Bhadda’s tale

The impatient crowd was audible long before Dhara reached the grove. They all hated her. She paused to collect herself.

She would show Uttara, Udayin, all of them. She would look only at Siddhartha, open her mind to him, let him see everything that had happened, ask his forgiveness. He was the only one she really loved. And he loved her.

Dhara straightened her shoulders and strode into the sunny glade. The natural amphitheater was filled with seated Sakyas of every caste and age. There was the great tree with its tangled branches and aerial roots, and on the raised platform at its base acolytes had arranged kusha grass, and sitting on the grass was Bhadda, staring right at her.

Dhara quailed. She had kept an honored guest waiting.

The massed listeners quieted. Hundreds of heads turned and hundreds of eyes fixed on Dhara. From the leers, the faces twisted with vicious smiles, the wide eyes and shocked expressions, Dhara knew the rumors had already spread.

To the right of the platform was the royal dais, slightly lower than the sage’s seat in keeping with the Sakyan tradition of giving wisdom more respect than power, or at least pretending to do so.

Find Siddhartha. That was the thing. Ignore them all. Just find him.

It was he who found her, gazing at her from under the bouquet of white parasols that shaded the royal family. The king and queen were enthroned on low carved chairs covered with gem-colored cushions. On a woven bamboo mat to the king’s right, Siddhartha sat with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his thighs in a cotton antariya that matched Dhara’s, a simple gold circlet around his forehead. Their eyes met.

Those seated around him—Suddhodana and Prajapati, Prince Nanda, Princess Sundari, Bhela and his horrible offspring—blurred together. Only Siddhartha was sharp and clear, altogether present. Now she understood. For so long, he had seemed elusive, but he was fully present. It was her own heart and mind that were not.

Look at the whore; there’s the adulteress; her husband’s friend, imagine; no surprise, she’s nothing but a slut; the silent crowd’s thoughts rose like a noxious fog. They disappeared like mist under the sun as she thought of how she loved her prince. As she moved forward, people drew away, opening a narrow path. Some muttered behind their hands, some stared with frank curiosity, others looked bored, but there were no friendly faces. Except his.

She knelt at Bhadda’s feet and touched her forehead to them. “Bhadda-ji, your presence honors the Nigrodha Grove and the Sakyan clan.” She hardly spoke above a whisper, yet her trembling voice carried in the silence. They, like she, waited for the rishiki’s wrath at her unforgivable tardiness. Dhara licked her lips, preparing an abject apology.

“Forgive me, honored one,” she began.

“Dhara, my dear. Let me see you.” Dhara lifted her head. The old woman gave her a mischievous smile. “Has it been ten years since Varanasi? You’ve grown so lovely.”

Dhara was struck dumb. This was not what she had expected at all.

“Back then, you wanted to know my story. As I recall, karma sent us our different ways. Do you remember?”

“Of course, B-Bhadda-ji,” Dhara stuttered. “You went to Maghada with—with—” She stumbled over Chandaka’s name.

“Yes. I returned for a time to the land of my birth. But I haven’t forgotten that you asked how I chose my path. I’m glad I’ve come and can tell it to you today.”

“I will listen with all my being,” Dhara said, mystified and relieved by Bhadda’s kindness. No show of a sage’s temper, no flash of burning tapas to singe her. “All know you have gathered much wisdom on your journey.”

Bhadda let out a ringing laugh. “As time goes on, I grow less certain of what wisdom I really do possess. But perhaps you will find my tale instructive.”

Dhara bowed again. The crowd’s silence threatened to suffocate her. Her mind began to churn again. As she approached the royal dais, she nearly stumbled, but Siddhartha’s steadying gaze held her upright. Back straight, heart fluttering, she took a few steps, knelt, and bowed before the king and queen with joined palms.

“Namaste, your majesties,” Dhara said. She paused, gathering her courage. Best to get the worst over first. It wasn’t the king that frightened her. She didn’t know if the queen would look at her as a friend or as an enemy. She took a deep breath, raised her head.

Another shock. Prajapati didn’t look angry. There might even be respect in her eyes, if Dhara could trust her senses. Even slight warmth, an even rarer thing. Dhara began to wonder if she was dreaming.

She turned to Suddhodana, prepared to meet the lecherous appraisal that nowadays he seemed to give every woman except his wife, regardless of her rank or age. Again, she was surprised. He was glancing from the queen to Siddhartha and back again, as if trying to discern how he should react. “Well, sit, sit.” The king waved her toward Siddhartha.

Siddhartha extended his hand and Dhara took it. As she mounted the dais and settled next to him, she could feel the royal party and entire crowd watching. He took her palm, raised it to his lips, kissed it. Just loud enough for those seated near the dais to hear, he said, “You look lovely. Who wouldn’t try to make love to you, finding you alone?”

Dhara fixed her eyes on the palm he’d just kissed, not trusting herself to look anywhere else. Had she heard him right?

A whisper ran through the crowd, spreading his words. Siddhartha lowered her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Not since she had gone to Angulimala’s camp and the foundation of her own mind had shifted underneath her had such a strong feeling of unreality taken hold of her. This time, though, there wasn’t the uneasy, helpless feeling that her senses were not under her own control. This time, things were not as she expected, but this strange new world was exhilarating.

“Ahem.” Suddhodana cleared his throat. “So, honored Bhadda, please grace us with your tale.”

The assembled Sakyas murmured and shifted. When all was quiet, Bhadda began.

“I am the daughter of a wealthy Maghadan merchant.” Her melodious voice cast a spell. Dhara and Siddhartha disentangled their fingers and placed their hands on their thighs, palms up, to receive the rishiki’s words through their whole being. Dhara’s mind stilled at last.

“In our capital Rajagriha,” the rishiki continued, “where trade routes converge from all directions, you may see dark-skinned men from the southern lands, yellow races that live beyond the Brahmaputra River, exotic beauties from the islands in the Eastern Sea. We Maghadans are accustomed to mores and manners of many cultures, and like you Sakyans, are known for our tolerance and liberality. Just as they do here in Kapilavastu, in Rajagriha the castes mingle more readily than elsewhere among the Sixteen Clans. Women enjoy freedoms unknown in many other kingdoms and are famous for independence of mind and spirit.

“My mother died when I was young,” Bhadda said. “My father, a pious man, sent me to the same ashram where my brothers were learning the Vedas.

“After he turned eighteen, my eldest brother Gyan became a devotee of Varuna in his aspect as keeper of the cosmic order Rita, and began to study the Law, the dharma by which gods and men strive to live. Gyan chose to work in King Bimbisara’s Hall of Justice, where all are equal under the kingdom’s laws, whether outcaste or Brahmin.

“Gyan became well known as a fierce advocate,” Bhadda said, “especially for the poor. I adored Gyan, and followed him into the law and into his work defending the downtrodden and wrongly accused. I devoted all my passion to their defense, earning a reputation equal to my brother’s. I put off marriage. I was no beauty, and my father and brother, suspecting most suitors were after my wealth, did not force the issue. Thus I was able to master the law without a household and children to distract me.”

Bhadda paused to sip some water from a small silver cup chased with gold and inlaid with deep blue lapis. A breeze riffled over the listeners, bringing the odor of sweaty bodies mixed with the heavy scent of sandalwood oil. A parakeet sang somewhere in the high branches. Dhara wanted to captivate a crowd like this woman. She had once felt the same desire when Mala first came to Dhavalagiri and told the tale of Kapila.

“As a result of my skill,” Bhadda said, “one day the king’s trade minister asked me to defend his son Satthuka, a handsome rake well known in Rajagriha as a womanizer. He had fallen in with bad company and stood accused of the rape and murder of a wealthy maiden whose jewels he had stolen. He admitted to the theft; the jewels were found in his possession. However, he swore the girl invited him into her bed, and after enjoying a night with her he stole away with her jewels, leaving her sleeping peacefully. He claimed to be innocent of the murder.

“There was, however, evidence against him. A collector of night soil had seen him stealing away from the maiden’s home at dawn wearing bloodstained clothes.

“Even in liberal Maghada, justice does not always prevail. An outcaste’s word wouldn’t carry much weight against a powerful man’s son despite the latter’s bad reputation. I cynically assumed that Satthuka would likely be cleared of murder charges, so any lawyer would do. I refused the case, but my father, who was beholden to the trade minister for certain favors relating to business, begged me reconsider. This angered my brother, but out of respect for Father I felt I must visit Satthuka in prison. Nothing would come of it, I assured Gyan.

“How wrong I was. In my work I had seen humanity at its worst, but in matters of the heart I was sheltered and ill prepared to meet this infamous seducer. The instant I laid eyes on the rogue I fell in love.”

This confession went right to Dhara’s heart. She wouldn’t have imagined that this strong, intelligent woman could have fallen in love like that. If only she’d had Bhadda to talk to when she first fell in love with Chandaka, she wouldn’t have kept it all inside, where it grew all out of proportion and weighed on her heart.

“I agreed to defend him, ignoring my better judgment,” the rishiki said. “During the trial he was humble and modest, anything but seductive, and constantly expressed his deep gratitude for my efforts. Sometimes I caught him looking at me, but like a shy lover he quickly looked away. It kindled a passion in me for which I was totally unprepared. When I won the case, he confessed his love and asked me to marry him. My joy knew no bounds.”

The rishiki paused and held out her silver cup to a slender youth with a shaved head and a topknot. While the acolyte filled it, she continued, her face somber. “But my brother was appalled. At the minister’s request the king’s own Brahmin cast our horoscopes to find a suitable date, but he found the stars aligned against us. My father begged me to break the engagement, but I refused.

“Satthuka suggested that he perform a penance to secure the gods’ favor for our marriage. He would make an offering to the god of wealth at a well-known shrine to Kubera, which sits on a high cliff below Vulture Peak, just outside Rajagriha. My brother was suspicious, but the offer pleased my father. I begged to accompany Satthuka, offering to bring dana from my own jewels to adorn the god’s image. He quickly accepted.

“I arrayed myself in my finest clothes and jewels. We went on foot, as supplicants should. And this was, in a way, the first step on my sadhana, for this was the first time I had traveled such a distance and not been carried in a litter nor ridden in a sumptuous horse-drawn vehicle. Though it was hot and my silks were soon soiled and sweaty, as I walked my heartbeat within joined with the pulse of life all around me. For the first time I truly heard the cries of the birds and the hum of insects, and saw each individual leaf on the trees, covered with the dry season’s dust and waiting for the cleansing monsoon.

“To my surprise, the temple was unattended when we arrived. Through my father I knew the old priest quite well, but I’d hardly had time to note his absence when Satthuka seized me by the hair and threw me on the ground. He straddled me, pinning me down, and began to strip the gold bangles from my wrists and the jeweled ornaments from my hair. He yanked my garnet necklace from my throat, and tore off my earrings, ripping the flesh. I shrieked in pain and cried out for the priest.

“‘Go ahead, scream. No one will help you,’ Satthuka said.

“I understood in a flash. The priest was dead. The blinders fell from my eyes.”

She turned to the acolyte, who held out the silver cup. The crowd waited, hushed, all eyes on her. The tension was palpable, but Bhadda drank slowly. When the cup was empty, she gave it back to the acolyte and continued.

“Satthuka stood and tucked the jewels in his sash, then pulled me to my feet and began to drag me to the cliff, intending, I realized with horror, to cast me to my death. Despite my fear and shame, I gathered my wits. Our work often took my brother and me to dangerous places, and he had insisted we learn the rudiments of self-defense. I was not helpless, but Satthuka was very strong. We reached the cliff’s edge. I had to think fast.

“‘Satthuka, heart of my heart, if you don’t love me, then I prefer death to life. But let me embrace you at least once before I die.’

“With a contemptuous smile he released my arm. ‘And I would prefer death to the embrace of such a bony spinster.’

“It shames me still to admit his words stung. Yet they served their purpose. I gathered all my anger and strength and in that one second of freedom pushed him. He was so astonished he lost his balance and tumbled off the cliff. His short scream ended with a terrible thud.

“I was alone save for the vultures circling above. One soared and dove below the edge of the cliff. The great birds all circled and descended after their fellow to feast on Satthuka’s body. I nearly threw myself after him. Not out of passion, which too late I recognized as a naïve young woman’s foolish lust, but out of despair.

“I could not bear to face my brother or father, though at first I put the blame for this at Father’s feet. If he had not been so eager to please the minister, I would never have defended the minister’s wicked son.

“Yet I knew I alone was responsible for letting my heart rule my head. I couldn’t go back. I made my way into the priest’s simple hut, where I found his body. Satthuka had unsavory friends; it was they who must have killed him. I couldn’t know if Satthuka had arranged to meet his friends elsewhere, or if they would return. I had to move quickly.

“From a wooden peg hung one of the priest’s white robes. Averting my eyes from the corpse and mumbling the prayer for the dead, I ripped a piece from the robe and made a little sack in which I put the wooden bowl the priest used for begging. I tied the sack to a sturdy walking staff I found in a corner. Then I removed my fine silks and dressed myself in the white mendicant’s garb. The moment I donned it, the same feeling I had as I walked to Kubera’s shrine returned with stunning force. Now, however, it was not the beauty of birds and trees that seemed so real to me, but the death and suffering that suffused all creation.

“In terror of bandits or demons or worse, I left Maghada. The cloak of darkness kept me safe that night, as it has for countless nights in my search for what is truly real.

“Thus began my life as a seeker. I pondered the workings of karma, wondering what evil done in a past life bore such terrible fruit in this one. I studied with any sage or hermit I came upon, until I found myself in Taxila. There I met Jina Mahavira, leader of the Jains, who preached that there is no supreme Creator, no Preserver, no Destroyer. Every soul is the architect of its own karma and can attain divine consciousness through its own efforts on the path of Right Faith, Right Knowledge, and Right Conduct. I clung to his teachings at first, thinking that at last I had found a path beyond my misery. Their philosophy held that the less one acted, the less chance one would inadvertently create bad karma. This ceased to satisfy me. The select few might perfect their own lives on this path, but what about the rest of humanity?

“So once more I took up my search for the sage, woman or man, who has found a path that all humanity can follow, that offers the possibility of freedom from suffering to everyone. I seek that one still.”