Chapter I

                                 BIRTH
 
 
 
  In times long past, fully twenty-five hundred years ago, where are now
  the border-lands between Nepal and the northern parts of the provinces
  of Oudh and North Bihar, there were a number of little kingdoms
  inhabited by different races of people, each ruled over by its own
  Raja or King.  One of these little kingdoms which lay some distance
  north of the present-day town of Gorakhpore, on the north side of the
  river Rapti, was the land of a race called the Sakyas, the king who
  ruled over them at that time being called Suddhodana. The family to
  which King Suddhodana of the Sakyas belonged was called the Gotama
  family, so that his full name was King Suddhodana Gotama; and the name
  of the chief city in his kingdom where he had his chief palace, was
  Kapilavatthu.
 
    This King Suddhodana had a chief queen whose name was Mahamaya.  And
  after they had lived together for some time in married happiness, the
  Queen became aware that the day was drawing near when she should bring
  forth a child.  So, before time came upon her, she asked her husband
  to give her leave to go and pay a visit to her own people who belonged
  to a city not very far away called Devadaha.  King Suddhodana very
  willingly granted his chief Queen her wish, and sent out his men with
  orders to prepare the way for her, and do everything needed to make
  the journey to her father's house a pleasant and comfortable one for
  her.
 
    Now half way between Kapilavatthu and the town of Devadaha there was
  a very fine forest garden called Lumbini where the people of both
  places used to go in the hot weather to enjoy the cool shade of the
  great Sal trees of which there were many in the grove.  Here in the
  month of May, these great trees were covered from top to bottom with
  lovely blossoms. In among their long branches flew many kinds of birds
  singing their sweetest songs so that the whole air was full of the
  sound of their warbling. And over and through the myriads of flowers,
  swarms of bees went cheerfully humming, busily gathering honey on
  every hand.
 
    When, as her bearers carried her along the road to Devadaha in her
  royal litter, Queen Mahamaya came to this pleasant place, she thought
  she would like to rest there a while in the cool shade for it was a
  hot day, and so she told her bearers to carry her in among the trees.
  But she had not been there long, walking about and enjoying the
  pleasing sights and sounds all round her, when suddenly and
  unexpectedly the pangs of child-birth came upon her, and in a little
  while, there in the Lumbini Grove, under the Sal trees, among the
  birds and bees and flowers, she brought forth a son.
 
    The place where this Lumbini Grove stood at that far off time can
  still be seen to-day. For a great king called Asoka, who ruled over a
  large part of India about three or four hundred years after King
  Suddhodana's time, caused a tall pillar to be set up in the
  forest-garden where thus was born the son of King Suddhodana and Queen
  Maya of Kapilavatthu, in order to mark the place; and on it he had a
  writing carved in deep-cut letters which can still be read, saying
  that he had put it there in order that men in the future should know
  where the great event had taken place.  And although in the course of
  the two thousand and more years that have passed since King Asoka set
  up this pillar, the upper half of it has been broken off, and the half
  that is left leans all on one side, it still stands to this day in the
  place where King Asoka put it with his inscription on it for any one
  to see. And many people go to see it every day.
 
    Now on the hills outside Kapilavatthu there lived many hermits; and
  among them there was one old hermit whom every one in Kapilavatthu
  admired and esteemed for his goodness, King Suddhodana himself being
  especially fond of him and showing his esteem and affection for him in
  many ways.  This old hermit, when he heard that his great friend the
  King now had a little son, came down to the King's palace in the city
  to see the babe; and when he had come, the King asked him to give the
  babe his blessing, and, as he made his request, he held the infant out
  toward the hermit in a posture of doing homage to the old man.  But
  the hermit said:
 
    "Nay, Maharaja, it is not your son who should bow his head to me,
  but I who ought to bow my head before your son.  For I see well that
  he is no ordinary child.  I see well that as he grows up to manhood's
  years he will become a very great religious teacher. Yes, I believe he
  will become the greatest religious teacher the world has yet seen."
 
    Having said this, the old man sat silent for a little while smiling
  to himself with a pleased and happy look.  Then his eyes slowly filled
  with tears and he began to weep, the tears trickling down his cheeks.
 
    "Why!" said the King in great bewilderment and some alarm, "What is
  the matter with you?  Just a moment ago you were smiling and now you
  are weeping. Is anything wrong?  Do you foresee some evil thing that
  is going to happen to my boy?"
 
    "No, no, Maharaja," said the hermit, "do not be alarmed.  No evil
  thing will ever come near your son.  All-prosperous shall be his name,
  and all-prosperous he will be."
 
    "Then why do you weep?" asked the King.
 
    "I weep," said the hermit, "to think that I am now so old I must
  soon pass away, and I shall not live to see your son become the great
  teacher I know he one day will be.  You Maharaja, will live to see
  that great and happy day, and so will many another person now alive,
  but I shall not live to see it.  That, Maharaja, is why I cannot help
  weeping."
 
    With these words the old man rose from his seat, and putting his two
  hands together, palm to palm, be bowed down before the little infant.
 
    King Suddhodana was very much astonished at all the hermit had said
  and to see him bowing down his old grey head before the little baby;
  but he thought so much of him that he felt that he himself must do the
  same as the hermit had done, so he too bowed down and with folded
  hands, did obeisance to his own baby son.
 
    Now in India in those days, it was the custom when a boy-baby was
  born, to gather together the wise men, and on the fifth day after the
  boy's birth, to bathe his head and give him the name that had been
  chosen for him by the wise men.  And this was done with King
  Suddhodana's son also. The name the wise men chose for him was
  Siddhattha, a word which means all-prosperous or all-successful, one
  who will prosper or succeed in everything he sets out to do.  For they
  said they could see that this boy was not going to be like any
  ordinary boy.  They said they could see that if he followed the
  ordinary life of the world and in due time became king like his father
  before him, then he would become a very great king indeed.  But, they
  said, if he did not follow his father on the throne of his country but
  instead turned to follow the religious life, then he would become a
  very great religious teacher.  One of the wise men, however, spoke a
  little differently from the others.  He said that he, for his part,
  was quite sure that when the boy grew up he would be certain not to
  follow the worldly life and take his father's place, but would leave
  throne and kingdom and everything behind him, and following the
  religious life, become the very greatest religious teacher in the
  world.  This particular wise man thus said the very same thing that
  the old hermit had said about the boy's future.
 
    The king, of course, was very much pleased that so many people, and
  these the wisest and most learned in his kingdom, should think that
  his little son was going to grow up to be a very great man.  But he
  was not so highly pleased at the thought that he might not follow him
  upon the throne, but only become a great hermit.  He wanted his son to
  grow up living the ordinary life of the world that every body lives;
  he wanted him to marry and get children; and when he himself was too
  old to govern the kingdom any longer he wanted to see his son mount
  the throne after him and rule the people as he had done, wisely and
  well.  "And then, after a time," he thought to himself, "who knows?
  Perhaps my son may, become as great a king as any that have ever been,
  and rule, not only over little Kapilavatthu, but over the whole of
  India!"  Thus did King Suddhodana consider within himself; and the
  bare thought of such a thing happening to a son of his filled him with
  the greatest delight; and he resolved to do all in his power to make
  sure that Siddhattha should live the ordinary worldly life and never
  think about anything else.
 
    But in the meantime he had cause to be anxious about something else.
  Ever since she had given birth to Siddhattha, Queen Mahamaya had been
  ill.  She had never recovered her former strength.  She received all
  the best care that a queen could get, all the best doctors, all the
  most skilled attendants and nurses, but in spite of everything she
  died just two days after the day on which her baby had been given his
  name, and seven days after she had brought him into the world.  Every
  one, especially her husband the king, grieved very much at her death,
  for she had been a good woman and a good queen beyond most women and
  queens.  So now the sorrowful king had to give his motherless baby
  into the care of his mother's sister, Princess Mahapajapati, and she
  took care of him now and brought him up just as if he had been her own
  son.  Thus the little boy Siddhattha never knew his own real mother.
 
                                 * * *



                               Chapter II

                                BOYHOOD
  


  The old hermit and the wise men who gathered together on Siddhattha's
  name-giving day had agreed in saying that King Suddhodana's son was no
  ordinary boy, and their words were very soon proved true. After being
  brought up under the kind care of his aunt Mahapajapati who nursed and
  attended to her dead sister's child as if he had been her own, until
  he reached the age of eight years, teachers then were got for the
  young prince in order that he might learn reading and writing and
  arithmetic. Under these teachers' instructions he quickly learned all
  each had to teach in his own subject.  Indeed, he learned so quickly
  and well that every one was astonished, his teachers and his father
  and foster-mother as well, at the rapid progress he made.  For no
  matter what subject he was being taught, as soon as he was told
  anything, at once his mind took hold of what he was told and he never
  again forgot it, in this way showing himself particularly apt at
  arithmetic.  Thus it was easily seen by all that as regarded the power
  of his mind he was well endowed, indeed, very much beyond the common.
  Yet with all his so superior ability in learning, and the high
  position he held in the country as the heir to the throne, he never
  failed to show to his teachers that respect which a pupil always
  should show, seeing that it is through them they gain.  The prince was
  always gentle and dignified in his usual bearing towards every one
  about him, and towards his teachers in particular, ever modest and
  deferent and respectful.
  
    In bodily attainments also, he was no less well endowed than he was
  in mind and character.  Notwithstanding the gentleness of his manners,
  notwithstanding that he was a gentle man in the very best sense of the
  words, he was bold and fearless in the practice of all the manly
  sports of his country.  He was a cool and daring horseman and an able
  and skillful chariot-driver in this latter sport winning many chariot
  races against the best drivers in the country.  Yet for all his
  keenness in trying to win a race, he was kind and compassionate
  towards the horses who helped him to win so often, and frequently
  would let a race be lost rather than urge his weary, panting horses
  beyond their strength.  And not only towards his horses but towards
  all creatures he seemed to have a heart full of tenderness and
  compassion.  He was a king's son and had never himself had to suffer
  hardship or distress, yet in his kind heart he seemed to know by
  sympathy how others felt when they were afflicted or in pain, whether
  these others were men or animals; and when he was quite to others as
  far as he could {sic}, and where it was possible, tried to relieve any
  suffering they already were enduring.
  
    Thus, once when he was out walking in the country with his cousin
  Devadatta who had his bow and arrows with him, Devadatta shot a swan
  that was flying over their head.  His arrow hit the swan and it
  fluttered down, painfully wounded, to the ground.  Both boys ran
  forward to pick it up, but Siddhattha reached it first and holding it
  gently, he pulled the arrow out of its wing, put some cool leaves on
  the wound to stop it from bleeding, and with his soft hand stroked and
  soothed the hurt and frightened bird.  But Devadatta was very much
  annoyed to see his cousin take the swan from him in this way, and he
  called to Siddhattha to give the swan to him because he had brought it
  down with his arrow.  Siddhattha, however, refused to give it to him,
  saying that if the bird had been killed, then it would have been his;
  but as it was alive and not dead, it belonged to the one who actually
  secured possession of it, and so he meant to keep it.  But still
  Devadatta maintained that it should belong to him because it was his
  arrow that had brought it down to the ground.
  
    So Siddhattha proposed and Devadatta agreed that their dispute
  should be sent for settlement to a full council of the wise men of the
  country. The council, accordingly, was called and the question put
  before them; and some in the council argued one way and some the
  other; some said the bird should be Devadatta's, and others said that
  Siddhattha was quite right to keep it.  But at last one man in the
  council whom nobody had ever seen before rose and said: "A life
  certainly must belong to him who tries to save it; a life cannot
  belong to one who is only trying to destroy it.  The wounded bird by
  right belongs to the one who saved its life.  Let the swan be given to
  Siddhattha." All the others in the council agreed with these wise
  words, and Prince Siddhattha was allowed to keep the swan whose life
  he thus had saved. And he cared for it tenderly until it was quite
  cured of its wound; then he set it free and let it fly back once more
  well and happy to its mates on the forest-lake.

                                 * * *
          
  

                              Chapter III

                                 YOUTH

  
  In those days in India everybody knew that everything man needs for
  his life comes out of the ground, and that, therefore, the man who
  cultivates the ground and makes it bring forth food without which men
  cannot live at all, is the man who does the most useful and necessary
  work in any nation.  So, once a year it was the custom in those days
  for the king of the country himself, along with his ministers, to go
  out to the fields and with his own royal hands, plow a field, and so
  set an example to all his people not to be ashamed of honest,
  honorable labor.
  
    And one day in the spring, at the beginning of the plowing season,
  King Suddhodana went out from Kapilavatthu in full regal state, to
  carry through this yearly observance of the "Royal Plowing," as it
  was called.  And all the people of the city went out after him, for
  this was their great annual holiday festival, in order to see their
  King plowing and to share in the feasting and merry-making that
  always followed.  And the King took his young son with him out to the
  fields, and leaving him in the care of some attendants, he went to the
  plowing place and taking hold of the shafts of his own plow which
  was all decorated with gold, he plowed up and down the fallow field,
  followed by his ministers with their plows and oxen ornamented with
  silver, the ordinary farmers coming last with their common plows and
  yokes of oxen, all of them turning over the rich, fat, brown soil so
  that it might be made ready for the seed.
  
    After a time, when the feasting began, Prince Suddhodana's
  attendants went off to share in it; and by and by all of them had gone
  away, quite forgetting the young prince, and leaving him alone by
  himself.  Then, seeing himself thus left alone, the prince felt rather
  pleased, for already he was a thoughtful boy, and he wanted to get a
  chance to think quietly about what he had seen on this day of feasting
  and rejoicing, so he wandered away quietly by himself till he came to
  a nice, shady apple tree, and there he sat down and began to turn
  everything over in his mind.
  
    First, so his thoughts ran, there was his father the king and all
  his ministers and the cultivators after them, plowing the land, and
  all were very happy and pleased looking; but he had noticed that the
  oxen did not look as if they were very happy.  They had to pull their
  very hardest to make the plow go through the tough, turfy soil; they
  had to tug and strain at it till they were all perspiring and panting
  for breath.  Evidently life was not easy for them, not even on a
  holiday like this when everybody else was making merry.  They had to
  work hard; and often when they did not do exactly as their masters
  wished, they had to take harsh words and harsher blows.  And young
  Prince Siddhattha thought that even amid the pleasures of a great
  holiday, there is always something that is not so pleasant.
  
    And then from under his apple tree he looked at the movements of the
  birds and beasts and insects around him, and he noticed a lizard ran
  out near his feet and with its quick, darting tongue begin to lick up
  and eat the little, harmless, busy ants.  And then, in a little while,
  a sly snake came along and caught the lizard in its jaws and swallowed
  it. And then a hawk swooped down from the sky and picked up and killed
  and devoured the snake.  And again the prince began to think deeply
  and ask himself if it really was so, that all the prettiness and
  beauty of the shows of life have all got some thing at the back of
  them that is not pretty and beautiful at all.  In all his own young
  life yet, he himself had not suffered anything, but as he looked round
  him now and pondered on what he saw, he perceived that there was a
  good deal of suffering going on all the time for somebody or
  something, even though he himself happened to be free from it.  And he
  sat there intently until he became so wrapt up in his thoughts that he
  forgot everything else, forgot all about the day's festival, and his
  father, and the plowing, and everything.
  
    In the meantime the "Royal Plowing" was done, and the feasting
  that followed it was all over.  But when the young prince's attendants
  came back to where they had left him, they could not find him; he was
  not there.  Very much frightened, they started looking for him
  everywhere, for soon his father the king would be asking for him in
  order to take him home with him.  At last, they found him sitting as
  quiet and still as a stone statue under his apple tree, so completely
  absorbed in his thoughts that at first he did not know they were
  speaking to him.  But when at length they succeeded in making him
  understand that his father was calling for him, that the hour was
  getting late and it was time to go home, then he rose and went back
  with them to his father; but all the way home his heart and thoughts
  were filled with pity and concern for all living things that love
  their lives so much, and yet find it so hard to live.
  
    But the king was far from pleased to find that his son was beginning
  so early to think seriously about life and what it really means.  He
  began very much to fear that what the old hermit had said was already
  beginning to come true, that his son's thoughts already were turning
  in the direction of the religious life, and that if they were not soon
  turned away from it, what he was so much afraid of would come to pass,
  and Siddhattha would leave his father's house, and he would have no
  son left to follow him on the throne of the country.  So he resolved
  at once to do something to turn his son's mind away from such serious
  thoughts. He resolved to make life in every possible way so pleasant
  and comfortable for his son that in his own pleasure and enjoyment, he
  would stop thinking so much about how other beings fared in life.
  
    So he ordered his workmen to build three splendid palaces for his
  son. The first one was built of good, stout blocks of wood outside,
  and lined inside with fine, sweet-smelling cedar.  In this warm,
  comfortable palace, he meant his son to live during the cold winter
  season.  The second palace was built of cool, polished marble, so as
  to be nice and pleasant to live in during the hot season when
  everything outside was burning in the hot sun.  And the third palace
  was built of good hard bricks and had a roof of blue tiles on it to
  keep out the heavy monsoon rains.  In this last palace the king meant
  his son to pass the rainy season safe from its damp and chills.  Round
  each of these palaces, also, he caused to be laid out a splendid
  pleasure-garden planted with every kind of shady and flowering tree,
  with many ponds and running streams in it where there grew lotuses of
  all colors, so that the prince might be able to go out walking or
  riding in it when he chose, and always find coolness and shade and
  flowering beauty wherever he looked.
  
    But all these pleasant things, palaces, gardens, ponds, walks and
  rides, and the hosts of pleasant companions that were provided along
  with them, were all of no use to stop the young prince from thinking.
  And the king saw this.  He saw that all he had contrived to turn his
  son's thoughts towards his own pleasure only, had completely failed,
  and he called his ministers to him and asked them what else he could
  do to make sure that the old hermit's prophecy should not come true.
  
    His ministers replied that, in their opinion, the best way to occupy
  a young man's mind so that he would not think about such things as
  leaving the worldly life, would be to get him married to a nice,
  pretty young wife.  Then, so they said, he would be so taken up with
  her that he would have no time or inclination to think of anything
  else; and in due time, when his father wished it, he would take his
  place on the throne in the regular way, and live in the world just
  like everybody else.
  
    This seemed to the king to be very good advice; but how could he
  make sure of getting for his son a wife so lovely and attractive that
  once he was married he would be completely to her, altogether charmed
  with her loveliness, and henceforth live with no other object but to
  make her perfectly happy?
  
    After considering the matter for some time, the king hit upon a good
  plan. He sent out an order that all the most beautiful maidens in the
  country were to come to Kapilavathu on a certain day and pass before
  Prince Siddhattha in order that he might say which of them was the
  most beautiful and give her a prize for her beauty; while each of the
  others who came and showed themselves would receive, each one, a gift
  from the hand of the Prince, great or small, according as he thought
  her to come near or fall below the chief of them all in beauty.
  
    Now when King Suddhodana gave this order, he also arranged that some
  of his ministers should keep a close watch on his son as the
  procession of beautiful maidens passed before him, and if they saw him
  show any sign of special pleasure when any particular maiden came
  forward to receive her gift, then they were to take note who she was
  and come and let him know.
  
    So the day came for the beauty competition, and all the fairest,
  most beautiful girls in the kingdom passed in a brilliant, dazzling
  procession of loveliness before the prince, one after another, and
  each received from his hands the gift which he thought her beauty
  deserved. But instead of being pleased thus to come close and touch
  the hand of their sovereign's son, each girl seemed to be almost
  afraid as she approached him, and glad, when, having got her gift, she
  was at liberty to pass on and run back among her companions again.
  
    And there was a good reason for their behaving in this unusual way.
  For this prince of theirs was not at all like any other young man they
  knew. He did not seem to be looking at them, or indeed, thinking of
  them at all!  He handed each girl her gift, but he seemed to be
  thinking of something else altogether, something great and solemn it
  seemed, far far beyond their smiling faces and dainty ways.  Indeed,
  some of them said that as he sat there on his prince's throne, he
  seemed to them to be more like a god than a human being.  And the
  ministers who, by the king's command, were watching him, felt almost
  afraid at the thought that they would have to go back and tell King
  Suddhodana that his and their plan had failed, that his son had not
  shown the least pleasure at the sight of a single one of all the
  beauties who had passed before him. For now nearly all the girls had
  passed, nearly all the prizes had been given away, and the prince
  still sat there unmoved, his mind evidently far away from this scene
  of delight for everybody else, this gay procession of one beauty after
  another.
  
    But now, just as the last girl took the last prize from the prince's
  hand, and curtsied and passed on, there came along hastily, a little
  late, one more girl; and those who were watching the prince noticed
  that he gave a little start as she drew near.  The girl too on her
  part, instead of passing him with her eyes timidly turned on the
  ground as all the other girls before her had done, looked Prince
  Siddhattha straight in the face, and with a smile asked "Is there no
  gift left for me, too?"
  
    "Sorry am I," said the prince smiling back to her, "that all the
  gifts I had to give out are finished but take this."  And with that he
  took a string of splendid jewels from his neck and clasped them round
  the girl's waist.
  
    Then the king's ministers, when they saw this, were very glad; and
  after they had found out that the name of this young girl who had come
  last, was Yasodhara, and had learned where her father Suppabuddha
  lived, they went back to king and told him all about it; and they very
  next day the king sent off messengers to Suppabuddha, asking that his
  daughter Yasodhara might be given in marriage to Prince Siddhattha.
  
    Now it was the custom among the Sakya people who were a strong,
  vigorous, mountain folk, that when any young man wanted to marry, he
  first must show himself as clever and skillful in horse-riding,
  shooting with the bow and arrow, and wielding the sword, as any other
  young man in the kingdom; and Prince Siddhattha, although he was the
  heir to the throne, had to follow this custom just the same as every
  other young man.
  
    So one day there came to the //maidan// of Kapilavatthu, all the
  strongest and cleverest young men of the Sakya kingdom, all the best
  horsemen and archers and swordsmen. And each of them before the
  assembled crowd of ministers and people, showed what he could do with
  horse, with bow and arrow and with sword.  And Prince Siddhattha,
  mounted on his white horse Kanthaka, showed what he could do, also;
  and in the contest with the others he showed that he was as good as,
  and even better than, the best in the country.
  
    At shooting with the bow and arrow, he sent an arrow farther than
  the young man who up till then had been considered the best archer in
  the kingdom, his own cousin Devadatta.
  
    At the exercise or test with the sword, he cut a young, growing tree
  through so neatly and cleanly at one stroke, that after his sword had
  passed through it, it still remained standing for several moments, so
  that those who were judging the contest at first thought it had not
  been cut through at all.  But then there came a puff of wind, and the
  tree fell over to the ground, and everybody saw that it had been cut
  through as smooth and even as a piece of butter.  At this test, Prince
  Siddhattha beat his own half-brother Nanda, who, so everybody thought,
  could not be beaten at swordsmanship by anyone in the country.
  
    The next test was in horse-racing; and on his fast white horse
  Kanthaka, Prince Siddhattha easily left all the others behind.  But
  they were not satisfied to see him win this test so easily.  They
  said: "O, if we had a swift horse like that to ride, we could win a
  race to.  This is only the merit of the horse; it is not the merit of
  the man.  But we have here a wild, black stallion which has never yet
  allowed any man to get on his back.  Let us now see which of us can
  mount him and stay on his back longest."
  
    So all the youths tried hard, one after another, to catch hold of
  the stallion and swing himself on to its back, but all of them were
  flung to the ground by the proud, fierce animal, until it came to the
  turn of Arjuna, the best rider in the kingdom.  After a little
  struggle, this Arjuna managed to get on the stallion's back and stay
  there while he whipped it once round the race-course. Then, before
  anybody knew what it was going to do, the savage animal bent its head
  round quickly, and catching Arjuna by the foot with its big strong
  teeth, it pulled him by main force out of the saddle and dashed him to
  the ground, and if some of the syces had not run forward quickly and
  dragged him away, while others beat off the stallion, it would have
  trampled Arjuna to death. Then it Siddhattha's turn to try to ride the
  stallion, and everybody thought he would be sure to be killed, since
  Arjuna the best rider in the country had just missed being killed by
  it.  But Prince Siddhattha just walked quietly up to the stallion,
  laid one hand on its neck and the other on its nose as he spoke a few
  soft, gentle words to it; then he patted it on its sides, and to the
  surprise of everybody, it stood still and allowed the prince to mount
  it and ride backward and forward just as he wished, subdued entirely
  to his will.  It was the first time anybody had come near it who was
  not afraid of it and did not want to beat it, but instead spoke and
  acted kindly to it; and in its surprise at this new kind of treatment,
  the stallion allowed the prince who was neither afraid of, nor angry
  at, it, to do as he pleased with it.
  
    Then every one admitted that Prince Siddhattha was the best horseman
  in the kingdom, too, and well worthy to be the husband of so fair a
  maiden as beautiful Yasodhara.  And Suppabuddha, Yasodhara's father,
  also agreed that this was so, and he willingly gave his daughter as
  wife to so handsome and manly a young prince.  And so Prince
  Siddhattha was married amid scenes of great rejoicing to beautiful
  Yasodhara, and went with her to live in a new and splendid palace
  which the king had caused to be built for them, surrounded by
  everything delightful and pleasing that any young man's heart could
  desire.
  
    And now King Suddhodana was beginning to feel satisfied that his son
  would no longer think about giving up his chance of getting a throne
  and becoming a religious man.  But in order to make quite sure that
  his thoughts would never turn in this direction, the king ordered that
  nobody about the prince, none of his servants or attendants within the
  palace walls or grounds, were ever to speak a single word about such
  things as old age, or sickness, or death.  They were always to act as
  if there were no such unpleasant things in the world.
  
    More than that. The king sent away from his son's palace all the
  servants and attendants who showed the least sign of getting old or
  weak or sickly.  He arranged that there should be nobody in the palace
  and the gardens round it but young, happy, pleasant, smiling people.
  Those who happened to fall ill were at once taken away and not allowed
  to come back until they were perfectly well again.  The king also gave
  strict orders that no one when at the princes' presence, was to show
  any sign of weariness or sadness.  Everybody round him was required to
  be cheerful and merry and bright all day long. And at night too, when
  his attendants danced and sang before the prince, they were never to
  show any signs of weariness or fatigue with their exertions. In short:
  King Suddhodana tried so to arrange everything and everybody around
  the prince that he should not know or even suspect that there was
  anything else in the world but smiles and laughter and joyous, happy
  youth. For, to complete his arrangements, he caused a high wall to be
  build round the prince's palace and gardens, and gave strict command
  to the keepers of the gates that on no account were they to allow the
  prince to pass outside.
  
    In these ways did King Suddhodana think to make sure that his son would
  never come to see anything but the pleasing sight of youth and beauty,
  never hear anything but the pleasant sounds of songs and laughter, and so be
  content to live as his father had done before him, and never wish to
  become a religious ascetic, or seek any other higher good than the life
  of a King's favorite son.
  
                                 * * *



                               Chapter IV

                              LEAVING HOME

  
  But in spite of all the luxury with which he was surrounded, and the
  pains that were taken too keep from him anything that might make him
  think the least unhappy thought, the young prince Siddhattha did not
  feel altogether as happy as his father wished him to feel.  He wanted
  to know what lay outside these palace walls he was never allowed to
  pass. To distract his attention from any such questions about the
  outside world, his father planned new festivals and merrymakings of
  all kinds; but it was all of no use.  The prince continued to become
  more and more dissatisfied with his shut-in life.  He wanted to see
  more of the world than was contained within his own palace and
  pleasuregrounds, even though the life he led there was full of
  delights.  He wanted to see how other people who were not princes,
  lived their lives, and told his father again and again that he could
  not be really happy until he had seen this.  Until a day came when the
  king annoyed by his continual request to be allowed to go outside the
  palace grounds, could refuse his wish no longer, and said to him:
  "Very well, my son.  You shall go outside the palace walls and see how
  our people live; but first I must prepare things so that everything
  may be made fit and proper for my noble son's eyes to look at."
  
    So the king sent out his messengers through the city to tell the
  people that on a certain day his son was coming out to see the city;
  and that everybody must hang flags and banners and gay bunting out of
  all their windows, and clean up their houses and paint them afresh,
  and put flowers over their doors and in front of them, and make
  everything as bright and gay as they possibly could.  He also gave
  strict orders that nobody was to show himself in the streets who had
  anything in the least the matter with him.  Nobody who was blind or
  lame or sick in any way, no old folk and no lepers were to appear in
  the streets of the city anywhere that day, but all such people must
  stay at home indoors all the time the prince was riding through the
  streets.  Only the young, the strong, the healthy and happy looking
  people were to come out and give the prince a welcome to the city.
  Orders were also given that on this day no dead were to be carried
  through the streets on their way to the burning place, but all dead
  bodies were to be kept till the next day.
  
    And the people did as the king commanded them.  They swept all the
  streets and watered them to keep the dust from rising.  They put new
  coats of whitewash on their houses and made them bright with wreaths
  and festoons of flowers hung in front of their doors.  They hung
  streamers of many colored cloth from the trees that grew along the
  road by which the prince would come. In short, they did all they could
  think of to make their city look to the eyes of their prince as if it
  were not a city of this world at all but one of the cities of the gods
  in the heaven worlds.
  
    Then when everything was all ready, Prince Siddhattha came forth
  from his palace and, mounting his splendid car, passed slowly through
  all the streets of the city, looking everywhere about him, and
  everywhere seeing nothing but the glad, smiling faces of the people,
  all pleased to see their prince come among them, some of the crowd
  standing and shouting as he passed:  "Victory, victory to our Prince!"
  while others ran in front of his chariot throwing flowers before the
  horses' feet.  And the king, as he saw how well the people had obeyed
  his commands, felt highly pleased, and thought that now that his son
  had seen the city, and had seen nothing but what was pleasant and
  happy-looking, now surely he would feel more contented in mind, and
  once for all give up his brooding thoughts.
  
    And then, suddenly, all that he had planned so well was completely
  spoiled, all his hopes and desires for his son brought to nothing.
  From a little hut by the roadside before any one could prevent him,
  there tottered out a man, with grey hair and nothing on him but a few
  wretched rags.  His face was all withered and wrinkled, his eyes dim
  and bleary, there were no teeth in his mouth. And as he learned,
  trembling and half doubled up, on a staff, he had to hold it hard with
  his two skinny hands to save himself from falling. Then dragging
  himself along the street and paying no attention to the scenes of
  rejoicing all round him, he let a few, weak, stammering sounds come
  from between his pale lips.  He was begging the people to give him
  something to eat or else he would die that very day.
  
    Of course everybody round him was very angry at him for daring to
  come out of his house on this day when the king's son was visiting the
  city for the first time, and the king had commanded that people like
  him were not to show themselves in the street, and they tried to drive
  him back into his house before the prince should see him.  But they
  were not quick enough.  Prince Siddhattha saw the man, and he was
  horrified at the sight.  He hardly knew what he was looking at.
  
    "What is that, Channa?" he hurriedly said to his favorite attendant
  at his elbow.  "Surely that cannot be a man!  Why is he all bent?  Why
  does he not stand up straight like you and me?  What is he trembling
  for? Why is his hair that strange colour and not black like mine? What
  is wrong with his eyes?  Where are his teeth?  Is this how some men
  are born? Tell me, good Channa, what does this mean?"
  
    Then Channa spoke to his master and said:
  
    "My Prince, this man is what is called an old man.  He was not born
  like this.  He was born like everybody else, and at one time, when he
  was young, he was straight and strong and black-haired and clear-eyed.
  But now he has been a long time in the world, and so he has become
  like this.  Do not concern yourself about him, my Prince.  This is
  just old age."
  
    "What do you mean, Channa?" said the Prince.  "Do you mean that this
  is quite common?  Do you mean that everybody who has been a long time
  in the world becomes like this?  Surely no! I never saw anything like
  this before.  Old age!  What is old age?"
  
    "My Prince," said Channa, the charioteer, "every one in the world
  who lives a long time becomes just like this man."
  
    "Everybody, Channa? You?  I? My father?  My wife?  Shall we all
  become like this and have no teeth or black hair, and be bowed and
  trembling, and have to lean on a stick when we want to move about
  instead of standing up straight?"
  
    "Yes, my Prince," said Channa.  "Everybody in the world, if they
  live long enough, become just like this man.  It cannot be stopped. It
  is old age."
  
    Then Prince Siddhattha ordered Channa to drive him home again at
  once. He did not want to see any more of the city that day.  He could
  not take any more pleasure in the sight of the laughing crowds and the
  gaily decorated streets.  He wanted to get away by himself and think
  about this terrible thing he had just heard for the first time, that
  he, a prince, heir to a throne, he and everybody he loved, one day
  must grow weak and feeble and have no more joy in living because they
  would be old, and there was nothing that could stop this from
  happening to them, no matter who they were, no matter how rich and
  great and powerful.
  
    And when he got home to his palace, although his servants set out
  before him a royal feast of everything delightful to eat, he could not
  eat, for he was thinking all the time:  "Some day I will grow old."
  And then, when the dishes he had hardly tasted were taken away, and
  the dancers and singers came before him to try to please him with
  their songs and dances, he hardly could bear to look at their graceful
  poses or listen to their instruments and voices, for he was thinking:
  "Some day you will all grow old, every one of you, even the
  prettiest."  And when at length he had sent them all away, and lay
  down to rest, he could not sleep, but lay awake all night thinking of
  himself and his beautiful wife Yasodhara, and how that one day they
  would both grow grey and wrinkled and toothless and ugly like that man
  he had seen to-day in the streets of the city, and have no more
  pleasure in one another.  And as he thought of this, he began to
  wonder if out of all the millions and millions of men in the world
  somebody or another among them all had not found some way of escaping
  this terrible thing, old age.  More than that; he began to wonder if,
  supposing he tried, tried very hard, stopped trying to do anything
  else, and gave all his thoughts and energies to this one thing, might
  he not himself find out such a way for the benefit of himself and
  Yasodhara and his father and everybody in the world?
  
    Of course the King was told about what had happened, and was very
  much distressed to hear it.  And he, to, lay awake all that night
  trying to think of some new pleasures with which to distract his son's
  attention from these thoughts which, if they were not soon stopped,
  would surely lead him to leave his home behind and go and live the
  lonely life of a religious hermit or wanderer.  And the King did
  devise and offer his son new pleasures, but it was all useless.  The
  young Prince refused them. Instead, he pleaded with his father that he
  might be allowed to go out and visit the city another time without any
  one being told that he was coming, so that he might be able to see it
  just as everybody else saw it, following its usual every-day life.
  
    As first King Suddhodana was very unwilling to give his son his
  wish, for he feared now more than ever, that if once Siddhattha saw
  the kind of life that is lived by people who are not fortunate enough
  to be king's or rich men's sons, but have to earn all they get by the
  sweat of their brow, then the old hermit's prophecy would come true,
  and Siddhattha would not succeed him on his throne.  However, he knew
  quite well, that having seen so much, his son would never be happy
  again until he had seen more, whatever the result might be.  So once
  more, though very unwillingly, he gave permission for his son to leave
  the palace and see the life of the city; and once more Prince
  Siddhattha went forth beyond the walls that were meant to shut out
  from him all knowledge of any unpleasant thing. This time, so that the
  people would not know him as he passed among them, he did not go out
  dressed like a prince, and nobody was told he was coming. This time,
  too, he went on foot, not in his chariot, and dressed just like a
  young man of good family.  And nobody went with him but Channa, he
  also in a dress different from his ordinary one, so that the people
  would not know him either, and through him, recognize his master.
  
    No huzza-ing crowds, no flower-decked houses, no waving flags did
  the eyes of the young Prince look upon this time, but just the
  ordinary sights of a city full of common folk all busy about the
  various occupations by which men earn their bread.  Here a blacksmith
  was perspiring over his anvil as he hammered and beat out a
  plowshare or a sickle or a cart-wheel tire.  There, in a richer
  quarter, in their little shops sat the jewelers and goldsmiths,
  cunningly fitting jewels and precious stones into chasings of silver
  and gold, skillfully fashioning out of the yellow metal, necklaces and
  bangles and anklets. There, in another street, the dyers were hanging
  out to dry in long lines, lengths of newly dyed brilliantly colored
  cloths, blue and rose-red and green, and many another pretty colour,
  that one day would drape the form of beauty making it yet more
  beautiful.  And there, too, were the bakers busily baking their cakes
  and serving them out to customers waiting to get and eat them while
  they were yet fresh and warm from the baking.  At these and similar
  sights the young Prince now looked with the keen interest of one who
  had never seen such sights before; and his heart found pleasure in
  seeing how busy every one seemed, and so interested and seemingly
  contented and happy in their work.  And then, again, something
  happened that spoiled all his pleasure in this day of new and
  interesting sights, and sent the Prince home a second time, sad and
  sorrowful at heart.
  
    For as he was passing along one of the streets with Channa, a little
  way behind him, he heard a cry as of some one calling for help.  He
  looked around to see what was the matter, and there on the ground near
  him he saw a man lying twisting his body about in the dust in a very
  strange way.  And all over his face and his body there were ugly
  looking purple blotches, and his eyes were rolling queerly in his
  head, and he gasped for breath as he tried to get on to his feet; and
  every time he got up a little way, he fell helplessly down again.
  
    In the kindness of his heart the Prince at once ran forward to the
  man and picked him up, and resting his head on his knee, tried to
  comfort the man, asking him what was wrong with him, and why he did
  not stand up. The man tried to speak but he could not.  He had no
  breath left for speaking; he could only moan.
  
    "You, Channa," said the Prince to his servant who had now come up to
  him, "tell my why this man is like this.  What is the matter with his
  breath?  Why does he not answer me?"
  
    "O, my Prince," cried Channa, "do not hold the man like that.  This
  man is ill.  His blood is poisoned.  He has the plague-fever, and it
  is burning him up so that he cannot do anything but just draw hard
  breath until his breath too is burnt up by the fever."
  
    "But are there any other men who become like this?  Might I become
  like this?"  the Prince asked Channa.
  
    "Indeed you may, my Prince.  If you hold the man so close as that.
  Pray put him down and do not touch him, or the plague will come out
  from him and go into you, and then you will become the same as he is."
  
    "Are there any other bad things that come on men besides this
  plague, Channa?"
  
    "Yes, my Prince, there are others, many many others, of many
  different kinds, and all of them painful, as this is."
  
    "And can no one help it?  Does sickness like this come on men
  without their knowing it, by surprise?"
  
    "Yes, Prince, that is what it does.  Nobody knows what day he may
  fall ill like this. It may happen at any time to anybody."
  
    "To anybody, Channa?  To Princes, too?  To me?"
  
    "Yes, even to you, my Prince."
  
    "Then everybody in the world must be afraid all the time, since
  nobody knows when he goes to bed at night, if he may not awake in the
  morning ill like this poor man?"
  
    "That is so, my Prince.  No one in the world knows what day he may
  fall ill, and after much suffering, die."
  
    "Die!  That is a strange word!  What is 'die,' Channa?"
  
    "Look, my Prince," said Channa.
  
    The Prince looked where Channa pointed, and saw a little crowd of
  people coming along the street weeping, while behind them came four
  men carrying on a board a terribly lean-looking man who lay there flat
  and still, his cheeks fallen in, his mouth set in a strangely ugly
  grin, but never turning, never saying anything in complaint to those
  who were carrying him when they gave him a hard jolt on his hard board
  as they stumbled over a stone in their way. The Prince looked after
  the little crowd as it passed him wondering why they were all crying,
  and why the man on the board did not tell those who were carrying him
  to be more careful and not shake him so much.  And when they had gone
  a little further, to his astonishment, he saw the man's bearers lay
  him on a pile of wood, and then put a light to the wood so that it
  blazed up in a fierce flame, and still the man did not move, though
  the flames were licking all round his head and feet.
  
    "But what is this, Channa?  Why does that man lie there so still and
  let these people burn him?  Why does he not get up and run away?"
  asked the Prince in horror and bewilderment.
  
    "My Prince," said Channa, "that man has died.  He has feet but he
  cannot run with them.  He has eyes but they do not see anything now.
  He has ears but he will never hear anything with them again.  He
  cannot feel anything any more, neither heat nor cold, neither fire nor
  frost.  He does not know anything any more.  He is dead."
  
    "Dead, Channa? Is this what it means to be dead?  And I -- shall I
  too, a king's son, one day be dead like this?  And my father, and
  Yasodhara, and every one I know -- shall we, every one of us, some day
  lie dead like that poor man on that pile of burning wood?"
  
    "Yes, my Prince," said Channa.  "Everybody who is alive must some
  day die.  There is no help for it. There is nothing more sure and
  certain. No one can stop death from coming."
  
    The Prince was struck dumb.  He could say no more.  It seemed to him
  such a terrible thing that there should be no way of escape from this
  devouring monster death who ate up everybody, even kings and the sons
  of kings.  He turned home in silence, and going to his room in the
  palace, sat there by himself thinking and brooding hour after hour
  about what he had seen that day.

    "But this is awful," said the Prince to himself as he sat pondering
  alone.  "Every single person in the world must some day die, and there
  is no help for it, so Channa says!  O, there must be help somewhere,
  for such a state of things!  I must find help; I will find help, for
  myself and my father and Yasodhara and everybody.  I must find some
  way by which we shall not always be under the power of these hateful
  things, old age, and sickness, and death."
  
    On another occasion as the Prince was driving to the Royal Gardens,
  he came face to face with a man garbed in the flowing orange-colored
  robes of the recluse.  The Prince observed the Monk closely, and,
  feeling an inward pleasure at the calm and the dignified mien and the
  noble bearing of the man, he questioned Channa about the life led by
  such a person. The charioteer replied that the man belonged to the
  class of people who had "left the world" to seek a remedy for the
  sufferings and sorrows of the world.  The Prince was highly elated
  over this, and going to the Gardens, spent the day happily, himself
  having made up his mind to leave home.
  
    As the Prince thus sat thinking and talking to himself, news was
  brought to him that his wife had given birth to a fine baby boy. But
  the Prince showed no signs of gladness at the tidings.  He only
  murmured with distracted look:  "A Rahula has been born to me, a
  fetter has been born to me."  And because this was what his father had
  said when he heard that he was born, the baby was called on his
  name-giving day, Prince Rahula.
  
    After this day, King Suddhodana saw that it was of no more use
  trying to shut Prince Siddhattha up in his pleasant palace and keep
  him occupied only with his own pleasure and delight, so now he allowed
  him to go out into the city as much as he pleased.  And very often the
  Prince drove round the city, seeing everything, and thinking, always
  thinking about what he saw, and trying to make up his mind what to do.
  
    After one of these drives through the city, as, on his way home
  again, he was passing the rooms of the palace where the ladies lived,
  one of the Princesses called Kisagotami happened to be looking out of
  her window, and seeing the Prince, she was much struck by his
  handsome, noble appearance, and exclaimed to herself:  "O how happy,
  how cool, how content must be the mother, and the father, and the wife
  of such a splendid young Prince?"
  
    But she spoke louder than she thought she was speaking, and the
  Prince, as he passed, heard what she was saying.  And he thought to
  himself: "Yes, mother and father and wife have happiness and comfort
  and content in their hearts at having such a son and husband.  But
  what is real true happiness and comfort and content?"
  
    And the Prince's mind, being already turned away from delight in
  worldly things by the sights he had seen and the thoughts about them
  that filled his mind all the time, he said low to himself: "Real true
  happiness and comfort and content come when the fever of craving and
  of hating and of delusion is cured.  When the fires of pride and false
  notions and passions are all put out, then comes real true happiness
  and coolness and content.  And that is what I and all men need to get.
  That is what I must now go forth and seek.  I cannot stay any longer
  in this palace leading this life of pleasure.  I must go forth at once
  and seek, and go on seeking till I find it -- that real true happiness
  which will put me and all men beyond the power of old age and sickness
  and death. This lady had taught me a good lesson.  Without meaning it
  she has been a good teacher to me.  I must send her a teacher's fee."
  
    So he took from his neck a fine pearl necklace he was wearing at the
  time, and sent it with his compliments to Princess Kisagotami.  And
  the princess accepted it from the Prince's messenger and sent him back
  with her warmest thanks to the Prince, for she thought it was meant
  for a token that the handsome and clever young Prince Siddhattha had
  fallen in love with her and wished to make her his second wife.
  
    But the Prince's thoughts were very far indeed from any such thing,
  and his father and his wife knew it very well. Indeed, every one about
  the Prince could see that he was now completely changed, more serious
  and thoughtful than he had ever been, when he came home from this
  day's ride about the city.  But the father could not bear to lose his
  son without making one more, one last attempt to keep him. So he
  caused all the cleverest and most entrancingly beautiful singers and
  dancers in the kingdom to be brought to his son's palace, and they
  sang and danced before Prince Siddhattha as King Suddhodana commanded,
  doing their very best with their gayest, sweetest songs, their most
  enchanting and alluring postures to draw from his son smiles of
  approval and pleasure. And for a time the Prince looked at, and
  listened to them, not wishing to disappoint his father by a flat
  refusal to see them.  But his eyes only half saw the beautiful,
  enticing forms before him, for his mind was taken up with something
  else that never left it alone now; he was thinking of the one only
  thing that now seemed worth thinking about at all -- how old age and
  sickness and death might be escaped by him and by all men, for ever.
  And at last, weary with so much thinking, worn out with so much
  brooding, in the midst of the music and loveliness that no longer now
  had power to charm or please, he fell into a dozing sleep.
  
    The singers and dancers soon noticed that he whom they were supposed
  to be amusing, cared so little for their efforts, that he did not even
  take the trouble to keep awake and look at, and listened to them.  So
  they stopped their dancing and singing, and lay down just where they
  were to wait till the Prince woke again. And soon they, too, like the
  Prince, fell asleep without knowing it, leaving the lights in the room
  all burning.
  
    After some time the Prince woke from his doze and looked round him
  in astonishment, and also in disgust; for what did he see?  All those
  girls who were supposed to be the prettiest and most charming in the
  country, and only a little while before had been posing before him in
  the most enchanting attitudes, now were scattered about the floor of
  the apartment in the ugliest, the most ungainly positions imaginable;
  some snoring like so many pigs, some with their mouths gaping wide
  open, some with the spittle oozing from the corners of their lips
  dribbling down over their dresses, some grinding their teeth in their
  sleep like hungry demons.  So ugly, so repulsive did they look, one
  and all, that the Prince wondered how he ever could have taken any
  pleasure in them.  The sight of all this that he once had thought
  loveliness so completely turned to loathsomeness, was the last thing
  needed to fill his mind with complete disgust for the life he was
  leading.  His mind was now fully made up to leave all this
  repulsiveness behind him, and to go forth immediately to look for that
  real happiness which would bring to an end all evil things.
  
    Rising quietly, so as not to disturb and wake any of the sleeping
  girls, he stole out of his room, and called his servant Channa to him,
  and told him to saddle his favorite white horse, Kanthaka, for now, at
  once, he was going out on a long journey.
  
    While Channa was away getting ready Kanthaka, Siddhattha thought he
  would go and take a last look at his little son before he left.  So he
  went to the room where his wife lay sleeping with her babe beside her.
  But when he opened the door and looked in, he saw that his wife was
  sleeping with her hand so placed that it rested on and was covering
  the baby's head.

    "If I try to move her hand," said the Prince to himself, "so as to
  see my boy's face, I fear I may wake her.  And if she wakes, she will
  not let me go away.  No, I must go now without seeing my son's face
  this time; but when I have found what I am going forth to seek, I
  shall come back and see him and his mother again."
  
    Then, very quietly, so as to wake nobody, the Prince slipped out of
  the palace, and in the stillness of the midnight hour mounted his
  white horse Kanthaka who also kept quite quiet, and neither neighed
  nor made any other sound that might wake any one.  Then, with faithful
  Channa holding on to Kanthaka's tail, Siddhattha came to the city
  gate, and, passing through without any one trying to stop him, rode
  away from all who knew and loved him.
  
    When he had gone a little distance, he pulled up Kanthaka and,
  turning round, took a last look at the city of Kapilavatthu sleeping
  there so calm and quiet in the moonlight, while he, its Prince, was
  leaving it like this, not knowing when he should see it again.  It was
  the city of his fathers, the city where he was leaving behind him a
  young and beloved wife, and a precious infant son, but he did not
  weaken in his resolve one jot; no thought of turning back to them
  entered his mind. That mind was now thoroughly made up.  Again he
  turned his face in the direction he had to go, and rode on till he
  came to the banks of a river called the Anoma.  Here he dismounted,
  and standing on the sandy beach, that on both hands, stretched away,
  white as silver, in the moonlight, he took off all his jewels and
  ornaments, and giving them to Channa, said:  "Here, good Channa.  Take
  these adornments of mine and white Kanthaka, and take them back home.
  The hour has now come for me to give up the worldly life."
  
    "O my dear master," cried Channa, "do not go away like this all by
  yourself.  Let me too leave the world and come with you."
  
    But although Channa again, and yet once more, asked to be allowed to
  stay with his master and to go with him wherever he went, the Prince
  was firm and refused to take him with him.
  
    "It is not yet the time for you to retire from the worldly life," he
  said to Channa. "Go back to the city at once and tell my father and
  mother from me that I am quite well."  And he forced him to take all
  his jewelry from him and also his horse Kanthaka.
  
    Channa could not now refuse to do what his master commanded him, so
  with a heavy heart and weeping sorely, he turned back along the white
  moonlit road to the city leading Kanthaka by the bridle to take the
  sad news to Kapilavatthu that his beloved master, their prince, at
  last as he long had threatened, had left parents and wife and children
  and kingdom behind him, and had gone away to be a wanderer without a
  home.
  
    In this way it was that at the age of twenty-nine, in the full flush
  of early manhood, while still black-haired and young and strong,
  Prince Siddhattha Gotama of the noble house of the Sakya race, went
  forth from home into homelessness, in order to seek for himself and
  for all men, some way whereby he and they might win forever beyond the
  reach of all ill, all distress, all grief, all sorrow, all despair.

                                 * * *