What’s happening?” asked Assaji breathlessly.
“What do you suppose?” said Buddha. “This is a miracle.”
Buddha proceeded through the entire army. “I am showing you another way to prevail,” he said. “Sometimes you must show yourself as you really are. People who are lost in the struggle of existence have become prisoners of illusion. Just remember one thing: you are made of light, and when it is fitting, you may have to prove it.”
Assaji remained baffled by the awe that Buddha was creating among the soldiers, some of whom actually held their hands over their eyes to shield them. To Assaji, however, Buddha looked completely normal. “Why don’t I see the miracle?” he asked.
“Because you are even more distracted than these soldiers,” said Buddha with a smile. “You keep thinking I’m here to get you killed.”
At that, Assaji suddenly found himself relaxing; he had been as tense as a tightened wire. He exhaled deeply, and then he saw that Buddha was surrounded by an aura of brilliant white light. The army beheld a being of light moving through their midst, and the sight brought them to their knees.
“Master, forgive me. I see now that you can save multitudes,” said Assaji in awe.
“This isn’t salvation,” said Buddha. “Just a glimpse of reality. Everyone is deeply asleep. It will take more than one glimpse to wake them up.”