By Kavitaram Shrestha
The Shakyas had the practice that when a child started walking and talking, it was taken for the first holy visit of Mother Goddess Abhaya Devi at her shrine in the Shakya kingdom. In case of Siddhartha, this was done at the age of three, when it was done at the age of five for ordinary children. Suddodana did not know how soon the child had grown big enough to have the first visit of Goddess Abhaya Devi. He consulted the astrologers and fixed the most propitious date for entry into the temple. On the stipulated day, relatives and nobles too came to the palace to attend the ceremony. A lot of elaborate preparations were going on in the palace, which were for infant Siddhartha, both new and unintelligible.
A lot of flowers had bloomed in the garden. They would open up, mature, wither and fall. Some mysterious phenomena were, for little Siddhartha, quite obscure. He always tried to find some essence in those events, and he often asked his mother, “Mom, what’s this? How come it’s colourful? Why do they bloom, wither and fall?”
His mother would answer, “That was bound to happen; it did.”
Many times, people were seen tucking such flowers on their heads. Many of them used to hang around people’s necks as garlands, on seeing which infant Siddhartha would ask his mother or governess, “Why is that done?”
Their reply used to the same, “That’s a custom.”
He used to ask a counter-question, “Why was such a custom started?”
And tired respondents would say, “We don’t know.”
More questions would ensure: “Why should we follow a custom that we don’t know?”
“We don’t know” would be the helpless answer once again.
Quite often, facts were fed with insufficient answer, “We don’t know.” Today, many of such flowers were plucked in front of him for the ritual. Some were woven into garlands, while others were strewn on plates. They started bedecking not the trees, but hands of people. It was a different experience, and its object was quite obvious. Siddhartha asked his mother, “Mom, what are we doing at ours today?”
The busy mother quickly understood that he was asking about the flower. She gave a quick reply, “We are making garland, and that’s for you, my child!”
“Why do I need one?”
“We are taking you to the temple for the first time today. There, we’ll put it around your neck.”
“Am I going to the temple alone, or you are going too?”
“I am going too, and everyone present here will go.”
“Then, where is the garland for you?”
“We wore them when we were of your age. Today, it’s just for you.”
“Why should a kid be given a garland while going to the temple?”
Mother Prajapati knew she would find it difficult to satisfy the child henceforth. It was time for her to tender the same readymade reply, “I don’t know.” But she found it awkward to answer the child like that in front of the relatives who had come to attend the event. So she said, “This is the custom, my prince!”
“Why is the custom like this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then, why should we follow a custom we don’t know?”
“I don’t really know.”
When such replies came, Siddhartha would subdue his curiosity and engage is self-contemplation. King Dandapani, who had come to attend the ceremony, wanted to give Siddhartha his company. Now, he was the new target of the child’s questions.
“Who are you?”
“I am the chief of Nandigrama.”
“What does ‘chief’ mean?”
“The king of the little village.”
“What does a ‘village’ mean?”
“A place where people settle.”
“Does that mean a house?”
“No. A place where houses are built.”
“Why have you come to ours today?”
“To take Your Majesty to the temple.”
“Why are so many people needed to take me to the temple?”
“To celebrate the occasion.”
“Why should they celebrate?”
“This is the practice. We do so when a new thing starts.”
“Why was such a practice started?”
“…that I don’t know.”
“Why should we do a thing we don’t know?”
King Dandapani, who was interested in Siddhartha, was left blank. This made Prajapati quite contented. She laughed out in glee and said, “You were finally undone, weren’t you?”
Others who were witnessing the exchange too burst into laughter.
[From Kavitaram Shrestha’s Light of the Himalayas]