old-path-white-clouds-thich-nhat-hanh

Sujata then sat along the riverbank to see if the man would regain consciousness. Slowly he sat up and opened his eyes. Seeing Sujata,
he smiled. He pulled the end of his garment back up over his shoulder and folded his legs in a lotus position. He began to breathe, first
shallowly and then more deeply. His sitting was stable and beautiful. Thinking that he must be a mountain god, Sujata joined her palms and
began to prostrate herself before him, but the man motioned for her to stop. Sujata sat up, and the man spoke to her in a soft voice, “Child,
please pour me a little more milk.”
Happy to hear him speak, Sujata poured another cup and he drank it all. He felt how truly nourishing it was. Less than an hour before,
he thought he was about to breathe his last. Now his eyes shone and he smiled gently. Sujata asked him how he had fainted on the road.
“I have been practicing meditation in the mountains. Harsh ascetic discipline has left my body weak, so today I decided to walk down to
the village to beg for some food. But I lost all my strength getting here. Thanks to you, my life has been saved.”
They sat along the riverbank together and the man told Sujata about himself. He was Siddhartha, the son of a king who reigned over the
country of the Sakya clan. Sujata listened carefully as Siddhartha told her, “I have seen that abusing the body cannot help one to find peace
or understanding. The body is not just an instrument. It is the temple of the spirit, the raft by which we cross to the other shore. I will no
longer practice self-mortification. I will go into the village each morning to beg for food.”
Sujata joined her palms. “Honorable hermit, if you allow me, I will bring you food each day. There is no need for you to interrupt your
meditation practice. My home is not far from here, and I know my parents would be happy for me to bring you your meal.”
Siddhartha was silent for a moment. Then he answered, “I am glad to accept your offer. But from time to time, I would also like to go
into the village to beg in order to meet the villagers. I would like to meet your parents and other children in the village as well.”
Sujata was very happy. She joined her palms and bowed in gratitude. The thought of Siddhartha visiting her home and meeting her
parents was wonderful. She knew, too, that bringing him food every day would be no hardship, as her family was one of the wealthiest in
the village. She did not mention this to Siddhartha. She only understood that this monk was important and that offering food to him was
more beneficial than making a dozen offerings to the forest gods. If Siddhartha’s meditation deepened, she felt, his love and understanding
could help relieve much suffering in the world.
Siddhartha pointed out the Dangsiri mountain where he had lived in the caves. “Beginning today, I will not return there. This forest is cool
and refreshing. There is a magnificent pippala tree which I shall make the place of my practice. Tomorrow when you come with the food
offering, please bring it there. Come, I will show you the spot.”
Siddhartha led Sujata across the river into the cool forest that bordered the other bank of the Neranjara River. He showed her the
pippala tree under which he would meditate. Sujata admired its massive trunk and raised her head to gaze at the leafy branches which
spread out like an enormous canopy. It was a kind of banyan tree with leaves shaped like hearts with long pointed tails. The leaves were as
big as Sujata’s hand. She listened to the birds chirping happily among the branches. It was a truly peaceful and refreshing spot. In fact, she
had been to this tree before with her parents to make food offerings to the forest gods.
“This is your new home, Teacher.” Sujata looked at Siddhartha with her round black eyes. “I will visit you here every day.”
Siddhartha nodded. He walked Sujata back out of the forest and said goodbye to her at the riverbank. Then he returned alone to the
pippala tree.
From that day on, Sujata brought rice or chappatis to offer to the monk, just before the sun began to cast shadows. Sometimes she also
brought milk or congee. Once in a while, Siddhartha would carry his begging bowl into the village. He met Sujata’s father, the village chief,
and her mother, who was wearing a beautiful yellow sari. Sujata introduced him to other children in the village and took him to the barber
so he could have his head and beard shaved. Siddhartha’s health recovered rapidly, and he told Sujata that his meditation practice was
beginning to bear fruit. Then came the day that Sujata met Svasti.
That day Sujata had come early. She listened as Siddhartha told her about meeting Svasti the day before. She had just said that she
wished to meet Svasti herself when he appeared. Afterward, whenever she met Svasti, she never forgot to ask about his family. She and
her servant, Purna, even went to visit Svasti’s hut. Purna was hired to work in Sujata’s household when her predecessor, Radha, died of
typhoid fever. On these visits, Sujata brought used clothes still full of good wear for Svasti’s family to use. And much to Purna’s surprise,
Sujata lifted baby Bhima in her arms. Afterwards, she cautioned Purna not to tell her parents that she had held an untouchable child.
One day, a number of children decided to go and visit Siddhartha together. All of Svasti’s family came. Sujata brought her girlfriends
Balagupta, Vijayasena, Ulluvillike, and Jatilika. She also invited her sixteen-year-old cousin Nandabala, who brought her younger brothers
Nalaka, who was fourteen, and Subash, who was nine. Eleven children sat in a semi-circle around Siddhartha, and they ate lunch together
in silence. Svasti had instructed Bala and Rupak beforehand how to eat with quiet dignity. Even baby Bhima, sitting on Svasti’s lap, ate
without making a sound, her eyes open wide.
Svasti brought a new armful of fresh grass for Siddhartha. He had asked his friend Gavampati, also a buffalo boy, to watch over Mr.
Rambhul’s buffaloes so that he could have lunch with Siddhartha. In the fields, the sun blazed, but within the forest, Siddhartha and the
children were refreshed by the cool shade of the pippala tree. Its leafy branches extended over an area wider than a dozen houses. The