The Pilgrim Kamanita quotes

And the Master reflected: “

Solitude is, it is true, the best of all companions.

But this good pilgrim has arrived here late, just as I myself, tired from long wandering.

“

Spacious, O brother, is the hall of the potter; stay then, O venerable sir, at thy pleasure.

”

It was at this point that our eyes suddenly met.

And to this day, O stranger, I do not understand how it was that I did not instantly drop dead, to be reborn in a heaven of bliss.

It may well be, however, that my deeds done in a former life, the fruits of which I have to enjoy in this, were not yet exhausted.

Oh! how I envied the ambassador his belonging to the warrior caste, when he told me that his ancestors also had taken part in that never-to-be-forgotten encounter. But that was foolish.

For not by descent only do we possess ancestors. We are our own ancestors.

Where was I then? Probably even there, among the combatants. For, although I am a merchant’s son, the practice of arms has always been my greatest delight;

For I have heard it said that the colour of the truest love is not red but black—black as Çiva’s throat became when the god swallowed the poison which would otherwise have destroyed all created beings. And so it must ever be.

True love must be able to withstand the poison of life, and must be willing to taste the bitterest, in order that the loved one may be spared.

And from that bitterest it will assuredly prefer to choose its colour, rather than from any pleasures, however dazzling.”

“What arrant fools, Somadatta,” I cried, “as if there could be a more perfect abode of bliss than the Terrace of the Sorrowless!”

But beneath the terrace was the abyss.

Down into this we had just scrambled, as I called out those foolish words, and, as if I were to be shown that even the greatest of earthly pleasures has its bitterness, we were that very instant assailed by several armed men.

My first wife had always seemed to possess a gentle character, which, if anything, rather leaned to the side of dullness than to that of irritable passion; and my second wife had always been praised for her true womanly softness.

In the same way, O brother, are water and the hearth-fire both of them very truly beneficial possessions; yet when they meet on the hearth, one must be prepared for hissing.

And from that unhappy day onward there was the noise of hissing in my home. But imagine to thyself, if thou canst, what it became when my second wife did really bear me the first of those five heroic sons.

Now—oh what did I not possess now! Wives and children, elephants, horses, cattle, draught oxen, servants and slaves, richly filled warehouses, gold and jewels, a pleasure park and a palace the possession of which my fellow-citizens envied me—but I—where was I?

As in some blighted fruit, the kernel was dried up⁠—had disappeared⁠—and everything had turned to empty shell!

…

“

To be separated from what we love is suffering, to be united to what we do not love is suffering.

When this was said, it was said of such an experience as thine.”

“ ‘

The master does not crave disciples, but the disciples, the master.

’ What a very different man he must be, I thought to myself, from this forest Brahman! And I longed, O Reverend One, for the master who was above all such craving.”

“

Like the watchdog that, bound to a post and trying to free himself, rushes in a circle round the post⁠—even so those worthy disciples, out of sheer hatred for this life, would have rushed in an endless circle around it.

”

And what house? The world! And set on fire by what flame? By the flame of desire, by the flame of hate, by the flame of delusion.

The whole world is being consumed by flame, the whole world is enveloped in smoke, the whole world rocks to its foundations.

”

… formed an arch, the deep blue of which grew deeper as it neared the horizon, and under this dome hung white, massy cloudlets on which reclined lovely genii, who drew from their instruments the magic strains of rapturous melodies that filled the whole of space.

But in that sky there was no sun to be seen, and, indeed, there was no need for any sun.

For from the cloudlets and the genii, from the rocks and flowers, from the waters, and from the lotus roses, from the garments of the Blest, and, in even greater degree, from their faces, a marvellous light shone forth.

So I stayed behind alone, more than happy at the thought that the roads were now again open to my beloved.

For so little do mortals understand of the workings of fate that they sometimes, as I did then, greet as a specially fortunate day just that one on which the current of their lives takes a turn for the worse.

On the following morning my father entered my room. He handed me a crystal chain with a tiger-eye as amulet, and asked me if I, by any possibility, recognised it.

“To the illimitable!” repeated Vasitthi dreamily, and her glance swept over the surface of the heavenly Gunga, far out to where the silver flood touched the black border of the sky, and seemed to desire to penetrate ever farther.

“Is it possible, then, for eternal happiness to exist where there is limitation?”

she asked, as if she were lost in thought.

Farther yet, and a pair of golden eagles were building their eyrie high up in savage mountain fastnesses, hanging over the blue abysses of the Himalayas, and circling round its snowy pinnacles.

As two dolphins they ploughed the boundless expanse of old ocean’s salty flood.

Yes, once they even grew as two palms on an island in the midst of the seas, their roots intertwined in the cool sand of the shore, and their tops rustling together in the cool sea-breeze.

for the farther we go down into the abysses of time, the farther does time recede from us.”

“We are as old as the world,” said Vasitthi.

But he paced quietly on and called back—

“I am standing still, Angulimala! Stand thou also still!”

Whereat I was again much astonished, and thought: “Plainly this ascetic has, by some Rite of Truth, baffled my archery; by some Rite of Truth, my running.

“Walking, thou dost imagine thyself to be standing still, ascetic, and me, who stand still, thou dost erroneously believe to be walking. Explain this to me, ascetic. How art thou standing still? How am I not standing still?”

“I, who do evil to no created being, am at rest, wander no more; but thou, who dost rage against all created beings, must wander ceaselessly from one place of suffering to another.”

“That we wander ever, I have of course heard. But that about standing still, about wandering no more, I do not understand. Wilt thou, Reverend Sir, fully explain to me what thou hast just summed up in these few words?

Scarcely had he said this when both of the infernal watchmen swung their lances and transfixed Vajaçravas. As if at a given signal, all the spears round about also flashed towards him, their points entering from every side.

So ravens hurl themselves upon an abandoned carcase, and bury their beaks in its flesh.

Overcome by the horror of the sight, and by the pitiful screams that Vajaçravas uttered in his agony, my senses forsook me.

… all delusion, of Nirvana—strange, wonderful words telling of the only island in all this troubled sea of birth on whose rocky shore the breakers of death dash in impotent foam, and over to which the doctrine of the Perfect One sailed like a trusty ship.

And he spoke of that blessed place of peace, not as one speaks who relates to us what he has heard from others⁠—from priests⁠—and also not as a song maker who lets his fancy rove, but like one who communicates what he has himself experienced and seen.

Much he said, it is true, in the course of it, which I, untaught woman, did not understand, and which would not have been easily understood by even the most learned of men.

… along, and whose waters are neither obstructed nor broken by any resistance, there is not the least movement to be perceived, so here, the passage of time was just as imperceptible, because it experienced no resistance from the rise or fall of thought and feeling.

This imperceptible passage of time was their eternity. And this eternity was a delusion.

So also was all that it embraced—their knowledge, their godliness, their joy in existence, their world-life, their love-life, and their own individual life—all was steeped in delusion—was overlaid with the colour of delusion.

“How should I not feel the need? Art thou not, O Reverend Master, our refuge?”

“Seek refuge in thyself; take refuge in the doctrine.”

“I shall certainly do so. But thou, O Master, art the very self of the disciples; thou art the living doctrine. And thou hast said: ‘It will be permitted.’ ”

“No way can tire me.”

“The way is long, Vasitthi! The way is longer than thou dost think for, longer than human thought is able to realise.”

“And if the way lead through a thousand lives and over a thousand worlds, no way shall tire me.”

“The way is long, Vasitthi! The way is longer than thou dost think for, longer than human thought is able to realise.”

“And if the way lead through a thousand lives and over a thousand worlds, no way shall tire me.”

“Good then, Vasitthi. Farewell, and remember thy motto.”

I have not yet reached the goal, and my Master is about to enter into Nirvana—he who pitied me.’ But put such thoughts from thee, Ananda—neither complain, nor lament. Have I not told thee already, Ananda?—from all that one holds dear, one must part.

How were it possible, Ananda, that it should be otherwise, that that which comes into existence should not pass out of it⁠—that what is joined together should not be sundered⁠—what is composed not be decomposed?

But thou, Ananda, hast long honoured the Perfect One, in love and in kindness, with thy whole heart, gladly and without guile. Thou hast done well. Strive earnestly, and thou wilt soon be free from carnal desires, from selfishness, and from delusion.”

“There are wise and pious disciples among the nobles, among the Brahmans, among the citizen heads of families—they will pay the last honours to the mortal remains of the Perfect One. But thou hast more important things to do.

Think of the immortal, not of the mortal; speed forward, look not back.

”

we have no longer a Master.’ But this ye are not to think. The doctrine, my disciples, which I have taught you, that will be your Master, when I am gone. Therefore, cling to no external support. Hold fast to the doctrine as a support!

Be your own light, your own support.

”

“

Hear then, O disciples! verily, I say unto you, fleeting is all form. Labour and rest not.

”