A few days later, Ahimsaka entered the bamboo hut of the Buddha who was sitting in the lotus position meditating on his breathing. Ahimsaka sat down to one side and watched the Buddha taking deep breaths.
When Ahimsaka saw that the Buddha had noticed him, he asked, “O Enlightened One, may I have your permission to go to Savatthi and seek forgiveness of those whose lives I have harmed? May I go and beg for food and communicate some of what I have learned from you to the citizens of Savatthi?”
“Yes, my beloved Ahimsaka, yes. You may go and seek alms, but only once in twenty-four hours; and if someone offers you two pieces of bread, take only one. Meet your needs by taking food from more than one house, so that no one feels burdened by giving to a monk. Beg like a honeybee which goes from flower to flower, taking only a little nectar from each. Never has a flower complained of a honeybee harming it. Such should be the way of a begging monk.”
“Yes, Enlightened One. I will follow the way of the honeybee. But some people are bound to recognize me and they may abuse me and swear at me. Please, Buddha, guide me. How should I respond?”
“Say to yourself that people are kind, they are only abusing you verbally; at least they are not hitting you. For that, be thankful.”
“But some people may be so angry that they may hit me. What then should I do?”
“Ahimsaka, it will be hard for you, but keep calm and think that they are only hitting you and not throwing stones at you.”
“It is possible that some of them will throw stones at me. What then should I do?”
“That will be a harder test for you, but even then, think that although they are throwing stones at you, at least they are not punching or kicking you.”
“But I can imagine that some will even kick and punch me until I fall to the ground bleeding.”
“Then, Ahimsaka, remember my teaching of endurance, and say to yourself that although you are hurt, wounded, and bleeding, they have not killed you.”
“Thank you, my lord, but if they kill me?”
“Ahimsaka, you will not know that you are killed. Everyone who is born will one day die. When you are dying, if you are still conscious then think that you are being liberated from this body and from all the memories which burden your mind. Death is a door to liberation. Be thankful for it.”
“Your teachings give me courage. I am free from the fear of death. May I leave on my journey to Savatthi?”
“Yes, Ahimsaka, you may leave. If you are in the east street of the town, look out for a large thatched house with a blue door. There is a well in front of the house and a sal tree. This is the house of Nandini, a friend and follower of the Buddha. You may seek alms from her, and please convey my blessings to her.”
Ahimsaka was in Savatthi. The town was beginning to emerge from the shock of so many murders. During the past few weeks, all had been quiet: no new killings had been committed by Angulimala. Even the police had relaxed their vigil. Rumors had been circulating that Angulimala had been eaten by a lion in the forest, or that he had become an ascetic, or that the King had captured him and he was being held secretly in a dungeon. Nobody knew for sure what had happened to Angulimala.
Ahimsaka stood outside the house of Nandini under the sal tree. He saw the door locked, and decided to wait so that he could convey the greetings of the Buddha to her.
“So good to see a monk in town—things must be returning to normal,” said a stranger.
“These followers of the Buddha believe in nonviolence. But how can you be nonviolent when faced with a murderer?” commented another man.
The monk listened to these words with equanimity.
Another man spoke up. “Nonviolence is all very well until you are confronted with diehard criminals who are determined to destroy the good order of society. The only way to deal with such people is to hang them!” This angry voice penetrated the ears of monk Ahimsaka, but he continued to listen.
A few men and women started to gather around the waiting monk, who stood in silence.
“Who are you?” a child asked.
“I am a disciple of Lord Buddha, the Enlightened One, who is showing the path of compassion and who at present resides in the Jeta Grove.”
More people gathered. “No one can have compassion for a terrorist like Angulimala,” someone yelled from the crowd.
“The Buddha has compassion for all. He teaches unconditional love.”
“How can you love an evil man?” shouted another person.
“My Lord the Buddha teaches that good and evil pass through every human heart, and good is more powerful than evil. He teaches that we should overcome evil with good.”
As the monk spoke, someone shouted, “This man is not only a sympathizer but resembles Angulimala. I have seen the killer. Could it be that Angulimala is hiding in a monk’s robe?”
“Yes, you are right. This monk certainly resembles Angulimala.”
“Who are you? You must be the murderer! Tell us the truth!” People accused him.
The monk quietly spoke. “In the past, I was filled with anger. I killed people and wore their fingers as my necklace. Then I met the Buddha; he opened my eyes and changed my heart. I took refuge in him.”
“You deceive us! You are a cheat, a sinner, an evil man, a murderer, a robber, a terrorist. You must be punished. You must be hanged.”
“You killed my brother,” shouted one.
“You killed my son,” cried another.
“You killed my husband,” said a woman.
“You must face the consequences of your deeds,” many voices roared together.
A tall man struck Ahimsaka’s face. Another blow followed. An old man hit him on the head with a stick. A boy threw a stone. Someone else punched him in the stomach. Another kicked him so hard that he fell to the ground. The monk had a black eye and many bruises and had started to bleed.
Returning home, Nandini found her way blocked by the rioting crowd. Her groom forced the carriage through to where the monk in a saffron robe lay on the ground, bleeding. Shocked and surprised, Nandini challenged the mob, “Stop, stop! How can you be so cruel? This monk is a follower of my beloved Lord Buddha. He wears his robe.”
Nandini threw her shawl over the monk and put her own body between the monk and the angry crowd. Her driver helped to lift the monk into the carriage.
“He is a murderer! He is a killer! He is Angulimala!” people shouted.
“If he was Angulimala, he would be killing you and me. Why would Angulimala stand and take blows from you? Why would Angulimala have a bowl and a robe? You are mistaken,” Nandini shouted back as they drove away.
The monk was still conscious but in pain. Nandini put a bandage round his bleeding head.
“Let me take you to your hermitage, monk. Where do you come from?”
“I live in the Jeta Grove with the Buddha himself, who sends you his greetings. Aren’t you Nandini?”
“I am. And I am a devotee of the wise Buddha. His guidance and his love have saved my life.”
“O noble Nandini, Buddha has praised you. He loves you too.”
“Quick, charioteer—drive fast so we can attend to the monk’s wounds before it is too late.”