Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters

Shakyamuni Buddha, Ananda, Maudgalyāyana, the Old Sorceress, the old woman’s daughter, the Heretical Scholar, the Townspeople, Celestial Beings, Deva Generals, and an Assembly of Nuns.

Setting

Inside and outside Shravasti City.

Act 1

(Shravasti City outskirts – A pond. The sorceress’s daughter has come to draw water. Having immersed her water jar in the water, she gazes at the scenery.) The Daughter — (Soliloquizing) The light dances upon the leaves of the trees; the flowers sway in the wind. The passionate abundance in these gazing eyes shared between earth and sky—this beautiful yet enviable nature—oh! Do I not possess within me a pure heart that could welcome such feelings?

(Ananda, carrying his alms bowl and returning from almsgiving, noticed the pond and approached the Daughter.)

Ananda — "O woman. Please offer me a cup of water." The Daughter — (hastily conceals herself in the shadow of a tree.) "To offer water to you, noble monk, would be but a simple service." (After hesitating for a moment) "Yet I am the daughter of one engaged in a defiled occupation in your noble eyes."

Ananda — “I do not know what your occupation may be, but we do not assign high or low standing to people.” “All the more so if it is an occupation that sustains the world—we consider any such work to be noble.” The Daughter — “...But...”

Ananda — “If you are so reluctant, then please proceed thus. Since I shall relinquish my standing as Buddha’s disciple to receive water, you too must relinquish your status as your occupation’s daughter to bestow it. In doing so, there will be no concern over defilement or purity. A parched human receives water from a compassionate human—this indeed constitutes an act truly befitting the proper path of almsgiving.”

“Thank you most kindly. Then I shall humbly offer it.” (The Daughter offered the water jar with trembling hands.) Ananda finished drinking, bowed in gratitude, and departed. The Daughter continued watching Ananda’s departing figure for what seemed an eternity.)

Act 2

(Shravasti City’s central square – A sign for rice cake almsgiving stood.) Ananda, with an earnest demeanor, busily gave rice cakes to the people swarming around him. Beggar A — “Monk, give me one.”

Ananda — “Yes.”

Beggar A — "What's this? Just one?" Ananda — "It’s one for each person."

“Cheapskate.”

Beggar B — “Monk! My boy and wife are waiting at home.” “Give me three!” Ananda — “We’ve decided to give one cake each only to those present here now.” “For those not present, we’ll offer more when leftovers remain later.” Beggar B — “Go to hell!”

(At that moment, the Heretical Scholar pushed through the crowd and strode heavily to stand before the alms platform. The crowd whispered among themselves while clearing space, then fell completely silent with the keen interest of anticipating that something would happen.)

Heretical Scholar — “O venerable monk. I would pose a question.” “Regarding these rice cakes you distribute—do they inherently exist or not?” Ananda — “Forgive me, but I cannot entertain debate today.” “The Master ordered me to perform rice cake almsgiving; he did not order me to engage in disputation.”

“That’s disloyalty to the Dharma!” retorted the Heretical Scholar. “You’d value rice cakes above Dharma debates?” “Whatever you may say,” Ananda maintained, “I cannot answer your arguments.” His hands remained steady on the alms bowl. “But I can offer you rice cakes.”

Heretical Scholar — “Then I’ll take the rice cake.” “Give me the rice cakes! The rice cakes!” “But there’s a small condition.” “Hand them over without using your hands.” “Then I’ll accept them.” Ananda — “Here.” (He pinched one with his fingers and offered it forth.)

Heretical Scholar — “That’s not ‘without hands’! You’re using your hands, aren’t you?”

“Are you still harping on that? How tedious.” “The heart that gives rice cakes to the starving holds the same inevitability as water flowing downhill.” “In such compassion, there’s no room for pedantic debates about using hands or not.” “Almsgiving tainted by such calculations corrupts both giver and receiver.” “You’d reduce life’s sincere acts to sophist’s playthings.” “Enough.” “This hand offering rice cakes—does it hold philosophy or logic?” “It lives only to feed the hungry.” “It moves only to deliver sustenance faster.” “Here resides heaven’s will, not human argument.” “Call it ‘with hands’ or ‘without’—that’s your delusion.” “I simply extend it.”

(The Heretical Scholar, having no means to press further, accepted the rice cake with a sullen expression and blended into the crowd.)

“Well, well, Mr. Heretical Scholar—you’ve been bested.”

(Suddenly with a clamor, a group of people crowded around to receive rice cakes. Amidst them, the sorceress’s daughter blended into the crowd and stood before the alms platform. The daughter, gazing shyly at Ananda’s face, extended her hand. Ananda, unaware, tried to give her a rice cake but found two cakes stuck together that wouldn’t separate no matter what. Pressed by the bustle, he gave two rice cakes to the girl. (The Heretical Scholar stood up from within the crowd.))

Heretical Scholar — “Hey, Ananda gave two rice cakes to a woman!” Beggar A — “Favoritism!” “Favoritism!”

Act 3

(Along the city walls of Shravasti, the sorceress's daughter walked back. In her hand, she held the rice cakes received through alms-giving. It was twilight. Outside the city, across the entire plain, evening mist drifted. The afterglow of the setting sun gently illuminated it, lulling people into a dreamlike state.)

Daughter — (Soliloquizing while walking) He gave me rice cakes. He gave me two rice cakes joined together like a married couple. The crowd insulted him. They insulted him for showing favoritism toward me. I knew he never showed favoritism. That was why I felt such fierce anger toward their unreasonableness. I felt so sorry for him that I wanted to shelter him with my sleeve. Yet beneath that feeling—ah, how selfish love could be! I was delighting in this mistake. I was delighting in them saying his heart leaned toward me. And before I knew it, conceited thoughts swelled up—wondering if he truly had shown me favoritism after all. Oh my pitiable yet endearing heart—fleeting as an ephemeral grave! But I had to be careful. He was one who practiced asceticism and renounced suffering. If I were to truly care for him, I needed to forget him. Resigning myself had to be the true essence of my love directed toward him. It would be best to discard the rice cakes. It would be best to discard the rice cakes. Ah, but—when I saw these pure, cocoon-like rice cakes—that noble one so hard to discard—this heart so hard to sever from longing—

(The Heretical Scholar, who had been stealthily following from behind, now calls out to the daughter.)

Heretical Scholar — “Girl.” “You need not discard the rice cakes.”

“And who might you be, sir?”

Heretical Scholar — “I am a scholar. Girl, you need not discard the rice cakes.” Daughter — “What do you mean by that?” Heretical Scholar — “Girl, you are destined to become Ananda’s wife. That’s why two rice cakes stuck together. I possess the heavenly eye. I have clearly discerned your destiny.”

“Oh! Could it truly be?” “There’s no reason he’d give two rice cakes unasked when one each should be given. The destiny you two share has manifested itself upon these cakes, unknown even to yourselves.” “…If this were true…I’d be overjoyed…But that noble one is a monk who transcends distinctions between men and women. If I follow this destiny, would it not mean causing him to fall into depravity?”

“Nonsense! Girl, for humans, only obedience to destiny’s will constitutes virtue. Do you observe the stars in heaven? In evening they dwell eastward; by dawn they journey west. Should one exist who could arrest those celestial motions, only then might destiny’s course be altered. Girl—can you reckon numbers? One and two conjoined make three. He who reshapes this reckoning may stay destiny’s hand. Girl—you are now a barque driven by current and wind. Your yearning and your fate march in lockstep. What cause have you to falter? O maiden—life’s very blossom and perfume! Now must you wield beauty’s puissance.”

(The Daughter, after thinking for a while...)

The Daughter — (Soliloquy) That’s right—I will obtain him. Into the small box of my heart, I will capture him like a butterfly.

(The Daughter exits the stage like a marionette being pulled away, her body distorting grotesquely.)

When the daughter’s figure disappeared, the Heretical Scholar stuck out his blue tongue at length.

Heretical Scholar — (Soliloquy) The daughter’s heart is an upright cord. With the fingers of logic, one can tie any kind of knot.

Act 4

Scene 1

(The Old Sorceress’s room. At the center stood a furnace shaped like monstrous deities embracing each other; from it seeped grease like sweat. Sneering blue flames occasionally appeared from the furnace's mouth. From the rafters hung smoked monkeys and baby crocodiles, solidified like old blood. On shelves at the room’s rear stood numerous jars.)

(The Daughter throws herself onto the lap of the Old Sorceress sitting cross-legged and pleads fervently.)

Old Sorceress: “You don’t understand, child. Didn’t I tell you my curses don’t work on the dead or those free from desire?” Daughter: “Not once since I was born have I ever begged you to use your curses for my own sake. Nor shall I ever make such a request of you again. This is the one and only request of my life. Therefore, Mother—please use your magic to summon him here.”

Old Sorceress — “When one commits the forbidden curse, the furnace fire that has burned since Grandfather’s time will go out. Then how would we manage to live?” Daughter — “What I need now is neither food nor drink. It is merely the sight of him. Mother, this longing has me at death’s door.” Old Sorceress — “Poor child—if it would work, I would pray for you. But even if we two were to starve to death starting tomorrow—ah, but this alone lies beyond my power.”

“Mother.” “Mother.” “Until now I’ve called you Mother out of a child’s affection for her birth parent—presuming on that tenderness.” “Now this burning torment drives me to cling to you in mortal desperation.” “From my soul’s depths I call you Mother and cling.” “So become my true mother from your life’s core—save me!” “Please!” “Please!”

The old woman hung her head for a time, overwhelmed by tears. But when she raised her face again, her expression had turned resolute—her features transformed into something fearsome. Her eyes were fixed in a single direction; her mouth was twisted into a shape that could be either laughter or a stifled sob. The Daughter, startled, leapt back and stared at her mother in astonishment.

Old Sorceress — (Soliloquy) Mother... Mother... Mother... ...Mother... (with a strange laughter-like noise, then softly) That's right—I am a mother!

(Her tone gradually grew brighter and more joyful.) Today, for the first time, I was called "Mother" in her true voice by my daughter, who had always despised my sorcery. I was clung to by my daughter with all her heart. (In a tone brimming with confidence) The "Mother" awakened within me was none other than the great "Motherhood"—the very force that nurtures heaven and earth and gives birth to all living things. Was there anything that could oppose this power? I was no longer a sorceress. I was now, truly and righteously, the mother of a single daughter.

I shall not pray as a sorceress, but as a mother who loves her daughter, I will draw upon the power of sorcery I've wielded daily. And for my dear daughter, I shall pray to summon her beloved Ananda.

(The old sorceress stood up, entered the back of the room, brought out an armful of white lotuses and a copper sword, and sat by the furnace.) "Ah! O twenty-eight lotus blossoms! Upon each and every one of your petals, I, as a mother, anoint the blood of love. Traverse the flames successfully and summon forth the young monk Ananda for us."

(The old sorceress split her breast with a copper sword, smeared the blood onto each petal of the white lotus blossoms, and fed them into the furnace flames.) (Bizarre flames and fumes surged wildly.)

Scene 2

(The room darkened all at once with a tremendous roar. As the darkness gradually peeled away, within the rosy light, Ananda’s figure appeared phantom-like.) He appeared to be frantically trying to shake off something coiled around him, yet unable to free himself, his body movements growing increasingly strained as he was pulled tighter. (However, what was coiled around him remained indistinct.)

Ananda—(Anguished soliloquy) What in the world had happened? Where was this place? My body wouldn't obey me. My heart flew wildly like a kite with its string severed. Where had my observance of precepts—my meditative stability—gone? Not a single ray of my wisdom's light shone upon me. Had I been possessed by a spirit...? (Exhausted from struggling, he fell despondent.) But I too had been at fault. I had been sitting in the meditation hall, contemplating as I always did. The states of first dhyana, second dhyana, and third dhyana had shone with increasing clarity in my mind like the moon suspended in midair. But beyond that point, I couldn't proceed no matter what. It was as if a barrier existed in my mind—I couldn't advance further despite all efforts. I grew desperate. That was where the gap had formed. At that moment, the thought of my mother suddenly arose within me. Into that mental crevice sprouted a desire—thoughts of familial love unbefitting a monk. When I was still a child, whenever I wore a sorrowful expression, my mother would take my hand and inquire—that warmth resurfaced in my memory. (Ananda fell briefly silent before resuming in an agitated tone) In that instant, blood-stained lotus blossoms came scattering from nowhere, coiling around my body and mind—and thus was I hauled here against my will. Where in all existence was this place? And what would become of me?—

(The Daughter, overwhelmed by a sense of impropriety and shame, remained silent; but at last mustering courage, she approached Ananda’s side.)

“Lord Ananda.” “How dearly I have longed for this moment.”

Ananda — “Who are you? What are you?” Daughter — “I am the one who gave you water by the pond’s edge. I am also the one who received rice cakes during the rice cake alms-giving.” Ananda — “Oh... That girl— Was it you who drew me here—? So, what is your purpose?” Daughter — “Please take pity on me—I can only think of you until I die.” Ananda — “That is worldly attachment’s language. I have no business with you. Send me back.”

“Lord Ananda—a woman’s sincere heart yearning for a man. Could this truly be worldly attachment?”

Ananda—"All hearts that swell and ebb are worldly attachments. In your heart now, the tide surges full. Thus you cannot see the shore. When this tide withdraws, the shore's debris will catch your eye." Daughter—"No words of yours can move my heart. We two stand upon destiny." (She produces rice cakes from her bosom.) "Lord Ananda. These are the rice cakes you granted me. How do you behold these two joined cakes?"

“I see them as pure cocoons—and they are snow-peaked mountains stretching ridge upon ridge.”

“No—these rice cakes are the manifestation of our bond.”

“No—they are cocoons; they are snow-capped mountains.” “No—this very thing is the manifestation of our destiny.”

(The old sorceress, holding a bronze dagger, stands between the two.) Her breasts are stained with blood.)

“Watching you youngsters bicker is so frustrating.” “My daughter.” “You should withdraw for now.”

“I will speak with Ananda.”

(The old sorceress turns back to face Ananda.)

“Lord Ananda, I now give you three paths.” “And you may choose only one among them.” Ananda — “What a presumptuous declaration!”

“I present this matter in the name of motherhood,” “I make this proposal seated in ‘motherhood’—the same qualification as your own mother.” “You too must draw out a mother’s heart and give this answer.”

Ananda — “Then, please speak.” Old Sorceress — “The first path is that you dutifully marry my daughter. How does this suit you?” Ananda — “I am but an unripe soul who cannot yet ferry even myself to the far shore. To imagine taking such a feeble traveler upon the path lies beyond my contemplation.” Old Sorceress — “Then I shall kill you, and we two shall perish together. How does this suit you?”

Ananda — “I do not fear death.” “However, I do not wish to violate the precept against killing.” “Even were I killed by another without cause, it would equate to me violating that precept myself.” “Moreover, should my worldly attachments lead to ending both your lives, that would constitute grave killing on my part.” “Please cease this.” Old Sorceress — “Then you shall not be killed, and we two shall live.” “But we two shall persist as demons through endless rebirths, bearing eternal grudges against you—who scorn human feelings—and all members of the Shakya Buddhist order. What say you to this?”

Ananda—This would only increase Buddha’s burdens. Please stop.

If the ice of earthly desires thickens, the sun of Buddha’s wisdom that splits it only intensifies its radiance. If hatred is endless, then Buddha’s compassion that unravels it remains equally boundless. Even were one or two more demonic forms added to this vast world—what obstacle could they pose to Buddha’s eyes? This equals a speck of dust striving to envelop the azure sky. Nothing but futility. Yet even such a dust-speck hindrance—that my actions might multiply Buddha’s noble trials—filled me with dread as his disciple. Cease becoming curse-demons.

Old Sorceress — “What nonsense! Then does that not mean escaping all three paths? Coward!” Ananda — “In this situation, there is only one appropriate path for me. That is the act of escaping that you just mentioned. Escape from carnal desire. Escape from bondage. From the turbulent edges of my mind where the stormy winds of earthly desires rage, I draw closer to the central point of an undefiled heart. If escaping this is what you call escaping, then so be it. If that makes me a coward, then so be it. Please let me go just as I am, for it is actually for your daughter’s sake as well.”

Old Sorceress — “No, I won’t release you. My scheme has altered.” — (The Old Sorceress brought forth a bundle of jet-black hair ropes from the room’s corner.) “Lord Ananda.” “I shall neither let you live nor kill you now.” “Nor will I permit your escape.” (Waving the hair ropes) “I shall bind you and my daughter as one, casting you into eternal bronze effigies.” “And through future ages, across countless rebirths, all who gaze upon these twin idols of passion shall ignite with such fiery longing from but a glance that it sears their very souls.” “Lord Ananda.” “Since you obstinately ally yourself with wood and stone to the bitter end, I must champion human sentiment without relent.” “Were my daughter forged into eternal twin figures never parted from you, she would doubtless deem this her heart’s ultimate fulfillment.”

Act Three

(The old sorceress pressed the hair rope to her head and desperately chanted incantations. Ananda, as his body stiffened, desperately resisted and thrashed his limbs.) Ananda—How bitter! How bitter! I have finally been bound by sorcery and become a bronze statue while still alive. This living humiliation I could still endure. The terror of remaining for eternity as one who has left worldly life yet becomes instead a form of deluded attachment in the eyes of all living beings. Pitiable am I. Ill-fated am I. I who once aspired to attain Buddhahood and bloom as a white lotus among men now transform into a vile weed that even beasts avoid trampling. Old woman! Girl! If you all possess even a drop of compassion, please let me escape from here—allow me to leave this place.

(The Old Sorceress mercilessly bound her daughter and Ananda into one and began winding them with the hair rope.) (The Daughter assumed a posture of frenzied resistance and stepped forward to block the Old Sorceress.)

“Mother!” “I am happy.” “I am in pain.” “What am I to do?” “I want to be bound together with Lord Ananda.” “I want you to let Lord Ananda escape.” Oh, these two hearts of mine.

“Mother, what am I to do?”

(The Old Sorceress shed tears.)

Old Sorceress — “I no longer understand either.” The prayer shifted to the hair rope. The hair rope came alive like a snake. (The young, beautiful monk Ananda and the pure, enchanting daughter writhe in frenzy as they are hoisted up by the hair rope resembling a black serpent.) It is akin to the beauty of agony depicted in the Greek statue Laocoön, yet infused with youth and sensuality.)

(Ananda appeared to suddenly have an idea and raised a cry.)

“O Master! My Master! O Shakyamuni Buddha dwelling in Jetavana Monastery! Your pitiful disciple now drowns in peril’s abyss! He perishes by ropes of disgrace! Deign to hear this wretched voice! Save me! Homage to my master Shakyamuni Buddha dwelling in Jetavana Monastery!”

“Lord Ananda!” “Mother!”

(As their calls echoed together, growing hoarse and weary and dwindling away, the stage gradually darkened until finally blacking out.)

Act Five

(The entire stage evoked the atmosphere of a moonlit night sky. In the center loomed the massive shape of a cloud. At its heart stood Maudgalyāyana - Buddha's disciple preeminent in supernatural powers - clad in monastic robes. Attending him waited guardian deities and deva generals arrayed in resplendent armor.)

Maudgalyāyana: “Ananda! You’ve bungled it again! Hahaha! This time you’re truly done for!” Celestial Being A: “Consider his circumstances—noble birth, youthful vigor. Handsome features too. To top it off, that tender-hearted disposition of his. He’s equipped with every trait to draw women’s fancy. No escaping feminine entanglements for one such as him.”

Deva General A — “A handsome monk is a sin-maker.” “He goes around leading women astray himself, then has the nerve to say they shouldn’t be confused.”

Celestial Being B — “It’s exactly like those confectionery samples displayed in shop windows. They make you want to eat them, but when you actually try to take a bite, they get firmly stuck in your teeth. Even if one isn’t a woman, anyone would be utterly bewildered.”

“Compared to that, we’re a safe bet,” said Deva General B. “No matter how you look at it, we’re not the sort women and children would ever approach.”

“That’s why Buddha assigns us such perfectly fitting roles.”

Deva General B — “Clad in full armor, we go to sever bonds between men and women. Though done for Dharma’s sake—what a crude duty this is.” Maudgalyāyana — “Ananda’s completely done for! Look how he thrashes about!”

Celestial Being B: “Ananda’s weakened form has its own beauty.” “The more he thrashes about, the more his beauty grows.” “That’s why the daughter’s reached her breaking point.”

Deva General C — “Our Lord and Teacher Shakyamuni Buddha is beautiful. When it comes to the sheer abundance of beauty, Ananda and his ilk could never hope to compare. One never tires of gazing upon the World-Honored One’s form, even day and night. What is the reason for this, Mr. Maudgalyāyana?” Maudgalyāyana — “The World-Honored One’s beauty is not that of what we call feminine or masculine beauty. It is the beauty of life itself—a beauty that has gathered all human beauties and filtered them pure. When one worships it, their supplication toward human ideals strengthens. It allows them to establish clear goals toward lofty things and ultimate principles. This is no mere beauty that hooks onto emotions like romantic love or affection. Rather, it settles such emotions and lets one draw clear life’s pure water from what rises above them.”

Deva General B — “So then, Ananda’s beauty is a contraption that churns up emotions, while the Buddha’s beauty is a device that filters the waters of feeling. Ananda’s contraptions are scattered everywhere you look, but the World-Honored One’s device holds an exclusive patent.”

Celestial Being A — “We’re in the midst of battle! Stop wasting time with these pointless jokes!”

Maudgalyāyana — "Ananda's skin still has hollows where life's vigor hasn't fully swelled. It's in those hollows that the claws of carnal desire between men and women catch hold. The World-Honored One's sacred skin is a single taut plank of life—there's not a single spot where claws can take purchase." Deva General A — "By the way, how do you think today's battle will proceed?" Maudgalyāyana — "This isn't just a battle to subjugate base desires. The enemy arises from a mother's sincere heart longing for her child. The fighting may prove somewhat more challenging."

(Even as Maudgalyāyana and the celestial beings with deva generals upon a cloud were exchanging their lines in this aerial scene, the night sky in the background shifted and flowed in kineorama-style, creating an illusion as though the stage figures and the cloud bearing them were soaring through the air. And when the dialogue ended, the stage blacked out.)

Act Six

(Once again in the old sorceress's room. Ananda and the Daughter had already been bound with hair ropes and restrained.) (The old woman had completely transformed into a witch's form.) Old Sorceress: "Stone or bronze?" "Stone or bronze?" Daughter: (In a thinned voice.) "Mother." "Please wait."

“Stone or bronze? Come on, which is it?” “Whichever you choose, I’ll pray it firm as you wish.”

“I was at fault,” said the Daughter. “Please grant Lord Ananda forgiveness.” The Old Sorceress stared in disbelief. “What?!” “Seeing Lord Ananda’s visage weighed by such profound sorrow,” she continued, voice trembling, “I can bear this no longer. My passion’s fire has spent its final ember.” She pressed her palms together. “I beg you—spare him.” “Foolish child!” The sorceress’s staff struck stone. “A sorcerous vow cannot be unwound like spun thread. Should I pardon one victim, the other must fulfill our pact’s terms.” Her eyes hardened like ritual bronze. “Spare Ananda, and you alone shall become the curse’s vessel.”

Daughter — “I will become stone or bronze. So please let Lord Ananda go.”

Ananda — (In an equally weakening voice.) “No—young lady. I have already steeled my resolve. Since I was clumsily born into Buddhahood anyway—whether I become stone or bronze—I shall cast away this body and these karmic bonds. You must survive at all costs. But let this be a lesson: never again do something like falling in love with a man.” Daughter — “The more I hear those words, the more dear you become to me. Please make me the sacrificial offering of the curse.”

Ananda — "No—I will become the curse's sacrificial offering." Old Sorceress — "Still yammering away like nagging pests! What's the holdup? Move it!"

Ananda — (He pauses briefly in thought, then suddenly raises his face, his tone intensifying.) Young lady!

“Yes.”

Ananda — “I somehow feel I’m beginning to understand what a woman’s true heart is. You single-mindedly try to protect me even to the point of killing yourself. Your deep affection seems to have soaked into my very being.”

Daughter — (brightly) “Oh, Lord Ananda! Is that truly so?” Ananda — “This feeling born within me... it might differ from what you call love. Yet I imagine it comes quite close.” Daughter — “I’m so happy I could die—truly.” Ananda — “I’ve become solely grateful for you. But this emotion—it’s unlike the nostalgia or fondness I felt toward my birth mother when I lived as a layman—”

“Lord Ananda.” “Please believe me.”

Ananda — This strange nostalgia... this affection— If I were to become one statue with you in this state of mind, those who see it in ages to come would not feel such aversion. Daughter — Oh, what joyous words! Ah, Lord Ananda. “Then let us be cursed together as we are.”

(Ananda nodded, steeling his resolve.) At that moment, a fierce reverberation filled the air; as it subsided, a booming voice called out for Maudgalyāyana.

Maudgalyāyana — “Ananda! The World-Honored One, our Master, summons you!” At the very moment Maudgalyāyana’s voice resounded, the hair rope binding Ananda and the Daughter snapped apart and fell away. Ananda—appearing as though awakened from a dream—staggered to his feet.

Ananda — Oh, that is Lord Maudgalyāyana’s voice. I am saved. (Looking up toward the voice) Lord Maudgalyāyana! Ananda is here.

“In contrast to your earlier devoted words, what has happened to your expression now? Lord Ananda, do you intend to escape by yourself?”

(The Daughter clung to Ananda.) (Ananda did not shake her off, yet his heart already lay afar.)

Ananda — O Maudgalyāyana, foremost among the disciples of Shakyamuni Buddha in supernatural powers! I now stood on the brink of a perilous abyss. Please—use your supernatural powers to save me quickly! Please save me! (Ananda, in a frenzied state, made as if to soar into the sky.) (The Daughter clung even more desperately.)

“Lord Ananda. Wherever you go, I shall go with you. I implore you—take me with you wherever you may go.” (The two wrestled desperately.) (The Old Sorceress planted herself before them, glaring fiercely at the sky.)

Old Sorceress — “A curse is an act of will. It is a flaming stone projectile that brooks no judgment of right or wrong. A curse knows nothing but to fulfill itself. A curse exists solely to pierce through. Woe betide those who would hinder this! The arrow shall at last strike thee—be they Buddha’s messengers or the ascetic foremost in supernatural powers, there shall be no discrimination! O every last obstacle, calamity, danger, affliction, and flaw in this world! And every last jealousy, malice, deceit, and ambition nesting in human hearts! Your precious weapon—the curse—now teeters on the brink of ruin! You all—take on the forms of living beings! Join this decisive battle as my allies!”

Maudgalyāyana — Ananda. “You’d best come quickly—the World-Honored One summons you!”

(Triggered by Maudgalyāyana’s repeated call, Ananda—still clutched by the Daughter—becomes suspended in midair and ascends skyward.) The Old Sorceress spews a long crimson flame from her mouth toward them.)

Act Seven

Once more came the aerial scene. The stage set was the same as in Act Five. The only difference was that whereas previously the movement of the sky in the background had shown clouds advancing toward stage right, in this case it showed clouds retreating toward stage left. At one edge deep within the clouds stood Maudgalyāyana shielding Ananda. Ananda sat with arms folded. The Daughter still clung to his sleeve.

In the center of the clouds, the Dharma-protecting celestial deities and the sorcery's minions engaged in battle.

The Dharma-protecting celestial deities, clad in resplendent armor, wielded halberds, swords, ji halberds, vajras, bows and arrows. Some were three-faced and eight-armed; others possessed a single face with three eyes.

The sorcery’s minions were mostly disguised as alluring beauties. They included dwarves and beast-bodied creatures. The weapons they wielded resembled the veils used by modern women or the trailing skirts of Tenpyō-era noblewomen—a kind of long silk cloth. Each held a piece dyed in seven distinct hues. The silk streamers possessed an inherent nature: they ensnared whatever touched them, stifled their opponents’ strength, withered and paralyzed them, and induced tormenting anxiety.

Looking at the state of their battle, it appeared at first glance to be a struggle. However, upon closer inspection, one realized it was an ingenious dance taking the form of a struggle. From the earth below and the heavenly realm above came music that nurtured the rhythm of this wondrous dance—the scene continued thus for some time—. In time, the sorcery’s minions were defeated by the celestial deities—each one cast down from the clouds until they were utterly annihilated.

Commentary on Act Seven

The scene of Act Seven was one brought to life through music and dance. Therefore, while it went without saying that the artistic authority over this scene should be entrusted to composers and choreographers, I wished to outline the author's intent regarding the religious thought—or rather, religious atmosphere—that these arts were meant to vitalize, thereby providing reference for the artists involved and further aiding the actors in their performative execution.

In those stage directions, I wrote that their movements could be perceived both as a struggle and as a dance. Truly, their movements possessed these dual aspects. Originally, "Life"—that which comes to us from on high—was endowed with three eyes. They were the eye of “Equality,” the eye of “Discrimination,” and the eye of “Harmonious Unity.” When viewed through the eye of "Equality," demons and deities, struggle and dance—all became monochromatic. This was because one saw through the tears of the "Compassionate Truth" eye. When viewed through the eye of "Discrimination," demons, deities, struggle, and dance all stood as distinct entities. The light of the "Compassionate Wisdom" eye delineated through chiaroscuro—it was a classification.

Now, when viewed through the eye of 'Harmonious Unity'— At this moment, demons and deities, struggle and dance—all were of a single hue yet remained distinct. They were distinct yet of a single hue. It was because of the eye of "Truth"—bright and clear. If one were to inquire further into these three eyes, they were three eyes and yet one eye. One eye and yet three eyes. In this sense, the three eyes themselves became the eye of 'Harmonious Unity'. Now, with an eye that subsumed the three eyes into one and divided one eye into three, we were to view the universe. If one were to define the universe as struggle and attempt to view it as such, there would be nothing—absolutely nothing—that was not a manifestation of struggle. In this regard, the survival competition of evolutionary theory was affirmed beyond Darwin's own convictions. If one were to view the universe as dance and cast their gaze accordingly, then Sakharov, Isadora Duncan, Anna Pavlova, and others would not be the only ones called great dancers. With even greater naturalness, fish danced in water and leaves danced in the sky. If one wished to present further intermingled observations of both aspects, let us invite them to the play *Sekkammon, Shimoben*. The confrontation between Ōtomo no Kurodo and the Cherry Blossom Spirit was struggle as dance and dance as struggle.

The vast, boundless expanse of the Great Life—and the consummate ingenuity of gliding freely within it—lay beyond the reach of mortal comprehension. Only saints existed who could insert a needle into the impenetrable and stand on tiptoes against sheer cliffs. For us there was only sighing in awe. Yet through art’s very existence—by means of sensation and emotion—we might aspire to glimpse its grace. What were called the three eyes became, for artists, “real sensation,” “dream,” and “expression.” The struggle brought into this scene must not abandon the real sensation of terror and ugliness inherent to struggle itself. The dance brought into this scene must preserve to the utmost the “dream” inherent to dance itself. Thus through beauty were both harmonized and brought into concord. This depended solely on artists’ power of “expression.”

Perhaps this scene alone could be made into an opera. Now I feel compelled to advance the play. Later, if that resolve is realized anew, I intend to compose lyrics and append them separately.

Act Eight Scene One

Scene One

(It was the inner courtyard of Jetavana Monastery. At the front stood Shakyamuni Buddha's chamber, but its door remained unopened. To the left and right stood the eastern and western monks' halls, from whose windows—arranged with some perspective—lamplight faintly filtered through. Straw-woven mats were spread across the stone pavement of the inner courtyard, with disciples sitting in two separate rows. Long, narrow tables were placed at the center of each row, and now the monastic community began its morning meal. Because it was early morning, the area was still dark. Three or four lamps were placed among the seating, serving—along with the lamplight from the windows—to faintly reveal the stage layout. Incense smoke wafted through the air. (The sound of a wooden mallet striking the stage as a signal.))

One of the monastic elders: —We revere and offer to the Supreme Venerable One. The numerous venerable teachings we revere and offer. And to our brothers and sisters who walk the path together—thus may this merit be immeasurable and boundless. Assembly of Monks: —To the Life that is the Dharmakaya's pure essence, the Life that guides through Sambhogakaya's perfection, the Life manifest in Nirmanakaya's reality—we give thanks for this food that now strengthens the steps of practitioners advancing on the path. We humbly pray that this merit be transferred and extended universally to all beings, that together they may be led to enter into awakening to Life.

(The sound of a wooden mallet: three strikes, then four.)

One of the monastic elders: —Rice porridge has ten benefits; cooked rice contains three virtues and six flavors. Those who partake of food must never forget this principle.

(As the meal progressed, the sky began to lighten. The songs of small birds began to be heard. By the time the meal concluded, the surroundings had completely transformed into a morning scene. As it brightened and became visible, one could discern that one of the two rows of monastic seats consisted of black-robed male monks, while the other was composed of white-robed nuns.)

Scene Two

(The people of the monastic community who had finished their meal each handled their utensils, tidied the area cleanly, and retreated to either side while maintaining dignified bearing. They left behind a single jar containing food remnants in the center of the inner courtyard.

For a time, dawn was nurtured within the stillness. Before anyone noticed, morning's small birds, squirrels, doves, small monkeys, and others had gathered around the jar and were eating the leftovers together amicably. They finished eating and left. The sound of a golden bell came from within Shakyamuni Buddha’s chamber. The sound of a considerably large drum being struck echoed through the east and west monks' halls. At this signal, the members of the monastic community emerged from left and right and stood in two lines within the inner courtyard. Once again the golden bell sounded, whereupon the chamber door opened. At the front sat Shakyamuni Buddha, forming the meditation mudra with legs crossed in contemplative posture. The entire assembly spread out their sitting mats and performed three prostrations. (On the left, Shariputra—standing at the head of the male monks' line—stepped forward and first offered respectful greetings.)

Shariputra: “How fares Your Reverence? Is there any ailment affecting your person?”

“Thank you. I have no particular ailments,” said Shakyamuni Buddha. “How fare you all?” “We are humbly grateful,” replied Shariputra. “The entire assembly remains well.”

(From the right, Mahāpajāpatī Gotamī stepped forward from the head of the nuns' line and offered greetings.)

Mahāpajāpatī Gotamī: —World-Honored One, besides your concern for saving all beings, is there nothing else that troubles your heart? “Besides those who cannot accept your compassion, are there not others who cause you heartache?”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Thank you.” “I have no other particular troubles.” “How are you all?”

Mahāpajāpatī Gotamī: “We are most obliged. We too have been graciously permitted to dwell in clarity of heart.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —That is most excellent. “Now then, I shall begin the morning lecture as usual. All of you take your seats, calm your minds, and listen well.”

(The people in the rows bowed once and each took their seats upon their sitting mats.)

Shakyamuni Buddha: —It is a quiet morning. It is an immaculate morning. The darkness recedes like distant thunder in a sky where a rainbow begins to trail; sleep fades away faintly like mist wiped from a mirror. The sun’s rising cannot be far off. O children of Buddha. Compose your minds and contemplate this morning. "What is morning?" "If only darkness is dispelled, morning will come of its own accord." "If even sleep is driven away, the eyes will naturally awaken."

“The relationship between delusion and enlightenment is precisely of this nature. It is not that enlightenment exists first to repel delusion. If only delusion is dispelled, enlightenment will naturally brighten there. When the sun rises, it reveals all colors and forms, illuminates the pond, and makes lotus flowers bloom.”

"I went to Shravasti yesterday and heard about a madman named Yengo." "Right—let me tell you all that tale." One morning,Yengolooked at his reflection in amirror,but through carelessness misaligned its angle,failingto capturehisheadandfacewithinit.

Yengo was shocked to find no head in the mirror and convinced himself he was a monster. Then he went mad. He ran about through the town, shouting so loudly that there was no one who didn't know, searching for his own head. Yengo's head was still attached to his own torso. Due to the delusion in his mind, he convinced himself that it did not exist.

But when he came to his senses, his head was still in its original place.

Our human awakening to life is precisely like this. Even when we speak of life, it’s not as if there exists some shiny, glittering thing that can be acquired from outside. Life lies in recognizing without distortion the value of the spirit and body within people. Life lies in recognizing them and using them without excess or deficiency.

Yengo, through his own carelessness, came to believe he had lost his own head. Even when Yengo's mind thought so, Yengo's head had remained firmly placed upon his shoulders all along. Humans are often blind to their own worth. Even if through their blindness they assess their value as advantageous or disadvantageous, human worth inherently exists as human worth. You must not measure human value by assessing it from without. Nor must you force thoughts to flare up from within. Humanity's flame already exists. It has burned from the world's beginning toward eternity's future. It cannot be extinguished nor made to burn brighter. It blazes beyond all notions of permanence and impermanence. Taking form through birth, aging, sickness and death, it burns steadfastly. In reality, this is what we now call the worth of human spirit and flesh.

“O noble ones.” “Those of the morning have already cast off darkness.” “Those of the morning have already dispelled sleep.” “You too should dispel delusion and desire.” “When that time comes, those of the morning will unexpectedly gaze upon the sunrise.” “You all too will be illuminated by the light of life.”

(When Shakyamuni Buddha’s sermon concluded, the members of the order stood and bowed three times, then recited the following vow text.)

The assembly: —We humbly take refuge in the Sacred Teachings. We vow to understand, practice, and uphold them in accordance with the Sacred Teachings, and will universally bestow them upon all beings. Homage to living beings. Homage to the aspect of life. Homage to the function of life.

(They finished chanting, adjusted their sitting mats, composed their dignified bearing, and exited.)

(Small room)

Part Three

(The surroundings echoed faintly as Maudgalyāyana stepped forward first, and Ananda and the Daughter entered.)

Ananda stood dejectedly. The daughter followed Ananda clinging closely; Maudgalyāyana, upon catching sight of Shakyamuni Buddha, immediately came before him, stood properly, and bowed three times. Ananda and the daughter huddled at opposite ends, unable to raise their heads from the ground.)

“Master, I have brought Ananda back.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: "You have done well."

Maudgalyāyana: “This here is the sorceress’s daughter. Even with my supernatural powers, I cannot separate Ananda from this girl.” Shakyamuni Buddha: “No—there’s no need to force their separation now.”

(A period of silence fills the stage for a time.)

Meanwhile, Ananda often appeared about to gather his resolve and appeal to Shakyamuni Buddha, but he himself prevented himself from speaking out. He finally began to sob quietly. Seeing Ananda cry, the Daughter also grew sad and covered her eyes with her sleeve.

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Ananda.” “What’s wrong?”

(Having been addressed by the master for the first time, Ananda burst into tears in a flood.) Amidst sobs, he called out in a resonant voice charged with emotion.)

Ananda: “O Master.” “O beloved Master.”

(After that, tears once more.) (The Daughter begins to weep bitterly.)

Maudgalyāyana: “Though most pitiable, as this follows the Order’s precepts, shall we proceed with Ananda according to prescribed rites?”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “No—there’s no need for that either. You must be tired; retire to your room early and rest.” “As for Ananda—I have my own considerations.”

Maudgalyāyana: “Thank you very much.” “I will take my leave now.”

(Maudgalyāyana bowed three times, then briefly glanced back at Ananda, showing an expression of unbearable pity before exiting.)

Part Four

Ananda: "O Master. O dear Master." "What a feeble disposition I must possess." "Once again, I have been caught in the net of a woman’s earthly passions." "On top of that, I have appeared before your noble eyes in such a shameful state." "If suicide were permitted for those who have left home... ah... I could escape this disgrace right at this very moment... Presumptuous as it may be to say, I resent that the World-Honored One has forbidden humans from taking their own lives."

Shakyamuni Buddha: —(Blinking his eyes slightly) Ananda. “Have you realized that for humans, disgrace brings greater suffering than death?” “Have you realized that humans assailed by shame come to long for cold death as if it were a bed?” “Endure it as it is for a while.” “Clench that suffering firmly between your back teeth.” “And now face squarely the disgrace that torments you.” “Do not avert your eyes.” “Do not beg for mercy.”

Ananda: “Master.” “What a pitiless command you give.” “This deed lies far beyond what my spirit can endure.” “Boiling water—if I bear the scalding in my throat, I might somehow force it down.” “But this shame alone—each flaming tongue bears cruel twisted hooks at its tip. Should they but graze me, my heart’s flesh would fester purple.” “I cannot even turn my face.” “This is your mercy.” “This is your compassion.” “I beg you—utter but a single word of pardon.” “Master, remorse crushes me—I feel my breath strangling.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Ananda.” “The Buddha knows people’s mental strength exactly as it exists.” “What I now command you to endure lies entirely within your capacity.” “Ananda.” “Show courage.” “With a weak heart, you shall find true life difficult to attain!”

Ananda: “Master, I repent.” “Please forgive me.” “Please forgive me.” “Please, please… my sin…”

Daughter: “O Venerable Shakyamuni Buddha. Lord Ananda’s breath grows faint. What should be done? What would be the proper course of action?” Shakyamuni Buddha: “Girl, there is no need for alarm. Ananda now endures the labor pains of birthing life from sin. What childbirth requires is time and one who suffers alongside. The time Ananda needs—this I entrust to the Sun Deity. The one who will suffer with Ananda—that person is here. Girl, you should calmly observe my body.”

Daughter: —“Oh!” “From your golden skin—bloody sweat!” “Bloody sweat!”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —Ananda. “First, discard this ear of flesh formed from earth, water, fire and wind’s temporary union.” “Discard this mind’s ear that distinguishes good from evil through petty wisdom and cleverness.” “Having heard beyond hearing and understood resonance within resonance, return to that source-ear and listen well to my words now.” “Ananda.” “You stand amidst remorse.” “You repent with breath itself faltering.” “But whence comes this remorse?” “How came it here?”

“Ananda. Remorse has come from sin.” “Sin contains reasons that compel it to act.” “These reasons are conditions and causes.” “Ananda,” “By your past karma, you were born with a nature tender to emotion.” “Like thin paper trembling at the wind’s touch, your nature is easily moved by human feelings and lacks steadfastness.” “Thus you also lack prudence.” “In your spiritual questing, this nature would summon warm memories of kin, or carelessly ask a roadside woman for water—unwittingly nurturing affection.” “Land prone to soaking draws water to itself unbidden.” “This is the cause.” “To this nature was added a woman’s deep love as condition.” “Your creation of sin became the effect.” “And that sin birthed remorse.”

“Ananda. If you had not even possessed the aspiration for enlightenment, what you did would surely never have become sin or remorse. Precisely because you hold this aspiration for enlightenment—measuring yourself against it—you have perceived your own ugliness. And so you suffer in this way. You suffer with breath coming in gasps.”

(Ananda finally collapsed unconscious.) The Daughter fluttered about—trying to cradle Ananda, rushing over to Shakyamuni Buddha’s presence, lamenting senselessly.)

Daughter: —Oh! Lord Ananda is dying. “He’s dying!”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —Girl, do not panic. “Ananda has merely suspended the functions of his mortal frame for a time.” “He has not died…” “The vista of this realm—transcending all thought and surpassing conceptual grasp, a single true reality of equality—is something only Buddhas can fully fathom.” “The inhalations and exhalations of ordinary beings hold no bearing upon it.”

“Ananda.” “You took a wise approach on the path; you stopped the breath of your mortal body and began to breathe the breath of Buddha-nature.” “Your true eye has begun to open.” “Your true ear has begun to hear.” “You should listen with tranquil acceptance while maintaining suspended breath.” “I will now proceed to deeply narrate and pass this on.”

“Ananda. Through what I have now spoken, I believe you have realized that not a single thing in this world possesses substantial existence. All things without exception are but dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. They are fruits born from causes and conditions. Thus, Ananda—when you trace back your sin—even what you believe to be the primary cause of your sin, your emotionally fragile disposition itself—I think you have come to understand that this too is but a combination of insubstantial causes and conditions. The tangle of causes and conditions is provisionally named past karma. You have come to understand that even this, when broken down, is but a combination of causes and conditions. Tracing back further, they form endless layers without exhaustion. Waves beget waves through waves. The origin and destination of the waves remain unknowable. All that exists is nothing but the water of the sea of single true equality. It is nothing but life governing itself as it is.”

“Ananda.” “When humans commit sins, there are three methods to erase those sins.” “The first is to atone through good deeds that multiply beyond measure against the sin.” “The second is to lay bare your sincerity before life itself and repent.” “The third is to realize sin’s nature as empty—a mere principle—and cast away this self that clings contrary to truth.”

However, since people each possess differences in their innate capacities from birth, they may choose whichever one of these [methods] suits their own capacity.

“Ananda. You are one who has left the household life. On the path, you must not seek ‘what is easy’ and avoid ‘what is difficult.’ Gnawed by the fangs of remorse, raising a heart nearly crushed to the point of losing self-trust, confronting sin so scorching it threatens to sear your face, and plumbing from within it the secret of life’s purification through prajna’s path—this alone is what most befits you. Venerable Ananda. You are now accomplishing it. Ananda, since leaving home in your youth, you have removed the afflictions of the tainted world one by one, like stripping bamboo of its nodes. And the one or two nodes that barely remain were an inextinguishable attachment to flesh and blood. This attachment vanishes like a spring heat haze by the roadside—if you step on it as something real, it disappears. Yet when regarded as nothing, it reveals its presence. It is an extremely persistently troublesome defilement.”

“Love calls love. Though kudzu and wisteria are vines of different natures, to entwine when touching lies inherent in both their essential characters. Your single thought provided the means that entangled with the daughter’s single thought. Thus were you clung to by the girl.” “However, Ananda, dawn has come upon you. It is time for you to awaken. Take this pure body—unstained by even a single thing after the Dharma bath—and be properly reborn into human form once more. When you now open your eyes to this world anew, the rising sun of wisdom will surely show you something unprecedented.”

(A breath-taking silence enveloped heaven and earth for some time.)

Meanwhile, the sun steadily rose, and the surroundings grew bright. Soon, a faint moan began to escape from Ananda's lifeless body, the sound gradually growing louder. When the sound finally reached its peak, he spat out a poison-flower-like crimson hue from his mouth. The Daughter, who had been watching Ananda in fear, at that moment hurriedly rushed over and covered his mouth with her sleeve. Ananda pushed aside her sleeve, sat up, and opened his eyes wide. By now, his mouth had become clean.)

Ananda — (as if unaware of Shakyamuni Buddha) Hahaha... What amusing defilements! What delightful sin! I no longer fear you all. The heart to drive you away has vanished... So why do you now flee with shoulders hunched like that? It would be good for you to come closer. Defilements! Defilements! (Extending his hand) Come now, won't you approach? Won't you come closer? (Withdrawing his hand) Do you still think I hate you as enemies? That is a great misunderstanding. The one who opened my eyes was you—O trials! The one who drew me into trials was none other than you—O sin! Was it not through your strenuous efforts? Ultimately, you all are my benefactors. Therefore, shouldn’t I now feel nothing but gratitude toward you all, with not the slightest thought of you as enemies?

(Ananda now turns toward the Daughter.)

Ananda — Oh, Daughter! You were still there?

“Have you come to your senses?” asked the Daughter, slightly taken aback yet hesitant. “How are you feeling now?”

“That doesn’t matter at all. Rather than that, please rejoice. Ananda has become able to accept whatever feelings you may have.”

“Oh!”

Ananda — “Look at my eyes.” “Until now I couldn’t look directly into your eyes.” “Because your eyes had traps set within them.” “Had I gazed straight at them my heart would’ve been snared instantly.” “But now that’s changed.”

(Ananda stared into the Daughter’s eyes with such intensity it seemed he might thrust his very pupils into them.)

Daughter — (recoiling) “It’s too dazzling when you gaze upon me like that.” Ananda — “What has come over you now? My eyes are proclaiming they’re being captured—whether into your trap or into passion’s whirlpool—with utter surrender… When I dwell peacefully in being caught by you, I’ve realized this instead becomes tidings that purify you—trap and all—into my very life.”

Daughter — (Leaving Ananda's side, she comes to the corner of the stage and covers her face while soliloquizing) I still love Lord Ananda. Yet now I cannot bring myself to look at Lord Ananda. What has become of me?

(Ananda takes hold of the Daughter’s sleeve.)

“Let us love each other,” said Ananda. “Do not restrain yourself.” “And if this truly be our karmic bond from past lives, I would do anything—even take you as my wife.” “Though this sin may cast me once into the realms of hell-beasts, I shall become a blue lotus within crimson flames for your sake, to enfold you safely.” “When the destined time arrives—should permission be granted for either of us to ascend to Buddhahood—I would let you first assume that glorious rank, finding joy in beholding your blissful form.”

“You need not worry in the slightest; please act according to your love. Do you understand? Have you understood, young lady?” (Ananda shakes the Daughter’s sleeve incessantly.) The Daughter’s body gradually crumbled and folded. Finally she throws herself at Ananda’s knees. Her hands had unconsciously come together in prayer. (Her words emerge in fragmented sobs.)

“This is too great an honor... Lord Ananda. I... I no longer know what I should do... Until this moment, you kept such a perfectly clear countenance and treated me so indifferently that my heart burned with longing. It is that I grew stubbornly determined to capture you.”

"But now, your utterly transformed demeanor—your noble intention to give everything and fulfill me—from the very edges of those compassionate words, Buddha’s light pierced my heart. I am now filled with nothing but this overwhelming sense of unworthiness. ...I no longer wish to defile your esteemed self with a heart steeped in love from the realm of desire. Yet still, I would feel such regret to bid farewell like this. And I too wish to do something for your esteemed self... to find somewhere an outlet for these feelings of mine that dwell upon you..."

“O Noble Buddha!” “What course should this foolish woman take?” “Please instruct me, I humbly beseech you.” (During Ananda and the Daughter’s exchange, Shakyamuni Buddha—who had closed his eyes and entered meditation—quietly opened them upon hearing her plea.)

Shakyamuni Buddha — “My child.” “It would be well for you to marry Ananda, as he has said.”

(Ananda heard Shakyamuni Buddha's voice, shrank in fear, and crouched beside the Daughter.)

“Is that truly so?”

Shakyamuni Buddha — However, there is a slight condition to that. “Will you accept this condition?”

Daughter — I lack the strength to refuse.

“To marry Ananda, you must cut your hair.” “You must also wear white robes.”

Daughter — (with slight surprise) …Why must I cut my hair and wear white robes…?

Shakyamuni Buddha — “In his world, cutting hair becomes binding hair, and removing color from robes becomes adorning them with hue.” Daughter — “Then I... could it be I am to become a nun...?”

Shakyamuni Buddha — “That is the bridal form of sacred marriage when conducting a ceremony in his world. The adornments of this world would only hinder you.” Daughter — (Weeping) “...I understand.”

Shakyamuni Buddha — Ananda. "I command you to cut the girl’s hair." "Do so with great tenderness—that would be proper."

Ananda — As you command.

(Shakyamuni Buddha rose from his seat, turned away, and wiped away tears.)

(Ananda and the Daughter clasp hands and weep.)

Act Five

(About ten corrupt monks from the order emerge, pulling a single rope together.)

Monk 1 — “What an appalling spectacle! A monk was holding a woman’s hands and weeping.” Monk 2 — “Ananda! And you dare call yourself a senior disciple of the Shakya Order?” Monk 3 — “It’s because Shakyamuni Buddha has been too indulgent with Ananda that he’s grown this insolent!” Monk 1 — (Bowing to Shakyamuni Buddha) “A precept-breaking monk must be seized and expelled from the order—such is our law. Master. We shall handle Ananda according to the precepts. We humbly request your permission.”

Monks — (In unison) “Please grant us your permission.”

Shakyamuni Buddha — (quietly turning around) “There is no need for commotion. Of course, since Ananda is a monk who has broken precepts, you may proceed according to the rules. But whether you can bind Ananda through your own power remains to be seen.” Monk 1 — “What do you mean? Could he possibly remain unbound?” Monk 2 — “Our strength has been tempered through monastic discipline! Mere shameless youth!” Shakyamuni Buddha — “Then test Ananda with a question. Should he fail to answer, you may bind him immediately—that would be proper.”

Monk 1 — “As you command.”

(Changing his demeanor and shouting) "How does one bind body with rope?" Ananda — "What rope? What body?"

(Ananda calmly appeared to have his hands bound behind his back. At that instant, the rope pulled taut between the monks’ hands broke into fragments.)

Monks — "Ah…." "Ah…."

(Ananda spreads his sitting cloth, bows three times to Shakyamuni Buddha, takes the Daughter's hand, and calmly exits past the monks.)

(Curtain.)

Act Nine

Part One

(Behind Jetavana Monastery. There was a wall. Bodhi trees, palms, palm trees, and weeds largely overgrew it. However, since the sky could be seen quite extensively through the treetops, one could discern the passage of time through changes in its color. Twilight now approached, and the sky showed still earlier transformations. The bell continued to toll. Ananda went ahead, the Daughter following at a slight distance as they moved along the wall. Ananda remained unchanged from before. (The Daughter, having cut her hair, had changed into the appearance of a nun.))

“Is that not Lord Ananda going over there?” Ananda — (turning back) “Oh, you are the young lady. No—now a nun who has taken the name Matangi. It has been a long time, hasn’t it.” (Both bow to each other.) Matangi — “It has been exactly three years since then, hasn’t it.”

Ananda — “Indeed, three years—how quickly they pass.” “But these past three years, you must have faced many hardships in your unaccustomed training.”

“Not at all—I have been allowed to spend each day filled with gratitude.”

Ananda — “That is what matters most. Oh yes—Venerable Mahāpajāpatī, who oversees the nuns, has been deeply impressed by your devoted efforts. Given your progress,” she said, “it will not be long before Shakyamuni Buddha grants permission for your proof of enlightenment.” Matangi — “As for permission regarding proof of enlightenment—such an exalted matter is not for someone of my standing, nor is it something I aspire to. My joy lies solely in being allowed to spend each day more purely than I ever did in my days as a daughter. And also...” She started to speak but paused, her expression resolute. “Lord Ananda. Lately, I have come to understand that you and I truly got married.”

Ananda — “What are you saying?” (Pause. Matangi.)

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you elaborate further on what you just said… In truth, I have long been commanded by Shakyamuni Buddha to observe the progress of your spiritual state.” Matangi pressed her palms together. “Ever constant—the Master’s boundless compassionate love. I cannot find words adequate to express my gratitude. Then I shall humbly present my unrefined thoughts exactly as they are. Should my words prove too unpleasant for your ears, I earnestly wish you would reprove me without reservation.” She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. “Lord Ananda. Now that I have reached this point, I find it utterly perplexing how men and women in this world can find satisfaction in love of that degree.” “Even lovers who adore each other deeply—how could anyone claim that momentary shifts in mood never taint their pure affection with impurities? Moreover, even among those who trust each other completely—who could testify that shadows of others have never once appeared in their nighttime dreams? One cannot control even oneself in this matter.” “In a life spanning fifty or sixty years—how much time could there possibly be when love’s initial passion is maintained without the slightest slackening? Lord Ananda.” Her voice grew more resolute. “First and foremost, love between men and women in this world is always crowned with the shell of ‘self.’ For two people to mutually discard their own shells and merge into unconditional love’s ecstasy—such a thing rarely occurs.” “Most often, they keep their own shells firmly intact while making the other break theirs—trying to absorb them into their own selfish conception of love.”

“Lord Ananda. “Have you ever heard the honey-sweet words lovers exchange as they nestle beneath moonlit trees? “They place hands on each other’s hearts to attest love’s sincerity. “They make vows of unchanging devotion. “In striving to describe their mutually illuminating, unclouded hearts, they grow vexed by language’s clumsiness. “But Lord Ananda—if you witness only this and think they’ve attained love’s fulfillment, that judgment comes too soon. “You must not miss hearing their subsequent sighs and stifled sobs. “For lovers truly pure-hearted and devoted will inevitably conclude their tale with sighs and sobs. “Why must this be? “Their earthly flesh and minds hinder them from melting into love’s singular mystery. “These worldly bodies and thoughts ever thrust the scalpel of ‘self’ between them, coldly pulling them back. “None feel fate’s touch more keenly than those who love. “Even as they exchange vows and attest sincerity, they sense along their spines—the full moon’s waning light, high tide’s languid waves, tomorrow’s loneliness—until these become sighs and sobs. “Thus you see: “Cunning men and women who shun love’s worldly trials abandon this world’s very boat when reaching love’s mystery. “In the world of men, this they call death’s victory.”

"—the victory of death—that is, through what the world calls a lovers' suicide, they believe they have eternally fulfilled the life of their love. And even if their love moves the people of this world—if various transformed visions of their love are created through the impressions people cherish, lingering awhile in this realm—what bearing could that have on their true purpose? The world they have entered still obeys karma's stern law—those meant to unite shall be united, those meant to part shall be stripped away without mercy."

“The path that barely permits walking hand in hand is a single thread of true sincerity born from love—and this path becomes a world of serene and flavorless nature, entirely distinct from love’s passionate fervor, so it is.” “Moreover, I believe that the sin of destroying one’s life before walking that path—of rushing into suicide driven by the self’s passions—must be atoned for over countless lifetimes.” “And then, Lord Ananda.” “There is no flower of the heart so quick to wilt as the love between men and women in this world.” “To keep it from wilting, one must diligently employ stimuli like jealousy, interference, deceit, and hatred—so it is.”

“If they no longer require that and it endures, then it has already ceased to be love between men and women, transforming instead into another love that transcends gender—so it is.”

I now know with clarity. That I did not become bound to you through romantic love was my greatest fortune. Because your soul did not reside in that world. Had I forcibly bound myself to you there, I would have merely rejoiced in grasping your temporary form and fleeting affections. Your true soul had dwelled in a far higher realm. Only by ascending to the world where your soul abides could I come to meet the true you. Ah, the nobility of this world—its tranquility leaves no room for indulgence or familiarity. Yet here I dwell ever with you in mutual understanding. If need be, in this realm I can become you beyond mere comprehension, and you me—such is our existence here. No fear of betrayal or cooling affections lingers. Immersed in the river of light flowing from eternal past toward endless future, I breathe life's rainbow in rhythm with you. Crowned with unfading blossoms unadorned, robed in seamless raiment unmarred—here I remain your bride through all eternity.

Shakyamuni Buddha declared, "Be a holy bride."

Oh, holy bride! Holy bride free from fear of birth, aging, sickness, and death—ever fresh as a newborn child! How fragrant my being was! And what brought me even greater joy was that in this world, I could become one with both my beloved mother and you. She had been a mother who, though misguided, loved deeply—but my one lingering sorrow remained that I could not share this with her now that she had passed.

(The sun had mostly set; in the depths of the garden and along the base of the walls, darkness like diluted ink swirled. Only on the treetops and in the sky did the golden afterglow faintly shine.)

Ananda, who had been listening intently to Matangi's reminiscences until now, stopped her with his hand as she attempted to continue speaking at this moment and said:

Ananda: “Please compose yourself for a moment, Matangi.” “Your mother will soon manifest herself here.”

Matangi: “Huh? Is that truly so?”

Part Two

(Before the voice faded, crimson flames flared up from the earth, and a figure rose enveloped in the blaze.) (It was the old sorceress.) Old Sorceress: —How bitter! To suffer hell's torments for the sin of cursing a monk—such was my fate! "Ah, how blessed! Through hell's torments, I atoned for my worldly sins!" "The hell I fell into was the Reviving Hell." They sharpened their poisonous claws and tore into each other's exposed flesh. No sooner did they think they had finally died and escaped suffering than a cold wind arrived, reviving them into their original bodies to receive the poisonous claws. They repeated this hundreds of billions of times. "My blood has dried up, and my tears too have been completely shed."

“Yet even within this suffering, there exists the guiding light of Buddha’s grace. When traced to its origin, my curse stemmed from a mother’s heart that yearned to fulfill her daughter’s desires—and the Buddha perceived this truth. A single lotus thread bestowed by the Blessed One now lies within my hand.”

"My daughter. One end of this thread must now rest upon the fingers of your pure hands. As your guiding power draws it in, soon I too shall be lifted with you into one world. Ah, how wondrously karma unfolds! Ah, how grateful I am for Dharma's precepts…"

(With a wisp of flame, the figure of the old woman descended into the ground.)

Part Three

(From a point some distance away from the pit into which the old woman had once again descended, pale flames surged upward, and the Heretical Scholar, enveloped in flames, appeared.)

Heretical Scholar: “How bitter! The retribution for my sin of falling after plotting to confuse the Dharma. Ah, how blessed! That worldly sins find amendment through hell’s torments! The place I inhabit is the Eight Cold Hells. There, reason’s chill becomes frost’s edge and ice’s blade, tormenting my flesh. My body splits like Padma flowers under winter’s bite; my groans issue only two sounds—rasping ‘Asshaku’ and shuddering ‘Kokoba.’ No sooner do I think death brings respite than warm winds restore me whole. This cycle repeats hundreds of billions of times.” “Yet even here pierces Buddha’s light! That I once wove scholarly envy with Dharma’s truth became my salvation. The Dharma’s power—tenacious and compassionate—assimilates all who touch it. Like forging earthen blades to cleave water: strike enough times, and steel dissolves into stream. Buddha’s vow grants even me passage to his realm.” “See this thread of salvation coiled about my elbow? Ananda—you are my karmic inverse! One end surely rests in your impartial palms. As your spiritual power grows, this thread shall draw my world to yours. I return now to suffering’s realm with joyous anticipation!”

“Let me go forth eagerly to meet the hardships of torment once more.”

(Enveloped in blazing flames, the Heretical Scholar sank into the earth once more.)

Part Four

(After the phantoms had completely vanished, the sense of reality on the stage grew all the more intense. That is to say, it had already fully become the darkness of this world. In the sky, glistening starlight was threaded like dewdrops, and the garden grove's leaves and branches began to greet the night breeze.

A clear chirping, neither insect nor bird, kept time as it shifted evening into night moment by moment.

(In Matangi’s hand remained a scrap of gold thread; in Ananda’s hand, a scrap of silver thread.)

“Matangi, everything has become clear.” “I harbor no doubts whatsoever.”

(The two, as if trying to blow away the fullness in their chests, took a deep breath and sank into silent contemplation for a while.)

“But Lord Ananda...” “There still remains one thing I do not understand.” “You may ask without reserve.” “Love...” “Why has love—this thing that becomes humanity’s stumbling block—been bestowed upon us?” “This alone I cannot comprehend.”

Part Five

(While Ananda agonized over how to admonish Matangi, the garden grove glittered with golden light, and there the figure of Buddha manifested.)

The two—"Oh!" "Shakyamuni Buddha..." (The two knelt there.) Shakyamuni Buddha: —Matangi, those who stumble upon the earth use that very earth as support to rise again. Those who stumble in love use that love as support to enter the path. Were you not one such yourself?

Matangi: —Yes. (She involuntarily clasped her hands in prayer.)

Shakyamuni Buddha: —"In all things that exist in this world, there is nothing that does not serve as an expedient to the path. You must never consider them insignificant."

“You all. Have you taken your evening meal yet?” Ananda: “No. Not yet.” Matangi: “I have no particular wish to partake.” Shakyamuni Buddha: “That will not do. You should eat promptly. Nor must you shun the night wind either... You must not rest complacent thinking you have reached that world once and for all. The spiritual training of life is endlessly profound. Do not forget there will come a time when your hearts—purified in that world—must descend again into this one: entering both romantic love and spiritual love, assimilating with birth, aging, sickness, and death, to adorn your inner reality through worldly afflictions. Your body is your weapon in those times. Do not neglect to keep it healthy. Spirit and flesh, the afterlife and this world—they are one, not two. A holy person is none other than a healthy person in the secular world. Do not weaken your body by esteeming only mental discipline.”

(At this moment, a cool breeze passed for a spell through the treetops of the garden grove.) In the monastery, the bedtime bell rang.

Shakyamuni Buddha turned his eyes to the sky and paused for a while.)

“Ah.”

“What a splendid night this is!” “Life fills and overflows to the farthest horizons.” “I know new stars now being born in this sky.” “They too have indeed passed through trials of water and fire.” “I must bestow my blessings upon them.”

(Shakyamuni Buddha extended his right hand high. He drew out a white thread from his hand.)

Ananda. Matangi— “Oh!” “Even Buddha’s hand has a thread!” “Thread…”

(In this instant—a great roar. On the stage, most of the characters who had appeared from the prologue through subsequent acts of this play now manifested—some suspended in midair, others rising up from beneath the stage. Those figures too each held five-colored threads in their hands, their ends connecting to the threads of each person as well as Shakyamuni Buddha, Ananda, and Matangi, forming a vast web across the stage. Through electrical apparatus, it radiated dazzling brilliance. It was a symbol of the web of life that weaves the universe. In the sky, new stars now emerged sharply yet faintly, like ears of pampas grass.)

Curtain.)

Afterword

Among Shakyamuni Buddha’s male disciples, Ananda was one who suffered profoundly from the karmic struggles of love. The relationship with the Candala (lowest caste) girl depicted in this play is also one of his passionate trials in love.

However, the play I wrote differs considerably from the facts recorded in the sutras. That he was adored by the Candala girl and drawn by her mother's sorcery accords with sutra records. There, he immediately sensed personal danger and called upon Shakyamuni Buddha. Shakyamuni Buddha exercised his mental power and safely brought him back to Jetavana Monastery.

The next day, when Ananda went into the city of Shravasti, he was again waylaid by the daughter. He returned to the monastery while still being adored by the daughter. He reported about the daughter to Shakyamuni Buddha. Shakyamuni Buddha admonished the daughter and had her take monastic vows. The sutras record that when Shakyamuni Buddha praised the daughter for having developed reverence for the Dharma for the first time, her sidelocks immediately fell out. The daughter's attainment of spiritual awakening—though still not very profound—was also instantaneous.

It appears that Ananda attained his true spiritual awakening near the time of the sutra compilation following Shakyamuni Buddha’s parinirvana.

Regarding this point too, I treated it rather hastily in my play. However, the purpose of this drama lies in examining the purification process of romantic love. "Those who stumble through love shall be raised up again through love." This work focuses on this Mahayana Buddhist phrase of Shakyamuni Buddha. The psychological journeys and historical deeds of Ananda and the daughter have been considerably sacrificed to my artistic expediencies for this purpose. I feel compelled to offer an explanatory word on their behalf. The philosophical currents propelling this drama toward its stated purpose intermingle elements from the Lotus Sutra, Avatamsaka Sutra, and Prajnaparamita Sutras. The question of whether this aligns with or diverges from Shakyamuni Buddha's actual teachings during his Jetavana Monastery period lies beyond the scope of this drama's essential nature.

In Act Two, the episode of rice cake alms-giving depicts an event between Ananda and a naked ascetic, while the dialogue concerning having hands or not took its inspiration from an anecdote about Daitō Kokushi in Japanese Zen Buddhism. For the sake of the play’s rhythmic shifts, such scenes were necessary. The binding rope dialogue in Act Eight is also a concept derived from Zen.