ost of the Sangha were surprised when, one morning, the Master simply announced to the community that an evening meal, indeed any food after the passing of noon, was no longer to be permitted. He did not base his establishment of this new rule on any one person’s wrongdoing, or behaviour that had been criticized by others, he merely stated, ‘Bhikkhus, I eat at a single session¹. By so doing, I am free from illness and affliction, and I enjoy health, strength and a comfortable abiding. Come friends, do the same and you will enjoy the same benefits too.’

On hearing this, Krishna immediately thought, ‘I can’t do that!’ And he said it out loud, to his own surprise, adding, ‘I can’t eat all the food for one day at a single session; I’d be worried that I wouldn’t be getting enough and that I’d be hungry later.’ The words burst out of him in the midst of the gathering, even though he was back in the middle ranks of the monks. The Master, hearing his words, and appreciating that Krishna was not the only one with such worries and anxieties about the new standard, offered a more relaxed possibility.

‘If it is preferred, members of the Sangha can eat one part of the day’s food early in the morning, after the alms-round, and can keep some back to partake of later in the morning², thus eating at more than just the one session.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘However, from now on no food at all is to be taken between noon and dawn of the next day.’

Again, Krishna found himself objecting.

‘Venerable Master,’ I’m not willing to eat in that way either; for if I were to do so I would still be worried and anxious about being hungry in the evening.’

Even as he was saying this Krishna realized he was publicly declaring that he, as a disciple of the Enlightened One, was not willing to undertake the training that the Master was describing. He could see that he sounded like a petulant child, and that behind his words were the feelings of a three-year-old, ‘It’s not fair! I don’t want to! You can’t make me!’ Surama sat not far away, a visible smirk decorating his visage.

Krishna’s words met with a studied silence from the Master and the rest of the monks gathered there in the hall and it was left to him as to how he was going to now act in relation to his stated disagreement with the guidance of the Buddha. His solution was to slip away after the assembly was over and then to find Assaji and Punabbasuka who had somehow contrived not to be at the meeting.

Krishna soon found them at the cluster of dwellings occupied by the Group of Six and related to them the new ruling that the Master had established that day. To Krishna’s delight, the two elders chuckled and, plainly being of the same mind, said, ‘Friend, we eat in the morning, the afternoon and the evening³. By so doing, we are free from illness and affliction, and we enjoy health, strength and a comfortable abiding. Why should we abandon a benefit visible here and now to pursue some kind of possible benefit, way off in the future? We shall eat in the morning the afternoon and the evening, just as we have done up until now!’

This affirmation and commitment to stick by the old standard was just what Krishna had wanted to hear. Basuka continued, ‘Why make such a to-do out of a mere trifle⁴, such a little thing as this? It seems really beneath the Master’s concern – I’m sure he’s been persuaded into creating this supposedly beneficial limitation by one of those overzealous fanatics, like Devadatta. Personally, I feel it would be more discourteous to take up this standard, rather than to politely ignore it, as it would only affirm the views of those extremists who don’t take the Middle Way to heart.’

This reasoning was music to Krishna’s ears so he left the conversation feeling more comfortable with the public objection he had made at the time of the announcement. His joy was short-lived, however, for when he went to chat with Udayin, who had been at the morning gathering, he was shocked to learn that Udayin – usually one of his more sympathetic companions in the holy life with regard to sensuality – was enthusiastic about this new renunciation.

‘How many painful states has the Blessèd One rid us of! How many pleasant states has he brought us! When he said, “Please abandon the evening meal” I was upset and sad, thinking, “The Blessèd One tells us to abandon the more sumptuous of our two meals, for nearly all cooking is done at night, only little by day.” But out of love and respect for the Blessèd One, and out of fear of wrong-doing, I see that this is greatly for our benefit and well-being⁵. What a wonderful and consummately skilful teacher we have!’

Krishna wondered whether Udayin’s enthusiasm had been influenced by the outburst of Krishna’s words at the meeting, and that Udayin felt the need to set him straight for some reason, but, whether it was or not, it was vividly clear that Udayin thought that these new restrictions were a fine idea.

His heart sank further, a few days later, when it turned out that Assaji and Basuka had been summoned for a conversation with the Master and that, following a talk about faith, and the various kinds of disciples and their readiness to listen and learn, the two Elders had come around to the Master’s way of thinking and had agreed that they had lost their way⁶. They now said that they would follow the new rules about only eating in the morning. So, Krishna was left completely on his own in this:– How was he supposed to handle his own convictions in the face of such opposition? What was he supposed to do?

---

‘You don’t look as though you have aged a day,’ Khujjuttara was delighted to see her old friend Dusaka once again, ‘and Tingri too! She’s just the same as she always was.’

‘You mean I still look a hundred and fifty,’ he chuckled.

‘I mean look at all the snow on my roof,’ she smiled in turn, ‘and my back is killing me on a daily basis. Still nothing to complain about, in truth, I’m here at the Jetavana, close to the Master and, as he says, “Better to be afflicted in body, not in mind⁷ than it is to be afflicted in mind but not in body.”’

They were strolling along together – their rolling, halting gaits matching each other – under the deep shade of the trees, approaching the small throw of mats that Kesini had laid out for Queen Vasabha and her now arriving friends. ‘Your Serene Highness,’ Khujjuttara began, ‘May I please introduce you to a dear, old and respected friend of mine, the Samana Dusaka.’

Vasabha looked a little surprised, ‘Doesn’t that mean…?’

‘“Bad monk⁸”, yes it does,’ Dusaka grinned through his forest of wrinkles, ‘it’s an old, very old nickname. Like young Matanga here, who you introduced me to this morning, my “real” name is a lot more fancy and auspicious but I happily go by the well-intended insult instead. To have everyone call me “Impervioso-Mysterioso” every time they wanted to say hello would be a bit of a chore, don’t you think?’

Matanga took this as a cue to chime in, she having been greatly charmed and delighted to meet this haggard and ragged sage. He was clearly some kind of wise holy man but the exact variety, and where he might have come from, were indeed impervious to her scrying and mysterious.

‘“Matanga” suits me fine. Even to go by “Harita” – Golden – on its own seems a bit inflated, to be honest.’ They gathered around the mats and cushions that Kesini had spread out and the Queen invited them to sit. She then noticed that, along with Khujjuttara and the old sage, there was not just Matanga but a small black and white, shaggy-coated dog at the old monk’s heel as well.

‘May she join us, Your Serene Highness?’ Dusaka indicated his small furry companion.

‘Of course, she is most welcome. I am delighted to meet you both,’ Vasabha smiled warmly and genuinely. As Dusaka and Tingri, as well as Khujjuttara and Matanga got settled, he exchanged a questioning look with his canine partner. Tingri cocked her head to one side and yipped, as if agreeing to an unspoken question from the Elder. Dusaka turned to the Queen and smiled, with a curious penetrating twinkle in his eye as well. He let a moment pass before he spoke.

‘You won’t remember, but we have met before milady.’ Vasabha was indeed drawing a blank on this, pretty sure that she would have recalled meeting such a distinctive looking figure, with his big bone earrings, his stack of dreadlocks held in place with a twig and the varicoloured robes he was covered in.

‘You are quite correct, I don’t recall ever meeting you before; when was that?’ She was making polite conversation and in her poshest accent or so she thought, but Kesini was beginning to get anxious:– Where was this conversation headed? She had met Dusaka before, in Kosambi, and she knew he habitually carried with him a bag full of surprises.

‘You were a baby when I last saw you. In fact I met you after your first birth as well as after your second.’

Kesini was increasingly disturbed by this weird turn of their talk and Vasabha was puzzled too. She was skilled at improvising at the lying game however, so she decided to keep on with the subject and find out more. ‘My “second birth”, that’s an odd assertion. Only brahmin boys are “twice born”, the second one being when they receive the sacred thread, the yajña pavita at their upanayana ceremony⁹.’ She sustained the use of her most elevated accent as she aired this knowledge of brahmin traditions. ‘I am neither a boy nor a brahmin so how could I be “twice born”? Your assertion is quite intriguing.’ She raised an eyebrow and gave him half a smile.

‘Kshatriyan girls do not receive the sacred thread – my father is Lord Mahanama, ruler of the Sakyans, and my mother the Lady Maddarupi, a Sakyan noble-woman.’ Kesini was soothed by the marvellous matter-of-factness in the tone of Vasabha’s voice:– She really was very good at this.

Dusaka paused again before he spoke. Tingri barked and gave him a sideways glance. The exchange seemed loaded and caused Kesini to press her fingernails into the palm of her one hand. Vasabha fixed her mask more securely.

‘Those good people,’ Dusaka carefully stated, ‘may be your adoptive parents but as soon as I met you here I recognized your fragrance; it’s unmistakable.’

‘Yes, what is that?’ Matanga could not resist asking. ‘It always reminds me of my childhood, of mountain flowers in Kullu, or something way in the past, but I can never pin it down.’ She then realized she was interrupting the flow of an important exchange. Dusaka looked at Vasabha and she stared back, not sure how to play this move. Dusaka saved her the trouble.

‘It’s not a perfume she wears; it’s her essence; her breath itself carries the fragrance of flowers, the blossoms of the Jambu tree, to be precise.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?!’ Vasabha opted for a haughty dismissal of the ramblings of a senile wanderer as the best angle of approach, ‘I think you’re…’ and her words ran out. Dusaka’s face was filled with such love and honesty, such sincere, earthy goodness, that she found it impossible to keep dissembling. She decided to acknowledge the truth of the situation since it was clear that Dusaka knew more about her than she knew herself:– What would be the point of trying to brazen it out, like ice endeavouring to resist melting in the sun?

‘Yes, it’s true. My breath has always had this scent of flowers – I’ve always been this way and I have no idea why – another strange thing is that my skin seems to glow in the dark, I can’t explain that either.

‘It’s also true that Prince Mahanama and Princess Maddarupi are not my parents.’ Kesini flashed her a sharp look, alarmed at where this was now going, what Vasabha was risking by saying that. The Queen stilled her with a gentle raising of her hand.

‘Even when I was a slave-girl in the royal kitchens at Kapilavatthu, there was the scent of flowers around me, although it was usually masked by all the cooking smells, which can get pretty ripe. I am not of royal blood at all but I was sent here to marry King Pasenadi as a fake princess because the Sakyan nobles were too proud to allow one of their real royal family to wed a mere Kosalan low-lander.

‘My true mother is Nagamunda and my father was probably Yasa, another slave who was married to my mother, although Prince Mahanama claimed I was his, from one of their… encounters. Papa Yasa died a few years ago and my mother, and my brothers and sisters, were given their freedom when I took on this royal masquerade. We were all slaves in the palace at Kapilavatthu.

‘I enjoy playing the part of a proud Sakyan princess, I admit that I get a thrill from the power of it, but it is all a pretence. I share this truth with you as I trust you all as genuine friends. I leave it to you to keep silent or to tell others as you see fit.’

Kesini now began to shed some tears, afraid that her mistress, and she as well, would be exposed and thus be severely punished – probably executed violently. No one spoke for a while but glances between Khujjuttara, a former slave, young Matanga, of the lowest candala caste, and Dusaka, all confirmed that none of them had any issue with Vasabha’s predicament. Tingri moved over to Kesini and climbed onto her lap, then licked her hand by way of reassurance.

Tingri then gave Dusaka another side-glance and cocked her head once more. A lengthy conversation then ensued between the dog and her human, consisting of many snuffles, yips and raised eyebrows, pursings of lips and other semi-verbal expressions. They looked back and forth between each other, and at Vasabha and Matanga. At last Dusaka turned to face the Queen and spoke again.

‘Milady, your real mother is not Nagamunda in Kapilavatthu, but is a kinnari from Kosambi. That’s why you were twice-born. Kinnaris lay eggs – that’s the first birth – then when the egg hatches, that’s the second one. You are a true dvija¹⁰, by your birth not just by a ceremony. I knew you when you were still in your shell, and then when you had broken out and were an infant in the nest.’

Vasabha was stunned to silence by this revelation. Everyone was on tenterhooks, waiting to hear more. Tingri snuffled and barked again, as if to say, ‘Well, go on!’

‘Your true mother, Jambu-sirivanna, has been desperately looking for you for most of your life. Your father, your real father, is not far from here, from what I gather.’

‘What do you mean?’ Vasabha was ready for almost anything by now.

‘Well, with respect to your mother, the kinnari, you went missing from the nest in Kosambi and she never found out where you’d gone. I don’t know how you ended up in Kapilavatthu but she will be overjoyed to find you now.’

‘What about my father? If it wasn’t Yasa or the Prince in Kapilavatthu, who was he? Another kinnari?’

Dusaka looked at Tingri again – she sniffed and cocked her head once more. ‘Your father is Krishna, the dark-skinned monk whom I believe you have met here a few times.’

‘Krishna!? Really? You’re sure? I saw a lot of him, with Khujjuttara and Matanga, a few years ago but in recent times he’s been avoiding us, it seems.’ Khujjuttara jumped in then, saying, ‘Hanging around with the Group of Six you’ll not be surprised to hear.’

Tingri snorted and yipped; Dusaka smiled wryly at what was apparently her comment on this situation. Once again, there was a rapid and extended exchange of snorts and barklets, mumbles and growls, and a waggling of brows. Dusaka looked Tingri in the eye, she then glanced at Matanga and wagged her chin. Dusaka then took a breath and turned to Matanga himself. He raised his own shaggy eyebrows.

‘I assume you don’t yet know that he’s your father too. You were born a few months before Queen Vasabha here – or Tambaka as was your name given by your parents,’ he said, turning back to the wide-eyed Queen, who had thought she couldn’t be more surprised than she already was.

‘Well, you’re wrong there, sir.’ Matanga retorted. ‘I know very well that my dad is Jayanta, from the Headman’s family in Kulluta. I was there with him and my mother Sugandhi until I was in my teens. I grew up in his house.’

Dusaka and Tingri exchanged another look. ‘How can I put this? Your mother knew Krishna before she married your dad and before he became a monk with the Master. He was a wanderer of sorts and went to work in their knacker’s yard in Kullata. He spent a year there and, let’s say, you were born on account of the affection that your mother and Krishna had for each other. He had left the place long before there was any sign that you were on the way.’ He paused and let his account sink in.

‘You don’t have any brothers or sisters do you – or half ones either – isn’t that so?’

‘That’s true.’

‘That’s because I happen to know (don’t ask me how) that Jayanta wasn’t able to have children but your mother, Sugandhi could.’

‘But Krishna – he’s a very nice person and has been so kind to me from when we first met but he can’t be my dad,’ she was embarrassed to say why she thought this and blushed, ‘I mean he’s so dark. If I’m his daughter – if we…’ she corrected herself ‘… are his daughters – why are the Queen and I not dark like him? Her skin is more coppery than mine but still, neither of us are anything like him that way.’ Even as she was saying this she realized she was speaking more out of surprise than an appreciation of how life works.

‘Sometimes it’s like that,’ Dusaka shrugged as if she should indeed be aware of how unpredictable things are in the world. ‘Krishna’s own parents – both Kamanita and Savitri – were golden-skinned like you. These things happen all the time. Besides did you ever look closely at his eyes? They are the exact same dark purple as your own, if I might say; looking at you both now, the cast of your features is just like his – the both of you. Skin-colour aside you are both the spitting image of your father.’

He went quiet again, leaving space for Matanga and Vasabha to take this all in. Tingri snorted once more, to indicate that there was a bit more that her human companion should add.

‘So,’ Dusaka picked up the hint, ‘Krishna has no idea you are his daughter, unless of course he’s noticed the family resemblance, but I haven’t seen him recently either so I couldn’t say for sure. Let’s say it’s likely that he just thinks of you as the nice young girl he befriended at the well on the way from Kitagiri, and who is the faithful friend and helper of the sage Khujjuttara. So I’ll leave it to you to tell him how you all are related – if he ever comes to visit you again that is.’ He grinned.

Vasabha asked, ‘Does he know about me or at least who I was?’

‘Oh yes! He loved his little copper-coloured daughter very much but it was his negligence that caused you to get lost, or stolen, or whatever happened. He left you alone in the nest when you were tiny. He got distracted and by the time he got back to the nest, you were gone.

‘I have no idea how you got from Kosambi to Kapilavatthu – there are things I know and things I don’t know – but it was his fault that you went missing so, once you were gone, a big rift opened up between your mother, the kinnari Jambu-sirivanna, known as Maggot, and your father, Krishna, who was by then a monk. She kicked him out and said she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him and she took off with a group of her close friends to try and find you. As I said, she’s been searching ever since, but now, if I can find her, I’ll let her know the search is over – if that’s alright with you.’

‘Of course!’ Vasabha had no hesitation. She and Matanga looked at each other, seeing ‘sister’ for the first time.

‘This is all a lot to take in,’ Matanga said quietly.

‘Indeed!’ Khujjuttara added, ‘Any other boulders to politely drop into our pond? I was looking forward to a nice simple chat, and to introduce you to the Queen as an old friend of Kesini and myself. Are you sure that I’m not the Lost Princess of Taxila or that Tingri is not the Buddha-to-be, the Bodhisattva Sri Ariya Maitreya!?’ Tingri herself seemed to be highly amused by this idea and snuffled raucously, showing most of her teeth in her attempt at a cheeky grin.

---

Meanwhile, the actual Bodhisattva Sri Ariya Maitreya was sitting, deeply absorbed in meditation, in the temple of the Malachite Cave, in the Tusita Heaven¹¹.

Muñca had considered, ‘We wish to consult the Lord Maitreya so let’s make sure we arrive far from his abode. That way I can lead these fools a merry dance while years fly by in the human world.’ As soon as he brought them into the Tusita Heaven, however, Rhamba spoke up fiercely, saying, ‘I’ve been here before and we are in the wrong place. Time is of the essence – come with me!’

The three kinnaris, Gumbiya and Salassa were all new to this realm and so were still reeling from the impact of their arrival. The air was densely laden with perfumes of startling varieties, the trees around them were jewel-bedecked, if the jewels were not indeed the flowers and fruits of the trees themselves – it was hard to tell. There was an overwhelming mood of ease and peace in the forms of the land and the beings around them, who moved with majesty and splendour, an effortless grace, and whose raiment was formed as if of coloured song and diaphanous breezes.

‘Quickly!’ Rhamba urged them. ‘With me – we have to travel far to reach the Great Bodhisattva. I don’t know how we ended up here.’ She did not for a moment suspect that their friend Muñca had brought them out to the far marches on purpose. ‘Luckily in Tusita the power of thought is such that we can just will ourselves to the Malachite Cave, where Lord Maitreya dwells, but we must not linger. Every minute here is a day gone by in the coarser realms¹².’

Rhamba gathered the group close and, by way of explanation, said, ‘I came here as a part of the dancing entourage of Lord Dhatarattha one time. We paid respects to the Lord Maitreya. Come on, here!’ They joined hands and, at the last moment, Muñca let go and went his own way. He intuited that the interview with the Lord Maitreya would not lead to much and, on account of the other Tusita devas being generally disinterested in realms lower than their own place of peace and ease, they would not be of much help to the searching group. They would thus then soon go to the Heaven of the Thirty-Three Gods, where they were very likely indeed to get accurate news of the child, (by now probably a grown woman), and consequently of Muñca’s deceptions. His having led them on a wild goose-chase would become obvious:– Time to depart and leave them to it. He smirked as he saw the shocked face of Ant as he deliberately and pointedly released her hand.

---

At the mouth of the Malachite Cave temple there were four Tusita devas seated on either side and one particularly majestic and dread-inducing figure at the centre – standing, holding a flaming sword¹³. As in the part of the Tusita Heaven where they had first appeared, the air here was fragrant with exotic scents that sparkled in the nose like the jewels that twinkled in the trees and grasses. Flower blossoms glowed as they sprouted from the clefts in the rocks that formed the cave-mouth, and in amongst the lawns and moss-gardens that spread beneath their feet. Music was in the air and the jewelled trees that formed the avenue to the Malachite Cave reached so far into the sky it was hard to see if the first branches began to spread before the opalescent clouds wrapped around the noble trunks. The peace and grandeur around them made the beauties of the Heaven of the Four Guardian Deities seem pale and feeble in comparison. Above all, the feeling of profound contentment and easefulness abounded here; as they approached, one of the splendid devas who served as a host spoke their traditional words of greeting, ‘Oh rest ye, fellow travellers, ye need not wander more¹⁴.’

Since Muñca had clearly abandoned them, for his own reasons, Rhamba took the lead, having been there once before. She bowed before the awesome protective deva at the entrance, then saying, ‘Oh Great One, we lowly seekers humbly request an audience with the Blessèd Bodhisattva and Buddha-to-be, Lord Sri Ariya Maitreya. We have travelled far seeking the lost, nay, stolen child of my companion here, the noble kinnari Jambu-sirivanna. We have searched the Underworld, the Heaven of the Four Guardians and now, as he is a holder of great knowledge and wisdom, we seek the guidance of Lord Maitreya so that this sad mother may be reunited with her child, so rudely taken from her.’

The shape and raiment of the sword-bearing deva shifted and flickered as if responding to the request – one moment muscular and imposing, dreadful, one moment gentle and light-filled – at last the sword transformed into a torch, a blazing brand, and their robes became magenta and purple, pale blue flames licked the edges of the cloth yet did not scorch it.

‘Come!’ The voice was surprisingly feminine for such a towering and awesome being. ‘The Master will see you. Be brief, if you will.’

‘Thank you, we are most grateful,’ Rhamba chivvied the group forward and they entered the Malachite Cave temple. The walls curved up around them, the dark green swirls of rock seeming to have flowed into place and frozen in a thousand delicate and plant-like forms. Layers of dense and light were interspersed and threaded through each other like a tapestry of rock and verdant, living tissue.

The Lord Maitreya was seated in the heart of the Temple. His robes were magenta and purple – almost the same as the deva at the entrance and also Bee’s more humble garments. He radiated kindness as if a field of light was around him. He summoned them close and his gentle smile was enough to put them all at ease at once, even in the presence of so mighty and holy a being.

‘I have been informed of your search – why and how and where. In order to help you in the best possible way, I will offer you, Jambu-sirivanna and your worthy companions, this teaching. Please listen carefully:

‘Discrimination is consciousness
Whereas non-discrimination is wisdom;
Clinging to consciousness causes defilement
Whereas wisdom ensures purity;
Defilement causes birth and death
Whereas purity leads to where there are no Buddhas.¹⁵’

---

‘I confess that I’m not the sharpest axe in the rack,’ Gumbiya began, as they exited the Malachite Cave, ‘but that woz… wot woz ’e talking’ abou’?’ His grizzled face was bent into a knot of puzzlement. ‘Did any of you get the poin’ of tha’? It woz lost on me.’

‘Me too,’ confessed Bee, often the quickest on the uptake. Ant, Rhamba and Salassa all wore expressions displaying varying degrees of perplexity.

Maggot was wide-eyed and smiling broadly, which all the others were startled by. ‘Isn’t it obvious!’ She looked back and forth around the group. ‘I can’t believe none of you understood that. It’s plain as day!’

‘What is?!’ snapped Bee.

‘I know where we have to go and who we need to talk to – quick, come with me!’

‘What?’ Several of the friends all retorted at once.

‘What do you mean “what?”? Quick – take my hand! I think I’ve got the hang of moving between planes now. Come on! We’re off to the Tavatimsa.’

---

Krishna’s strategy for dealing with his dilemma was superficially effective but, just below the surface, it was deeply unsatisfactory. He was torn; on the one hand he loved and respected the Master, as well as his friends Khujjuttara and Matanga who were so modest and had such few needs; on the other, he was committed to his life-affirming philosophy of ‘Sooner! More!’ and the values of his friends Surama and the Group of Six. The latter had all seemed to capitulate to this new standard of not eating anything in the afternoon or evening so he was now quite alone in his resistance.

His solution was to determinedly stick to his resolve to eat when he felt like it so he would keep some of the alms-food he received in the morning and eat it alone at his kuti in the later parts of the day. To be guarded against any embarrassing confrontations, as he saw it, he decided he would avoid seeing or listening to the Master for the whole Rains Retreat. Logistically this was a bit of a challenge but he was quite pleased with his own ingenuity in the various ruses and excuses he used to pull this off but, more difficult to deal with than the practicalities of avoiding contact with the Master, was the inner voice of his own intuitive wisdom.

Krishna was well aware of the teachings that said such as: ‘Rare it is in the world¹⁶ to be born as a human being; rare it is to be born at the time a Buddha is in the world; rare it is to have the good fortune to meet such a fully enlightened one and to hear their teachings; rare it is to have the opportunity to go forth into monastic life under the guidance of such a Teacher and to be able to live in the same place.’ That irritating inner voice kept piping up to remind him of this, ‘Krishna, you are a devoted disciple of the Master and you are living in the same monastery as him yet you are working hard every day NOT to see him and hear his teachings. Avoiding the Master!? You are an idiot!’

When he had been particularly clever in escaping from a formal meeting or a Dharma talk, the inner wise advisor would get particularly loud: ‘Oh, well done! Very smart indeed. Congratulations – tremendous achievement.’ The sarcasm from his own wisdom faculty dripped like vitriol onto his thinly constructed ideology and kept burning fuming holes in it. They stung too. It was painful, unsatisfactory and yet seemingly inescapable, if he was going to abide by his life-affirming principles.

He was very relieved to be able to meet up with his old mentor Dusaka during these months of the Rains so he could at least voice some of his struggles to the wise Elder. He was glad that Dusaka didn’t just find fault with him and tell him to give up his indulgent ways. However, Dusaka did steadily point out how the new standards around food merely echoed the general encouragement towards simplicity, fewness of needs, and independence of reliance, that were so prevalent in many areas of the Master’s teachings¹⁷. Krishna had to concede that it was draining to be always chasing after more and more sumptuous food, interesting conversations and experiences, and the generally lush life-style that the Group of Six advocated. The cheerful ease that people like Khujjuttara and Matanga displayed – with no possessions to speak of and very simple tastes – it was embarrassing that they were lay people and he was supposed to be the monk yet they put him to shame with their modest habits and preferences.

This embarrassment was one of the reasons he had been glad to spend less time with them in recent years, along with the encouragement of Surama.

Dusaka also made a point of gently reminding Krishna of what good spiritual friends Khujuttara and Matanga were, as well as Queen Vasabha and her companion Kesini. Somehow, between him and Tingri, Krishna was persuaded to rethink his stance of keeping away from them since, when he looked at it without the screens of ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ colouring the picture he saw that, as usual, Dusaka was absolutely right and that, in addition, he simply missed the company of these good friends.

Dusaka also seemed to be hinting something, through a certain cast to his glance, that the friendships with Vasabha and Matanga were of a special significance. Krishna was not quite sure what to make of this:– Was he being encouraged to be close but also warned about being not too close as they were both young and pretty? Was there something he had to do for them? Or them for him?

Dusaka and Tingri seemed to have a few exchanges in their sniffing and humming patois, which left Krishna none the wiser. There was something about the two young women that he had to pay attention to but he was clueless as to what, and Dusaka was, apparently, not going to fill him in anytime soon.

---

Things came to ahead as the end of the Rains approached. A number of bhikkhus were engaged in sewing a new robe for the Master, so he would be able to use it when he went wandering through the countryside once the retreat season was over. Krishna, on one of his circuitous runs through the forest paths, trying to avoid the central buildings, came across the group of monks under an awning with the strips of robe-cloth stretched on a frame to enable them to be sewn more easily together. They got chatting and, without any preconception of challenging or embarrassing Krishna, one of them simply commented that, ‘This robe is being made for the Blessed One so he can go wandering after the Rains¹⁸. He’s going to be off soon. Wouldn’t it be a good idea for you to rethink your lack of willingness to go by the new standard about times to eat? If you hang on to that all by yourself, just you alone, isn’t that going to make life difficult for you in the future?’

The monk’s tone was so friendly and kind, and made such sense, it pierced through Krishna’s usual philosophical defences. He was not expecting this kind of comment at that moment and so he was quite unguarded and, what’s more, it made perfect sense to him. With his ego-protection down he now realized that, ‘I have indeed been an idiot, a complete moron. What on earth was I thinking of?!’

As this thought formed in his mind another monk came down the pathway, between the tall trees of the forest. ‘Oh, here you are Krishna, the Master has called for you; please come with me.’

When they arrived at the Gandha-kuti the messenger monk left them and the Master invited Krishna to sit with him. Krishna realized that, even though he had been a novice and a monk for over twenty Rains now, up to this moment he had never had a one-to-one conversation with the Buddha. Part of him felt he should be nervous – especially considering how he had been studiously and stupidly avoiding the Teacher for the last three months – but in his heart he felt instead only a powerful peace and waves of loving-kindness that seemed to radiate visibly from the Great Being. Before the Buddha had a chance to speak, Krishna spontaneously launched into an apology and opened his heart unguardedly.

‘Venerable Sir, transgression overcame me, in that like a fool, confused and blundering, when a training precept was made known by the Blessèd One, I publicly declared, in the Sangha of bhikkhus, my unwillingness to undertake the training. Venerable Sir, may you forgive my transgression¹⁹ since I now see it as that; and I will use this painful mistake as an encouragement to be more restrained in the future.’ Krishna stated this with his heart quite at ease and grateful for the opportunity to begin again.

‘Yes, Krishna, surely you lost your way. For even though you knew I was living here, and that I could easily know what was going on, by encompassing your mind with my mind, still you were grimly determined to go your own way. I knew, when I surveyed your mind, “This misguided man does not heed the Teaching, he does not listen²⁰.” When I knew, however that you had seen your fault, then I invited you to come and see me, for now you are able to listen with full attention, and can hear the Dharma with eager ears.

‘You were empty, hollow, a wrong-doer, but now that has changed²¹.’

The Master emanated such a power of kindness and natural ease that Krishna was entirely taken up with the beauty and wisdom of his presence and his words. He spoke to Krishna of how he had met his father, Kamanita the Wanderer, and of their dialogue in the potter’s shed. He spoke of Kamanita’s sensuality and life-affirming convictions and how he took exception to some aspects of the Teaching, even though he professed to have gone forth in the Buddha’s name.

‘He never realized with whom he shared that humble shelter that night but one day, in the far future, he will know²².’ The Master then looked warmly at Krishna and said, ‘The mango did not fall far from the tree, with respect to your philosophy, I discern.’

He was not accusatory or fault-finding, merely observing. Krishna realized this was the ideal opportunity to ask the Master directly about what he had assumed to be the case with regards to the two levels of the Teaching, over these last twenty Rains.

‘Venerable Master,’ Krishna began, ‘many years ago, just after the tragic fire in Kosambi that consumed Queen Samavati, who was my sister, and which had been caused by Queen Magandiya, my other sister, I was able to meet with the wise elder Lady Gavinna who had been a concubine in the court of Kosambi. She was a seer, a visionary and she spoke of a prophecy that seemed to include me, and my sisters. It ran thus, as I have memorized it:

‘When the kindly queen has burned
And she who caused it has gone too,
The darkling brother will return;
Give him the key, this you must do²³.’

‘She was fading but she said, about this “key”, “This is the genuine way to break through to enlightenment – ‘Sooner! More!’ – this will lead you to the Deathless, to the Eternal, the Other Shore.” I was not fully clear about what she meant by “Sooner! More!” but I understood this to be the path of affirmation of life, of filling the senses to maximum impact. Up to now I have tried to follow this way and when this way of affirmation has seemed to be contradicted by your public stance on renunciation and austerity, I have assumed that you were limited by what the public expects and had to present those provisional lesser teachings while the more esoteric and life affirming teachings – which might be interpreted by the small minded as “indulgent” – were left to be followed somewhat in secret by those on the higher path. Have I interpreted this correctly? Until now I have never been able to ask since there have always been so many others around, of varying attributes and abilities, but since it is just you, Venerable Master, and I, I ask you directly.’ Krishna did not know what to expect – it could be agreement and affirmation, it could be a ‘mogha purisa!’ scolding or anything in between.

The Master looked into him with great compassion and, after a moment, he said, ‘There is no “teacher’s closed fist²⁴”. No secret tantras for the select, the elite or the advanced. There are no such expedients that I have ever espoused, taught or agreed to. The kind of “life-affirming” teaching that you supposed I was expounding, which would contravene the very precepts I have established, has never been what I taught – you have misunderstood what the good Gavinna said that day. Your interpretation, and the path you say you have followed these last twenty Rains, has been mistaken. This is neither the Path I have followed nor the Path I teach.’

As the Master spoke, Krishna was filled with a strange flow of emotions: grief that he had got things so wrong; joy for hearing words so trustworthy and kindly, spoken especially for him; confusion as to what it was that Gavinna had really meant; rapture at feeling the love and compassion that flooded, ocean-like, from the Master, washing through his being like a light-filled, cleansing draught. He now knew he had got things terribly wrong and that he’d need to change his ways. If he could not yet interpret the mysterious words of Gavinna he could at least do his best to follow the Master’s way to the fullest extent possible, and use his guidance like the rest of the Sangha and lay community did. Maybe Gavinna did have a special prophecy about the best mangala and him, but he’d need to leave that aside for now. Maybe he could ask Kesini what she had understood, since she was there too when Gavinna had spoken those portentous words.

Regardless of the details, he needed to abandon the indulgent path he had been on and he needed to be much more austere and serious if he was to realize enlightenment in this lifetime.

He resolved to look for guidance in the Sangha that would give him a good direction with regards to renunciation, and he would certainly now attend all the Master’s talks.

He felt embarrassed at how he had so deliberately avoided the Master for these last few months and, even though it was vividly clear that the Buddha was the embodiment of forgiveness and held no lasting criticism of Krishna, he was shy to draw too close and to ask for personal instruction from the Master himself.

Krishna pondered who else among the great Elders he might approach, to help him forge a new path. At last he decided that perhaps he should introduce himself to Devadatta, the Master’s cousin²⁵, one of the most powerful and eminent monks in the community and one who was well known, like Maha-Kassapa, for maintaining a high standard of discipline and rigorous observance of the ‘bitter practices’, the dhutangas²⁶.

Notes & References