“Was I the other sprite, master?”
“You were, Ananda.”
“Oh I am so very happy.”
“After a time, however, your Wishing Tree was cut down, Ananda.”
“Oh no!”
“Yes, you were extremely sad about it. But do you know who saved you?”
“ … You, master?”
“I tricked the humans and saved your Wishing Tree, isn’t that wonderful, Ananda?”
“Yes, I mean … I was kind of hoping that I had helped you, master.”
I patted his hand tenderly. “Let me tell you about another lifetime, old friend. I was a lion who accidentally got stuck in some extremely thick mud and you were the jackal who helped me.” (LJJAT)
“Are not jackals low and vulgar creatures, master?”
“Ordinarily they are, Ananda, but in this particular case you and I became excellent friends.”
“That is wonderful, master.”
“Of course, my wife didn’t like you and wanted you gone.”
“Oh no …”
“But do you know what I told her, Ananda? ‘This jackal is my friend, wife,’ I said, ‘no matter how small and weak he is, you should not despise him as you do.’ Wasn’t that generous of me?”
“Your wife despised me?”
“Oh yes, very much so. But I told her not to.”
“Thank you, master. I guess what I was wondering though …”
I squeezed his hand, nodded. “Is whether you have ever given your life for me, is that it, old friend?”
“Yes!”
“You have indeed, Ananda.”
“Oh, master, I am so glad! Please tell me about it!”
“Once I was a beautiful young man and you, Ananda, were a crab.” (BYJAT)
“ … A crab?”
“Yes, and we became very close friends.”
“A beautiful young man and a crab became close friends?”
“Yes. Until an evil crow—and I assume you know who that was—”
“Devadatta, master?”
“Precisely, until Devadatta decided that he wanted to feast on my eyeballs.”
“Only your eyeballs, master?”
“They were magnificent-looking eyeballs.”
“Of course.”
“The evil-crow Devadatta then made friends with an evil snake.”
“Was that also Devadatta, master?”
“No, Ananda, the snake was Mara.”
“Ooooohh, Mara …”
“The two of them, Devadatta and Mara, developed a plan to eat my gorgeous eyeballs. But you, Ananda, stopped them by killing them both! Well done, old friend!”
Ananda looked at me, joyful tears streaming down his face. “That is so good to hear, master, oh, I am so very happy at this moment, I wish I was that crab right now so I could save you, so I could …” He broke down in tears.
“I know you do, old friend, I know you do.”
The next morning, I had Ananda gather my monks around me. With an effort, I spoke to them.
“I wish to announce to all of you that my man Ananda has four good qualities. Good quality number one: People are always happy to see Ananda. Good quality number two: People are always unhappy to not see Ananda. Good quality number three …” At that point, I stalled, unable to think of any more good qualities that Ananda possessed. My monks stared at me for a long moment, waiting for more, but I finally just closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep and the moment passed. (MPB 5:16; ANG 4:129–30)
28
The following morning I sat under a tree and meditated. I would die by the end of the day, I knew that. After a moment, a bunch of flowers fell on my head. I was used to flowers falling on my head by now, obviously. I also wasn’t surprised when some powders were sprinkled all over me. Honestly, by this time I’d had flowers, powders and ointments dumped on me so many damned times that I hardly even noticed them anymore. What I did notice, however, was the song praising me which I heard the gods crooning up in heaven. I glanced over at Ananda and smiled weakly. “Never has the Perfect One been so worshipped and adored, eh, old friend?” He nodded vaguely.
Not long afterwards Ananda was massaging my feet while another monk, Upavana, fanned me. Noticing some gods approaching, I suddenly barked, “Move aside, monk!” at Upavana.
“Why do you speak to Upavana in that harsh way, master?” Ananda asked.
“The gods have arrived to behold me, Ananda, millions of them, possibly even billions. They have traveled a long way and do you know what they are saying to each other at this moment? ‘We came to see the Perfect One before he dies but now this idiot monk Upavana is blocking our view!’ That’s what they are saying!” (MPB 5:3–4)
Ananda nodded slightly to Upavana, who quickly scooted away. Glancing around, Ananda asked worriedly: “What kind of gods do you see, master?” “First of all, I see gods with messy hair, Ananda. They are weeping and crying out, ‘Too soon, TOO SOON!!’ Secondly, I see gods standing and staring at me and saying, ‘Well, everything dies, right?’ Which is obviously true, but I do not like those gods very m—UUUHHHHHH.” At that point, I was overcome with sudden excruciating pain in my belly and I passed out.
When I woke up, Ananda was sitting next to me, gazing down at me with tears in his eyes.
“You have another question for me, old friend?” I managed.
“This is so difficult, master …”
“Go on.”
“After you are gone … what should we do with your remains, master?”
“It is an excellent question, Ananda, and I am glad you asked it. First of all, I don’t want you running my funeral, alright?” I lifted my hand, quickly silencing him. “There are others who are more suited for the job, Ananda, that’s all I’m going to say. You may, however, give the following instructions to the sangha: ‘Treat the Perfect One’s remains as you would those of a monarch.’”
“What does it mean, master?”
“It means to first wrap my body in linen. Then after that, wrap it in wool, then linen again, then wool again. Then alternate layers of linen and wool a thousand times.”
“A thousand times, master?”
“Yes. After that, put me into an iron pot. Then put that iron pot into a second iron pot. Are you going to
