Journeys to the Buddha II VASANTASENA

(It must be noted that Vasantasena is a character based on a combination of characters found in the stories from the Dhammapada. Vasantasena’s story here recalls the experience of the Queen Khema. It is therefore a fictionalized dramatic account based on some fact, as are the other two pieces in this series of monologues,)

A courtesan known for her wealth, beauty, elegance, and charitable works, Vasantasena is, however, entrapped in her vanity and attachment to the body and physical beauty. She comes to the Buddha, having heard of his great wisdom, hoping to impress him with her beauty, wealth, and stature. But of course, the great teacher has something else in store for her – for though she is deluded by the reality of the body, her good deeds nevertheless had accumulated enough merit for the Buddha to perform the miracle of her realizing the impermanence of the body.

Scene: Throughout, there is no change of scene. There is only one light shining on the actor. There may be changes to this light depending on the mood of the “action”. We can take it that this light emanates from the Buddha, who is invisible to the audience. This is a conversation between the protagonist and the Buddha.

Vasantasena enters – a vision of loveliness – in a cloud of shimmering silk and embroidered brocade, a gossamer veil over her face. The soft rustle of her silken robes whisper of wealth, poetry and elegance. Her eyes darkened with kajal and her painted ruby red lips contrast sharply with her glowing fair skin. She wears her hair in beaded braids and she is ornamented with silver and gems of the richest colours. Every movement is a skillful pose of dramatic intention – to enchant, to arrest the onlooker. She enters, having succeeded in gaining an audience with the Buddha, with the sole intention of impressing upon him her powerful beauty and personality, and to invite the Buddha to visit her palatial residence in order to enhance her reputation and fame in the city.

She enters, a basket of fruits and flowers in hand, with the full awareness that the vision of her loveliness will leave everyone in the room breathless – and yet she is masterful enough to hide this (veiling this with a look of “humility” – a practiced look of downcast eyes) from the Buddha. However, although she has practiced her entrance many times in her mind, she is unprepared for the radiant peace emanating from the Buddha the moment she sees him. She is immediately thrown off balance. In this moment of tremulousness, she quickly makes a bow to hide her discomfiture, and as she raises her face, she makes an effort to regain her composure. She succeeds, and as she addresses the Buddha, she is her complete and supremely confident self – in full control of her senses and skills. She gently touches her golden basket of offerings.

Vasantasena: Revered master, the heat of summer is refreshed by your coming, like the fragrant showers of colourful spring. Your congregation, like a gathering of monsoon clouds, brings sweet promise of life-giving rain with their heavenly chanting… Your devotee makes this simple, humble offering – choicest fruits and flowers from the garden called Eternal Spring… your devotee, Vasantasena, come hither to seek the master’s blessings.

Buddha (unheard): The generous Vasantasena… blessings upon you.

Vasantasena: Generous! The master is too kind! For this is just what my two small hands can bring… and being told that this hall would not… could not… admit my fifty servants, by reason of it being already full of devotees eager to be in the master’s presence, I have entered alone, with this mere basket. Master, judge not the size of the basket but for the contents handpicked by your devotee… and measure not the value of the contents but for the heart that is giving, eager to please…

Buddha (unheard): The giving heart is what matters most…

Vasantasena: And yet, your devotee’s giving heart suffers not a little – not being able to express in full the means and scope of her giving, therefore unable to experience the joy that surely must come with giving. (She gently lifts her veil from her face. This has an immediate effect on the congregation which can be perceived by the way she subtly lowers her eyes with the slightest tinge of a smile.) I am in no doubt that the master is content… with this vast and spacious hall but it appears insufficient for the needs of the congregation… and the monsoon is soon to arrive… an unmended roof brings misery to those who live under it. The rains, so eagerly awaited for throughout this heated summer, will dampen the spirits of all who seek to pray and meditate in your presence. Why worry them with the damp, cold floor when they should be listening to the master’s words mindfully? Sheltered properly from the rains, without distraction, the effort of your devotees will surely bear fruit. Shielded from extreme heat or cold, wet and wind, the master’s words will surely reach the hearts of his devotees.

In the abode of your humble devotee, Vasantasena, there are two large halls for such gatherings, a fair number of pavilions in my grove of fruit bearing trees and fragrant flowers, all surrounding a… simple… mansion of 32 chambers, each set out to instill rest, quiet, and tranquility. In the two large halls, when their doors are closed, those seated within will hear nothing but their own breathing… and when the doors are opened, birdsong will drift in with the gentle breeze blowing through the trees. When the master comes, if he deigns to satisfy the simple but deep desire of his devotee, these halls will be filled with the voice of wisdom and the sounds of his devotees chanting. According to the master’s wishes, and for his comfort and pleasure, my one hundred servants will look to the master’s needs – from dawn till dusk. It will be your humble devotee’s greatest joy to serve in this way, O master.

On days that the master deem fit for a moment’s respite for his devotees from the strenuous efforts of constant prayer and meditation, your humble servant, Vasantasena, will present articulate morsels of diversion to lighten the hearts and minds of the master’s congregation – just gentle, simple revelations of our delicate meditations.

Your humble servant, Vasantasena, believes, perhaps not rightly in the master’s eyes, that meditation on art, poetry, and beauty is not dissimilar to the meditations that the master engages his devotees in. The subjects may differ but the methods are similar.

Buddha (unheard): Tell us more, Vasantasena…

Vasantasena: The master is extremely gracious to his humble devotee Vasantasena in asking her to explain her narrow views… A courtesan’s life is devoted to art and beauty. She yokes her mind, her heart, and her breath to the disciplines of rhythm, song, dance, tradition, rites and customs to create in herself a sensitivity so fine it can be likened to a single strand of silk pulled taut just so to vibrate in harmony with the air around it! She meditates upon perfection in everything she does… In song, in movement, in ritual, in ceremony, she moves silently, her mind set on achieving a balance of her heart, her mind, and her body; she creates an inner reality, and unites that through her art with the outer reality. By doing that, she unites the hearts and minds of her audience to herself. Through her efforts of discipline and concentration, she gains beauty, and poetry of being… and this reward she renders as a gift, both to herself and her audience, each time she performs, creating herself anew.

But it is not just song and dance, master. The beauty that she gains nourishes her spirit, fills her heart and her mind with the power to enchant and enlighten… the hearts and minds of others… if I may… (She makes a gentle bow and begins to sing, softly, weaving a web of enchantment as she moves her hands gracefully in the air. Suddenly, she notices something she did not see before, and it is so distracting, her song trails off unfinished. She is spellbound! She looks at the Buddha questioningly, and reverts her gaze on the space next to him.)

Who is that? A radiant goddess descended from heaven! Master, when did she arrive to sit next to you? She glows and shimmers like a pearl caressed by moonlight. Her complexion is soft, milky white, and her unpainted lips are red rosebuds! Can it be that a woman can be so beautiful as to not require a single stroke of art or colour on her face? Surely she is the goddess born of the milky ocean who sits on the lotus but now divested of her celestial ornaments, and yet now more beautiful, more enchanting! Or is she the goddess of the swan who plays the lute and sings wisdom dreaming songs but now seated in quiet repose next to you, freed of her celestial duties… and yet now more wondrous in her tranquility. Whence came she?… (She struggles between admiration and envy.) I thought, wrongly, that I possessed the highest beauty. From whom did she learn her art – so artless and simple… it can only be true beauty… that which I have always dreamed of but knew not how to achieve. Why? See how she carries her soft silky hand to her face to brush her porcelain smooth cheek – it is like a white dove had flown to drink the dew from a soft white cloud! Ah! Her smile! Those rosebud red lips… awakening to the kiss of the sun in a smile. Can such perfection exist? Alas, I fear no matter how much I try, I will never attain such perfection!… what use is my art, my constant meditation on creating beauty to capture the hearts of men, when there is this to prove me false? What use my reputation, my wealth, and my artistry, when there is this to tell me that I am just a mask? A painted mask of desires, disguised as art and poetry to delude… and blind! (She lowers her gaze. Then she looks up again. Now something else catches her attention.) Why is she filled with sadness all of a sudden? As if a great burden is upon her fair shoulders! O no! Master, I think she is sick! Look! She turns pale, and her eyes strain with sorrow… her red lips turn grey! Why, the skin on her hand is withered with wrinkles as she trembles to brush off her falling hair! Her hair! O Master! What is wrong with her? Can somebody not help her! O she weeps… poor, old hag…! She has turned into an… old… hag! O pitiful creature! O master, please help her… she is withering away right in front of our eyes. Aaahh! Her eyes…! (She covers her face, unable to bear the sight. She pants, trembling, and sobs! Slowly, she looks up… and she is surprised.)

Where is she? The beautiful goddess who withered away into an old woman and died right in front of me? Where is she, Master? Am I dreaming? Have I lost my senses? I saw a vision of perfect loveliness… and then I saw a vision of decay and death. Was that just a vision? Was that real? A woman of such divine beauty can capture the hearts of even the gods for all eternity, and yet, she perished in a moment!

The gods are eternal but we are not! How long does beauty last? How long can this body last against age and time? Life and then, death in a moment… life and then, death in fifty, sixty years… what is the difference? When youth and beauty are gone, what remains? Transient like the clouds… yet the clouds return in a different shape… but neither youth nor beauty do… Time takes away everything… even now! Even as I sit here, my youth and my beauty disappear quietly, secretly with each breath I take, each time I exhale. Is there nothing to stop it? When will the time come when I will begin to decay like her? Perhaps it is now… is this a wrinkle I see on my hand? How long more can I hide the marks of Time behind the painted brush? (Desperately) O master, please help me… let not Time come to me. Let not Time rob me of what I have, so precious to me. Let me not perish! Let me give everything I have in exchange for this… (She weeps.) O what horror awaits me, with time standing at the door, constantly staring at me!

All my life, I have fought it in my soul. With every breath, with every thought, I strove to touch eternity… (long pause – a moment of realisation) but I was a fool. I sought to touch eternity among men, in their hearts, in their minds… Theirs are as impermanent as mine. With my decaying body, I believed I could possess the radiance of immortality. Ha ha ha! A woman’s vanity and foolishness. The radiance I yearned for is as transient as the flame of a flickering candle – beautiful, glorious, poetic as long as it lasts – bright and glowing in the night – for a mere hour - but dying nevertheless. Living and dying; youth, beauty, and old age; they all come one upon the other… the one changes into the other – and that is the constant – that doesn’t change. Sickness and sorrow, joy and tears, laughter and worry… we are thrown back and forth between these extremes… thrown about until we are worn out… worn out by life and living… until we find repose in death! (She is overcome.)

All my life, I thought art was living. With sorrow and sickness, death and dying surrounding us each day amidst the humdrum of breathing and living, art and beauty were the only things that helped me forget that I was standing in mud. The moon and the stars were too far away – their promise unattainable. With nowhere to turn, I turned to the world of make believe, of the imagination… I tuned my senses to the poetic fall of a dying leaf, to the windblown whispering blossoms of the jasmine; I directed my mind to the skills of enchantment, and my hand to paint brush, pen and silk fan; to the art of song and the spoken word, the dance and the drama, I gave my total attention… my total breath. And relished the enraptured attention of those whose heart and mind were held prisoner by a gentle glance, a slight smile, and gracious hands that could create earth and sky. To hold prisoner those who would resist but could not. To make them forget their mundane world, and find joy in mine. How else could I escape this mundane world but by creating a new world of my own? A world of light, radiance, poetry, and power I would create anew with each new day. A world in which all could bask endlessly in the luminosity of a thousand lanterns – all, brighter than the moon and the stars - when the night brought her cloak of darkness…

[Quietly] I imagined myself mistress of my own world… denying that it is merely a world within another. And having that imaginary world, where I seemed to enjoy power over those who stepped into it, I imagined myself capable of conquering another… how foolish… I thought I could bring you into mine… (She pauses.) Please forgive me my impudence, my vanity and my arrogance… O master, you have shown me the truth – beauty and youth are impermanent, as is this body. Even as it is created out of flesh and blood, it begins to decay… I know now that my life is all in vain – because I have deluded myself. I feared the darkness, and searched for light but only had lanterns to walk the night. I prided myself for mocking the darkness but now must face the darkness… once again. (She bows.) If you would permit me, O master, I leave, in shame, begging your pardon for my vanity and foolishness…

Buddha (unheard): Vasantasena, the path you seek is not unattainable…

Vasantasena: The path I seek is not unattainable? There is a way to renew my search? You will teach me? This foolish woman who is surely undeserving of your kindness and compassion?

Buddha (unheard): Repeat after me: Buddham Sharanam Gacchaami
Vasantasena: Buddham Sharanam Gacchaami – The Buddha is my refuge

Buddha (unheard): Dhammam Sharanam Gacchaami

Vasantasena: Dhammam Sharanam Gacchaami – The Dharma is my refuge

Buddha (unheard): Sangam Sharanam Gacchaami

Vasantasena: Sangam Sharanam Gacchaami – The Sangam is my refuge. (She rises, looks into the light with a newly awakened joy.) O master, I will go now to make arrangements – to have all my possessions left for my kith and kin, and for my loyal servants whom I will set free… and I will return… I will follow you.

THE END