Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters: Shakyamuni Buddha; Ananda; Maudgalyāyana; the old sorceress; the old woman's daughter; the heretical scholar; townspeople; heavenly beings; divine generals; numerous nuns.

Location

Śrāvastī: Inside and Outside

Scene 1

(Śrāvastī outskirts – A pond. The sorceress’s daughter has come to draw water; her water jar immersed, she gazes at the scenery.) The light danced upon the leaves of the trees; the flowers swayed in the wind. The earth and sky exchanged passionate gazes in their abundance; beautiful yet envious nature—O if only I too had a pure bosom to welcome my heart?

(Ananda, holding an alms bowl on his return from alms collection, sees the pond and approaches the daughter’s side.)

Ananda: "Woman. Please offer me a cup of water." The Daughter: (Hastily hides herself in the shade of a tree.) "To offer water to you, noble monk, would be a simple service." (After a moment’s hesitation) "But I... am the daughter of someone engaged in a defiled occupation in your noble eyes." Ananda: "Though I know not what your occupation may be, we make no distinction between high and low among people. If it sustains the world’s workings, we consider any occupation noble." The Daughter: "But..."

“If you are so hesitant,” said Ananda, “then let us do it this way. I shall set aside my status as Buddha’s disciple to receive this water, and you shall set aside your status as your occupation’s daughter to offer it. Then there will be no concern over defilement or purity.” His voice softened with conviction. “When a compassionate human gives water to a thirsty human—this alone is the act that befits the true path of almsgiving.” “Thank you,” she whispered, trembling fingers tightening around the jar’s rim. “Then… I shall offer it.”

(The daughter offered the water jar with trembling hands.) Ananda finished drinking, bowed in thanks, and departed. The daughter gazed after Ananda’s retreating figure for what seemed an eternity.)

Scene 2 (Śrāvastī town square - A notice for rice cake almsgiving is posted.) Ananda, appearing ever-diligent, busily gives rice cakes to the gathering crowd. Beggar A: “Monk! Give me one!”

Ananda: “Yes.” Beggar A: “What’s this? Just one?” Ananda: “It’s one for each person, you see.”

Beggar A: “Cheapskate.” Beggar B: “Monk, I’ve got my son and old lady waiting at home. Give me three.”

Ananda: “It has been decided that we give one rice cake each only to those who have come here now. To those who have not come, we will offer rice cakes again later if there are any left.” Beggar B: “Do whatever the hell you want.”

(At that moment, the heretical scholar pushed through the crowd and stomped to stand before the alms platform. The crowd whispered among themselves while making space, then fell silent in anticipation of something happening.)

The Heretical Scholar: “O noble monk. I shall pose a question to you. Does the nature of those rice cakes you now distribute exist or not?” Ananda: “My apologies, but today I must decline to engage in debate. My master commanded me this day to distribute rice cakes—he did not command me to engage in debate.”

The Heretical Scholar: “That is what we call disloyalty to the Dharma! Are you saying rice cakes matter more than Dharma discourse?” Ananda: “No matter what you may say, I must decline to answer in debate. I can offer you rice cakes, however.” The Heretical Scholar: “Then I’ll take them! Give me the rice cakes! But I have one condition—hand them over without using your hands. Then I’ll accept them.”

Ananda: “Yes.” (He picks up the rice cakes with his hands and offers them.) The Heretical Scholar: “This isn’t ‘no-hands’! You’re using them!” Ananda: “Are you still clinging to such matters? This grows tiresome. The heart that pities starving people and gives them rice cakes—this urgency flows as inevitably as water seeking lower ground. In such compassion’s grip, there remains no space for petty debates over ‘using hands’ or ‘not using hands.’ When almsgiving becomes burdened by such calculations, it corrupts humanity’s pure intent—defiling both giver and receiver. You would reduce life’s sincere acts to wordplay and games. Enough of this. Can you detect any trace of philosophy or logic in this hand that holds out rice cakes? This hand lives only through the desire to feed the hungry. It moves forward solely to deliver sustenance quickly. Here resides heaven and earth’s necessity—not humanity’s intellectual contests. See it as ‘using hands’ or ‘not using hands’—that choice is yours alone. I simply extend my hand.”

(The Heretical Scholar, finding no way to retort, took the rice cakes with a sullen expression and melted into the crowd.)

“Hey there, Heretical Scholar! You’ve been had,” jeered the crowd. Suddenly, a group of people noisily crowded around to receive the rice cakes. Amidst them, the sorceress’s daughter blended into the throng and stood before the alms platform. The daughter, appearing bashful, gazed at Ananda’s face while extending her hand. Ananda, not noticing, tried to give her a rice cake, but two cakes clung together and refused to separate. Pressured by the commotion, he gave both rice cakes to the daughter. The heretical scholar stood up from within the crowd.

(The Heretical Scholar stood up from among the crowd.)

The Heretical Scholar: “Hey now! Ananda gave two rice cakes to a woman!” Beggar A: “Favoritism!” “Favoritism!”

Act Three

The sorceress’s daughter walked back along the castle walls of Shravasti. She held in her hand the rice cakes she had received through almsgiving.

Dusk. Outside the city walls, an evening mist drifted across the entire plain. The lingering light of the setting sun gently struck it, lulling people into a dreamlike state.)

The Daughter: (Walking while soliloquizing) He gave me rice cakes. He gave me rice cakes connected like a married couple. The crowd reviled him. They reviled him for showing me favoritism. I knew he had shown no favoritism whatsoever. Therefore, I felt intense anger toward the crowd's unreasonableness. I felt so sorry for him that I wanted to shield him with my sleeve. Yet beneath that feeling—ah, how selfish love is! I rejoiced in this mistake. I rejoiced that people said his heart leaned toward me. At times, my conceited heart swelled with the thought that perhaps he truly had favored me. How pitiable and endearing my shallow heart was. But you must take care. He was one who had renounced desire and transcended suffering. If I were to truly care for him, I must forget him for his sake. Resignation must be love's true heart directed toward him. I should discard the rice cakes. I should discard the rice cakes. Ah, but—when I beheld these pure, cocoon-like rice cakes—that noble one who could not be abandoned—this heart of mine that could not sever these thoughts—.

(The heretical scholar, who had been secretly following her from behind, now called out to the daughter.)

The Heretical Scholar: “Daughter— There’s no need to discard the rice cakes.”

The Daughter: “And who might you be?” The Heretical Scholar: “I am a scholar. Daughter—there’s no need for you to discard the rice cakes.” The Daughter: “What do you mean by that?” The Heretical Scholar: “Daughter—you are destined to become husband and wife with Ananda. That’s why the two rice cakes stuck together. I possess the divine eye. I have clearly seen through your destiny.” The Daughter: “Oh! Could it truly be?” The Heretical Scholar: “There’s no reason he would give two rice cakes without cause when they should be given one by one. The destiny of you two has manifested upon these rice cakes without either of you knowing.”

The Daughter: ...If this were true, I would be overjoyed... but he is a monk who has transcended distinctions between men and women. If I follow this karmic path, might I not lead him into corruption? The Heretical Scholar: Nonsense. "Daughter, people find virtue only in obeying destiny's will." "Do you observe the stars above?" "In evening they dwell eastward; by dawn they journey west." "Should one stay these celestial wanderers, then might they too curb fate's course." "Daughter." "Do you reckon numbers?" "One joined with two becomes three." "Only those who reshape this reckoning may arrest destiny." "Daughter." "You now sail as a vessel harried by current and gale." "Your yearning and ordained path converge." "What cause for hesitation remains?" "O maiden—life's blossom and essence—" "You must now wield beauty's power."

(The daughter pondered for a moment.)

The Daughter: —(To herself) Yes—I will obtain that person. Into the small box within my heart—I will capture him like a butterfly. (The daughter, like a marionette being dragged from the stage, floated away with her body contorted.) (The Heretical Scholar, when the daughter’s figure vanished, stuck out a long blue tongue.) The Heretical Scholar: —(To himself) The daughter's heart is a newly spun thread. With logic’s fingers, any manner of knot could be tied.

Act Four

Scene One

(The old sorceress's room. In the center stood a furnace shaped like monstrous deities embracing each other, from which oil oozed like sweat. Mocking blue flames occasionally appeared from the mouth of the furnace. From the attic, smoked monkeys, young crocodiles, and the like hung down, coagulated like old blood. In the back of the room, on the shelf, many jars were lined up.)

(The daughter casts herself onto the knees of the old sorceress, who sits cross-legged, and desperately pleads.) Old Woman: “What an impossible child you are. “Didn’t I tell you my curses don’t work on the dead or those who’ve abandoned desire?”

The Daughter: “I have never once, since the day I was born, begged you to use your curses for my own sake.” “I will never make such a request again after this.” “This is the only request I will make in my entire life.” “Therefore, please use your magic, Mother, and summon that person here.”

Old Woman: “When one commits a forbidden curse, the fire of this furnace that has burned since Grandfather’s time will go out. Then how will we manage to live?” The Daughter: “What I need now is neither food nor drink—only that person’s form. Mother, I am dying of longing.” Old Woman: “Poor child—if only prayers could work, I would pray for you. But even if we two were to starve starting tomorrow—ah, this alone lies beyond my power.”

The Daughter: —Mother. “Mother.” “Until now I called you ‘Mother’ through a child’s fondness for her birth parent—nothing more than spoiled affection.” “Now driven by this scorching torment, I cling to you in death’s own frenzy.” “From my soul’s deepest depths, I call you ‘Mother’ and cling.” “So Mother—from your life’s deepest depths—become a true mother and save me.” “Please!” “Please!”

The old woman hung her head for a time，sinking into tears．But when she raised her face again，her expression turned resolute—her face transformed into something fearsome．Her eyes fixed rigidly in one place；her mouth twisted into a contortion indistinguishable between laughter and sobbing．The daughter，startled，leapt back and stared in astonishment at the mother．

Old Woman: —(To herself) Mother... Mother... Mother... (Uncanny laughter, momentary pause) Yes—I am mother!

(Her tone gradually brightened, taking on a joyful quality.) For the first time today, I was called “Mother” in the daughter’s true voice—she who had always despised my sorcery. I was clung to by the daughter with all her heart. (In a tone brimming with confidence) The “Mother” awakened within me was the great “Motherhood”—the very force that nurtures heaven and earth and gives birth to all living things. Was there anything that could defy this power? I was no longer a sorceress. True and genuine—I was indeed a single daughter’s mother.

"I shall not pray as a sorceress, but as a mother who loves her daughter—I shall wield this sorcery I've used daily." "And for my dear daughter, I shall invoke her beloved Ananda." (The old woman stood up, entered the back room, brought out an armful of white lotus flowers and a bronze knife, then sat by the furnace.) "Ah! Twenty-eight lotus petals!" "Upon each petal I heap a mother's blood of love." "Traverse these flames and bring young monk Ananda to me!"

(The old woman split her breast with a bronze knife, smeared each petal of the white lotus flowers with blood from her breast, and cast them into the furnace flames.) (Bizarre flames and fumes writhed and surged in chaotic splendor.)

Scene Two

(The room plunged into darkness with a tremendous roar. As it gradually peeled away, Ananda’s form appeared like an apparition within the pink light.) He frantically twisted his limbs as if trying to shake off something coiled around him—yet unable to break free, being pulled ever closer. (However, what entangled him remained indistinct.)

Ananda: —(Anguished soliloquy) What in the world had happened? Where was this place? I could not move my body freely. My mind flew wildly like a kite with its string severed. Where had my observance of precepts—my concentration power—gone? Not a single spark of 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 the first dhyāna, the second dhyāna, and the third dhyāna had spread steadily through my mind like the moon in mid-sky, with crystalline clarity. But from there, I could not proceed no matter what. It was as if there were a partition in my mind—I simply could not advance beyond that point. I grew anxious. That was where an opening had formed. At that moment, the thought of Mother suddenly came to mind. Into that opening in my mind had sprouted a desire—the yearning for familial love that should have no place in one who had left the household life. When I had still been a child, whenever I wore a sad face, Mother would take my hand and kindly inquire—I remembered that warmth. (Ananda fell silent for a moment, then resumed in an agitated tone) In that instant, bloodstained lotus petals came flying from nowhere, coiling around my body and mind—and then I was recklessly dragged here. What kind of place was this? And what would become of me?—

(The daughter remained silent, overwhelmed by awe-struck shame, but finally mustered the courage to approach Ananda’s side.)

Daughter: —Ananda-sama. “How I have longed for you.”

Ananda: —“Who are you?” “What are you?” The Daughter: —“I am she who offered water by the pond.” “And she who received rice cakes at your almsgiving.” Ananda: —That girl from then— “Was it you who dragged me here—” “State your purpose—”

Daughter: —“Please take pity on me—I can think of nothing but you until death.” Ananda: —“That is the language of worldly passion. I have no need of you. Let me return.”

Daughter: —“Ananda-sama—a woman’s sincere heart that longs for a man. Could this be worldly passion?” Ananda: —“All hearts that wax and wane are worldly passions. In your heart now, the tide swells full. Therefore you cannot discern the shore. When the tide recedes, the shore’s debris will catch your eye.” Daughter: —“No matter what you preach, my heart shall not waver. We stand upon destiny.” (Takes out rice cakes from her bosom.) “Ananda-sama. These are the rice cakes you bestowed upon me. How do you behold these two conjoined rice cakes?”

Ananda: “I see it as a pure cocoon—and as a mountain range of snow-capped peaks.” Daughter: “No—these rice cakes are the manifestation of our karmic bond.”

Ananda: —No—a cocoon, a snow mountain.

“No—this very thing is the manifestation of our karmic bond.”

(The old woman, holding a copper knife, stood between the two. Her breasts were stained with blood.)

“The young ones’ quarrel—how maddening to watch.” “Daughter.” “You should withdraw for now.”

“I will speak with Ananda.”

(The Old Sorceress turns to face Ananda anew.)

“Ananda, I now give you three paths.” “And you may choose only one path among them.” Ananda: —“What a high-handed pronouncement.” “I make this proposal in the name of ‘Motherhood’.” “I make this proposal seated in ‘Motherhood’—the same authority as your own mother’s.” “I want you to comprehend the heart of motherhood and give your answer.” Ananda: —“Then, please speak.”

Old Woman: —The first path is that you sincerely marry my daughter. “What say you to this?” Ananda — I am but an immature being who cannot even ferry myself across to the other shore. I cannot even conceive of taking a feeble companion on the journey. Old Woman: —Then I will kill you, and the two of us will die. “What do you say to this?” Ananda: —I do not fear death. “However, I do not wish to violate the precept against killing.” “Even were I slain by another without cause, it would equate to me myself breaking that precept.” “Moreover, should my worldly passions lead to the severing of your two lives, it would constitute true killing on my part.” “Please desist.”

The Old Sorceress: —“Then I will not kill you, and we two shall live. However, we two shall live on as demons, directing our resentment for life after life toward you—who scorn human feelings—and all in Buddha’s order. How does this strike you?”

Ananda—this would only increase the Buddha’s august hardships. Please stop. When the ice of earthly desires grows thick, the Buddha’s wisdom-sun that shatters it only intensifies its radiance. If hatred is endless, then the Buddha’s compassion that unravels it is likewise endless. Even if one or two more demonic spirits and rakshasas were added to this vast world, what obstruction could they possibly pose to the Buddha’s august eyes? That was equivalent to an endeavor to envelop the azure heavens with a speck-like body. It could only end in futility. Nevertheless, because of me—even if it were but a speck of dust’s worth of obstruction—to increase the seeds of the Buddha’s august hardships was too fearful a thing for this disciple’s being. Please cease becoming a cursing demon.

“What nonsense are you spouting? Then you mean to evade all three paths? Coward!”

Ananda—In this situation, there was only one appropriate path for me. That was precisely the act of escaping you had just spoken of. Escape from carnal desires. Escape from bondage. From the stormy edges of a mind battered by earthly desires, drawing nearer to the central point of an undefiled heart. If escaping was what you called it, then let it be escaping; if coward was what you called me, then let me be a coward. “Please let me return as I am now—in truth, that would be for your daughter’s sake as well.”

The Old Sorceress: —No—I will not let you go. My plan has changed.— (The old woman brought a bundle of jet-black hemp rope from the corner of the room.) “Ananda.” “I will neither let you live nor kill you.” “Of course I will not let you escape either.” (Brandishing the hemp rope) “I will bind you and my daughter as one and cast you into eternal bronze statues.” “And in the future, for generations to come, these twin statues of lovers will ignite flames of passion in all who behold them—flames so intense they scorch the body at a single glance.” “Ananda.” “Since you persist in being an ally of wood and stone, I must become humanity’s champion to the bitter end.” “If you and she are cast into twin statues never to part for eternity, then surely even my daughter would consider this her heart’s desire.”

Part Three

(The old sorceress pressed the hemp rope to her head and desperately chanted an incantation.) Ananda, as his body stiffened, desperately resisted, thrashing his limbs.

Ananda—How bitter! How bitter! I am finally bound by sorcery and turned into a bronze statue while yet alive. This shame of living—I can still endure it. As one who has left the world—the terror of remaining eternally before the eyes of all living beings as an embodiment of delusion. Pitiable am I. Ill-fated am I. I who once aspired to splendid Buddhahood and hoped to bloom as a white lotus flower among humankind now transform into an ugly weed that even beasts avoid with their hooves. Old woman! Daughter! If you all possess even a single drop of compassion, I beg you—let me escape from here, let me depart this place!

(The old sorceress mercilessly wound the hemp rope around her daughter and Ananda，binding them as one.) (The daughter assumed a stance against madness and positioned herself to block the old woman’s path.)

Daughter: —Mother! “I am happy.” “I am in anguish.” “What am I to do?” “I want to be bound together with Ananda-sama.” “I want to let Ananda-sama escape.” Oh, these two hearts of mine! “Mother, what am I to do?” (The Old Sorceress shed tears.)

The Old Sorceress: “Even I no longer understand.” The incantation shifted to the hemp rope. The hemp rope came alive like a snake.

(The young beautiful monk Ananda and the pure, enchanting daughter writhed in frenzied entanglement as they were hoisted upward by the black snake-like hemp rope.) It was as if youth and sensuality were added to the painful beauty captured in the Greek statue of Laocoön.

(Ananda, suddenly seeming to have an idea, raises a cry.) Ananda—"O Master! My Master! O Shakyamuni Buddha residing at Jetavana Monastery! Your pitiful disciple now teeters on the brink of calamity’s abyss. I teeter on the brink of perishing by the rope of disgrace. Please heed this pitiful voice of mine. Please save me. Homage to my master Shakyamuni Buddha, the World-Honored One residing at Jetavana Monastery!"

Daughter: —Ananda-sama! “Mother!”

(Their calls echoed together, growing hoarse and fading away as the stage gradually darkened into complete blackout.)

Act Five

(The entire stage embodied the atmosphere of a moonlit night sky. In front stood the shape of a large cloud. In the center of the cloud stood Maudgalyāyana, Buddha’s disciple foremost in supernatural powers, clad in monastic robes. Following him, the dharma-protecting devas and divine generals stood by in resplendent armor.)

Maudgalyāyana: “Ananda!” “You’ve messed up again!” “Ha ha ha ha ha!” “This time you truly seem to be in trouble!”

Deva A — “After all, that man is of noble birth and young in years. He has fine features. On top of that, he has a supremely gentle disposition. He possesses every qualification to be desired by women. No matter what he does, he cannot escape calamities involving women.” Divine General A — “A handsome monk is a walking calamity. He himself leads women astray, then has the gall to say they mustn’t be led astray—I tell you.”

Deva B: “He’s just like a confectionery sample in a shopfront display. It makes you crave a bite, but when you actually try to take and eat it, it’s rock-hard against your teeth. Even those who aren’t women—everyone’s bound to get flustered.”

Divine General B: “Compared to that, we’re safe. By no means are we the type that women and children would flock to.”

“That’s precisely why Buddha assigns us perfectly suited roles.”

Divine General B — “Clad in armor, we go to sever the bonds between men and women. Though we say it’s for the Dharma’s sake, it’s quite a mundane role.” Maudgalyāyana — “That fool Ananda’s completely at his wit’s end. He’s thrashing about wildly.” Deva B — “Ananda’s weakened appearance is also beautiful. The more he struggles, the more beautiful he becomes. So the daughter too has finally been driven to utter desperation.” Divine General C — “Our Lord Shakyamuni Buddha, the World-Honored One, is beautifully resplendent. In terms of the sheer magnitude of beauty, Ananda and his ilk could never hope to match it. The form of the World-Honored One is something one could gaze upon day and night without ever tiring. What is the reason for this, Maudgalyāyana?”

Maudgalyāyana — “The World-Honored One’s beauty is not what people call feminine or masculine beauty. It is the beauty of life itself in its purest form—a beauty that gathers all human beauties and refines them to purity. By worshipping this, one can strengthen their yearning for humanity’s ideals. It allows one to establish clear objectives toward lofty principles and ultimate truths. This is no mere beauty that snags on emotions like love or affection. Rather, it is a beauty that lets such emotions settle, then draws from the clear upper waters of life that lie above them.”

Divine General B — “So Ananda’s beauty becomes an instrument that churns up emotions, while Shakyamuni Buddha’s beauty becomes a water-filtering instrument for emotions. Ananda’s instrument lies scattered everywhere like pebbles, but the World-Honored One’s instrument holds an exclusive patent.” Deva A — “We’re in the midst of battle. Cease these idle jests.”

Maudgalyāyana: —In Ananda’s skin remain sunken hollows where life’s vigor has yet to swell fully. “It’s in those hollows that the claws of carnal passion between men and women catch their hold.” “The World-Honored One’s skin is a single seamless plank of taut vitality.” “Not one crevice exists where such claws might find purchase.”

“Now then, how will today’s battle unfold?” “This is no mere battle to subdue carnal passions—the enemy springs from a mother’s sincere heart that longs for her child. This fight may prove somewhat troublesome.”

Even as Maudgalyāyana and the host of devas and divine generals in the aerial scene exchanged their lines atop the clouds, the night sky background shifted and moved in kineorama fashion, creating an illusion as though the stage figures and the clouds bearing them were soaring through the air. And when the lines concluded, the stage blacked out.

Scene Six

(Back in the old sorceress’s room—Ananda and the daughter were already bound with hemp ropes and restrained.) (The old sorceress had completely transformed into a witch’s appearance.) Old Sorceress — “Stone or bronze? Stone or bronze?”

Daughter — (in a feeble voice) Mother... "Please wait." Old Sorceress — Stone or bronze—come now, which shall it be? "Whichever you choose—stone or bronze—I shall bind it through prayer exactly as you wish." Daughter — The fault was mine. "Please grant Ananda-sama forgiveness."

Old Sorceress — (slightly taken aback) “What?!” “What was that?” Daughter — “Seeing Ananda-sama’s sorrowful appearance, I can no longer endure it.” “I have no strength left to restrain my own passions.” “Please forgive Ananda-sama.” Old Sorceress — “What foolishness.” “The oath of sorcery cannot be undone.” “Even were one to be forgiven, the other must still fulfill the oath—such is the law of sorcery.” “If you spare Ananda, you alone must bear the curse.”

“I will become stone or bronze.” “So please, release Ananda-sama.”

Ananda — (in an equally weakening voice) “No—Daughter. I have already steeled my resolve. This body of mine was ill-suited by birth for attaining Buddhahood—whether I become stone or bronze, I shall discard both this form and its karma. You must survive at any cost. But let this chastise you—never again succumb to loving any man, I say.”

“As I hear those words,” said the Daughter, her voice trembling with emotion, “I am filled with even deeper compassion for you.” She turned to face her mother, resolve hardening in her eyes. “Please accept me as the sacrificial offering for this curse.”

Ananda — “No—I will become the sacrificial offering for the curse.” Old Sorceress — “Still as noisy and quibbling as ever, you lot! What’s taking so long? Hurry up!”

Ananda — (after a brief moment of contemplation, suddenly raises his face, his voice firming with resolve) “Daughter!” Daughter — “Yes.” Ananda — “Somehow, I feel I’m beginning to understand what a woman’s true heart truly is. You would go so far as to kill yourself just to protect me. Your profound affection seems to have seeped into me.” Daughter — (in a lively voice) “Oh, Ananda-sama! Is that truly the case?”

Ananda — “This feeling now born within me may differ from what you call love. But I can imagine it comes quite close to that.” Daughter — “I am so happy I could die.”

Ananda—I have come to feel nothing but gratitude toward you. But this feeling differs from both the nostalgia and affection I felt toward my birth mother when I was still a layperson—

Daughter — Ananda-sama. “Please believe me.”

Ananda—this strange nostalgia, this intimacy— If I were to become a single statue with you in this state of mind, those who see it in later ages would not feel such aversion, I suppose.

“Oh, what joyful words—Ananda-sama! Then let us both be cursed together just as we are.” (Ananda nodded resolutely.)

A fierce reverberation resounded through the air; when it ceased, a great voice called out for Maudgalyāyana.

Maudgalyāyana: “Ananda! Our teacher, the World-Honored One summons you!”

(At the very moment Maudgalyāyana’s voice was heard, the hemp rope binding Ananda and the daughter snapped apart of its own accord.) Ananda, with the look of one awakening from a dream, staggered to his feet.

Ananda—"Oh! That is Maudgalyāyana's voice." "I will be saved." (Looking up toward the voice) "Venerable Maudgalyāyana! Ananda is here."

“Compared to your motherly words moments ago, what has happened to your expression? Ananda-sama, do you mean to escape alone?”

(The daughter clung to Ananda. Ananda did not attempt to shake her off, yet his heart was already elsewhere. Ananda—Maudgalyāyana, foremost among the World-Honored One’s disciples in supernatural powers. I am now at the edge of a perilous abyss. Quickly save me through your divine powers. Save me. (Ananda, in selfless frenzy, made as if to soar into the sky.) (The daughter clung all the more obsessively.)

Daughter — Ananda-sama. “I will go wherever you go.” “Please take me with you wherever you go.” (The two struggled. The old sorceress stood blocking their path, glaring at the sky.)

Old Sorceress — “The curse is will itself. A stone-fire cannon that brooks no judgment of right or wrong. The curse knows nothing but fulfillment. The curse exists solely to pierce. Woe unto those who would hinder this! The arrow shall at last strike your bodies. Even if they be Buddha’s messengers or ascetics foremost in supernatural powers, it makes no exceptions. O all obstacles in this world! O calamities! O dangers! O afflictions! O flaws! And O all jealousies nesting in human hearts! O malice! O deceptions! O ambitions! The curse—your crucial weapon—now teeters toward ruin. All of you—take living forms and join our decisive battle!”

Maudgalyāyana: “Ananda! You’d best come quickly—the World-Honored One summons you.” (Triggered once more by Maudgalyāyana’s words, Ananda—still clung to by the daughter—became suspended in midair and began ascending into the sky. Taking aim at this, the old sorceress spewed forth a long stream of crimson flames from her mouth.)

Seventh Scene

Again came the aerial scene. The stage set matched that of the Fifth Scene. The sole difference lay in the clouds' movement across the sky's background—where before they had shown a tendency to advance toward stage right, now they appeared to retreat toward stage left. At one edge deep within the clouds stood Maudgalyāyana shielding Ananda. Ananda sat with arms crossed. The daughter clung to his sleeve. At the clouds' center, Dharma-protecting devas and benevolent deities battled the curse's retinue members. The Dharma-protecting devas and benevolent deities, arrayed in resplendent armor, wielded spears, swords, halberds, vajras, and bows with arrows. Some had three faces and eight arms; others possessed a single face bearing three eyes.

The curse’s retinue members were mostly disguised as bewitching beauties. They mingled dwarves and beast-bodied creatures among them. The weapons they used resembled the veils worn by modern women or were a type of long silk akin to the trains of Tenpyō-era women’s robes. Each held a piece dyed in seven distinct colors. The long silks inherently possessed the ability to bind those who touched them, stifle their opponents' strength, cause them to wither and become paralyzed, and induce anxiety. When one observed the state of battle between both sides, it appeared at first glance to be a struggle. However, upon closer inspection, one noticed that it was a skillful dance taking the form of a struggle. From the earth and also from the heavens, music arose, nurturing the rhythm of this mysterious dance—the aforementioned scene continued for a time—.

Before long, the curse’s retinue members were defeated by the devas and benevolent deities, each one cast down from the clouds until they were finally annihilated.

Commentary on the Seventh Scene

The staging of the Seventh Scene was one brought to life through music and dance.

Therefore, while it goes without saying that the artistic authority over this scene should be entrusted to composers and choreographers, I wished to first outline the author's intent regarding the religious thought—or religious atmosphere (ātmosfiyā)—that these arts were meant to vitalize, thereby providing reference for the collaborating artists and further facilitating the actors' performances. In those stage directions, I had written that the workings of the devas and benevolent deities and the curse’s demonic retinue could be perceived both as struggle and as dance. Truly, their workings possessed these two aspects. Originally, that which is called "Life," coming to us from on high, possesses three eyes. They are “the eye of equality,” “the eye of discrimination,” and “the eye of harmonious unity.” When viewed through "the eye of equality," demons and benevolent deities, struggles and dances—all became a single hue. This was because one saw through the tears of the Eye of Compassionate Reason. When viewed through the "eye of discrimination," demons, benevolent deities, struggles, and dances all stood as distinct entities. The light of the Eye of Compassionate Wisdom was the classification that delineated through light and shadow.

Now, viewing through the "eye of harmonious unity". At this moment, demons and benevolent deities, struggles and dances, were of a single hue yet remained distinct. They were distinct and yet of a single hue. This was because the pupil of Truth stood radiantly clear.

If one inquired further into these three eyes [past], they were again three eyes yet a single eye. It was a single eye that was three eyes. In this sense [present], the three eyes themselves became [past] what was called [past]the Eye of Harmonious Unity. Now by [past]the eye that integrated [past]three eyes into one and divided [past]one eye into three [past], we were [past]to view [past]the universe. At that moment [past], if one were [past subjunctive]to define [past]the universe as struggle and attempt [past infinitive]to view it as such [past], there would be [conditional]nothing—absolutely nothing—that was not [past]a manifestation of struggle. In this regard [present], Darwin’s theory of survival competition found [past]validation beyond even his own convictions. If one were [past subjunctive]to regard [past infinitive]the universe as dance and cast their gaze accordingly [past], then Sakharov、Isadora Duncan、Anna Pavlova、and others would not remain [conditional]the sole claimants to great dancers’ fame. With natural grace beyond artifice [present], fish dance through water while leaves flutter across skies. For those desiring further observations on their mutual intertwining [present], let us invite them [imperative]to witness Act II of “The Barrier Gate” play. The confrontation between Ōtomo no Kuroji and the Cherry Blossom Spirit stood revealed as struggle transformed into dance—and dance reborn as struggle.

The boundless expanse of the Great Life, and the ingenuity that achieves effortless gliding within it—these lay beyond the reach of our mortal comprehension. Only saints existed who could insert needles into the impenetrable and stand on tiptoe against sheer walls. For us there remained only sighing in awe. Yet fortunately, through art's existence and by means of sensation and emotion, we might catch glimpses of its grace. The so-called three eyes were, for the artist, "sensory reality," "dream," and "expression." The struggle brought into this scene must not abandon the visceral reality of terror and ugliness inherent to struggle itself. The dance brought into this scene must strive to preserve to the utmost the "dream" inherent to dance itself. Thus through beauty were the two harmonized and coordinated. This depended solely on the power of artists' "expression."

Perhaps I could make this scene alone into an opera. Now my heart races to advance the play. If that resolution should later come to fruition anew, I intend to compose lyrics and append them separately.

Eighth Scene

Part One

(It was the inner courtyard of Jetavana Monastery.) At the front was Shakyamuni Buddha’s chamber, but its door had not yet been opened. To the left and right were the east and west monk halls, from whose windows—arranged with some perspective—faint lamplight seeped through. On the stone pavement of the inner courtyard, straw mats were spread, and the disciples sat apart in two rows. At the center of each row, they placed a long narrow table; now, the monastic community began its morning meal. Because morning came early, the surroundings were still dark. Three or four lamps were placed among the seating, serving—together with the light from the windows—to faintly reveal the stage arrangement. Incense smoke wafted fragrantly. (A single signal sound of a wooden mallet struck the stage.)

One of the senior monks of the monastic community: —We revere and offer to the Supreme Venerable One. We revere and offer to the countless sacred teachings. And to our brothers and sisters who walk the path together—thus shall this merit be immeasurable and boundless. The monastic community: —(In unison) To the life that is the pure essence of Dharmakāya, the life of Sambhogakāya's perfect guidance, the life abiding in the reality of manifested forms—we give thanks that they now grant us sustenance and strengthen the steps of practitioners advancing on the path. We humbly pray: may this merit be transferred and extended universally to all; may all together be led into the awareness of Life.

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

One of the senior monks: —Congee holds ten benefits; rice possesses three virtues and six flavors. Those who partake in food must not forget this principle even in the slightest.

(As the meal progressed, the sky began to dawn. The sound of small birds began to be heard. By the time the meal ended, the surroundings had completely transformed into a morning scene. When the light grew and one looked, it became clear that one of the two rows of monastic seats consisted of black-robed male monks, while the other was of white-robed nuns.)

Part Two

(The people of the monastic community, having finished their meal, each put away their utensils, cleaned the area thoroughly, and withdrew to left and right with dignified decorum. A single jar containing the remaining food was left at the center of the inner courtyard. In the stillness, dawn began to unfold. Before anyone had noticed, morning birds, squirrels, doves, small monkeys, and others had gathered around the jar and were amiably eating the leftovers. They finished eating and left. The sound of a golden bell rang out from within Shakyamuni Buddha’s chamber. The sound of a very large drum being beaten echoed from the east and west monk halls. At this signal, the people of the monastic community emerged from both sides and stood in two rows in the inner courtyard. Once again, the sound of a golden bell rang out, and then the chamber door opened. In the front sat Shakyamuni Buddha, forming the meditation mudra and sitting in contemplative posture. The assembly spread their sitting mats and performed three prostrations. On the left, Śāriputra—standing at the head of the row of male monks—stepped forward and first offered a respectful greeting.)

Śāriputra: —O World-Honored One, are you in good spirits? "Is there anything amiss with your noble body?" Shakyamuni Buddha: —Thank you. I have no particular irregularities. “And how are you all?”

Śāriputra: —Most humbly, we are all well. (From the right side, Kyōdomi emerged from the front of the row of nuns and offered a greeting.) Kyōdomi: —“O World-Honored One, apart from your concerns for saving sentient beings, is there nothing else that troubles your mind? Apart from those who reject your compassion, is there nothing else that pains your heart?”

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

Kyōdomi: —Most humbly. “We too have all been graciously allowed to dwell in the clarity of our hearts.”

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

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

Shakyamuni Buddha: —“It is a quiet morning.” “It is a pure morning.” “The darkness recedes far away like thunder in a sky where a rainbow first begins to trail，and sleep fades faintly like mist on a wiped mirror.” “The sun’s rising will not be long now.”

“O children of Buddha,” said Shakyamuni Buddha. “Compose your minds and contemplate this morning! What is morning? If you dispel darkness—morning arrives unbidden! If you cast off slumber—eyes awaken naturally!” He continued: “The relationship between delusion and enlightenment mirrors this truth! Enlightenment does not precede to vanquish delusion—when delusion fades away—enlightenment brightens there! When sun ascends—it reveals all hues—illuminates ponds—makes lotuses bloom!”

“Yesterday I went to Shravasti and heard the tale of a madman called Yen-jo. Right—I shall now relate that story to you all. One morning, Yen-jo looked at his face in a mirror. Through sheer carelessness, he misaligned the mirror and failed to reflect his own head and face within it.”

Yen-jo was startled to find no head reflected in the mirror and became convinced he was a monster. Then he became a madman. He ran about the city screaming so loudly that there was no one who did not know of it, searching for his own head. Yen-jo’s head was still attached to his own torso. Through delusions of mind, he convinced himself it did not exist. However, when he noticed, his head remained in its original place. Our human awareness of life is exactly like this. Even when we speak of life, it is not as if there exists some glittering thing that can be attached from elsewhere. To clearly recognize the value of the mind and body inherent in people—that is life. Recognizing this and using it without excess or deficiency—that is life.

Yen-jo, through his own carelessness, believed he had lost his own head. Though Yen-jo’s mind thought this, his head had remained upon his shoulders from the very beginning. Humans often blind themselves to their own worth through such delusions. Even when thus blinded—judging one’s value favorably or unfavorably—human worth fundamentally exists as inherent worth requires no measurement. “Do not appraise human value through external measures,” “nor force inner flames to burn brighter through striving.” The human flame already exists—burning from time’s dawn toward eternity’s horizon. It cannot be quenched nor amplified. Transcending notions of permanence and impermanence, it burns single-mindedly through birth, aging, sickness, and death’s transformations. This flame manifests as what we now call the value of human mind and body.

“O noble assembly.”

“The morning person has already cast away the darkness.” “The morning person has already dispelled sleep.” “You all should cast away delusion and desire.” “At such a time, unexpectedly, the morning person will long for the sunrise.” “You all too shall be illuminated by the light of life.”

(When Shakyamuni Buddha’s sermon concluded, the people of the order rose and bowed three times, then chanted the next vow text.) We humbly take refuge in the sacred teachings. We vow to understand, practice, and uphold the sacred teachings as they are, and to impart them universally to all beings. Homage to living beings. Homage to life’s forms. Homage to life’s functions.

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

Small room)

Part Three

(The surroundings resounded slightly as Maudgalyāyana led the way, with Ananda and the daughter entering.) Ananda stood dejectedly. The daughter followed Ananda, clinging close to him; Maudgalyāyana, upon catching sight of Shakyamuni Buddha, immediately came before him, stood properly, and bowed three times. Ananda and the daughter crouched at distant ends, unable to raise their heads from the ground.

“Master, I have brought Ananda back.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “You have labored well.”

Maudgalyāyana: “This here is the sorceress’s daughter.” “Even with my supernatural powers, I am unable to separate this daughter from Ananda.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: Nay—there is no need to force their separation now.

(A period of silence occupies the stage for a while.) During this time, Ananda repeatedly tries to rouse his spirits and appeal to Shakyamuni Buddha about something, but he himself prevents himself from speaking out. Finally he begins to sob quietly. Seeing Ananda cry, the daughter also becomes sad and covers her eyes with her sleeve.

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Ananda.” “What troubles you?”

(Having been addressed by his master for the first time, Ananda bursts into tears.) (From amidst sobs emerges a resonating sound of heightened emotion.)

Ananda: “Master! Dear Master!”

(After that, tears again. The daughter began to sob quietly.)

Maudgalyāyana: “It is pitiful, but since it is the order’s precept, shall we proceed with Ananda according to the procedure?” Shakyamuni Buddha: “Nay—there is no need for that either. Since you must be tired, you should retire early to your room and rest. As for Ananda, I have some considerations.”

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

(Maudgalyāyana, after bowing three times, glanced briefly at Ananda, showed an expression of unbearable pity, and exited.)

Part Four

Ananda: “Master... O dear Master. What a pitifully weak-willed nature I must possess. Once again I have been caught in the net of a woman’s worldly desires. Moreover, in such a wretched state, I have come before your noble eyes. If suicide were permitted for those who have left the household life—ah... I could escape this disgrace at this very moment... Though it is presumptuous to say so, I resent that the World-Honored One forbade mankind from taking their own lives.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: (while slightly blinking his eyes) “Ananda. Have you realized that for humans, the concept of disgrace brings greater torment than death? Do you know that those assailed by shame come to yearn for cold death as if it were a bed? Endure this state for a time. Bite down firmly on that suffering with 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 heartless commands you give.” “This deed lies far beyond my mind’s strength.” “Boiling water may be swallowed if one endures the throat’s burning.” “But this shame alone—each flame-tongue bears cruel twisted hooks that fester the heart’s skin purple should they touch.” “I cannot even turn my face.” “Compassion!” “Mercy!” “Please—utter but one word to soothe me.” “Master—regret torments me till breath itself chokes.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Ananda.” “The Buddha perceives with perfect clarity the true measure of people’s mental strength.” “What I now command you to bear lies within your capacity.” “Ananda.” “Show courage.” “If your heart remains weak, you shall find it difficult to attain life!”

Ananda: “Master, I confess.” “Please forgive me.” “Please forgive me.” “Please, please, my sins…”

The Daughter: “O World-Honored One—Ananda-sama’s breath grows faint! What am I to do? What must I do to make this right?” Shakyamuni Buddha: “Daughter, there is no need for agitation. Ananda now labors in the throes of birthing life from sin. What birth requires are time and those who suffer alongside. The time needed for Ananda—this I entrust to the Sun Deity. The one who suffers with Ananda stands here present. Daughter—calm yourself and behold my form.”

The Daughter: “Oh—!” “Blood sweat from the golden noble skin!” “Blood sweat!”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Ananda. You must first cast aside these fleshly ears formed from the temporary union of earth, water, fire, and wind. Cast aside this ear of the heart that discerns good from evil through shallow cleverness and worldly wisdom. Having heard beyond hearing and awakened to resonance within resonance, return to that primal ear and now listen well to what I say. Ananda. You are now regretting. You are regretting with your breath on the verge of stopping. But where did that regret come from? How did it come?”

“Ananda. Regret comes from sin.” “Sin contains that which compels it—reasons.” “Reasons mean conditions and causes.” “Ananda.” “Pitifully, you were born with a nature fragile to emotion through past karma.” “Just as thin paper trembles before wind, your nature sways easily to human sentiments and lacks steadfastness.” “Thus you also lack caution.” “This nature, midway on your path of enlightenment, sometimes summons warm memories of kin, or carelessly asks a roadside woman for water, unwittingly brewing affection.” “Land that water readily permeates will draw moisture unbidden and saturate itself.” “This is the cause.” “To this nature was further added a woman’s deep affection as karmic condition.” “The sin you created becomes the result.” “And that sin has borne regret.”

“Ananda. If you had not even the aspiration for enlightenment, your deeds would never have become sin or regret. Precisely because you possess this aspiration for enlightenment—when measured against it—you have discovered your own ugliness. And thus you suffer. You suffer with breath coming in gasps.”

(Ananda finally lost consciousness.) The daughter, flustered, tried holding Ananda in her arms, then rushed to Shakyamuni Buddha’s side, lamenting without self-possession.

“Oh—! Lord Ananda is dying!” “Lord Ananda is passing away!”

Shakyamuni Buddha: “Daughter, do not fuss. “Ananda has merely let the organs of his mortal body rest for a time. “He has not died... “This scenery of the world of single undivided equality—transcending all thought and deliberation—is something only Buddhas can thoroughly comprehend. “The exhaled and inhaled breath of ordinary beings holds no relation to it.”

Ananda. “You have adopted a wise approach on the path; you have ceased the breath of your mortal body and begun breathing the breath of Buddha-nature.” “Your true eye has begun to open.” “Your true ear has begun to hear.” “You should listen calmly in this state of suspended breath.” “I shall willingly continue to expound profoundly.”

“Ananda. “By what I have now expounded, you have come to realize that not a single thing in this world possesses substantial reality. “All things without exception are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. “They are fruits born of causes and conditions. “Thus, Ananda, when you trace back your sin and examine it—even what you believe to be the primary cause of your sin, your emotionally fragile nature—you have come to understand that it too is but a combination of insubstantial causes and conditions. “This entanglement of causes and conditions has been provisionally named past karma. “You have come to understand that this too, when broken down, is but a combination of causes and conditions. “Tracing back further, it is infinitely layered and inexhaustible. Waves give rise to waves through waves. Neither the origin nor the course of the waves can be known. All that exists is nothing but the water of the sea of single undivided equality. It is nothing but life itself, thus governing its own being.”

“Ananda. For humans to commit sin and wipe away that sin, there are three methods. The first is to atone through good karma doubled in response to that sin. The second is to lay bare one’s heart before life and repent with sincerity. The third is to realize the principle that sin’s nature is emptiness, and cast off the clinging self that contradicts this truth.”

“However, since people each possess differing spiritual capacities from birth, they may choose whichever one of these suits their capacity.” “Ananda.” “You are one who has left home.” “You must not seek what is ‘easy’ and avoid what is ‘difficult’ on the path.” “Though gnawed by regret’s fangs and mustering a heart that has nearly lost all self-trust; facing sins so scorching they might sear your face—through this path of prajñā that seeks life’s secret of purification within them, you shall find what most befits you.”

“Noble Ananda.” “You are now accomplishing it.” “Ananda, you left home in your youth and have until this day been removing defilements one by one, like taking out bamboo nodes.” “And the one or two remaining nodes were an inextinguishable attachment to flesh and blood.” “This attachment is like a spring heat haze by the roadside—if you step on it believing it exists, it vanishes.” Consider it nonexistent, and there it remains. “It is a most troublesome defilement to manage.” Love begets love. “Kudzu and wisteria are vines of differing natures, yet when they touch, it is in their inherent nature to become entangled.” “Your single thought provided tidings that entangled with the daughter’s single thought.” “Thus you were clung to by the daughter.”

“However, Ananda, dawn has come upon you.” “It is now time for you to awaken.” “Take with you this purified body—utterly unstained after the Dharma bath—and return to be reborn among humans.” “When you now open your eyes to this world again, the dawning sun of wisdom will surely reveal new things to you.”

(For a while, a breath-taking silence enveloped heaven and earth. During this time, the sun climbed higher and higher, and the surroundings grew brighter. Gradually, a faint moan began escaping from Ananda’s corpse-like body, and the voice grew steadily louder. When that voice finally reached its peak, a crimson hue like a poisonous blossom spewed from his mouth. The daughter, who had been watching Ananda in fear, rushed over at that moment and covered his mouth with her sleeve. Ananda pushed aside the daughter’s sleeve, straightened his upper body, and opened his eyes clearly. (At this time, Ananda’s mouth was already clean.))

Ananda: —(as if unaware of Shakyamuni Buddha) Hahaha... O intriguing defilements! O beloved sins! “I no longer fear you all.” “The heart that would drive you away has vanished... Why then do you shrink your shoulders and flee?” “You may draw near.” “O Defilements!” “O Defilements!” (Extending his hand) “Come now, will you not approach?” “Will you not come closer?” (Drawing back his hand) “Do you still believe I harbor hatred for you all like sworn enemies?” “That is a profound misunderstanding.” “The one who opened my eyes was you—O Trials!” “Was it not through your striving, O Sin, that I was drawn into these Trials?” “In truth, you all are my benefactors.” “Therefore, now I can only offer gratitude—how could there remain even a hair’s breadth of my heart that deems you adversaries?”

(Ananda now turns toward the daughter.)

Ananda: — Oh, Daughter! You were still there?

Daughter: —(briefly taken aback yet timid) Did you notice? "How are you feeling?" Ananda: —"That matters not." "Rather, please rejoice." "Ananda can now receive whatever sentiments you harbor." Daughter: —"Ah!"

Ananda: —Look at my eyes. “Until now, I could not look directly into your eyes.” “Because a trap had been set within them.” “Had I looked straight on, my heart would have been snared in that trap at once.” “But now such a thing does not exist.”

(Ananda stares intently into the daughter’s eyes, as though driving his own pupils deep within them.) Daughter: —(flinching) “If you gaze upon me so intently, it is too dazzling.” Ananda: —“What has come over you now? “My eyes are declaring they can be captured without resistance—whether into your trap or the whirlpool of passion… “When I am captured by you and find peace there, I realized this instead becomes a way to purify both you and the trap into my very life.”

Daughter: —(Left Ananda’s side and came to the corner of the stage while covering her face) I still love Ananda-sama. And yet now I can no longer bring myself to gaze at Ananda-sama. What is happening to me? (Ananda took hold of the daughter’s sleeve.)

Ananda: —“Let us love each other. “Do not hold back. “And if this be our karmic bond from past lives, I shall marry you or do anything. “Even should this sin cast me into hell’s realm among beasts, I will become a blue lotus within crimson flames to enfold you safely.” “When time ripens at last—though but one of us may gain Buddha’s rank—I shall seat you first in glory’s place, finding joy in your blissful form.”

“You need not worry in the slightest—simply move as your love dictates. Do you understand? Have you understood, Daughter?”

(Ananda shook the daughter's sleeve repeatedly.) The daughter’s body gradually crumbled and collapsed. She finally threw herself at Ananda’s knees. Her hands came together in prayer. (Her words emerged brokenly through sobs.)

“I am unworthy.” “Ananda-sama.” “I no longer know what I should do...” “Until just now, when you maintained that serene countenance and were so distant toward me, my heart burned with longing.” “It was because I became stubbornly determined to capture you.” “But now—your completely 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, and I am filled only with unworthiness.”

“…I no longer wish to defile you with a heart of love from the realm of desire.” “Even so, it would be regrettable to bid farewell like this.” “And I too wish to do something for your sake—to find somewhere to direct this heart of mine that yearns for you…” “O Venerable Buddha!” “What course of action is there for this foolish woman to take?” “Please teach me, I beseech you.”

(During Ananda and the daughter’s exchange, Shakyamuni Buddha—who had closed his eyes and entered meditation—quietly opened them upon hearing the plea.)

Shakyamuni Buddha: —Daughter. “You should marry Ananda as he says.” (Ananda, hearing Shakyamuni Buddha’s voice, shrank in fear and crouched beside the daughter.)

“Is that truly so?”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —However, there are a few conditions attached to that. “Will you heed them?”

“I lack the strength to refuse.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —To marry Ananda, you must cut your hair. "You must also clothe yourself in white robes." Daughter: —(with mild 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 color. Daughter: —Then...am I to become a Buddhist nun...?

Shakyamuni Buddha: —That is the bridal form of sacred marriage celebrated in his world. "The adornments of this world would be a hindrance."

Daughter: —(Through tears) …I understand.

Shakyamuni Buddha: —Ananda. "I command you to cut the daughter's hair." "Be most gentle with her—that would be best." Ananda: —I obey. (Shakyamuni Buddha rose from his seat and turned away to wipe his tears.) (Ananda and the daughter clasped hands and wept.)

Part Five

(About ten corrupt monks of the order emerged, pulling a single rope together.)

Monk 1: —“What an outrageous sight!” The monk and the woman were holding hands and weeping. Monk 2: —“Ananda! Do you still dare call yourself a senior member of the Shakya Order?” Monk 3: —“It’s because the World-Honored One has been too indulgent with Ananda that he’s grown this arrogant.” Monk 1: —(Bowing to Shakyamuni Buddha) “By our precepts, we must seize any monk who breaks the rules and expel him from our order. Master, we shall handle Ananda according to these regulations. We humbly request your permission.” Monks: —(in unison) “We beg you to grant it.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —(quietly turning around) “There is no need for commotion. Of course, since Ananda has broken the precepts, you may proceed according to the rules. But I wonder if your power can truly bind him.” Monk 1: —“What do you mean? Could he truly be impossible to bind?” Monk 2: —“Our strength has been forged through the precepts! What nonsense—a single shameless young monk.” Shakyamuni Buddha: —“Then try asking Ananda one question. If he cannot answer, you may bind him at once.”

Monk 1: —Understood. (Changing his demeanor and shouting loudly) How now, rope—when it comes to binding your body? Ananda: —What rope. "What body."

(Ananda calmly proceeded to be bound with his hands behind his back.) In that instant, the rope pulled taut in the monks' hands snapped into pieces.)

Monks: “Ah...” “Ah….” (Ananda spreads his sitting cloth, makes three bows to Shakyamuni Buddha, takes the daughter’s hand, and passes calmly before the monks as he exits.) Curtain.)

Scene Nine

Part One

(Behind Jetavana Monastery. There was a wall. Bodhi trees, coconut palms, palm trees, and weeds covered most of it. However, since the sky could be seen quite extensively beyond the treetops, one could discern the passage of time through changes in its color. Now approaching dusk, the sky showed even swifter changes. The bell continued to toll. Ananda walked ahead while the daughter followed at a slight distance behind him along the wall. Ananda remained unchanged from before. The daughter had cut her hair and now appeared as a Buddhist nun.)

“Is that not Ananda-sama going over there?”

Ananda: —(Ananda turned back and approached) Oh! You're the Daughter. "No—Matangi, who took monastic vows and changed her name." "It has been some time." (They exchanged bows.)

“It has been exactly three years since then, has it not?”

Ananda: —Indeed, three years... How quickly they have passed. "But these three years—you must have faced many hardships in the unfamiliar ascetic practices, had many difficult times." Matangi: —Not at all—as I have been allowed to spend days filled with gratitude. Ananda: —That is what matters most. “Ah, right—Ms. Kyōdomi, the supervisor of the nuns, was also impressed by how diligently you’ve been applying yourself.” “If things continue like this,” she said, “it won’t be long before the Honorable One grants you permission to prove your enlightenment.”

“As for the honored permission to prove enlightenment—such a lofty attainment is not for someone of my station, nor is it something I desire.” “It is simply that being allowed to spend each day more free from impurity than when I was a daughter is my joy.” “And yet... (She starts to speak but pauses in thought, then with a resolute expression) Ananda-sama.” “I have now come to truly understand that I am married to you.”

Ananda: —What do you mean? (Pause. Matangi.) "If it would not trouble you, might you elaborate further on your earlier words... In truth, I have long been instructed by the Honorable One to monitor the progression of your spiritual condition." Matangi — (pressing palms together) "Ever-present remains our revered master’s unwavering divine compassion." "I find myself without means to express sufficient gratitude." "Then I shall humbly share my unrefined thoughts exactly as they are." "Should my words prove too disagreeable to hear, I earnestly beg you to rebuke me without reserve." (She closes her eyes, as if organizing her thoughts on how to articulate her spiritual experience.) "Ananda-sama." "Having reached this juncture, I cannot fathom how men and women of this world find contentment in love of such meager depth." "No matter how ardently a man and woman may love each other—how can they assert with certainty that momentary fluctuations of mood do not introduce impure grains into their pristine affection?" "And even between those who trust each other implicitly—who could swear that shadows of other men and women never once appear in their dreams at night?" "They remain powerless even against themselves." "In a lifespan spanning fifty or sixty years—how much time could there possibly be in which they sustain that initial fervor of mutual love without permitting the slightest weakening?" "Ananda-sama." "Foremost among reasons—the love between men and women in this world invariably wears a shell called 'self.'" "For man and woman to mutually shatter their shells and merge into the rapture of unconditional love—such an occurrence proves vanishingly rare." "In most cases, people cling firmly to their own shells while seeking only to break their partner’s—striving to draw them into their own willful conception of love. That is the common way of things."

“Ananda-sama. “Have you ever heard lovers of this world exchanging honeyed words beneath moonlit trees? “They press hands to hearts to prove love’s sincerity—it is so. “They pledge unchanging vows—it is so. “Though speaking of hearts illuminating each other unclouded, they chafe at language’s clumsiness—it is so. “Yet if you deem this love’s fulfillment, Ananda-sama—too soon!—it is so. “You must not miss their sighs and sobs hereafter. “True lovers’ tales must end in sighs and tears—it is so. “Why? “Their worldly flesh and minds hinder union with love’s mystery—it is so. “This world’s substance thrusts self’s scalpel between them, coldly restoring what was—it is so. “None feel fate’s breath sharper than lovers. “Even as they vow and prove devotion—even then— “Their spines sense full moon’s waning light, “High tide’s languid waves, “Tomorrow’s loneliness— “All becoming sighs and tears—it is so. “Therefore behold: “Cunning lovers discard life’s boat at mystery’s shore— “Calling this death’s victory.”

“—The victory of death—that is, through what the world calls a lovers’ suicide, they intend to have eternally fulfilled the life of their love—it is so.” “And even if their love moves the people of this world—even if various different forms of their love are created there in accordance with the impressions people receive, and remain in this world for a time—what relation could that have to their purpose?”

"The world the two have turned to is still governed by the strict law of karmic cause and effect—what ought to unite is united, what ought to separate is stripped away without mercy or compassion—it is so. The sole path permitted for us to walk hand in hand is a single strand of true sincerity born from love—and this path becomes a world of serene emptiness, a realm entirely different in nature from love’s passionate fervor—it is so. Moreover, I believe the sin of destroying one’s life—of suicide hastened by the passions of the self before proceeding along that path—must be atoned for over countless lifetimes."

“And then, Ananda-sama. There exists no flower of the heart more prone to slumber than the love between men and women in this world. To keep it from withering requires the diligent application of stimuli—jealousy, obstruction, deceit, hatred—it is so.” “Should it endure without needing such things, it ceases to be love between man and woman, transforming instead into another love that transcends gender—it is so.” I now know with clarity. That I was never bound to you through romantic love between man and woman—this was my blessed fortune. For your soul did not dwell in that realm. Had I forced our union there, it would have meant clinging to your provisional form and transient affections for my own delight. Your true soul resided in a loftier world. Only by ascending to where your soul dwells could I come to meet your true self. Ah, the nobility and tranquility of this world! Here, acts of indulgence or overfamiliarity find no purchase. Yet here we dwell together always in mutual understanding. If need be, in this realm beyond mere understanding, I can become you and you me—such is our nature here. No fear of betrayal or cooling affections troubles me. Immersed in the river of light flowing from eternal past toward endless future, I breathe life’s rainbow with your shared breath. Crowned with unfading blossoms unadorned, robed in seamless ceremonial raiment unrippable—thus shall I remain your bride through all ages. Shakyamuni Buddha declared she should be a holy bride. O holy bride! A holy bride untouched by fear of birth, aging, sickness or death—ever fresh as a newborn babe! How fragrant this body of mine!

And what brings me even greater joy is that in this world, I can become one with you, along with my beloved mother. Though she was a wicked yet deeply loving mother, my sole regret is that I cannot tell this to my deceased mother.

(The sun had mostly set, and in the depths of the garden and along the bases of the walls, darkness like diluted ink drifted.) A faint golden afterglow lingered only upon the treetops and sky. Ananda, who had been listening intently to Matangi’s reminiscences until now, stopped her with his hand as she attempted to continue speaking and said:

Ananda: “Please calm yourself for a moment, Matangi. Your esteemed mother will appear here at this very moment.”

Matangi: —Eh? “Is that truly so?”

Part Two

(Before the voice faded, crimson flames erupted from the earth, and a figure wrapped in flames rose into view.) It was the old sorceress.)

Old Woman: —Alas, this suffering! “For the sin of cursing a monk, I endure the torments of hell.” “Ah, how blessed! Through hell’s torments do I atone for my worldly sins.” “The hell into which I have fallen is the Reviving Hell.” “We sharpen poisonous claws and tear into each other’s flesh.” “Scarcely do I think I have finally died and escaped suffering when a cold wind arrives once more, reviving me into my former body to receive those poisonous claws.” “This is repeated hundreds of billions of times.” “—My blood has dried up, and my tears have been completely shed.”

“Yet even amidst this suffering, there is the guidance of Buddha-light. Though my curse originated from a parent’s heart that sought to fulfill my daughter’s desire, Buddha perceived this truth. A single lotus thread bestowed by Buddha now lies within my hand.”

“Daughter. One end of this thread should now rest upon the fingers of your pure hands. As your guiding power reels it in, I too shall soon be borne upward to share your world. Oh, how wondrous are karma’s workings! Oh, how blessed are Dharma’s laws…”

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

Part Three

(From a point at some distance from the pit into which the old woman had fallen once more, pale flames rose up, and the Heretical Scholar enveloped in flames appeared.)

Heretical Scholar: —Alas, this suffering! “The retribution for scheming to confuse the Dharma and falling.” “Ah, how blessed! That worldly transgressions are rectified through hell’s torments.” “The place where I dwell is the Eight Cold Hells.” “The coldness of reason becomes frost’s edge and ice’s blade, tormenting this body.” “Flesh bitten by cold splits like padma flowers; groans emerge only as rasping gasps and chattering teeth.” “Scarcely do I think I’ve died and escaped suffering when a warm wind arrives, instantly restoring me to my original form.” “This repeats hundreds of billions of times.” “Yet even within this, a single thread of Buddha-light pierces through.” “In my worldly existence, entwining scholarly jealousy with Dharma’s truth became my happiness.” “The tenacity and compassion of Dharma’s power.” “Those who touch it are ultimately assimilated into Dharma.” “It resembles fashioning a blade from earth to cut water.” “The more the blade strikes down, the more inevitably it dissolves into water—this is certain.” “Buddha’s vow granted even one such as I the promise of reaching his world.” “The thread of salvation rests upon my elbow.” “Ananda.” “You are my forerunner bearing karmic bonds of transformative reversal.” “One end of this thread surely lies within your impartial palm. As your spiritual power grows, this thread will draw my world toward yours.” “I shall return to suffering’s realm anticipating this.”

“I shall go forth boldly to meet the hardships of suffering once more.”

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

Part Four

After the phantom vanished completely, the stage scene's sense of reality was intensified. That is to say, it had now completely become the darkness of this world. In the sky, dripping starlight was spun, and the garden's leaves and branches began to welcome the night wind.

A clear chirping, neither insect nor bird, kept time as dusk shifted moment by moment into night. (In Matangi’s hand remained a scrap of golden thread; in Ananda’s hand, a scrap of silver thread.)

Ananda: —Matangi, everything has become clear now.

Matangi: —What reason could there be to doubt it?

(The two drew deep breaths as if to dispel the fullness in their chests and sank into silent meditation for a time.)

Matangi: —But Ananda-sama. "There still remains just one thing that I do not understand."

Ananda: —You need not hesitate to ask.

Matangi: —Love... "Why are humans given something like love—which becomes their stumbling block—to exist among them?" "This alone I cannot comprehend."

Part Five

(As Ananda was agonizing over how to admonish Matangi, the garden shone with golden light, and there the figure of Buddha manifested.)

The two—Oh.

The World-Honored One... (The two kneel there.) Shakyamuni Buddha: —Matangi, those who stumble upon the earth rise again by using that same earth as their support. “Those who stumble in love also enter the path by using that love as their support.” “Were you not one of them?”

Matangi: —Yes. (She instinctively presses her palms together in prayer.)

Shakyamuni Buddha: —All things in existence—there is none that does not serve as a means to the path. "You must never regard anything as negligible."

“All of you,” “Have you already taken your evening meal?” Ananda: —“No.” “We have not yet.” Matangi: —“I have no particular wish to partake.”

Shakyamuni Buddha: —“That will not do.” “You should eat quickly.” “And you must not shun the night wind either.” “...You must not rest entirely at ease simply because you think you have once reached his world.” “The spiritual training of life is immeasurably vast and profound.” “Your hearts, once purified in his world, must not forget that there will come times when they descend again into the original world—entering into passion and affection, assimilating with birth, old age, sickness, and death—to adorn worldly defilements from within.” “The body is your weapon in those times.” “You must not forget to keep yourselves sound.” “Spirit and flesh, the other world and this world, are one and not two.” “A saintly person is none other than a robust individual in the mundane world.” “You must not weaken your bodies by valuing only the strengthening of your minds.”

(At this moment, a cool breeze passed through the garden's treetops.) In the monastery, the bedtime bell tolled. Shakyamuni Buddha turned his gaze to the sky and lingered for a moment.)

Shakyamuni Buddha: —Ah. “This is a splendid evening.” “Life overflows to the farthest reaches of the heavens and earth.” “I know that several new stars are being born in this sky even now.” “They too have passed through the trials of water and fire.” “I must bless them.” (Shakyamuni Buddha extends his right hand high. He pulls a white thread from his hand.)

“Ananda.” Matangi: “Oh!” “Even the Buddha’s hand has a thread!” “The thread...”

(At this moment, there was a tremendous roar.) On the stage, nearly all characters who had appeared from this play’s prologue through subsequent acts now either hung suspended in mid-air or rose from beneath the stage as they made their appearance. Those characters too each held five-colored threads in their hands, their ends connecting to every character’s thread—including those of Shakyamuni Buddha, Ananda, and Matangi—forming a net-like pattern across the stage. The electrical devices made it resplendent with light. It was the symbol of the web of life that weaves the cosmos.

In the sky, a new star was being born—sharp yet faint—like the plume of silver grass. Curtain.)

Afterword

Among Shakyamuni Buddha's male disciples, Ananda was the one who struggled most deeply with the karmic bonds of love. The relationship with the Chandala (a low caste) daughter depicted in this play is also one of the trials of his passion.

However, there was a considerable difference between this play I had written and the facts recorded in the sutras. That he was admired by the Chandala's daughter and drawn into her mother's sorcery accorded with the sutras. There, he immediately sensed danger to his life and called upon Shakyamuni Buddha. Shakyamuni Buddha exerted his mental power and safely brought him back to Jetavana Monastery.

The next day, Ananda, who had gone into Shravasti City, was once again awaited by the daughter. He returned to the monastery still being longed for by the daughter. He appealed to Shakyamuni Buddha about the daughter. Shakyamuni Buddha instructed the daughter and had her take monastic vows. When Shakyamuni Buddha praised the daughter for first developing reverence for the Dharma, her side locks immediately fell out, as the sutras record. The daughter’s spiritual awakening—though still not very profound—was also immediate. It seems Ananda attained true spiritual awakening near the time of the sutras' compilation following Shakyamuni Buddha’s parinirvana.

In this regard as well, I handled the matter rather hastily in my play. However, the purpose of this play lies in examining the purification process of love. "Those who stumble through love are also raised up through love." This Mahayana Buddhist phrase of Shakyamuni Buddha’s was made the focal point. The psychological journeys and deeds of Ananda and the daughter have been considerably sacrificed for this purpose through my artistic utilitarian arrangements. I will offer a word of explanation for the two of them. As the philosophical underpinnings driving the play toward the aforementioned purpose, elements from the Lotus Sutra, Avatamsaka Sutra, Prajnāpāramitā Sutras, and others are interwoven. Whether this aligns with or diverges from the historical teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha during his Jetavana Monastery period is a matter beyond the scope of this play’s nature.

In Act II, I adapted both the rice cake almsgiving episode from an incident between Ananda and the Naked Ascetics and drew inspiration for the Handed and Handless dialogue from anecdotes concerning Daitō Kokushi in Japanese Zen Buddhist lore. Such scenes became necessary to maintain rhythmic shifts within the play’s structure. The Binding Rope Dialogue in Act VIII was also conceived through Zen Buddhist concepts.