“It
is wonderful, truly marvellous, how serene is the good Gotama's
appearance, how clear and radiant his complexion, just as the
golden jujube in autumn is clear and radiant, just as a palm-tree
fruit just loosened from the stalk is clear and radiant, just
as an adornment of red gold wrought in a crucible by a skilled
goldsmith, deftly beaten and laid on a yellow-cloth shines, blazes
and glitters, even so, the good Gotama's senses are calmed, his
complexion is clear and radiant."
Brahmin Sonadanda
Long,
long ago beloved ones in a land far, far away where the great mountains
of the eternal snow touch the blue sky with their hoary heads there
lived the old sculptor Bhadrapala, who made statues for temples
and shrines. By his craft he earned enough, only just enough to
keep a roof over his head and to buy enough rice and lentils to
feed his wife Candrabhaga and him. They lived far away from the
city, far away from the towns, far away from villages. In fact they
lived quite alone in the middle of a deep jungle amidst the great
baobabs, sals, teak, walnut and sheesham trees where all day and
often all night the wild creatures would play. Beside the simple
bamboo house thatched with palm leaves a river bubbled and sang
its way down the hillside on a journey to meet the mighty Brahmaputra.
Far away the waters of these rivers would merge with the vast salty
ocean which spreads in the 16 directions. The old man and his wife
were content living here quite alone with only the animals of the
forest and the songs of the river for company. Occasionally a priest
or a monk from one of the temples would come to order a statue or
to take a finished one away on the big ox carts they brought with
them. The sculptor and his wife would bring rice and palak paneer
on banana leaves and serve their guests fragrant tea in the beautiful
bowls he had made. Many a time a priest would ask if he could buy
one of these bowls but the old man always politely refused saying
that they were flawed, certainly not good enough for the lips of
holy men and eminent teachers. Although they always enjoyed these
visits the couple were glad when they could once more have time
to rejoice in the animals and birds at play amidst the trees of
their jungle home where the songs of the river lulled them to sleep.
Once a year the sculptor would make the long journey to the city
of Isipatana where he would buy the special tools he needed for
his work. This journey took several days and often wearied him.
It was at such a time that something strange and wonderful happened
to him beloved ones. Indeed it was so strange and wonderful that
his life and the lives of countless others since were changed by
the event. It was on his journey home that this occurred. The sculptor
had awoken early, washed in the cold clear water at the fountain
and eaten a simple meal of rice and chapatti. Taking around his
strong shoulders the heavy basket of tools he set out as the sun
in the east tipped the mountains with light. Ahead of him he saw
the morning star rising in the shadowy blue of the west. He was
quite alone. At this early hour the air was cool and beneath his
feet the track was damp and soft. It was then that he felt the ground
dance, a slow meditative dance, with the earth stepping gently.
Then he felt it turn, curtsey and return to stillness again. He
put down his bag and looked around wondering at his lack of fear.
There was no danger just this graceful movement of the earth gently
lifting as it were the hem of her sari as she stepped across a puddle.
Bhadrapala waited but the monkeys chattered as usual in the trees,
and the birds flew in the sky as if nothing had happened, yet he
knew something had happened. He felt it in his heart. A great event
had taken place but he had no idea what it was. He took up his bag
and walked slowly on wondering about all this. He approached an
ancient Pipal tree that he recognised for it was a welcome sign
that his home was but half a day’s journey away. The great
tree hung its dark leafy shadows and gnarled limbs over the track.
It was then that he saw beneath it against the massive trunk sitting
upright was a handsome young man, his body strong, his dark hair
curled on his head, his hands folded sedately in his lap, a smile
of deep serenity on his face. Then oh beloved ones Bhadrapala saw
something beautiful and wondrous! Around this beautiful young man
was a radiance, a soft golden radiance that pierced the shadows
and illuminated them with peace, joy and compassion. Bhadrapala
fell to his knees and prostrated himself many times.
The young man remained in his posture steadfast and upright the
radiance growing in intensity so that it attracted the deer of the
forest who came and sat at his feet and birds of all kinds came
and alighted on his shoulders. Bhadrapala had many questions he
wanted to ask but as time passed he thought of his wife Sandrabhaga
worrying about him and reluctantly decided he must continue his
journey home. He laid one of the delicious ripe mangoes he had bought
for his wife at the feet of the holy man and walked on. He pondered
deeply on all that had occurred and especially about the young man
beneath the Pipal tree. It all meant something he felt that in this
heart but even as he described the journey to Sandrabhaga it became
more and more puzzling, more enigmatic.
The next morning Bhadrapala set to work gathering the mud from the
river bank kneading and working it so that all the stones and grit
were removed. When it was dark and perfectly smooth he began to
shape it with his strong sculptor’s hand. He remembered again
the radiant young man beneath the Pipal tree, the dance of the earth
beneath his feet, the brightness of the morning star. Then his hands
began to move as if in a trance. He no longer thought about what
he was doing, a powerful energy moved through him, through his shoulders
and arms and inspiration shone from his eyes. He would not stop
his work even when Sandrabhaga called him for his meal at noon,
he did not cease until the sun began to sink behind the jungle trees.
Then he was finished, the statue was complete. The couple gazed
at it with amazement it was like nothing that he had ever made before.
It was not a striding lion to guard the temple gates, not one of
the fierce guardians at the shrine doors, not even one of the many
sacred gods of the inner shrines. This statue was of a handsome
young man sitting steadfastly upright, a golden glow surrounding
him, his eyes half closed, his lips smiling and his right hand raised
in blessing. Immediately Bhadrapala knew it was his finest work,
indeed that that this was his life’s works. When Sandrabhaga
questioned him all he would say was, ‘it is the young man
I saw beneath the Pipal tree on the road home.’
It was then that problems arose. The only statues that Bhadrapala
would now sculpt were of the young man. All of these were as beautiful
and graceful, as blessed, as the first one but no one would buy
them. Priests and monks would often admire them and would ask him
what strange deity or god this was but Bhadrapala always answered
in the same manner as he had answered his wife. The couple became
poorer and poorer as the years went by. The little workshop became
full of these wonderful statues. It was then that the couple quarrelled.
They had little food, the roof of the bamboo house leaked during
the rainy season and Sandrabhaga asked her husband to make at least
one statue for the local temple she knew if she went to the priest
it would sell immediately for Bhadrapala’s work had once been
renowned. The sculptor shook his head. He could not do it. It was
no longer his work. This was his work and he nodded in the direction
of the rows of wonderfully sculpted figures sitting upright in deepest
contemplation. Sandrabhaga hissed in frustration and walked away.
The sculptor went back to work. He shaped the strong torso and shoulders
crafted carefully the folded legs, the right arm raised in blessing
and then began to work on the head. It was then that disaster struck
Bhadrapala shaping the left side of the face let his thumb slip
in dark cool clay. In an instant the features of the statue were
disfigured the left eye drawn down the fine cheek bone destroyed
but the smile the serene smile escaped. The sculptor was dismayed
and despairing. He took up the statue intending to throw it in to
the river but as he approached the bank the statue seemed to become
heavier and heavier until he was forced to put it down. In despair
he came back to the house and the couple ate the last of the rice
together in heavy silence. As the moon rose the old sculptor arose
and took his wife by the shoulders and they walked down to the river
which shone and glistened in the moonlight. Putting his warmest
shawl around them they sat together watching the water listening
to its songs. Together they sat, the statue beside them, through
days and nights that turned into years, decades and centuries. They
sat in deep peace and love until the jungle grew dense around them,
upon them the leaves fell, creepers wound around them and the dark
earth encrusted them.
Many aeons passed and it was then beloved ones that Avalaokiteshvara
the bodhisattva, the great being was passing around the earth with
her starry cloak of compassion flowing behind her. She, with her
lustrous eyes, noticed far, far below a radiance piercing the deep
shadows of the green jungle. In a swirl of glowing jewels she swung
down and landed gracefully on her white feet at the very place where
Bhadrapala and Sandrabhaga had sat together for many centuries and
now were dissolved into earth and sky. Avalaokiteshvara the bodhisattva,
the great being, with her infinite wisdom saw their purity of their
hearts shining out. Beside them was the Buddha with the damaged
face, its left eye drawn down, its cheekbone broken but she saw
also the gentle smile, as beautiful, as peaceful as ever and around
its body strong and upright there was a golden radiance. She prostrated
herself numberless times at the feet of Bhadrapala and Sandrabhaga
and the simple earth statue shining with such a pure light. She
lay a white palm in blessing above the old sculptor and his wife
and took the statue in her long white arms and ascended with it
to an old, very remote ruined monastery high in the mountains of
the heavenly snows. There it remains to this very day an object
of veneration to pilgrims who travel from the farthest ends of the
earth to sit within its radiant glow. So it was beloved ones in
the days of old when the earth was young and the birds in the sky
were numberless, the fish in the sea and animals and trees were
beyond counting. In those days when we were very, very few.
Kogan
Muju
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