“This woman is dead, isn’t she, Chandaka?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Because things die, don’t they?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“It’s not only worms, is it?”
“No, my lord, it is all things.”
“Which means—I will die, doesn’t it, Chandaka?”
“Please, my lord …”
“I will die, won’t I, Chandaka? I WILL DIE, WON’T I?? TELL ME!”
Chandaka finally nodded. “Death is the fate of all living things, my lord.”
“Of course it is,” my mind fairly shouted. “How could it be otherwise? Worms die, plants die, everything dies, including me.” As Chandaka started to lead me out of the room, hot tears streamed down my noble face. “I’m going to DIE, Chandaka,” I found myself moaning as he led me back to the chariot. “I, Prince Siddhartha, the King of the World, am going to DIIIIEEE!” Feeling both helpless and enraged, I sank down into my seat and glared balefully at the people passing by. “Why do you look so happy, you fools?? I AM GOING TO DIE, I AM GOING TO DIIIEEEEE!” (ASV 3:58–61)
It all came together then. Life was pain. That was all life was, pain. I rode in silence, feeling the weight of this profound insight. Finally Chandaka looked over at me. “Are you alright, my lord?”
“No, Chandaka, I am not alright. I am frankly overwhelmed by the hideous sights I have been subjected to! So much pain, Chandaka.”
“Yes.”
“So much suffering.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“How am I supposed to enjoy feasting on savory grilled meats or drinking fine chilled wines or sniffing sweet perfumes after seeing all of these vile things, Chandaka?”
“I do not know, my lord.”
“Get me back to the palace,” I moaned in despair.
But the gods had one final sight they needed me to see. As we reapproached the palace gates, there, sitting by the side of the road, close enough for me to touch, sat a small, thin man with a shaved head. He was wearing a yellow robe and holding an empty wooden bowl. As we slowly drove past him, I turned to Chandaka. “What is he?”
“He is an ‘ascetic,’ my lord.”
“‘Ascetic’? What does it mean?”
“It means that he has renounced all worldly goods, my lord.”
“Why?”
“In search of inner peace, my lord.”
Those two words, “inner peace,” had a profound effect on me. I suddenly grabbed the reins from Chandaka and stopped the chariot right next to the ascetic. (NK) I stared at the skinny little man, who sat calmly, a gentle smile on his weathered face. “Old man,” I said to him. He nodded back at me. “You look quite wise.”
“I am merely a seeker, young prince,” the ascetic replied. Then he lowered his voice to something just above a whisper: “As you too soon will be.”
“How do you know that?”
“It is your destiny, young prince.”
4
By the time I got back to the palace I was overwhelmed with emotion. Seeing me rush past, Father instantly understood what had happened. “You went into the city, didn’t you, Siddhartha?”
I stopped, stared coldly at him. “Did you actually think I wouldn’t, Father?”
“I assumed you would when you were sixteen or seventeen, twenty at the very latest. When you didn’t do it then, no, I figured you wouldn’t.”
“Well, I did, Father. And by the way, why on earth did you think a king would be better off not knowing about suffering?”
“I didn’t think you could handle it, son.”
“Well guess what, I CAN handle it—you were wrong about that! Not only can I ‘handle it,’ I can save people from it!”
“How will you do that?”
“I don’t know yet, but I will!”
“Siddhartha, stop.”
“Leave me ALONE, Father!” I cried as I lurched past him and rushed upstairs to my room where I threw myself onto my chariot-themed bed and wept for hours.
Wanting to console me, Father sent dancing girls to my chambers. “Use your coquettishness to enrapture him,” he instructed them. (ASV 4:9–12) Some of the girls crept into my bed and began pressing their breasts against me. One of them whispered, “Perform your rites of adoration here, young prince,” hotly in my ear. When I leapt out of bed, another chesty woman stood in front of me, shook her earrings back and forth, then laughed and cried out in a merry voice, “Catch me if you can!” as she ran off. (ASV 4:32–39) I did not chase her, needless to say. I ducked into my closet and hid there, trembling with rage, one thought circling endlessly in my mind: “I WILL DIE. I WILL DIE. I WILL DIE.”
Suddenly furious, I yanked back the closet curtain and glowered at the busty harlots and screamed at them.
“You laugh and sport and carry on,” I cried, “but before long all of you will get old and sick and then you will DIE, YES, ALL OF YOU WILL DIE!!” One of the women, the one who’d been shaking her earrings at me, frowned. “You’re being extremely rude, young prince,” she said. Another dancing girl nodded.
“Obviously we know we’re going to get old and sick and then die, young prince, who doesn’t know that?” “Until today, ME!” I bellowed at them. “NOW GET OUT OF MY ROOM, GET OUT RIGHT NOW!!” After they left I cried myself to sleep.
The next morning I stood before Father and announced, “I wish to leave the palace.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish to become an ascetic in order that I may achieve enlightenment and fulfill my true destiny of saving the world.”
“Go forth as an ascetic when you are older, Siddhartha, you are too young now.”
“I am nearly thirty years old, Father.”
“As I said, too young.”
I looked at my father, nodded. “If you can promise me four things, Father, I will stay here at the palace.”
“Anything, my son, anything at all—tell me.”
“Can you promise to stop sickness, old age, pain and death, Father? If so, I will stay.” (ASV 5:35)
“I cannot possibly stop those things, my son. You know that.”
“Exactly,
