Gautama Buddha was born around 563 B.C. at Kapilawastu. He was a Kshattriya, a prince of the Sakya clan and his father was Suddhodana, the ruler or king of a strip of country thirty miles south of the foothills of the Himalayas and on the borders of Nepal. How the Sakyas came to occupy this land has been related in the following legend:

Once upon a time there was a king who reigned over a land called Potala. He fell in love with a beautiful princess and asked her hand in marriage. The princess accepted him, but added to her acceptance a curious condition. She would not marry the king unless he promised to appoint as his successor his youngest and not his eldest son. The royal suitor was too much in love to object. He married the princess, who bore him five sons. When the time came for appointing an heir to the throne, the king, bound by his promise, named the youngest son as his successor. At the same time he banished his four eldest sons from the state and bade them seek their fortune elsewhere. The exiled princes set out and after a long and tiresome journey they came to a fertile land where lived an ancient sage called Kapila. They did reverence to him and begged him tell them whither they should direct their weary steps. The sage, pleased with their courtesy, counseled them to go no farther, but settle down near his hermitage. This they did, and built a city which in the sage’s honour they called Kapilawastu or abiding place of Kapila. They them­selves took the title of Sakyas or the Brave Ones.

Suddhodana’s father was a descendant of one of the four brave brothers and for many years he ruled happily over a prosperous, if somewhat restricted state. He was, however, greatly dis­tressed that no son had been born to him, although for several years he had been married to two sisters Maya and Pajapati, the daughters of the king of Koli. His happiness was to come. During the full moon festival of the month of Ashalha or Ashad (June-July) queen Maya dreamt a strange dream. She dreamt that four great kings raised her and her bed, took her to the Manosila tableland and then moved aside. Their queens took their places and bathed her in the Anotatta Lake, and put her on a divine couch with her head to the east. A white elephant, bearing in its trunk a white lotus, appeared in the room and after circumambulating the bed three times, smote her side with its trunk and entered her womb.

Next day Maya told her dream to the king, who sent for his most learned Brahmans. They all agreed that the queen would have a famous son. If he stayed in the royal palace he would become a mighty conqueror. If he renounced the world, he would become one of its wonders. He would be a great sage, who would guide all peoples to the goal of truth and justice.

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The dream came true; for not long afterwards Maya realised that she was to become a mother. Following what is still the common practice of India, Maya decided with the king’s permission to give birth to her baby in her mother’s house in Devadaha, a small town not far from Kapilawastu. Unfortunately she either delayed her journey too long for reasons that have not come down to us or she miscalculated the date of her conception. On the way she felt the birth pains come on. It was impossible either to return or to continue the journey, for the party were about half­way between the capital and Devadaha. They halted near a wood known as the Lumbini Grove; but before the poor queen had time to lie down, she was delivered of her child standing. It is said that all nature rejoiced at its birth, that cool breezes blew everywhere and that a bright light flooded the whole world. However this may be, the birth brought but little pleasure to Maya. She and her child were carried amid great rejoicings to Kapilawastu, but only seven days after her delivery the poor mother died. Her sister, Queen Pajapati, adopted the baby as her own and gave him all a mother’s care. He received the name of Gautama and possibly the name of Siddartha; but the latter may be a later appellation, for it means “He who has reached his goal.”

Gautama grew up amid what were then deemed luxurious surroundings. Nothing sad or ugly was allowed near him. Beautiful maid-servants surrounded him and a host of men-servants waited on him and no doubt did their best to spoil him. When five years old, he went to a little school kept by a wise and learned Brahman, to which only the sons of

Sakya nobles were admitted. Gautama soon attracted the teacher’s attention by his superior intelligence, and he became in time most popular among the boys. His chief companions were his half-brother Nanda, his cousin Devadatta and a young Brahman called Oda.yin. Unfortunately Devadatta was bitterly jealous of Gautama’s popularity and after a time grew to hate him, just as Duryodhana grew to hate Yudhishtira in the Mahabharata. A trifling incident brought matters to a head. One day when Gautama and Udayin were walking in the palace gardens they saw a flight of wild geese overhead. As they admired the graceful “V” formation in which wild geese are wont to fly, one of the birds, pierced by an arrow, fell at their feet. Gautama went to it, pulled out the shaft and dressed the wound. As he was thus engaged, a servant came up and told him that the goose had been brought down by the prince Devadatta and that he had been sent to pick it up. Gautama refused to let him and the servant returned empty-handed to his master. The prince himself came up and haughtily demanded his quarry. Gautama maintained that the bird was his because he had saved its life, while his cousin had only tried to kill it. Devadatta was furious; Gautama was no better than a preacher, he cried. A prince’s duties included the chase, the use of arms and the defence of his country in battle. Since Gautama still refused to surrender the wild goose, Devadatta went away, muttering fearful threats against his cousin.

In spite of his threats Devadatta seems to have done nothing more than spread rumours that Gautama was a “mollycoddle,” who cared nothing for field sports nor martial exercises. He was therefore unfit to succeed his father as the king of a free and warlike people. The gossip reached Suddhodana’s ears and he became rather alarmed about his son’s future. He had him trained in riding, archery and swordsmanship. The youth took to these martial exercises in a way that delighted his teachers. Soon the king felt justified in issuing a challenge to the young nobles of his kingdom to try their skill against the royal heir. Edwin Arnold, following certain Sanskrit authorities, has described the contest as a swayamvara for the hand of the lady Yasodhara:

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“So ’twas given forth that on the seventh day The Prince Siddartha summoned whoso would

To match with him infects of manliness,

The Victor’s crown to be Yasodhara.”

This seems, however, to be an echo of the epics, wherein both Ramachandra and the Pandavas won Sita and Draupadi at a swayamvara. It seems more likely that the king wished by a public contest to establish his son’s fitness for the Sakya throne. Gautama certainly proved it, for he beat his cousin Devadatta in archery, his half-brother Nanda in fencing and finally bent and strung his grand­father’s bow, a feat deemed impossible of performance. As there was no longer any question of Gautama’s royal qualities the king very properly thought that the sooner so splendid a youth continued the royal line, the better. Without delay he arranged his marriage and the lady chosen was Gautama’s cousin Yasodhara, the sister of Devadatta. Once his senses were awakened by marriage the young prince found a keen enjoyment in worldly delights. The chroniclers have revelled in exaggerated accounts of the splendour of his palace and of the number and charms of his concubines. But this type of pleasure palls sooner or later, and although the prince’s vigour enabled him to endure the strain without injury, a time came when his active mind wearied of the company of his beautiful wife and mistresses. The tale runs that the king deliberately kept from Gautama’s eyes everything that was not young and beautiful. One day he saw, as he was driving down the road behind his four white horses, an old and feeble beggar. He enquired of his charioteer Channa the cause of the mendicant’s weakness. To the prince’s astonishment Channa explained that old age and weakness were the common lot of all mankind. Gautama returned home and questioned the king, who consoled him as best he could and drove away his son’s melancholy by an unusually splendid banquet. Some days later the prince again drove out and saw a man in great pain lying on the road, and learnt from Channa that pain and sorrow awaited everyone, even royal princes. During a third drive Gautama met a dead man being carried to the burning ground. He received the explanation that all life at last ended in death. This legend is obviously imaginative. No child could grow to manhood, especially in a small state such as Kapilawastu, without seeing sick or dead men; and all children feel pain at some time or another. A far more likely cause of the change in Gautama was the reaction caused by worldly pleasure. It drove him back on his mind and started the enquiry common to nearly all young men, whether the religion taught them gave a satisfactory explanation of the origin and direction of life. If priests could really influence the gods, why did they not obtain immortality and the fulfillment of all their wishes? If they could not influence the gods of what use was their intercession? Indeed, of what use were the gods at all if they either could or would not help mankind? The climax came, when again driving with Channa, Gautama met an ascetic in an orange- coloured robe. His head was shaven, and he seemed completely destitute, but in his face shone contentment and his eyes glowed with spiritual light. “Who is he?” asked Gautama.

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“He is a sanyasi or anchorite”, replied the charioteer. “He has renounced the world and lives only for the quest of truth.”

Gautama was deeply impressed and within him the desire grew to become himself a sanyasi and live for the pursuit of truth. Not long afterwards Yasodhara bore him a son. The news rejoiced the king; for the royal line of the Sakyas would be thus continued. Gautama took a different view. He would now be immersed in the Sansar or married life. No more could he leave his palace and, dressed in an orange robe, wander in search of truth. He exclaimed bitterly “My son shall be called ‘Rahula’ or impediment,” and .this name was duly given to the baby boy. Yet at first Gautama was attracted by the beauty of his little son and enjoyed the congratula­tions showered on him by Suddhodana’s subjects. This mood did not last long. The king gave a mighty banquet to his nobles with the usual accompaniment of dancing girls and music; but Gautama was now twenty-eight and was weary of such entertainments. When he left the banquet hall he found it impossible to sleep. At last he called Channa and bade him saddle his horse, as he could stay in the palace no longer.

Gautama, however, was human, and before he deserted his home he felt that he must look once more at Yasodhara, with whom he had lived so many years, and the baby Rahula, whom he had begotten. He returned to the threshold of his wife’s chamber and saw her as she lay asleep on a pillow of flowers with one hand on her boy’s head. An intense longing seized Gautama to embrace his child for the last time; but he realised that if he did So, he would wake his wife and that her clinging arms would chain him to the palace. Sadly he turned away, rejoined Channa and rode into the darkness a penniless wanderer. As he rode, he had an experience similar to that told of Christ; although whether Christianity or Buddhism is the source of the legend it is impossible to say. Mara, the spirit of evil, tried to induce Gautama to return home, promising him, if he did so, and universal sovereignty. Gautama refused, but Mara followed him the whole journey, pressing on him glorious gifts, if he gave up his enterprise. Unmoved, the saintly prince reached his destination, which was the bank of the river Anoma. There he dismounted, took off his jewels, and ordered Channa to take them and his horse back to Kapila­wastu. Channa protested, offering to become also an ascetic and serve Gautama. The prince refused the offer saying: “How will my father and mother know what has become of me, unless you go back and tell them?” Channa reluctantly obeyed.

Gautama, left alone, cut off his hair, gave his rich clothes to a ragged passer­by and walked to Rajgriha, the capital of the Magadha kingdom, a mendicant anchorite. In the hills near Rajgriha were a number of caves, and several were occupied by Brahman teachers. Gautama attached himself to two of these in turn, wishing probably to probe fully the priestly doctrines before re­nouncing them. His first teacher Alara proved unconvincing, so Gautama left him for a second called Udraka. The latter proved no more satisfying than Alara. Both told him that it was only by penances that the priests obtained their superhuman powers. Gautama decided to leave them and test their doctrines by self-mortification. He withdrew to the forest of Uruvela near the existing temple of Buddha Gaya and there together with five devoted disciples, he for six years practised the severest penances until he nearly killed himself. His fame as an anchorite spread “like the sound of a great hell hung in the middle of the sky,” yet he never came nearer his goal. At last as one day he dragged himself along he fainted from sheer exhaustion. He recovered and, fully satisfied that the priests knew nothing, he turned his back on their tenets and gave up forever his self- mortification; but his disciples had only been attracted by his penances, so they abandoned him and returned to Benares.

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Gautama was disillusioned and a likely prey for Mara the spirit of evil, who again attacked him and held before him visions of Kapilawastu, his familiar home, his beautiful wife Yasodhara and the comely boy whom he had deserted, and urged his return. Gautama, although sorely tempted, wandered on until he reached the banks of the Nairanjara River, where a kindly village maiden gave him a bowl of rice milk that she had meant to offer to the village gods. He sat down under a great tree, since known as the Bo-tree or tree of wisdom, and through the long Indian day he debated with himself what course to take. Worn out with starvation and exhausted by his thoughts he fell into a trance-like sleep. Next morning he awoke fully refreshed and his mind clear. He had tested the doctrines of the priests and they had failed him. He had attained Bodhi or knowledge himself. He had become the Buddha or the enlightened one. He would no longer examine the tenets of others. He would himself be a teacher and would lead mankind along the path of Truth. Having made this decision, Gautama went to a deer forest some three miles from Benares and began to teach his new faith. He soon gathered round him the curious of both sexes and even his five recreant disciples returned to him. At last, he selected sixty of his most fervent followers to spread his gospel. He himself went back to Rajagriha and converted Bimbisara king of Magadha, so that he repeated the famous formula:

“I take refuge in the Buddha; I take refuge in the doctrine; I take refuge in the order.”

The conversion of a ruling prince made Gautama famous. Suddhodana heard that his son had found the Truth and was preaching the gospel of peace all over the world. He longed to see his son again and sent messengers to call him; but they were all converted, and instead of bringing back Gautama, stayed with the Master. At last a lifelong friend induced the prince to return to Kapilawastu; but he went as an anchorite, begging his food. His father went to meet him, shocked that the heir to the throne should walk the streets as a beggar. He brought his son back to the palace and showed him Yasodhara and Rahula. To the king’s sorrow Rahula became a Buddhist monk and his throne was left without an heir. Yasodhara became the first of an order of nuns, founded later by her husband.

When Gautama was forty years old, he learnt that his father was dangerously ill, so he returned to Kapilawastu, reaching it in time to bid him good-bye. On Suddhodana’s death, his widow became a Buddhist nun; and since there was nothing to keep Gautama in Kapilawastu, he spent the rest of his life wandering up and down northern India, spreading his doctrine. His chief trouble was the jealousy of Deva- datta who set up another order of monks, wherein the rules were harsher than those of Buddha. He even attempted to assassinate his cousin, but when he died soon afterwards, the monks of his order rejoined Buddha. Gautama continued his mission for forty-five years; but in his eightieth year he was attacked by a severe illness that he felt would be fatal.

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Still he journeyed on, until he reached a grove outside Kusinagara, about one hundred and twenty miles north-east of Benares. There he lay down to rest for the last time. He had a long dis­cussion with a Brahman philosopher named Subhadra and converted him. The effort proved too much for the weary old man. He turned to Ananda, who had been for many years his personal attendant and said: “You may think that the Word ends when the teacher goes, but it is not so. The law and the rules of the order which I have laid down will be your teacher.” Making a last effort, he addressed a crowd of Buddhist monks, ending his address with the exhortation:

“Decay is inherent in all component things; work out your salvation with diligence!”

These were the Master’s last words. He fell into a swoon and never again recovered consciousness.

Let us now consider what Buddha’s teaching was. No more than Calvin or Luther did Gautama invent a new faith. He merely modified an existing one. The essentials of Hinduism he retained. The doctrine of metempsy­chosis or the wheel of life is still currently accepted by orthodox Hindus. He denied the efficacy of sacrifices and the power of the Brahmans. In other words he attacked priesthood and the Hindu gods, and substituted for them an ethical ideal. What happened? His followers in later years deified Buddha. He did away with penances and self-mortification, but he founded monasteries and nunneries, wherein harsh anti-sexual rules prevailed. Theoretically he abolished caste within the order, but this rule has only been observed in countries where no caste existed. Buddha himself paid special respect to converted Brahmans. He laid down eight principles: 1, Right Belief; 2, Right Aims; 3, Right Speech; 4, Right Actions; 5, Right Means of Livelihood; 6, Right Endeavour; 7, Right Mindfulness; 8, Right Meditation. As a norm of life these principles are the ideal accepted by every civilised religion. In fact Buddha would probably have been the last to admit that he was not a good Hindu. He would have claimed that he was a reformer merely. Yet if Buddha invented little new, how came it that his teaching spread all over Asia?

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The personality of Gautama was certainly an important factor. By all accounts his person was kingly, his diction eloquent and his intelligence superhuman. Also, he led a revolt against a priestly caste, whose claims far exceeded their powers; and such a revolt is always popular. As late as the invasion of Alexander, Brahmanism was still triumphant. The Greek writers who wrote of the Macedonian’s Indian campaign mentioned Gumnosophoi or Brahmans and the worship of the infant Heracles or Krishna at Mathura. But they neglected Buddhism. In 261 B.C. however, the great Asoka succeeded to the imperial throne of Pataliputra, founded by his grandfather Chandragupta, the friend of Alexander. Asoka had carried his arms successfully over all India and had perpetrated a fear­ful massacre in Orissa. Its memory haunted him all his life. In one of his edicts he inscribed the following passage:

“If a hundredth, nay a thousandth part of the persons, who were then slain, carried away captive or done to death were now to suffer the same fate, it would be a matter of remorse to His Majesty.”

To escape from his remorse he became a Buddhist and set about converting India with the powers of an autocrat and the zeal of a missionary. He pressed on his subjects the rule of ahinsa or “non-killing” with far greater fervour than Gautama himself. He converted Ceylon, Burma and Siam to Buddhism and sent missionaries to the courts of his Greek friends Ptolemy of Egypt, Antigonus Gonatas of Macedonia, Magas of Cyrene and Alexander of Epirus. These missionaries effected no conversions; nevertheless their preaching may have sunk into men’s minds. In 190 B.C. Demetrius, the Greek ruler of Bactria, invaded India under pressure from the Yueh-Chi and conquered a kingdom in the Punjab. His descen­dants became Buddhists, either because Hinduism did not admit foreigners, or because Buddhist ideas had become known through Asoka’s missionaries and the old Greek Gods were no longer honoured. As time passed a section of the Yueh-Chi, known as Kushans, followed the Bactrian Greeks into India and conquered their possessions. From the conquered the Kushans learnt Budd­hism and their greatest ruler Kanishka became as ardent a propagandist as Asoka. His missionaries converted China and Japan.

The next question arises why in spite of its successes abroad Buddhism is all but extinct in India. Buddhism flourished to the death of Harsha in 648 A.D. Then for two centuries a black curtain descended. When it was finally lifted the great peninsula was unrecognisable. It was dominated by a number of wild, romantic clans, the descendants of invaders from Central Asia. To men whose supreme joys were the hazards of the chase and the battle the doctrine of ahinsa seemed ridiculous. To kill panthers on foot, armed only with a sword, to die on the field of honour fighting against tremendous odds, was the only fit life and death for a Rajput soldier. The temper of these splendid warriors enabled the Hindu priests to affect a counter reformation. They told the listening paladins the tales of Rama- chandra and Hanuman, of Bhima, Arjuna and above all Krishna. This last was the Rajput ideal. Renowned alike in love and war, he became the idol of the new rulers of India. Still they were not Hindus, and Hinduism did not accept converts. This difficulty was soon overcome. Skilful and learned men drew up genealogies, establishing the descent of the Rajput Ranas from one or other of the Epic heroes. Thus in no long time Hinduism recovered its old supremacy. It was fortunate for India that things fell out as they did. Had the Rajput swords not defended her, her fate would have been like that of Sind which the Arabs conquered and converted entirely to Islam, and India would have become a mere extension of Central Asia. As it was the Rajputs kept at bay Afghans and Moguls long enough for the Marathas to join in the defence of the ancient gods. Nevertheless even if Buddhism is all but dead in the land of its birth, in other countries its followers number at least five hundred millions.