Part Two
Chapter 7: The Tragedy at Rajagrha and the Vow of Amida

Amida's inconceivable Vow is a great ship that carries us across the sea that is difficult to cross.

With this declaration, Shinran opens his monumental work Teaching, Practice, Faith, Enlightenment. It means that Amida's Vow to save all beings, which eradicates darkness of mind, is a great ship in which all are borne cheerfully and happily across life's sea of endless waves of tribulation. The purpose of living is precisely to board this ship.

Shinran then comments on the story of the tragedy at Rajagrha that took place more than twenty–five hundred years ago during the lifetime of Śākyamuni, the historical Buddha. As we will see, the heroine of that story, Queen Vaidehi, is finally lifted onto the ship, thus attaining the purpose of her life.

* * *

Long ago the ancient kingdom of Magadha, ruled by King Bimbisara (543–491 BC), was supreme in the subcontinent of India. Bimbisara was a mighty ruler whose influence extended in all directions, and Vaidehi, his consort, was as lovely as a flower. The pair lived together in the palace in the capital of Rajagrha, lacking for nothing, seemingly as happy as any two people could be. Yet they shared one great sorrow which they endured in silence: for years, no child was born to them.

Childlessness is a common enough affliction, but for a royal couple it is a calamity. What could be more devastating than to think that on one's death, power would be wrested away from one's ancestral line, with perhaps fearful consequences? For King Bimbisara and Queen Vaidehi whose kingdom held sway over all others, each passing year brought greater anxiety as their thoughts turned helplessly to the future. Finally, not knowing what else to do, they sought the aid of a fortune–teller. As so often happens, anxiety over the future led them astray.

In response to the couple's earnest pleas, the fortune–teller pondered a while and then told them, “Do not worry. A child will be born to you.” The king and queen leaned forward with excitement, hardly daring to believe it was true. The soothsayer went on, “There is now an aged ascetic living deep in the mountains. The child will be born as soon as his life runs out.”
“How soon is that?” they asked eagerly.
“Another five years.”

At that, their smiles faded. The queen's disappointment was especially keen, for she was nearing an age when motherhood would no longer be possible. There could be no more waiting. She must have her child now. Her patience stretched to the limit, she pleaded, “I cannot bear so long a wait! Can it not be sooner?”

Overpowered by her intensity, the fortune–teller blurted out, “There is one way ...”
“Tell us. What must we do?” Now King Bimbisara spoke, leaning forward intently.
“If the ascetic but dies sooner, your son's birth will be hastened by that much. But I could never recommend such a course of action. Listen to me!” With desperate insistence, the fortune–teller denied having been the one to bring up the idea.
“If the ascetic but dies sooner ...” The king murmured the words over to himself. After mulling it over, the next day he gathered his council to seek their advice.

One man spoke up: “We too are eager for the appearance of an heir, but surely to kill an ascetic for that purpose would be going too far. Why not be patient a while longer?”

The majority likewise cautioned against a rush to violence. King Bimbisara listened thoughtfully to this counsel, apparently swayed by it, until Queen Vaidehi came up, tugged hard on his sleeve, and led him off into an adjoining room. “Pull yourself together!” she snapped, fuming.
“Why so angry, my dear?”
“Are you blind? Do you not see what is going on?” The queen had worked herself into a rage.
The king blinked in surprise.
“You cannot tell that you are being deceived!”
“What talk is this?”
“Think—in five years I will be too old for childbearing.”

King Bimbisara, having never considered this point, was instantly contrite. Pressing her advantage, the queen triumphantly added: “Those men are plotting to take over the throne. Have you not figured it out?”

The king sensed now the direction his wife's thoughts were taking, but still he attempted to placate her. “That may be true, my dear, but still—to murder another human being—and a holy man at that!”

His words only stoked the flames of her ambition and increased her fierce longing for a child. “Don't be silly,” she said. “Just think of the many wars you have fought over small patches of land, and the number of lives lost then! This is a far worthier cause—a successor for you! Why, the whole nation will rejoice.”

Hearing his wife bring up the past made the king uncomfortable. As he squirmed, she let slip something else: “I know it seems cruel toward the holy man, but after all, what real pleasure in life could there be for someone so old? How much greater his joy, surely, to be reborn as our child! Death will come as a blessing.”

A self–centered view if ever there was one—but as history shows, power often blinds people to all but their own logic. Then disobedience, or failure to please, results all too often in summary execution. Queen Vaidehi provides an object lesson in the arrogance, brutality, and malice of the powerful. And so, like one who is a bodhisattva on the outside and a demon within, this gentle queen, who had never harmed a fly, readily conceived a plan steeped in horror. One is reminded of the haiku:

With voice so pure
does it yet devour lizards?
Spring cuckoo

At his wife's urging, King Bimbisara made up his mind to carry out the murder, and together they set off for the mountains with a unit of soldiers behind. They found the old ascetic meditating atop a rock, and drew near. King Bimbisara called out to him in a patronizing tone, “Holy man! Very impressive!”

The old ascetic looked up in surprise at the sudden appearance of the king and queen, riding on a white elephant. He greeted them and inquired what brought their highnesses so deep into the mountains.

King Bimbisara responded arrogantly, “I will tell you why we have come so far—for your own sake! You may not know it, but you are destined to be reborn as our son in the next life. The sooner the better, would you not say?”

Naturally, the ascetic turned down the offer straightaway. “No, thank you. Wherever I am to be born in the next life, I do not wish to die until I have completed the rigors of my training in this one.”

Nobody, no matter how low in station, could be so foolish as to submit uncomplainingly to such an unreasonable command. But what ruler would be so lenient as to overlook out–and–out disobedience? In a fit of rage, King Bimbisara spluttered, “No one who crosses me shall live!” He turned to his men and gave the order to kill.

The hapless ascetic was no more eager for death than you or I would be. Blood spurting from his body, he stared at the king and queen in horror and screamed a curse at them before dying, swearing revenge.

* * *

Soon thereafter, Queen Vaidehi conceived a child. Rejoicing filled the palace and the entire kingdom, as people everywhere looked forward gladly to the birth of an heir. Only the queen could not be happy—no, not even though her yearning for a child was finally to be satisfied. Besides the natural worries she felt over giving birth at a late age, she shuddered to think what fate she might suffer for having forced her husband to kill the old ascetic. Night and day, the sound of his dying curse rang in her ears. She sank deeper and deeper into depression, unable to eat or sleep. Often she would shake the sleeping king awake to pour out her woes, clinging fast to him:

“I am too terrified to sleep and I can hardly bear the sight of food. Could this be the doing of that ascetic? I am so frightened!”

King Bimbisara did his best to console his trembling, distracted wife. “No use worrying over trifles, my dear. You will only harm your health. Believe me, everyone who is killed acts that way. Who would die with a thank–you on his lips? You are upset because you had never seen such a thing before, that is all ...”

The days and months went by. Soon it was the month of her confinement, but Queen Vaidehi only felt a stronger agitation. Weeping, she implored her husband to consult the fortune–teller again. “Once more, that's all I ask. If only I knew more about the child I am carrying, I could relax.”

Not knowing what else to do, the king complied with her request. The fortune–teller, quickly summoned, frowned and delivered himself of this prophecy: “The infant is definitely a prince, but inside the womb he is filled with resentment. When he is grown he will wreak harm upon you both.”

The queen shuddered: her worst fear had been confirmed. To think that the child they had prayed for, longed for—committed murder for—was now to become a dreaded foe! Her own actions had brought the situation squarely on herself, but that never occurred to Queen Vaidehi. She only sought release from her fears. Her back to the wall, she again thought of a desperate measure, and forced her husband to agree.

“I cannot give birth to a son that will kill its parents,” she announced. “How could we possibly rear him? The best thing to do is kill the child before any attachment forms. Make a delivery room on the upper floor, with a number of swords standing on the floor of the room beneath, so that as soon as the child leaves the womb it will fall on them and die. We have no other choice.”

The king too had been tearing his hair out, wondering what to do. He felt pity for his unborn son, but in the end he agreed with his wife.

And so her time came, and she gave birth in the upper story room as planned.

As this story shows, when people feel cornered, there is no telling what they may do. The classic treatise Lamenting the Deviations contains this confession: “Under the right conditions, I, Shinran, would do anything.” In other words, given a compelling set of conditions, Shinran knew himself capable of any deed, however horrible. It is a truth that surely applies to all who have ever lived.

The child must have been meant to be born into this world after all, for it only lost the little finger of its right hand on the swords. Its life was miraculously spared.

From the moment they heard their son's lusty birth cries, all thought of infanticide fled the royal couple's hearts. They became the most doting of parents, and named the baby Ajatasatru. Naturally, strict silence was imposed to keep details of his conception and birth from leaking out.

* * *

Prince Ajatasatru was born with a wicked streak of violence. He was forever lashing out at his parents and caretakers, and he slew vassals as if they were bugs. His mouth was filled with harsh language, lies, and slander. Day in and day out he gave himself over to lustful pleasures, and his inhumanity knew no bounds. He terrorized the retainers until gradually the reins of power fell into his hands.

In mortal fear of their brutal and ungrateful son, the king and queen foresaw a gloomy future for their country and themselves, and they longed for inner peace. As souls in darkness crave the light, King Bimbisara and Queen Vaidehi finally began a quiet search for true happiness. Such searches are always rewarded, and so was theirs: they encountered Śākyamuni Buddha as he traveled preaching in the kingdom, and listened to his sermons. His teachings fell on their parched and dusty hearts like a gentle, soaking rain.

“Only he can give illumination to the heart.”

Deeply stirred by the depth and breadth of his teachings, King Bimbisara and Queen Vaidehi became lay followers of the Buddha, pious keepers of his precepts. With their conversion came a dramatic rise in the numbers of his listeners. But at the same time, enemies of the Buddha arose, for “the wind envies a tall tree.”

One of the worst was Devadatta, a cousin of Śākyamuni (eldest son of Suklodana–raja, younger brother of Śākyamuni's father Suddhodana–raja). Ambitious by nature, Devadatta grew jealous of his cousin's power and fame. Finally he conceived the idea of killing the Buddha to install himself as his successor and take over leadership of the community of believers. His heart was a cauldron filled with flames of envy and rage—flames that lurk in every human heart. These flames are quick to spread in all directions, becoming an inferno that devours all in its path.

One day Devadatta tried to assassinate the Buddha by throwing rocks from a mountaintop as he passed below, but managed only to injure the holy man's little toe. Next he set loose a herd of drunken elephants, hoping his cousin would be trampled to death, but this scheme also failed. Trunks aloft, the maddened elephants ran amok, making the very earth thunder, but the moment they encountered the Buddha's beneficence they lowered their trunks docilely and knelt down without doing him any harm.

Despite having failed not once but twice to take the life of the Buddha, Devadatta was still not ready to give up. “Where lies the ultimate source of his power?” he asked himself. “It must be the conversion of the royal couple. In that case, the best way to bury him is to bring about their downfall. But they are the two most powerful people in all the land. What can I do?”

Suddenly he slapped his knee in delight, thinking of their son Ajatasatru. What better way to accomplish his goal? Devadatta was privy to all the details of the prince's birth. He proceeded to worm his way into the confidences of the prince with the poise of a master actor. The young and inexperienced Ajatasatru was putty in his hands.

One day when the two were alone, Devadatta asked the prince if he knew what had happened to the little finger of his right hand. Ever since he was old enough to wonder, the prince's questions about that missing finger had always met with evasion, and so his curiosity ran deep. He listened intently—thereby falling straight into the trap. Devadatta waxed eloquent, exaggerating the story and leading Ajatasatru farther down the path of evil. “So you see,” he summed up, “your parents murdered you in your previous life, and then they tried to kill you all over again in this life. What happened to that finger is certain proof.”

His words hit home. Ajatasatru was enraged, and ordered his father thrown into prison—with strict instructions that all food be withheld until he starved to death.

And so Bimbisara, once all–powerful, suffered the ignominy of imprisonment. He had heard the Buddha preach lessons of impermanence, but this drastic overnight change in his own fortunes was greater than anything he had ever heard. Writhing in anguish, he felt the truth of Buddha's teaching in every fiber of his being. He pressed his palms together before the holy mountain outside his window where the Buddha was preaching, and prayed fervently for words of solace.

In response, Śākyamuni Buddha sent two of his disciples: Purna, foremost preacher of sermons, and Maudgalyayana, foremost worker of wonders. Together the two men patiently explained to Bimbisara the law of karma: “A seed never sown cannot grow. That which we reap is nothing but the fruit of our own actions.” Finally made to see the evil of what he had done, Bimbisara shed tears of bitter repentance.

Meanwhile, worried over her husband's dire situation, Vaidehi purified her skin and covered it with buckwheat flour, while slipping wine inside her accessories. Every day she used her status as royal consort to evade the eyes of the inspectors and convey nourishment to her husband in this way. Thanks to the secret ministrations of his wife and the disciples, King Bimbisara was able to cling precariously to life, nourished in body and in spirit.

Three weeks went by. Suspecting nothing, Ajatasatru checked one day to make sure that his father was dead, only to have the prison guard reveal what had been going on. Ajatasatru let out a howl of rage. “Only a rebel protects a rebel—no matter if you are my mother!” He drew his sword and approached her menacingly.

He had fallen completely into Devadatta's trap.

His aides were appalled. The minister Candraprabha and the noted physician Jivaka stood between Ajatasatru and his mother, remonstrating with the prince. “One hears of men who murdered their fathers to take the throne,” they said, “but what man would murder his own mother!” They warned him that if he committed such an outrage, they would have no choice but to take action of their own.

The prince reluctantly gave in, sheathing his sword, but his voice shook with fury as he issued a new command. “Very well then, her life is spared—but I want her thrown in the dungeon.” With this, he left in a fury.

* * *

Confined in a dark chamber by her own child, Queen Vaidehi suffered severe mental distress. She flailed at the prison walls with her fists, torn by anger at her son, hatred for Devadatta, and worry over her husband; and she wept like one demented. Yet her convulsive sobs only echoed eerily off the walls.

Her face contorted in pain, she had no recourse but Śākyamuni Buddha. Desperately she prayed for deliverance, but all that came out of her mouth was a stream of complaints ending: “Śākyamuni, why do you still not come, when I am suffering so?” She seemed to feel that clearly he owed her that much, after all she had done for him.

“Today I will get to the heart of the matter.” With these words, Śākyamuni launched into a sermon on the Lotus Sutra. The masses were listening raptly, hanging on his every word, when Queen Vaidehi's grievous cries struck his soul. With a penetrating flash he saw all that was in her heart, cut short his sermon, and went straight to Rajagrha.

Why did he take this drastic action? Children playing on a cliff need rescuing less urgently than those who are drowning in churning floodwaters below. The Buddha's compassion reached out to and embraced Queen Vaidehi in the moment of her greatest desperation. By this action he also demonstrated the true purpose of his birth in this world—that is, the preaching of Amida's Vow.

One might suppose that Queen Vaidehi greeted the Buddha with tears of rapture, overwhelmed that he would have interrupted a sermon on the Lotus Sutra just for her—but instead, she started right in complaining: “I am the most wretched person on earth. After all I did to raise that boy, how could he abuse me this way, his own mother? What have I done? He is completely in the wrong. Why must I have such an ungrateful child?”

Śākyamuni listened wordlessly to her endless outpouring of grievances.

“He was always a good boy in his heart, though. It's that no–good Devadatta who put him up to this. He is the real villain. None of this would have happened if it were not for Devadatta!”

Then her resentment found a still more outlandish target. “Oh, Śākyamuni, how could you have someone like that for a cousin! It is because you are so eminent that he became envious in the first place and dreamed up this plot. That is why my husband and I have ended up like this.” Having made all her charges, she dissolved in tears.

In sum, her argument went like this: “I am suffering now because of my child. My child did this terrible thing to me because of Devadatta. Devadatta came up with his monstrous plan because of you, Śākyamuni Buddha. My suffering is therefore all your fault!”

While asking for his help she was pelting him with stones of resentment, though she remained unaware of doing any such thing. As he listened to her sad and foolish ranting, Buddha only gazed at her with infinite compassion through half–closed eyes. This is what has been called the “Sermon Without Words.” No one knew better than he that sometimes silence can communicate more effectively than the most eloquent speech.

People are continually being amazed at outcomes in their lives, while remaining utterly unaware of seeds they have planted in the past. The story of the tragedy at Rajagrha brings out the depths of human foolishness, weakness, and selfishness.

Queen Vaidehi longed for a word from the Buddha—anything at all would bring her solace. She begged, but he remained silent. Was he even listening? Her words seemed like balls bouncing off a stone wall. In frustration and chagrin, she tumbled deeper into an abyss of sorrow.

Exhausted in body and soul, she flung herself at his feet in despair. “Why was I ever born? My life is hell on earth. Oh, may I never be born into such hell again! Please let me go to a world without suffering.”

To this heartfelt plea Śākyamuni Buddha finally responded: from the mark of the Buddha between his eyebrows he sent forth a flood of light illuminating the lands of all the Buddhas in the ten directions of the universe. Queen Vaidehi gazed raptly at the scene and said with a sigh of admiration, “How wonderful they are!” Among them all, she was drawn to one that outshone the rest. That, Śākyamuni told her, was the Pure Land of Amida, who reigns supreme among all Buddhas. Eagerly she asked, “What must I do to be born there? Only tell me, and I will do it!”

To awaken in one and all the single desire to be born in the Pure Land of Amida was always Śākyamuni's purpose; now, hearing her say the very words he had been waiting for, he let a smile of satisfaction play about his lips for the first time. He then proceeded to tell her what we know as the Sutra of Contemplation on the Buddha of Infinite Life, about Amida and his Pure Land.

* * *

“Vaidehi, Amida is to be found not far from here. When your mind's eye is opened, you will see that he is always beside you. Concentrate with all your heart on Amida and his Pure Land. Through my teachings I will show how you, and all those yet to come, may achieve rebirth there.”

He began by urging on her the practice of virtue. He spoke of two kinds of virtue, “virtue of the settled mind” and “virtue of the scattered mind.” The former means to quiet one's deluded mind and concentrate on Amida and his Pure Land through seated meditation or visualization; there are thirteen ways of practicing it. The latter means to refrain from evil and pursue good with a still–unquiet mind. It is the endeavor to say or do good things such as refraining from eating meat or fish, telling no lies, and the like; there are three ways of practicing it.

Once she had glimpsed the Pure Land of Amida, Queen Vaidehi asked the Buddha to tell her what she must do to go there, confident—or conceited enough to think—that she could really do whatever he said. She had no conception of herself as someone who could do only evil, whose only possible destination was Hell. This supreme arrogance and ignorance concerning one's own true nature is another manifestation of darkness of mind. (For an explanation of this, see Chapter 19.) As we have seen, darkness of mind is the source of all suffering. Darkness of mind cannot be destroyed by any exercise of the intellect, the emotions, or the will.

Śākyamuni Buddha understood full well the vainglorious nature of the human heart. From the outset, he refrained from telling the queen straight out that she was capable only of evil, instead saying, “If you think you can do it, go ahead and try.” He taught her to perform the thirteen kinds of virtue of the settled mind, knowing through and through that she could never carry them out. One by one he explained them, saying, “If you do this, your sins will disappear and you can enter the Pure Land of Amida. Now try.”

Vaidehi made a valiant effort, but the more she tried to focus her thoughts, the more she found herself engulfed in anger and hatred for Ajatasatru and Devadatta. Not a particle of good came of all her efforts—which was only to be expected. How could a woman like Vaidehi, the incarnation of greed, anger, and discontent, hope to produce good on her own?

Then why had Śākyamuni Buddha set her this impossible task? True salvation cannot be obtained by human effort, yet Vaidehi was vain enough to believe that she could indeed be saved through her own efforts. The only way to demonstrate to her the foolishness of this belief was to allow her to actually try. Buddha's dealings with the queen shine with irresistible compassion.

Vaidehi sincerely tried to follow Buddha's instructions, but she found it completely impossible. Once she saw herself as hopelessly evil, she fell into a bottomless despair. Seeing into her heart, the earthly Buddha rejoiced that the time had finally come to tell her of Amida's Vow, which is for those in precisely such agony as hers. Just before he began to preach the seventh visualization of the lotus seat, he instructed Vaidehi to listen carefully and said, “I shall now reveal to you the great truth that will put an end to your suffering.” At that very moment, his figure vanished, and in its stead was the golden resplendence of Amida himself. The moment she beheld the form of Amida, Queen Vaidehi's darkness of mind was lifted; her mind filled with joy and she could do nothing but weep in gratitude at Amida's boundless saving compassion. “Ah, how great the wonder! That someone as evil as I am, with no hope of salvation, could be saved ... It is all due to the wondrous power of Amida's Vow!”

The great truth of which Śākyamuni Buddha had spoken was Amida's Vow, which alone has power to destroy the darkness of mind that is the root of all suffering, and thus enable us to fulfill the purpose of human life.

In her joy, she breathed thanks even to Ajatasatru and Devadatta, without whom she would never have become capable of listening to the Buddha: “Full of resentment, hatred and bitterness as I was, I knew nothing of my real self. There has never been anyone as evil as I.”

As it is written, “He who sees the form of Buddha, gains the mind of Buddha.” To see the sacred form of Amida Buddha is to gain his mind of infinite compassion.

The Buddha's teachings on the sixteen ways of visualization (virtue of the settled mind and virtue of the scattered mind) contained in the Sutra of Contemplation on the Buddha of Infinite Life represented his supreme method of instruction to prepare Queen Vaidehi to encounter the wonder of Amida's salvation. Once she had been given passage on the great ship of that vow across the sea of life's difficulties, and thus fulfilled the purpose of her life, the darkness of her resentment and bitterness turned instantly to the brightness of penitence and gratitude; she was reborn. What's more, her son was so amazed at the extent of his mother's transformation that he repented of his terrible misdeeds and experienced a profound conversion.

Shinran's declaration is clear: “Anyone can, no less than Queen Vaidehi, attain the three blessings [of joy, enlightenment, and faith].” Through the miraculous saving power of Amida's Vow, anyone at all can achieve absolute happiness, just as Queen Vaidehi did.