Mangala: Chapter Eight

Author's Note

This story is intended to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same web-site at http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/.

This book is being published here as a ‘serial novel,’ which is to say that it that it will appear one chapter at a time, on the first day of every month, over the next couple of years. The plan is that, after the entire twenty-six chapters of the story have been released, a pdf file of the complete book will be posted, and available for free download.

Finally, gentle reader, please note that the original author (Karl Gjellerup) switched freely between using Sanskrit (the language of the Northern Buddhist and Hindu scriptures) and Pali (the language of the Southern Buddhist scriptures) during the course of his tale. In our efforts to be true to his original style we have maintained this mixture of usage.

Amaro Bhikkhu
Abhayagiri Monastery
December 2008

* * * * * * * * * * * *

espite it being only an hour or two after sunrise, the day was already hot. Krishna had been playing with the gardener’s son, seeing who could climb highest in the tangle of branches and aerial roots that spread up and out from the trunk of the great banyan tree at the end of the lawn. Soon he came panting and blowing into the shade of the veranda and headed straight for the water jar.

His mother sat deeper into the coolness of the flag-stoned patio on a mat strewn with some comfortable cushions. She and a couple of the maids had been watching the boys as they had scrambled and heaved their way from branch to branch; motherly concern mixed with its frequent companion – pride and delight at the untrammeled zest of the young.

“I am gasping!” Krishna exclaimed.

“I’m not surprised,” Savitri responded, looking up from the embroidery she was half-heartedly attempting to finish. “You’ve been hurtling up and down the garden and clambering around in that tree non-stop for the last hour, and the day is roasting already.”

Krishna had immersed the dipper, made of half a coconut shell on a handle, into the cool earthenware jar. He closed his eyes as he raised the cup to his mouth and was just about to pour in the delicious cooling water, when the air of the garden was jarred by a thunderous sound.

THWHOOOM! THWHOOM! THWHOOOM!

His heart leapt with a sudden fierce excitement but his mother’s face was wrung with an equally immediate anxiety.

“What’s that noise?”

“Someone at the gate, I think, madam,” answered the maid, not seemingly so bothered by its intensity and, to Savitri, its ominous boom.

“I wonder who it is.” Krishna dropped the water scoop, forgetting his thirst and dashed out into the bright light of the morning once again. He ran at full speed around the corner of the grand house, through another colonnade beside a fountain and to the main gate of the compound. He found the family custodian, Kuvera (named after the Heavenly King who was the Guardian of the North and ruler of the yakkhas), doing his best to see the visitor off.

“Go on, get out of here, we have no need of your type around these parts. There’s nothing you’ve got that the mistress might want and nothing she has that she’ll want to part with for the likes of you.” Kuvera had straightened his back and was filling the open gateway with his bulky form – as his Master, the great merchant Kamanita, had taken off five years ago, and what with the chamberlain Kolita being a bit on the old and frail side, he, Kuvera, was now having to play the part of protector of the household more and more.

“Who is it, Kuvera?” Krishna heard the voice of his mother over his shoulder.

“Just some scruffy n’er-do-well, ma’am – probably looking for a handout, don’t you worry, ma’am, I’ll set the dogs on him if he doesn’t listen to reason.” At this Kuvera turned to summon his two faithful hounds but, to his dismay, they were wagging their tails vigorously and were busy sniffing the hand of the ragged stranger and touching noses with the hairy little dog that stood by the newcomer’s ankles.

Savitri came to the opening with Krishna and looked the visitor up and down. He was a strange sight; his long straggly hair was wound into a rough top knot and pinned in place by a pair of gnarly twigs. His face was weather-beaten, a bit scabby and laced with a network of wrinkles. His eyes were warm and bright, and seemed to convey three or four expressions simultaneously: the weariness of many ages, the restless mirth of a jester, the kindness of an all-forgiving grandmother and the cool wisdom of an enlightened sage – Savitri was very frightened.

Krishna stood there transfixed by this mysterious figure. As he looked up into this strange man’s face he couldn’t help but to be struck by the round bone earrings that hung from his lobes and the curious collection of patched rags that he was clothed with. He was leaning on a staff and Krishna could also now see that the man’s right foot was badly lamed. The hairy dog – its coat as dust-laden from the hot-season roads as were the locks and robes of its companion – now trotted over to Krishna and began to make his acquaintance.


* * *

Savitri thought quickly; the last time a monk had come to their gate seeking for alms (or so it had seemed), she and Kamanita’s other wife Sita had rounded on him and scolded him and had tried to shoo him away. Their husband had intervened, at first wishing to offer him food, as is the custom of some people, to support those whom they considered holy spiritual seekers. To their horror it had turned out that that shaven-headed recluse had been, in fact, the gruesome bandit and merciless killer Angulimala in disguise. He had come only to threaten her husband with an attack on this palace but – for some unknown reason – the gods had protected them and the attack had never come. Nevertheless that night had brought perhaps an even worse disaster in that – again for some reason unbeknownst to anyone – her husband had decided to take up the life of a renunciant himself and had left her and the family.

Since then she had harboured a dread of all such people – holy men, ascetics, nuns and wanderers of every stripe. She did not trust them but she was also afraid of what they might do to her and her child if they were displeased. She even wondered momentarily if this might not be the evil brigand himself returned to complete his unfinished business, now wearing an even more ingenious disguise.

She decided to be cautious but brave, and asked him, “What do you want, Venerable Sir? How may we serve you?”

“Good morning, madam,” he spoke with a gravelly voice, in an accent that was definitely foreign but from where neither Savitri nor Krishna could say. “I’d like to come in and talk to you. I have messages for you and the boy.”

At this point he looked Krishna full in the face for the first time. Something in Krishna’s heart sang as their eyes met and he grinned up at his mother. She, far from returning his approving look, instead winced but, with a wag of her head and placing her palms together, invited the wanderer in.

* * *

They crossed the courtyard to the loggia that ran the length of the northern side of the main part of the palace. The walking staff of their visitor thumped noisily on the flagstones as he limped along and Savitri guessed it had been the sound of this hefty pole striking the gate that had produced the loud reports that she had first heard. As they walked she glanced across at Kuvera and he nodded that he understood her wishes; if this dubious character caused any kind of trouble he was to be given the bum’s rush forthwith, and Kuvera was to stay close by to keep an eye on things.

Savitri beckoned him over to a spread of low platforms that were arranged around the shady area. With a well-practised pivot on his staff he lowered himself down to the seat and arranged his legs comfortably cross-wise. She took the main seat a distance away from him but removed a cushion or two to make sure she was lower than the stranger – he seemed to be some kind of monk and monks could be very picky about needing to sit higher up than the likes of her, a mere house-holder.

She felt a bit out of her depth, as she often did now that she had to be the gracious lady of property and position, nevertheless she felt she should assert her role as the one in charge here. She asked, “Who are you, Venerable Sir? Where do you come from?”

“Ha ha! Good question milady – who indeed? Well, I’ve been called many names over the years, Mysterioso, Impervioso, but most people know me as the Samana Dusaka.”

“Doesn’t that mean…?”

“Yes – ‘Bad monk’ and people call me that as well! Ha! Good name, bad monk.” His face folded into a chaotic flurry of furrows, he threw his head back and laughed from belly upward – his whole body shaking with glee at this great private joke of his.

“So you are a monk,” said Savitri, doing her best to maintain her composure and her sense of keeping a handle on the situation. She had an odd feeling of being at the edge of an immensely high cliff and could see the rocks far below, teasing and threatening her that she might lose her balance and fall into the abyss at any moment.

“Yes, ma’am, I am a monk, been one for a very long time indeed.”

“And where are you from? I can’t quite place your accent.”

“Where!? Ha – yes, that’s a good one too,” he chuckled again but, seeing that his jollity was not being appreciated or reciprocated by his host, he bottled his amusement somewhat. “Well, let’s just say that I entered the story somewhere around Greensickness Peak, in the valley just below there, actually, in the Great Fable Mountains.”

He said this with such a matter-of-fact assurance, as if everyone would know of such places, that Savitri could only cough politely and say, “Oh, very interesting,” not wishing to reveal that these were regions she’d never heard of. Krishna too nodded his head as if in acknowledgement that he too was familiar with this location – he may have been only seven Rains old but he knew an awful lot about everything, and even when he really didn’t, he was good at making it up, or so he thought.

As the small talk proceeded, a thought suddenly sprang into Savitri’s mind. Perhaps the message that this Dusaka had brought was that her husband was now weary of the wandering mendicant’s life and he wanted to find out if he would be welcome back at this, his former home once more. She started:

“Have you…”

But before she could get any further Dusaka interrupted, “No, my lady, I do not bring news that your husband of old now wishes to return here.

“I have met him, indeed I know him well, but you should know, once and for all, that he has no home here. This is the first message that I have come to bring you: You will never see him again – any of you.” On this last note he looked right at Krishna, who was settled at his mother’s feet, on the floor in front of her.

The small dark boy had had his large eyes riveted on the face of the monk. As he heard these words a wave of sadness crossed his heart; he knew the story of his father having become a wanderer, just like this ragged Dusaka, and rather than wishing for him just to come home, Krishna had, instead, nursed many fantasies of discovering that he himself was also of divine birth, and that all the powers and magic possessed by his holy namesake were found to be his too. Then he would go off alone into the wilderness, have many adventures and perform heroic deeds, he would track down his father in some remote mountain fastness, they would meet and smile to each other. His dad would say, “At last, you’ve come,” and then…

Well, he wasn’t quite sure if they would carry on as a duet of yogis in the mountains; or if he would bring him back to Ujjeni and reunite him with his mother; or if he would then track down Sita and his sisters and would somehow get everyone to live peacefully and happily together… he had never got that far but now, now he knew that all that had involved his father was lost to him.

Somehow both of them knew that what Dusaka spoke was incontrovertibly true. His voice was gruff but clear and, as he talked, if seemed as though all other sounds around them became muffled – the clamour of the street seemed further away than usual, the birds in the garden had gone quiet, as had the voices of the rest of the household, the people in the kitchen, the grounds, the other children about the palace – all had mysteriously receded.

“Kamanita has gone, and his journey will be a pilgrimage that takes him great distances, and through many lives and many worlds. He will find true happiness eventually but not here in this house, and not here in your life time. So, the first thing I have come to tell you both, is that, if you wish to know happiness, both of you will have to let him go. Do you understand?”

As he put this to them, and Savitri stared into his weather-worn face, it seemed as though the whole of the space they sat in dissolved into a golden lustre. At its centre was the shimmering oval of Dusaka’s calm and gentle visage – his eyes spoke to them and they understood; they should give up hope but in that giving up they would be able to be at peace.

* * *
Once more the wanderer aimed his gaze at Krishna. They looked at each other for a while, as if in a staring match, as an ever-more slack-witted grin spread over the boy’s face. The small bundle of dusty fur that was Dusaka’s dog maundered across the colourfully tiled floor and began to lick Krishna’s hand.

“The second thing I have come to tell you, master Krishna, (or Komudi, as your mother used to call you), is about some of the things that lie before you in this life – if you should choose a certain path, that is.”

Krishna leaned forward, intent of the strange monk’s words, unconsciously scratching the dog’s head as its companion spoke.

“It is difficult to evade the King of Death – as we all know – but it can be done. If you choose the right path, you may be one who is able to conquer him.

“Like you, one of his names is Kanha – The Dark One – yet, unlike you he is a merciless destroyer; he kills with glee. Another of his names is Maccu-Mara, The Killer.

“Whenever a life is taken, he has a hand in it. He fires the heart with delight and hardens it enough to enable the assassin to strike the blow, the snake to make the bite, to end a life. He rejoices at the snuffing of even the faintest flame of consciousness, in any living thing. That is his part; he is the lord of the round of birth and death – Samsara. And he is everywhere – yet still he can be defeated.”

Krishna is pop-eyed at the mystery and wonder of all this. He feels keen and already his heart rises to the challenge; he listens with bated breath. Savitri, in contrast, feels a fluttering panic rising within her; how can she change the subject, prevent her son from getting drawn into this madness, and how do we get this freakish charlatan out of here?

“Er, very interesting, this, er philosophy of yours. Fascinating, would you like to have a look around? I haven’t even offered to give you the tour. Even His Majesty the King has come and admired… Oh! But I haven’t even offered you any refreshments—how remiss of me! What kind of a hostess must you think I am. Lata, Ruki, quickly go and prepare fruit juice and some snacks for our guest. It’s such a hot day – isn’t it exhausting? Our cook is famous for his cooling juice drinks; he mixes the nectar of the cola nut with some other foreign leaves – it’s ever so refreshing…”

Savitri’s plaintive voice seemed to be swallowed into the muffled silence – as if nothing in the world could or would hear her. She felt thwarted and frustrated but also cooled and stilled with the strange kindness that emanated from this disquieting visitor. She saw that the two maids had scurried off – followed, oddly, by the little dog – but the steady delivery of his rumbling tones carried on, as if uninterrupted.

“When the time is right – maybe ten years from now, maybe less, maybe more – if you set out from here you will have the chance to meet this King of Death and, perhaps, to learn how to evade him utterly, to conquer him.

“Where and how are questions that will answer themselves as you go along. Nevertheless, I assure you here and now that there is a charm, a mangala, the great mangala, which can defeat him, if you use it wisely. Use it wrongly and it will make your journey and all its troubles all the longer.

“One more thing,” he added, reaching up to dig deeply into the tangled nest of hair atop his head and, scratching vigorously – picking out and looking cross-eyed at some small creature or encrustation that now sat on his fingernail – “one more thing,” now he pinned both mother and son with his stare. “You have put the lives of Sita, Amba and Tamba far behind you – they have wandered far from your minds. This is understandable but it doesn’t mean all is finished there.” Savitri felt a surge of dread at this but remained quiet, listening intently – what on earth was he driving at?

“It is true that Sita has gone, and she won’t be returning here,” Savitri exhaled audibly with delight; the steady voice continued, “but her daughters yet live and soon will flourish. You should seek them, Krishna, when the time is right; you were dear to them and they to you. And I tell you, before all your journeys are done you will have much to do together.”

He paused and, gradually, the rattle of the street traffic and sounds of the house welled into hearing once again. Krishna was open-mouthed and still a little dumb-struck by all that had been said. Savitri, meanwhile, feeling that the worst must be over now and that life might soon revert to normal, looked up and asked:

“Where are those girls? I’m dying of thirst, after all this talk. I’m sure you must be too.”

Just then, through the archway that led into the back area of the palace where the kitchen was housed, there swelled the sound of muted voices and subtle clinking of cups. Into the sitting area trotted the small dog with a tray of drinks held perfectly level between her teeth. Behind, and soon filling the archway there followed the cook, the housekeeper Gopali, the two maids, the gardener, his son that Krishna had been playing with, and Khamba and Khina too.

“Why, thank you, Tingri,” said Dusaka, helping himself to a cup of the cool dark beverage, “Now you should offer some to Her Ladyship,” With deft movements the small and hairy figure turned and trotted over to the mistress, skillfully rising up with her forepaws on the edge of the low platform so that Lady Savitri would not have to stretch for her cola-drink. All the eyes of the household were now fixed on this remarkable scene.

Tingri then carried the tray down to Krishna and, lastly, over to Kuvera who had not-so-subtly been standing guard at the far western end of the loggia. Duty done she carried the tray over to the maids, who had been the ones who had entrusted it to her in the kitchen, placed it carefully down before them, barked once and sauntered back to her travelling companion with a befurred expression of canine satisfaction on her face.

By this time Dusaka had quaffed his cupful; he heaved himself to his feet, nodded in farewell to Krishna and his mother, then to the household who were all still standing gob-smacked by the prodigious waitressing skills of the dog.

He strode across the courtyard; his staff pounding a rhythm on the stones as he swung his gimpy leg with a fluid familiarity. As he reached the gate he turned to bid a last farewell, his body now casting fierce shadows in the blaze of mid-morning sun, when the blue-black blur of Krishna came running his way.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but you never mentioned anything about what might happen if I didn’t take up this quest.”

“Did I not? Well, you’re a bright lad and you could probably figure it out.” He paused, looking down fondly at Krishna’s expectant face.

“If you don’t take this up, you and all the others will just keep spinning on the wheel of birth and death, the wheel of habits, fears and desires, endlessly. That means being consumed with all the pointless obsessions that bedevil the world – property, wealth, romance, status, and even creativity – and that most beings in the world, and all other worlds, incidentally, are addicted to.

“In short, your life would be completely wasted.

“Bye bye.”

* * * * * *

Notes and References:

Chapter 8

1. Page 88 — Kuvera… the Heavenly King who was the Guardian of the North and ruler of the yakkhas… Each of the four directions has its celestial guardian or ‘Lokapāla,’ and each one is the ruler of a class of beings: East is Dhatarattha, king of the gandhabbas (gandharvas in Skt), the heavenly musicians; South is Virūlhaka, king of the kumbhandas, pot-bellied gnomes and petas (hungry ghosts); West is Virūpakkha, king of the nāgas, the divine dragons; North is Kuvera, also known as Vessavana, who is king of the yakkhas, the celestial demons.
These are all listed in the Ātānātiya Paritta, employed so effectively by the kinnari in Ch 4. The original source for this is in the Ātānātiya Sutta, D 32.

2. Page 89 — a monk had come to their gate seeking for alms… A daily alms round by Buddhist monastics still happens every day in Thailand and Burma.
The ‘house-to-house’ style of gathering alms – where the monk or nun stands by the door of each house for a while – is still found in India, among certain groups of yogis and sannyasins.

3. Page 90 — monks could be very picky about needing to sit higher up… The Buddhist monastic training rules, Sekhiyas #68 & #69, refer to this. A nun or monk should always sit higher if they are giving teachings; if it’s an ordinary encounter however, then the relative heights don’t matter.

4. Pages 90-1 — Mysterioso, Impervioso,… Greensickness Peak, … in the Great Fable Mountains… These are all references to characters and locations in ‘The Story of the Stone,’ also known as ‘The Dream of the Red Chamber’ by Cao Xueqin (Tsao Shue-Chin). The definitive translation of this great tale was made by David Hawkes, published by Penguin Classics.

5. Page 93 — It is difficult to evade the King of Death… There are many teachings in the scriptures that refer to this, e.g. at S 35.248. Here the Buddha describes the captured asura king Vepacitti, after losing a battle with the devas, being bound ‘by his four limbs and neck’; he then goes on to say, “So subtle, monks, was the bondage of Vepacitti, but even subtler than that is the bondage of Māra.”