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This book is respectfully and lovingly dedicated to my teachers, Ajahn Chah & Ajahn Sumedho, to whom I owe great gratitude for the incalculable spiritual blessings they have brought into this world; and to Karl Gjellerup, the insightful and visionary groundbreaker who responded to the call for Buddhist poets to “do their work,” and thus wrote ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita’ – may the efforts that he made bring him to the perfect peace of Nirvana. © Abhayagiri Monastic Foundation 2010 Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery 16201 Tomki Road Redwood Valley California 95470 USA www.abhayagiri.org 2 ‘Twas life’s bright game And Death was ‘he.’ Walter de la Mare Ding Dong Bell, 23 ~ The blessèd end of all things eternal: do you know how I attained it? Grieving love’s deepest suffering opened my eyes: I saw the world end. Richard Wagner Götterdämmerung (original version) 3 AUTHOR’S NOTE THIS STORY IS INTENDED to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kāmanīta,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same web-site, at http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/ This book was originally projected to be published entirely as a serial novel, appearing one chapter at a time on the first day of every month, over a couple of years. However, some of the same type of unpredictabilities that populate this tale intervened and, before the planned twenty-six months were up, it became necessary for me to leave California and relocate to England. This move, in July of 2010, precipitated the decision to release the entire book early, as a parting nod this fair country that has been the focus of my attention for the last twenty years, as well as the seedbed of so many of the fibres of this yarn. The worst thing that could happen to a story to be read for pleasure is to have it surrounded by footnotes and appendices. This is true; but it’s also true that some readers might like to know: “Did this come from the Buddha?” “Where can I find the rest of that quote?” “That tradition sounds interesting, I wonder what it symbolises?” What has been done, therefore, is to create an appendix of notes and references, outlining the sources of the derived material that has been used. The main body of the text is not marked in any way to indicate these notes; however, if you are curious about a certain passage, go to the end of the book, look for the page and quotation in question and see if there’s a comment or reference for it. This way, if you just want to read the story and ignore the rest you can easily do so, or, if you are interested in finding out more and checking the facts, the origins are mostly outlined there for you. We will also be delighted to hear of any mistakes, omissions or unwanted intrusions that any reader might find in these notes – feedback will be helpful for any future editions. Also, gentle reader, please note that the original author (Karl Gjellerup) switched freely between using Sanskrit (the language of the Northern Buddhist and Hindu scriptures) and Pali (the language of the Southern Buddhist scriptures) during the course of his tale. In our efforts to be true to his original style we have maintained this mixture of usage. Amaro Bhikkhu Abhayagiri Monastery California Midsummer Night, 2010 4 CONTENTS Chapter 1: The Argument…………………………………………………………………………...……...8 Chapter 2: The Road…………………………………………………………………………………….…….15 Chapter 3: The Deadly Bite…………………………………………………………………....……….22 Chapter 4: The Kinnaris and the Yakkha…………………………………………….......…..33 Chapter 5: The Royal Progress…………………………………………………………….…….. 42 Chapter 6: The Fire……………………………………………………………………………..……….….... 50 Chapter 7: A Peaceful Palace……………………………………………………………………..…. 62 Chapter 8: The Unshaven Monk……………………………………………………………..….. 66 Chapter 9: At the Minister’s Mansion……………………………………………….…… 74 Chapter 10: “Why is Everything so Quiet?”…………………………………………....…… 85 Chapter 11: The Festival at the River……………………………………………………..…… 97 Chapter 12: A Rival Arrives………………………………………………………………………...…. 111 Chapter 13: Krishna at Play………………………………………………………………….….…... 123 Chapter 14: The New Gardener………………………………………………………….….……. 136 Chapter 15: War in Heaven………………………………………………………………….….….… 150 Chapter 16: Leaving Home……………………………………………………………………….……. 164 Chapter 17: The Arrow …………………………………………………………………………..…….. 178 Chapter 18: The Bickering Bhikkhus………………………………………………………..……194 Chapter 19: The Wanderer……………………………………………………………………..……. 209 Chapter 20: At the Knacker’s Yard………………………………………………………..…… 226 Chapter 21: Magandiya’s Story……………………………………………………………..….... 242 Chapter 22: The Noxious Cave ………………………………………………………………...… 257 Chapter 23: The Perfumed Holocaust…………………………………………………..…. 269 Chapter 24: The Invitation…………………………………………………………………….…..… 286 Chapter 25: The Iron Skillet…………………………………………………………………...……. 306 Chapter 26: The Message………………………………………………………………………….…. 323 Notes & References……………………………………………………………………………..……………….…. 356 5 Northern India In the Time of the Buddha Modern-day names in parentheses 6 PART I 7 CHAPTER 1 THE ARGUMENT ________________________ t is not easy to evade the King of Death – even when he is only being embodied by a rambunctious three-year-old chasing his sisters in the rain. It was the monsoon burst; after months of dust and parched anticipation it had arrived, at last, that morning. A stiff breeze had preceded it, then huge steel-blue, grey and black piles of churning cloud had appeared marching from the south-west. The roar of wind and approaching rain had then suddenly been lost amidst the shouts of joy from people all over Ujjeni and the ferocious drumming of the deluge as it began its tattoo on the buildings and streets of the town. As it pounded onto the roofs of Kamanita’s palace, the water ran in haphazard spumes straight off the eaves and arced wildly in the wind as it gushed from over- loaded downspouts. The children were in heaven as they rushed and darted, soaked to the skin, around the courtyard where they were playing off-ground He. “I am He! I am He!” yelled little Krishna, vainly trying to raise his voice above the roaring of the water. He dashed fiercely after his sister Amba who, squealing with glee jumped up onto a stone bench before he was able to tag her. He searched for other quarry. Kambha and Khina, the twins, were taunting him from the edge of the low wall, just below the eave and out of the rain, when suddenly Tamba, his other sister, made a leap from the edge of the fountain and ran right across his path. When he took off in pursuit the other girls all left their perches, their yelps and cries also swamped by the all-abounding thunderous clamouring rain. Tamba was quick on her feet so Krishna, being the youngest and thereby smallest of the group, was unable to get anywhere near her: too fast, too nimble. As he chased her, the others had also come teasingly close, calling, “Yah Death! King of Death, you can’t catch me!” Suddenly, as he twisted and made a lunge to try and tag Khina, his left leg gimped awkwardly under him and he crumpled to the ground; he curled on his side on the stone paving slabs clutching his ankle while the warm rain streamed down his face and over his body, clad in thin summer cloth. 8 Tamba was the first to react. She jumped down from the cleft in the wall but, knowing her little brother’s tricky and mischievous nature, just like that of his divine namesake, she hesitated briefly, her eyes instinctively narrowing with suspicion. Amba meanwhile, as soon as she realized that he was hurt, rushed to help. As she knelt beside him and lowered her head to his ear, the running water dripping off her nose and down her cheeks, he burst into motion – rolling on his shoulder away from her while he deftly tagged her on the arm with his free hand: “You are He and I am free! You’re It, you’re It, you’re It!” “You cheating little rat!” she swung herself at him, trying to get him right back, but before either she could reach him or he could get to the safety of an off-ground ledge, a piercing voice made itself heard above the din. “Amba, Tamba, come here immediately! How many times do I have to tell you not to play with that odious little urchin, the colour of a demon, spawn of that little witch’s infidelity? If you touch him, you’ll end up just as black as he is!” The two sisters were well-used to this sort of rebuke from their mother and had learned quickly to nod their heads and say sorry, and studiously to ignore the admonition. For in truth Krishna was only their half-brother: the girls were the children of Kamanita, the wealthy merchant, and his first wife Sita; when he had (so the story went) been persuaded that Sita was not able to ever bear him a son, he had taken a second wife, Savitri, and it was she who was the mother of Krishna and whom their own mother had just spoken of so harshly. So although to them he was simply their brother and companion in their many little escapades, to their respective mothers they were far removed from each other. This distance was made all the greater through Savitri, by being the mother of Kamanita’s only son and heir to his estate, feeling that she therefore deserved the senior position in the household, and more pointedly Sita‘s belief that Kamanita was not the true father of Krishna, that the new wife had made a cuckold of him (and a laughing stock) as could be clearly seen by the fact that her son was as blue-black as the god Krishna – while both the mother and Kamanita were fair-skinned.