Can’t we bear instantaneous reality without any tremor? Can’t we writhe in pain in its piercing torments? Can’t we laugh bravely and be grateful for its benevolence?
It is as if we need a veil of mysticism to enjoy the terror and beauty of the reality(the reality endowed to us mortals by our senses and not any ‘apparent’ reality). We cannot face our tragedies because their terrific sights will plunder us of our sanity and mercilessly wipe out all our existences. On the other side we cannot even acknowledge our happiness because of the black fear of losing it.
And so, we use our best faculties to create armours harder than steel so that our soft, wormlike existence is always sheathed.
Like a coward in combat we crouch behind our pavises without aiming our arrows or drawing our swords. And what are those shields we have carved out of our intelligence – the escapist’s method of choosing not to live an instantaneous life. Men had spent aeons for learning the technique of reading whatever is written. We apply that hard earned skill as our shield against time’s onslaught and the army it brings with it – pain, pleasure and suchlike multitudes.
This is how we do it - we read our lives. We read our lives from a fable called ‘Memory’. Memory - a fable written by ourselves. We do not grasp our life’s oncoming instances. We read that too. This time from a crystal ball called ‘Hope’. Hope - a contraption we devised out of dire necessity.
While we read, our swords rust in their leather scabbards.
Buddha walked slowly in the shade of the mangrove. The early morning sun had already started shooting golden arrows through the foliage of the trees. The chatter of birds had started subsiding slowly. The path to the nearby village from where he is going to beg for food laid waiting for embracing the Exalted One's footsteps. The whole surrounding seemed to be reveling in the glory of having his presence.
A squirrel residing in a nearby tree saw Buddha coming. He had wanted to discuss about a certain thought that has been pestering him for some time now. He hopped on to a fallen log of wood nearby the path and waited for the Exalted One. As Buddha reached near him, he saw the squirrel and bowed with his radiant smile.
The squirrel bowed in return and said.
“Oh Siddhartha, my name is Soumitra and I live here in a nearby tree. Can I take a few moments of yours to dispel a certain concern of mine?”
The Exalted One’s large eyes became brighter at Soumitra’s request. He said.
“Soumitra, my friend, how can I be of service to you? In what way shall I help you?”
Soumitra was happy to see that Buddha does not have to move on in haste and can spend some time with him. He straight away brought out his point.
“O Perfected One, among men can only princes attain Buddhahood? Among princes can only Siddhartha, Suddhodana’s son, attain Buddhahood?”
Though Buddha’s face remained tranquil at this, his eyes reflected the ripples of pain produced by this tiny stone thrown in the river of his heart. A perturbing thought which had already sprouted and grown into a thorny bush in his mind had been expressed so openly by Soumitra. A small cut is knifed and opened to a mortal wound by this friend.
As if to hide his pain the Exalted One shut his eyes for some time and replied. Taking great pains he told the truth.
“Soumitra, my friend, among men nobody would ever want Buddhahood other than princes. Among princes nobody would ever attain Buddhahood other than Suddhodana’s son.”
As he uttered these words he felt like cutting down a tree which he had planted, watered and nurtured since youth.
Soumitra felt sympathetic towards the Exalted One’s difficulty. He instantly understood that his question has cut opened into the deepest recesses of the Exalted One’s heart. He wanted to somehow console the Exalted One but still his next question was as much agonizing.
He asked “Then why do you exert so much for the sake of the unattainable?"
Buddha took a deep breath and looked far away without seeing anything before answering. “Because, unlike you, we men are weak, so weak that we cannot make a step forward without leaning on to the stick of hope. I lie to myself that I am not the last among human beings to attain Buddhahood. That is how I convince myself to live and make myself believe that it is worthwhile to walk among people talking. Now regarding how I give them hope - I have shown them that Buddhahood is attainable and that is how I give them hope.”
Soumitra felt that anymore questions asked will put himself in the difficult situation of being a cause for deepening the Exalted One’s grief.
Soumitra bowed again and said to the Exalted One – “I apologize for stirring your mind and I thank you for sharing your agonies with me. I shall from now on be more compassionate towards humankind. With you permission let me now take my leave.”
Buddha bowed in return said “I owe you a lot for making me braver. Farewell to you, my good friend.”
After Soumitra left, Buddha continued his walk to the village thinking about how soon his words will be forgotten by people because of humankind’s inherent ineptitude to face suffering unlike animals.
They didn't believe me when I told them about the bright red rose I saw in the desert. It had flowered on a dry leaf less thorny stem. I had seen it on the fifth day after I started from the oasis.
All had gathered around my table to know the news about the new outbreak in the north. The whole of the tavern laughed at me over the rose. There wasn’t anything I could do other than letting them take their pleasure from laughing at me.
Then one of them put forth that if a flower bloomed like that, then it would still be there. I assented to that to avoid further argument. At last when three of them set out to the desert, I felt that it was more for proving a stranger wrong than to see that flower.
I do not know whether any of them ever came back to the tavern.
Jesus said, “[Come], that I may teach you about [secrets] no person [has] ever seen. For there exists a great and boundless realm, whose extent no generation of angels has seen, [in which] there is [a] great invisible [Spirit],
' which no eye of an angel has ever seen,
no thought of the heart has ever comprehended,
and it was never called by any name'”
-The Gospel of Judas
(The National Geographic Society)
Jesus Christ thus edifies Judas Iscariot, the disciple who sacrificed the man that clothed Christ, with these words regarding the Spirit.
“… that which cannot be seen, nor seized,
which has no family and no caste(varna),
no eyes nor ears, no hands nor feet,
the eternal, the omnipresent, infinitesimal,
that which is imperishable,
that it is which the wise regard as the source of all beings.”
-Mundaka Upnishad
(Max Mueller’s Translation)
Angiras gives this answer to Saunaka’s question about that which, if known, everything else becomes known.
