In spite of the fierceness which emanated from his whole being, even on the first evening a certain grace of bearing had surprised me in him; how much more striking, however, was the unsought dignity with which he now sat down beside me, like one who feels himself among his equals.
XXXIV
The Hell of Spears
I stood today—he began—a few hours after sunrise at the edge of the forest, gazing out at the towers of Kosambi, my mind full of vengeance on Satagira and revolving the question as to whether thou wouldst bring me the desired information, when, on the road which leads from the eastern gate to the forest, I became aware of a solitary traveller, garbed in a yellow cloak, who paced vigorously forward. On both sides of the road, herdsmen and peasants were busied with their daily toil. And I observed how those who were nearest the road shouted something to the lonely traveller, while those who were farther off also paused in the middle of their work, looked after him, and pointed with their fingers. The men who were near enough appeared, the farther he advanced, to warn him the more eagerly, yes, even to seek to stop him, while some ran after him, seized his cloak, and then with hurried and horror-stricken gestures pointed to the wood. I almost believed I could hear them calling to him, “No farther! Don’t go into the forest! There the fearful robber Angulimala has his lair.”
But the traveller came onward, undisturbed, in the direction of the wood. And now I saw from his cloak and his closely shaven head that he was an ascetic, one of those who belong to the Order of the Son of the Sakyas, an old man of commanding stature.
And I thought to myself, “Passing strange, truly! On this road ten men, ay, even thirty, and fifty, have already set out in companies and well armed, and they have one and all fallen into my power; and that ascetic there comes on alone, like any conqueror.”
And it nettled me that he so openly set my power at defiance. I made up my mind to kill him, and the rather as I thought to myself that he might possibly be sent into the forest as a spy, by Satagira. For these ascetics—so I thought—are all hypocritical and venal, and are ready to be used in all kinds of ways, building upon the superstition of the people and the safety they enjoy as its outcome—for so I had been taught by my learned friend Vajaçravas to regard them.
Instantly making up my mind, I seized my spear, hung my bow and quiver over my shoulder, made for the road, and, step for step, followed the ascetic, who had now entered the forest.
Finally, when I had reached a favourable spot where no trees separated us, I took down my bow from my shoulder, and shot an arrow so that it must of necessity pierce the left side of his back and pass through his heart; but it flew away over the head of the ascetic.
“By some mistake, a very bad arrow must have got among the others,” I said to myself, took the quiver in my hand, and chose out a beautifully feathered and faultless one, which I so aimed that it must necessarily transfix the neck of the ascetic. But the arrow struck into the trunk of a tree to his left. The next flew past him to the right, and the same thing happened with all my arrows till my quiver was empty.
“Inconceivable! Most extraordinary!” I thought to myself. “Have I not often amused myself by placing a prisoner with his back against a fence and shooting my arrows at him in such a way that, after he had stepped aside, the whole outline of his body was indicated exactly by the arrows sticking in the fence—and that, at a greater distance? Am I not accustomed with my arrow to bring down from the sky the eagle in full flight? Whatever is the matter with my hand today?”
Meanwhile the ascetic had gained a considerable start, and I began to run after him in order to kill him with my spear. But when I had come to within a distance of about fifty paces from him I didn’t gain another step, although I ran with all my might and although the ascetic seemed but to be pacing quite leisurely onward.
Then I said to myself, “Of a truth, this is the most wonderful thing of all. Have I not overtaken frightened elephants and fleeing deer? And now I cannot, running with all my might, overtake this ascetic, going forward at his leisure. What is the matter with my feet today?”
And I stopped and called to him—
“Stand still, ascetic! Stand still!”
But he paced quietly on and called back—
“I am standing still, Angulimala! Stand thou also still!”
Whereat I was again much astonished, and thought: “Plainly this ascetic has, by some Rite of Truth, baffled my archery; by some Rite of Truth, my running. How can he then utter a manifest untruth and assert that he is standing still while he is, as a matter of fact, walking, and demand that I should stand still, although he sees perfectly well that I am already standing as still as this tree. So might the flying goose say to the oak: ‘I am standing still, oak! Stand thou also still!’ Of a surety, there must be something behind all this. It might probably be of more value to understand the secret meaning of these ascetic words than to kill an ascetic.”
And I called to him—
“Walking, thou dost imagine thyself to be standing still, ascetic, and me, who stand still, thou dost erroneously believe to be walking. Explain this to me, ascetic. How art thou standing still? How am I not standing still?”
And he
