Deepak Chopra - Buddha - A Story of Enlightenment

This wasn’t a studied speech, but it was no impulsive outburst, either. Suddhodana had planned to confront his son with the realities of a king’s existence. The time had to be ripe; the boy had to be old enough to accept the lesson but not so old that he would imagine himself wiser than his father. Suddhodana could only pray that his timing was right. He studied Siddhartha’s face for a reaction.

“How is fear managed?” asked Siddhartha. His hesitant tone wasn’t encouraging, but at least he had asked the right question.

“Fear should be applied like medicine,” his father replied. “Use just enough as a remedy but not so much that it becomes a poison. Medicine isn’t pleasant. But the pain it causes cures a greater pain.” Suddhodana had practiced this analogy until he thought it was easy to understand and forceful enough to be remembered.

“Fate has dealt us a fortunate hand,” Suddhodana went on. “We have the mountains to the north and west guarding our backs. I’ve fought on that front occasionally, but my eye keeps looking east. To the east you have strong kings, in Magadha and Kosala. Together they could overwhelm us by sheer numbers. They are almost strong enough to do it without allying. But they don’t attack because I inflicted pain on them first. I bit their throats like a small dog that can drive back a bigger one because it’s more fierce. The big dog will remember the bite and forget that its enemy is actually smaller.”

“You cast a spell,” Siddhartha said. It was a peculiar remark, and it stopped his father cold.

“More than a spell. I killed real men. One day you will too.”

There, I’ve said it. He had put before his son an inevitability, not simply a possibility. “A king has never existed who didn’t fight and kill,” he said with emphasis.

“So I’ll have to decide,” Siddhartha said. His thoughtful tone angered the king.

“No, there is nothing to decide. If you can’t get that into your head-” Suddhodana stopped himself. He remembered that he had the gods on his side. However confused the prince might be, he was still young, and his birth chart explicitly promised what lay ahead. There was no need to intimidate or goad him. Suddhodana changed tack. “I shouldn’t have said that. What I meant was, if you can’t do this for me, you are not the son I know you to be.”

Siddhartha had accepted this milder rebuke calmly. He parted respectfully from his father, each of them satisfied that he had been successful in disguising how alone and abandoned he actually felt. Now, as the king gazed gloomily toward the tower where Siddhartha was waiting, there was no return gaze. His son had flung himself on the floor, throwing off his suffocating robes and that absurd feathered turban. He buried his head in a pile of pillows, trying not to think of anything at all. His misery would have been simpler to bear if he had hated his father or wanted to thwart his will.

He had followed the dictates of his upbringing to the letter, had mastered the martial arts and excelled in mock battles. He had felt the exultation of downing an opponent on the field. So why did he feel like a coward, like someone who confidently marches to the edge of a cliff, only to find that he cannot take the last step? The last step was inevitable. Every day of his life had led to it. Siddhartha felt a sick dread in the pit of his stomach.

THE FEAST HAD GONE ON two full hours, the guests growing engorged and drunk as course followed course. Suddhodana alone drank nothing, and when he sensed that the time was right, he raised his goblet. “In my son’s name I have spent half of my treasury on this day.” He paused. “I have overseen every detail of your comfort and enjoyment. I personally examined every woman at court, and the ugly ones were banished to my friend Bimbisara’s kingdom-” A burst of appreciative laughter. Suddhodana waited for it to die away.

“-where they are considered the most beautiful women in the land.”

More laughter rose, this time raucous and mixed with applause. Even Bimbisara, the powerful ruler of Magadha, smiled and clapped, though his smile was tight and unpleasant to look on. He was one of the few guests who had come of his own accord, no doubt for concealed reasons.

When he was sure that the drunken guests were quiet and the astute ones were paying close attention, Suddhodana said, “I’m here to confess a precious secret, one that I have kept for half my reign.” His voice rose dramatically. “Heed me, all of you!” He threw down his goblet with a clatter, ending the last few scattered conversations that had continued.

“After his beloved mother died, I summoned seers to Siddhartha’s cradle. And they told me the most incredible news. About one who was destined to rule the world.” Suddhodana paused and let the silence return. “This soul wasn’t destined to rule a tiny kingdom. He was going to be given the world! Do you have any idea what that means?”

Suddhodana abandoned his throne and stepped down to his audience’s level. The two chained leopards that flanked him followed behind until they reached the ends of their restraints and were jerked back. They growled, their tails twitching lazily.

“It means that it won’t matter anymore that your lands are greater than mine,” Suddhodana said, pointing to one of his peers, “or that your army is twice the size of mine,” he pointed at another, “or that your father was a damned conniving murderer who tried to seize my father’s throne.”

The last man he pointed to recoiled. His hand dropped to the sword belted at his waist. For a moment he battled with his better judgment. Finally he broke eye contact and took his hand from his weapon. Suddhodana walked away, smiling in triumph. “Hate me all you want,” he invited. “Plot all you dare.” He turned back toward his throne. “My son will swallow all your kingdoms for supper. He’ll buy and sell oceans, continents!”

The whispers of confusion and disquiet that trailed after Suddhodana subsided as his threats swept over the guests. Everyone was as superstitious of the gods as Suddhodana.

“Incredible?” he challenged. “No! I’ve seen it. I’ve seen all that will unfold.”

At that moment a movement to the side caught his eye. Siddhartha was standing in the doorway, looking resplendent in his new bejeweled coat.

“Ah,” Suddhodana cried, gesturing toward his son, “here he is.” To himself he thought, I’ve done all I can. Take the stage or pay the price.

Siddhartha stared around him. Over the years he’d seen only a few of these faces. He took a step into the gathering. No one reached for his hand or made the slightest sound. He looked to his father for a sign and received an imperceptible nod. Siddhartha forced himself to go forward, wanting nothing more than to retreat to his room. His thoughts raced; they seemed deafeningly loud in the silence of the banquet tent.

“Come!”

His father called out for him, seeing that his son this time would not fail. Siddhartha began to notice those around him. The looks on some people’s faces seemed wary, but other faces were stark; they spoke of awe and dread.

What did he say to them?

Siddhartha knew that anything was possible. His father was a man of great words when he wanted to be. Suddhodana held out his hand. “Come, great king, come!”

Feeling strangely as if he were watching someone else’s body moving forward, Siddhartha felt his knees quiver, as if they would not hold. He took another step, and then another. When he was almost to his father, the king began clapping, slowly at first, then gaining speed. One or two guests joined in hesitantly, but Suddhodana didn’t stop, and others now joined in, putting more heart into their efforts. The clamor built. Thunderous noise washed over the feast, drowning out all other sounds.