Before long, my initial group of six followers had grown to sixty, and after that to six hundred. One day in the middle of this growth, two important new students showed up. One of them, Ananda, would turn out to be my closest aide and confidante. The other, Devadatta, would turn out to be my worst enemy. (Sadly, more on Devadatta later.) Ananda was short, balding, heavily built; he blinked a lot, which made him look like he was slightly confused. From the moment Ananda laid eyes on me, it was obvious that all he desired was to serve my every need. For the next forty-plus years, I generously allowed him to do just that. There were moments almost from the start, however, when Ananda was a bit, shall we say, “gushy.”
“Master?” I remember him saying to me one night as he washed my feet.
“Hm?”
“I think you are the pure, true mind of the universe.”
“Thank you, Ananda.”
“I think you are the perfect, empty void of radiance.”
“That is very good, Ananda.”
“I think you are the one and only reality, master!”
“Again, thank you.”
“I think you are an angel, master.”
“No, Ananda, as I have told you repeatedly, I am merely a man.”
“Yes, master, thank you, master.”
13
The next day I stood before my growing sangha.
“Today I will speak to you regarding the Six Realms of Existence, bikkhus. The first realm, the one you find yourself in presently, is of course the human realm. For all the myriad pains involved in human life (and there are many of them, obviously, here is a very abbreviated list: leprosy, insanity, being a hunchback or a dwarf, and worst of all by far, being a woman), the human realm is still the best place to be in the universe and I will tell you why: Because it is only those who exist in the human realm who are able to hear the words of the Buddha.” (ILL, Humans)
I strolled among the monks. “Below the human realm is the realm of the animals. This is a terrible and frightful place to exist, bikkhus, because animals, you see, are pure desire. Animals are so ignorant that they don’t even realize that their life is suffering. Being eaten alive, for instance, does that sound good to you, bikkhus, because that is an animal’s life. (ASV 14:22–23) Yes, Ananda?”
“Not tigers, master.”
“ … What?”
“Tigers don’t get eaten alive.”
“No, Ananda, all tigers do is have sex and sleep. Does that sound good to you?”
“Uh …”
“It shouldn’t. Tigers are ignorant fools, Ananda, driven solely by desire.”
“Why is one reborn as one animal rather than another, Tathagata?”
“An excellent question, Mahanama. The answer, of course, is karma. Here are some specific examples of how karma affects reincarnation in the animal realm: If you are a prisoner of your desires in this life, you will be reborn as a goose. If you are a prisoner of your delusions in this life, you will be reborn as a beetle. If you are a prisoner of your conceit in this life, you will be reborn as a donkey. If you are a prisoner of your anger, you will be reborn as a snake-god. (ILL, Animals) What is it now, Ananda?”
“What about plants, master?”
“What about them?”
“Can one be reborn as a plant?”
“No, Ananda, one cannot be reborn as a plant.”
“What about a fungus?”
“No, Ananda, one cannot be reborn as a fungus either.”
“Why not, master?”
“I don’t know, Ananda. I didn’t create this system—I’m just describing it to you, now will you please? Moving on, the third realm of existence, the one that lies just below that of the animals, is the dreadful realm of the Hungry Ghosts.” (LSV 14:29–31; ILL, Ghosts; PV; SH)
“What is a Hungry Ghost, Tathagata?”
“Imagine a creature with an enormous fat belly and a tiny little pinhole mouth, Sariputta.”
“How does the Hungry Ghost consume enough to be fat with such a tiny little mouth, Tathagata?”
“The Hungry Ghost is not fat, Sariputta, he is bloated. His stomach is distended because he is in fact starving. The Hungry Ghost is always trying to eat but cannot because his mouth is too small.”
“Will the Hungry Ghost eventually die of starvation, Tathagata?”
“It will indeed, Sariputta.”
“But … a ghost cannot actually die, can it, Tathagata?”
“Everything dies, Assaji, even ghosts.”
“Couldn’t the Hungry Ghost blend milk and honey together and drink that, Tathagata?”
“No, Vappa, and I will tell you why not: Because if he tried, the milk and honey would instantly change to hot lava, knives or possibly pus in his mouth.” Reacting to my monks’ sickened looks, I nodded: “Yes, exactly.”
“Do Hungry Ghosts ever come to the surface of the earth, Tathagata?”
“They do occasionally, Sariputta, in search of food.”
“Should we attempt to feed them?”
“You may try, yes, but it will be hopeless because, as I just told you, whatever they eat will turn to either lava, knives or pus in their mouths. Yes, Anuruddha?”
“Do all Hungry Ghosts look the same, Tathagata?”
“An excellent question. No, Anuruddha, they do not. There are some Hungry Ghosts who are, for lack of a better term, more ‘ghouls’ than ‘ghosts.’ The dreaded ‘Pot Balls,’ for instance. Do you know why they are called ‘Pot Balls,’ Anuruddha?”
“Because … their balls are the size of pots, Tathagata?”
“Exactly so, Anuruddha, because their balls are the size of pots, waterpots, to be specific. Tell me, do
