THE FINAL OMEN: THE ASCETIC
Siddhartha returns to his palace home and enters his bedroom. He sees his wife Yasodhara asleep, resting heavy with child. The baby’s birth is imminent and is eagerly awaited by not only the royal household led by King Suddhodana but also by the masses living in the land. Already he sees the signs of celebrations taking place in the city to herald the birth of a royal prince, the next in line to the throne after him. The royal astrologers had already determined it would be a boy. Gaiety runs through the royal corridors and anticipation of the baby’s arrival has risen to fever pitch.
But tonight Siddhartha is draped in gloom. Joy incarnate, found in every niche of the palace rooms, finds no room to reside in his heart. Its barred entry. Not even the happy prospect of the imminent birth of his son and heir, can force open the doors. The lock is jammed. And the key is missing, still to be found. But it will not be found tonight.
He ponders over the trilogy of omens he had been fortunate to have seen these last three days. His three sojourns abroad had made him realise that each one born grows old, that the promise of life can be flayed by sickness or even by an accident and that death is the inexorable fate of all. Is this the inheritance, his son will receive at birth? Is it for this that people celebrate the birth of a child? Does none know that sorrow shadows the born?
Now he wonders, having realised the condemned state of all life, whether there is no way out? Is that the reality of life, is there no solution to transcend life’s ordained curse? And he determines to find it. But he hasn’t the foggiest how to do it.
At daybreak Siddhartha is in the chariot again. When the charioteer asks him whether to let the roads lead them on, he says, no, take me to that park we visited yesterday, where we stopped to let the horse quench his thirst.”
They travel in silence. And they arrive at the park. The prince alights from the carriage, walks in the direction of the park, and enters it. He sits under a sal tree and begins to reflect upon the three momentous events he had experienced in these last three days. And then he concen- trates his mind on how to overcome the evil three. But answer comes there none. The more he concentrates, the more it eludes him.
But yet he does not give up. Sorrow had held the world to ransom for far too long and this, he realises, is no time to surrender.
He continues to dwell under the tree and ponders over what the trilogy revealed when suddenly a surge of love for man compels him to seek without pause the truths concealed. But is life’s riddle, he wonders, wrapped in lore, does the answer lie beyond faith’s shore to fathom through ordeal? And as he faces the gathering gloom, the rose of hope does suddenly bloom.
For then he sees the vision. A flash of saffron. A sudden movement in the distance alerts him. He focuses his eyes towards the park’s foliage brushed boundaries. He sees a man dressed in saffron robes, the uniform of the ascetic, the wanderer in search of truth. His head is shaved and he is carrying a bowl. And he disappears into the woodlands. But not before giving Siddhartha the answer to his quest to free mankind from eternal woe.
For before him passed a wandering soul with life’s flag draped full mast Whose placid presence served console Siddhartha’s sorrowed heart
The ascetic monk portrayed Truth’s role, Brought Siddhartha nearer his goal revealed from whence to start;
The Royal Prince bewitched did watch, The path ablaze with the pauper’s torch His quest he knew with rising hopes Lay in the steps of the one in robes