The year was 486 BC.
With clear blue skies, a cool breeze circulated through the rift valley near a small village on the outskirts of *Lubini, where hundreds of monks stood and paid homage to their dead prophet.
The thin white hessian cloth-wrapped body of Prince *Kshatriva Gautama, now known as *Siddhartha Gautama, lay on top of a wooden funeral pyre.
The disciple monks who made this pilgrimage wore kashaya saffron cassocks, and stood around the pyre chanting the *Four Noble Truths, taught to them by their enlightened prophet.
Unbeknownst to the gathered mourners, the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama would transcend this lifetime, with his words living in the souls and hearts of human beings for generations and beyond.
There was no pomp or ceremony for the dead Prince, having relinquished his royal position and wealth decades ago.
The funeral pyre was set up on the village outskirts in front of a mound with a small hole dug out that led to a small underground stupa in the mound to house the ashes of the Buddha.
The four monk disciples who brought Siddhartha’s body from Luo Beach to his final resting place stood in front of the pyre with flaming wooden torches.
Standing alongside the monks was a middle-aged woman along with two young girls who looked out of place wearing white sarees. They remained silent as monks chanted mantras and once finished, the monks lit small clumps of tinder that ignited, and, as the flames flickered, the monks stood back.
Orange and yellow flames from the larger sticks of wood then ignited, lapping around Siddhartha’s body.
As the flames intensified, the still air filled with white smoke and the crackling of burning timber. Scorched flesh filled their nostrils as the hessian slowly burned.
Another sound abruptly disturbed the mourners who looked around when they heard the thundering of chariots and men roaring from behind a hillock a short distance away.
The terrified mourners panicked as the sound drew closer and the first chariot appeared, followed by several others along with hordes of sword wielding warriors.
The monks and Siddhartha’s family looked terrified at one another as arrows flew towards them.
Panicking, they screamed as arrows struck several of the mourners as the chariots rumbled closer.
A monk shouted, “Quickly,” and pointed to the nearby village. “Run to the village, we can find shelter there.”
Although they all knew the villagers were defenceless against the hordes now descending upon them, they knew they stood more chance in the village where they could get Siddhartha’s family to safety.
Terrified, three disciple monks shielded the woman and her daughters from the oncoming arrows as they ran to the village.
One monk said, “follow me,” and led them inside his small homestead along with the two other monks.
The trembling villagers stood outside their stone and straw dwellings holding spears and slings. They all knew their crude homemade weapons were no match for the bronze swords wielded by the oncoming invaders.
They gave the first few monks that came any spare weapons as the remainder flooded into the small village picking up rocks on the way.
With fear etched across their faces, they crowded in the small village centre awaiting the war chariots.
While the woman and her daughters caught their breath, a monk went over to a large stiff resin and hemp woven cover on the floor as the chariots roared into the village.
The screams of villagers and monks being slaughtered outside drowned out the sound of the girls screaming as the monk lifted the panel to reveal a square pit.
The monk beckoned the family over and told them to go with his brothers.
With the terrified girl’s hearts pounding, they, along with the two monks, jumped into the pit with a hole dug at the side.
The monk smiled and handed them down a cloth bag of food and gourds containing water. He smiled at the trembling woman. “Don’t be afraid, you and your daughters go with my brother monks, they will take care of you,” he said in a soothing voice, “you will be safe, and you must live.”
The woman took the bags, smiled, and nodded.
One monk crawled into the hole at the side and said. “Follow me. It is dark so stay close.”
The monk disappeared, and the woman crawled in behind him followed by her daughters with the other monk behind them.
They crawled along a small, hot, dark, claustrophobic tunnel, as the monk in the lead reassured them and reminded them to stay close.
Remaining topside and seeing them all leave, the monk replaced the cover and scattered dried earth over the hemp to disguise the narrow tunnel entrance pit.
The monk shuddered, picked up a wooden torch and, dipping the cloth wick into the embers of a cooking fire, he stretched up and lit the low straw roof of the dwelling.
Looking concerned, the monk glanced at the covered pit. He hoped that when the ceiling collapsed, the smoke from the fire would not permeate into the tunnel before the family and his brothers were far enough away to escape.
He and his brother monks had dug this tunnel long ago for just such an event. Knowing the tunnel came out between mounds of rocks where they could hide until it was safe, he smiled.
‘Once it is safe, my brothers can take the Buddha’s family to Lubini. Although it’s a three day walk, they have better defences there,’ he thought and looked up.
Seeing the roof now ablaze, he took a large stone mortar from a pestle, went to the doorway, and peered outside. He felt enraged when he saw the dead or dying piled up and lying in pools of blood with severed heads and torso’s strewn around the arid muddy red street.
Although he saw the few remaining monks and villagers still fighting, the monk knew this would be futile against the larger stronger adversary who cut them down like animals.
The monk saw several invaders setting fire to the other dwellings roofs. He frowned and hoped his ploy would work and make them believe that they had already searched and destroyed his home.
Smoke now filled his small dwelling and billowed out around him as he stood in the doorway. He coughed and looked in the distance to where Siddhartha’s body should be ablaze.
His eyes widened and he stood with his mouth agape when he saw Siddhartha’s smouldering corpse loaded onto a large wooden chariot.
Feeling helpless and terrified, but trembling with rage, he held up his primitive stone pestle, snarled, yelled, and charged outside.