It was in the forests near Kapilavatthu, the home town of the flourishing one, that a small band of bhikkhus counted themselves blessed. Here, was the teacher, himself addressing them at the end of the day’s abiding. He shared with them an incident from his day.
He had gone, he said, deep into the Great Wood, for the day’s solitary meditation; and there, he found himself a lovely bilba tree to sit beneath.
At some stage, though, the old brahmin Dandapāni had found him; and, of course, the old man tried to lure the teacher into an argument. “What do you teach, Wanderer? What’s your doctrine? What do you say?”
“My teaching is such that someone who enters into it is no longer beset by perceptions. He is confident, and free from craving for existence and non-existence. So, he no longer quarrels with anyone of any class or creed.”
The old man clicked his tongue, wrinkled his brow, and hurrumphed. Then, straight away he took his stick, and limped off, back the way he’d come.
The youngest bhikkhu asked, “What did you mean, Sir, by: ‘someone not beset by perceptions’? And, what does that have to do with not arguing?”
“Bhikkhu, if, when encountering manifoldness, there is nothing there to find delight in, nothing to welcome and get hold of, then right there, that will be the end of underlying unhealthy tendencies. This is the end of the habitual deep-seated tendency to desire being, and the end of ignorance.
“This is where all the violence ends – no arguments and quarrels, no accusations and tale-bearing, no falsities, and so no taking weapons up. This is where all these evil things cease.”
Then the teacher, without word more, got up from his seat, and went into his own hut, leaving the young bhikkhus silently staring after him.
They got up and went some distance away, where they delved into what they could of this teaching in brief. Then they got to wondering who could help them. They settled on Māhakaccāna, who they knew was nearby. Māhakaccāna was widely respected by the senior monks, he’d be able to expand on this.
So, off they set, to learn further the intricacy of the cessation of taking up of quarrels and lies, and of bars and blades. And, doesn’t our world need that.
On arrival, they exchanged friendly greetings and courtesies with Māhakaccāna, then they sat to one side. They told him what the teacher had said, and formally requested, “Please, Sir, can you expand this teaching for us?”
Māhakaccāna was surprised, “Friends – you heard this from the mouth of the flourishing one, and now you come to me? The teacher is the giver of the deathless; so, to ask me to explain this for you is like… well, it’s as though you were right there in the presence of heartwood, right at the root and trunk of a healthy tree, and yet, you passed it over for the branches and leaves.”
“You are modest, Sir,” one answered.
Māhakaccāna wasn’t giving up on their training. He said, “The well-faring one is the eye of knowledge. He is the speaker of meaning. On occasions like this, you should grasp your opportunity and question him. Take the matter up, when it is fresh. Take it up immediately, if the dhamma himself, brahma himself, is available.”
The bhikkhus acknowledged that he was right: “Yes, Māhakaccāna,” said one. Another added, “We do understand it’s as is said: ‘Knowing, the flourishing one knows; seeing, he sees.’ He is all that you say.”
A third one said, “And, we should have questioned him, true. We take your point about how we should approach our learning.
“However, we are here, now, with you; and you’re praised by the teacher and appreciated by your companions in the spiritual life. We would like you to analyse the implicit meaning of this, for us. Who else, right, now?”
Another said, “Please, walk us through it, friend Kaccāna!”
Māhakaccāna was silent a long minute, then he said, “In that case, friends, listen carefully. We will see what we can learn – together – from this teaching.”
And so he taught the young bhikkus in detail, in words which have been passed on for two-and-a-half thousand years – which I’ll share with you tomorrow.