(This is a dramatic account of Angulimala’s conversation with the Buddha before his realization of truth. It is based on some fact, as are the other two pieces in this series of monologues, but differs from the traditional tale in a few ways.)
His real name was Ahimsaka, the non-violent one, and he was dutiful, filial, dedicated, sincere and honest. But fate dealt him a severe blow in the form of his classmates who were envious of his achievements as well as their guru’s love for him. Marring his reputation by suggesting that Ahimsaka was engaging in an illicit relationship with the guru’s wife, Ahimsaka became victim of this wrongdoing – and his guru expelled him from the ashram. This fateful turn of events turned the gentle Ahimsaka into a terrible and terrifying robber who would wear the fingers of his victims. This is the miraculous story of his turning point when he met the Buddha… and finally finding peace in a most unique way.
Sc: 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. Enter Angulimala, disheveled, bruised and bloody. For a moment, he is doubled over in pain but he masters it by breathing deeply. Slowly, he sits erect in the lotus position but with much pain he does this. Throughout we do not hear what the Buddha says. It is by the way Angulimala speaks that we get an idea of what the master has said to him. This is to say that only Angulimala can hear him.
Angulimala: O revered master, I am returned from my sojourn to the town, away from you, from this ashram, to seek that which my heart could not find…
Buddha (unheard): Did you find it there, my son?
Angulimala: No, master, not there. There I found the seeds of my past misdeeds bearing fruit. Seeds of sin, anger and hatred, now bitter fruits of pain and revenge. There I found the things I once did to others, now being done to me… no, master, what I had done was much worse, much worse than this… I went begging as a bikkhu, as a gentle monk looking for alms, and I did receive some charity but as I was about to eat, a stone hit my hand that held the bowl. I looked up. “Murderer!” the man shouted, “you are Angulimala, the murderous bandit, putting on the cloak of deceit come to drink our blood!” In his eyes, shining with anger and hatred, I saw my own face, how I used to be, filled with bloodlust and mindless cruelty. Then I saw too, deep in his eyes, behind that fire of hatred, the deep sorrow of loss and pain, of having the people he loved murdered by me. O master, at that moment, I caught his anguish in my heart, a knot of pain so tight, so hard, I could not breathe… by then, many had gathered around me, scrambling to hit me and to kick me. I received all their blows of hatred, pain and sorrow… I could not resist… I realized I was not there to fight for my life… but to accept it, to accept the life I had chosen to live.
But O master, the blows and bruises I received could not compare with the pain of the woman whose scream tore the heavens. “Let me look upon him! Let me see the murderous coward who killed my husband who had no money on him to be robbed! Let me look upon him whose cruelty knows no bounds – who would chop off my innocent child’s hand just to cut a finger for his bloody garland.” Thereupon, she, whose eyes and face were worn with the tears of ceaseless mourning, pulled a young child, shriveled with fear, towards her. “This is the terrible Angulimala, son, who killed your father, and chopped off your hand!” And with a stick she hit me until her hatred turned into despair, despair into tears… and then she wept. “Killing you will not bring my husband back, nor my child his hand.” It was then, O revered master, I understood the suffering I had given to others. It was clear to me, clear as the light that shines from your face, O teacher, that a man must face his past, to come into the light of understanding…
(He weeps, remembering the past…)
O master, I was my father’s good son – his pride, his joy, versed in the scriptures and established in piety. In the ashram, I was my teacher’s most excellent student, and he taught me with love the wisdom of the ancients. But some of my classmates, envious of my achievements, planted seeds of doubt and suspicion in my teacher’s mind. The shameful idea that I had evil desires to encroach upon the sanctity of his wife, the most revered lady whom I respected and adored as I did my own mother… O revered master, to have my teacher spurn me in anger and hate, him that I admired and loved so much… I left the ashram with my teacher’s vehement abuses hurled at my back. I could not fathom then the reason for my circumstances, the depth of my loss. With tears of bewilderment, I journeyed home, trying to understand the scope of my error, trying to discover where my faults lay…
Just as the sun had begun to set, I came upon the threshold of my father’s house. “Get out! Do not bring shame into my house, you ingrate. You displeased your guru with your evil thoughts and carnal desires… never did I beget a son such as you. Leave now, and never come back!” I listened in amazement and watched my father mouth these words of pain even as a torrent of tears rushed from his eyes. I began to plead with my beloved father, whom I had missed for the years I had spent away in the ashram. I held his feet. He kicked me free of him. The dust stung my eyes. He would not hear me speak. He would give no ear to my pleas. He pushed me hard, blinded by his tears, until I fell to the ground, and then he closed the door shut. He would not let me in. I could hear him crying behind the door, “I have no such son who would bring shame and dishonour to our name.”
Thus it was, that in a day my good fortune turned from me, my merits of good conduct and piety did not accumulate enough to protect me from this evil that came so suddenly. My years of following the path of dharma did not gather in my father’s nor my guru’s embrace to shield me from this unseen torrent of misfortune.
O revered master, how was I to know? How was I to understand the seeds of my past actions would one day ripen, when I least expected it, and the fruits of my karma would fall around me? How was I to know?
Buddha (unheard): My son, no one knows. Not even the wisest among men. Not even the gods!
Angulimala: If even the wisest among men, nor the gods, know this, then who does?
Buddha (unheard): No one… and there is little use in knowing.
Angulimala: Yes, master, you have taught us that… there is little use in knowing, for the ripening of karma is a direct consequence of a previous action or deed upon the condition of the body, the mind, and the spirit… for it to achieve its final resolution, the impact of that karma must be experienced in full, in the body, the mind, and the spirit. There is no escape. Acceptance is all… [He writhes in agony, and becomes breathless for a moment] O master, since acceptance is all, allow me to remember my past so that I can achieve a full understanding of my life…
Buddha (unheard): Do so, my son.
Angulimala: Leaving my father’s house, I became homeless. I walked in the wilderness of the forest, my mind cast against the darkness of my crumbling world. From within the deepest part of me, dark despair welled up to seize my heart. Neither my trembling nor my unceasing tears could wash it away. It was then that I understood loneliness. Loneliness that had no place in my life before, for my life before then was filled with the love, warmth and affection of a loving father. A dark, choking emptiness seized me… [pause, and then quietly] And then, I felt something cold against my neck. Hot words snarled into my face, “Don’t move, or I will slit your throat! Empty your pockets!”
Out of the darkness within me, a blinding flash of light seared my mind, and I heard a scream… I had my hand on the robber’s knife… and it was in his throat. I felt a great surge of energy coursing through my hand, my legs, into my body, my heart and my mind. It was power. It was strength. Moments before this, I was weak and desperate, but now I was strong and powerful. A new courage came over me… all of a sudden everything was bright in my mind, it was clear. I would fight fate, and live. I would not be a victim, but the victor. I would rise, stand tall, grasp fate by the tail and bring it to its knees… and then I would sacrifice it, blood and all, to my loneliness. For if this was to be my lot, I would do well to make the best of it. I had to accept what came – and stand tall like a hero unafraid of fate and misfortune. Conquer fate I would, mar his face with my knife and give him a mirror. And laugh at his misfortune.
A great sense of pride and joy filled me when I found a small bag of silver on the man. With a laugh, I kicked him over, and then a ring on his little finger caught my eye. It was a ruby set in gold. It shone, beckoning with temptation, but it was difficult to remove… so I cut off his finger, and put the bloodied ring on mine. In the moonlight, his blood and his ruby shone on my hand. I had never felt so strong, so wonderful, so elated. I heard a wolf cry, and my laughter burst forth from my bowels, ringing through the forest. I was a man. Stronger than any man! And I had a trophy to prove it – the little finger! It would remind me of my growing power over fate.
Angulimala’s glory days followed… I robbed for food and money, and the little fingers. Unwilling victims had my knife in their throats, in their eyes, in their hearts. Within a short time, I strung my trophies together and put them around my neck. My victims would take one look at my necklace of little fingers and begin to shiver… “Angulimala!” they would scream with terror… but more often than not I would cut short their screams with a quick slash of my sharp knife. I only wanted to hear my own laughter of victory. [He laughs loud… this becomes tears] But their screams were always in my ears… so I laughed louder and harder, so I killed them faster and faster… so fast, sometimes I did not even look… there were men, many men… there were women, young and old… there were children… [he remembers] there was a child who did not cry… who just said “don’t”… and I cut off his hand. I had slit his father’s throat. The boy’s finger was my nine hundredth!
It was not so much the money… it was the fingers! They were the symbol of my power, of my reign of terror. My fame reached far and wide. My name was on everyone’s lips. It was the name of the fear that filled their hearts. Travelers would not know when I would strike, nor where I would hide. Every new route they found through the forest, was already a route marked by me. They did not know that the forest was my castle, that I could sight or sense their coming from any direction. They did not know that they were walking right into the jaws of death.
Every traveler would beseech protection from the gods before they set out… they would mention my name, “Angulimala”, as the greatest evil from which they need protection…
This was my glory – my conquest of fate. Now every man’s fate was in my hands. Now every man’s trembling heart would bear my name. My name would bring a hush of silence to any assembly. Children would cry. Women would drop their clay pots. And men would rush home to hide. I was more powerful than the king!
[He coughs and writhes in pain]
O master, they could not capture me… I knew all their traps and ruses even before they could finish preparing them. I was brilliant and strong, invincible… until I met you. [He struggles with his pain and a pang of realization] I did not know it then but I know now – that day in the forest, when I was running after you to kill you, the merits I had accumulated were bearing fruit…
You were to be my thousandth… the last little finger that would complete my vow against fate… O master, how calm you were, how radiant with peace… and there I was, running, faster and faster, to catch up, driven by my insatiable desire to kill just once more to satisfy my dark desire… and there you were walking ahead of me, always ahead of me, never hurrying, in the strangest composure I have never seen before. O master, how serene your gait, and my beating heart and pounding feet could only yearn for the vision of you, ahead of me, always ahead of me. In my foolishness, I did not recognize the miracle, and yet, in my foolishness, I cried out “Stop!” You said, “I have stopped. Have you?”
[He is overcome…] O joyful day! To know in a flash that my life till then had been a journey into darkness, and now, a master has come to light the way, to lead me out of the forest of ignorance and despair… O sacred day! [All of a sudden he stiffens with pain, and then shivers… it passes, he becomes weak] How does one measure your compassion? How does one begin to talk about your love for humanity? How does one understand the wisdom of your ways, O great teacher of mankind? My good deeds did acquire merit. Against the innumerable deeds of cruelty I have done, I must have done much, much more good to have the grace to come to your holy feet.
You gave me forgiveness, you gave me light, you showed me compassion, you showed me, in spite of my sins, I am worthy of light… you turned the mirror of my soul back to me, so that I could begin to see myself. You showed me again the wisdom of the ancients, and then you revealed to me the wisdom of the heart…
Will I ever be able to return this great kindness that I had never known? If it were to take eternity, and countless births, I pray for this one memory, to be seared forever in my soul, that I should ever bend my head to you, and that my soul should follow your light…
[a cry of pain, and difficulty in breathing]
And yet, O master, even as you soothed my pain, removed my heart’s despair, lightened my days as I sat in your presence, among your thousand disciples and devotees, I could find no peace within. You told me, master, that I should search my heart, seek the answers there… for a long time, I found none but only the thought of leaving you and the ashram, and venturing into the town to seek alms, and perhaps, find the answers to the unspoken questions in my heart.
[He coughs violently, writhing in pain]
O revered master, I am returned from my sojourn to the town, away from you, from this ashram, to seek that which my heart could not find…
Buddha (unheard): Did you find it there, my son?
Angulimala: No, master, not there but I have found it now, it is here… I understand now… I accept… I accept all… [He smiles through his tears, and breathes his last]
THE END
Labels: Buddha, script
