My “taxi,” a tiny ramshackle van driven by a teenaged borderline hooligan, picked me up the at Root Institute at six in the morning. Rajgir is only thirty-five miles as the crow flies from Bodhgaya but amazing it usually takes at least two and half hours to drive there. We careened down the notorious Bodhgaya-Gaya road, now looking fairly benign in the first light of day, dodging chickens, bullocks, and staggering men who had apparently spent the night sampling the product of the toddy palm. Near Gaya we crossed the now bone-dry Phalgu River - the Neranjara, which flows by Bodhgaya, and Mohana rivers join just upstream from here to form the Phalgu - and head northeast. The plain here, covered with wheat and rice fields interspersed by scattered toddy palms and scrub brush, is perfectly flat except for sudden extrusions of rocky hillocks and spiny ridges rising several hundred feet to at most perhaps a thousand feet above the level surface. Every few miles there’s a small town with a trash-strewn main street just wide enough for two cars to pass in opposite directions and in several of these places we get hung up in gnarly traffic jams of huge lorries, jeeps stuffed with at least a dozen passengers inside and another dozen or more on the roof, lumbering buses, horse and bullock drawn carts and wagons hauling immense loads of fodder, and of course wandering cows. Between towns we creep along on the road at ten or fifteen miles an hour. The road resembles a relic of some ancient civilization uncovered by archeologists. Scattered chunks of asphalt seem to indicate that this was a paved highway at some point in time, but now the road is one almost continuous pothole.
After about two hours of this some higher than usual ridges loom out of the haze to the north. Approaching closer they soon take on the appearance of actual mountains, their sides covered with outcrops of light-color rock, loose boulders, and scattered stands of brush. These are the southernmost of the ring of mountains that surround the ancient city of Rajgir, known in the Buddha’s time as Rajagaha or Rajagriha. The city itself is one of the oldest continually inhabited places in India and in the Buddha’s time it the capital and largest city of the kingdom of Magadha, one of several states which made up the so-called Middle Land, the central Ganges valley where Buddhism was born and first flourished. The famous Buddhist poet Asvaghosha (1ST-2ND century a.d, court poet of Kaniska, ruler of the kingdom of Kusana, and author of a well regarded biography of the Buddha) famously described the city as “distinguished by five mountains, guarded and decorated with peaks and supported and purified by hot springs.” Although the mountains that encircle the town are traditionally five in number, as pointed out by Asvaghosha, there are actually seven: their names vary enormous but they are often designated as Vaibhara, Vipula, Sona, Udaya, Ratna, Chhatna, and Saila. The two before us now are Udaya and Sona. The road soon passes through a narrow defile between these two, and on either side of the defile can be seen a huge stone wall, over ten feet high and twelve to fifteen feet thick, inevitably described in the literature as “cyclopean” (although Charles Allen in his Buddha and the Sabibs opts for “near-cyclopean”), which once served as part of Rajgir’s fortifications. The mountains which surround the old city themselves form a natural fortress and the various gaps between were them closed by these walls. After passing through the gap between the two mountains I can see off the right a huge white stupa on the summit of Chhatna mountain and just below it a flat-topped knob of rock known as Gijjharkuta, or Vulture’s Peak. It was here at Vulture’s Peak that the Buddha himself once lived and where he first expounded many of his teachings.
“Delightful is Rajagaha, delightful is Gijjharkuta . . . “ intoned the Buddha himself. After his renunciation of his title and princely way of life, but before his Enlightenment, Siddhartha Gautama, the future Buddha, had come here to commune with the many ascetics who lived in caves and huts in the mountains surrounding Rajagaha. King Bimbisara, the ruler of the kingdom of Magadha, saw Siddhartha begging for alms in the streets of Rajagaha and was struck by his noble countenance. He learned that Siddhartha was living near Ratna mountain and went to visit him. King Bimbisara was so impressed by Siddhartha’s speech and demeanor that he offered him a position in his court. Siddhartha turned down this offer but promised that if he ever achieved enlightenment he would return to Rajagaha.
After achieving Enlightenment beneath the Bodhi Tree the Buddha, along with a thousand of his followers, did return to Rajagaha. King Bimbisara himself greeted the Buddha upon his arrival and eventually granted him a tract of park land known as the Veluvana, or Bamboo Grove, not far from the city, where the Buddha and his followers took up residence. Bimbisara, who was five years younger the Buddha, became a lay follower of the Buddha and a zealous proponent of Buddhism.
The Buddha spend the second, third and fourth rainy seasons after his Enlightenment in the Rajagaha area, returning again thirteen and fifteen years later and making his final visit a year before he died. He delivered numerous teachings here, more than any other single place except for Savaithi, site of the famous Jetavana Vihara, located near the present day town of Balrumpur in the state of Uttar Pradesh. Many of the teachings were presented at Vulture’s Peak.
A few miles before the city of Old Rajgir we turn off on the road to the left which leads to Vulture’s Peak. The road, pleasantly lined with trees now dripping with bright red flowers, ends after a mile or so at a parking lot lined with tea stalls and souvenir shops. Several big buses are in evidence and milling about are tightly bunched flocks of tourists from France, Germany, and Japan; a smattering of Tibetan pilgrims (presumably one-time refugees now living in India); two large contingents of monks and pilgrims from Taiwan and Thailand; and numerous Indians, many with small children in tow. There is chair lift leading straight to the stupa on top of the mountain, but Interestingly most of those in line for the ride are teenagers and young adults who could well walk, while many elderly people, some of whom are even hobbling along with canes, are climbing the mountain on foot. Since I am most interested in Vulture’s Peak, and not wishing to appear a sloth, I join this procession of pedestrians.
A wide, flag-stone paved path leads up the front side of the mountain first to Vulture’s Peak and then on to summit stupa. This path is built on the foundations of a road constructed originally by King Bimbisara so that he could travel to Vulture’s Peak to visit the Buddha. The path from parking lot to the peak is still today called Bimbisara’s Road. Visiting here circa 637 a.d., the peripatetic Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang observed: “In the middle of the road there are two small stupas, one called ‘Dismounting from the chariot,” because the king, when he got here, went forward on foot. The other is called ‘Sending back the crowd’ because the king, separating the common folk, would not allow them to proceed with him.” Three hundred feet from the start of the path at the parking lot is a small brick platform, measuring perhaps twelve by twelve feet square, which once supported the so-called “Dismounting from the chariot.” stupa Xuanzang does not mention beggars, but today there are a dozen or so, mostly ancient crones, perched along the side of the path by the stupa platform. My original thought that many of the oldsters were walking up the mountain because they were too poor to pay for a chairlift ticket was belied by the amount of money they gave to these beggars, a sum which far surpassed the cost of a ride on the chairlift. Many were toting big bags of rupee coins which they appeared intent on emptying before they got to the top of the mountain.
Fifteen hundred and eighty feet from the parking lot and 205 vertical feet higher is another small brick platform which marks the former location of second stupa mentioned by Xuanzang. Here the path forks, with the left branch turning sharply up the mountain to the summit stupa and the right branch turning slightly to the right and leading to Vulture’s Peak, which from this vantage point appears as a rocky crag a quarter of a mile or so away.
There are a couple path side vendors here and while I am bickering with one who has just tried to sell me a packet of incense containing just three incense sticks instead of the twenty-five indicated on the carton (“It is tradition to light only three,” he ingeniously suggests) two pairs of porters trot by carrying two aged and very obese Taiwanese monks in wickers b baskets suspended from stout lengths of bamboo resting on their shoulders. The Chinese pilgrim Fa Hien, during his 399-414 sojourn from China to Indian and back, was carried up to Vulture’s Peak in just such a contraption, although in his day the porters were bhikshus, or monks. He also bought “incense . . . flowers, oil, and lamps,” according go his account, but does not mention whether or not the vendors tried to rip him off.
According to Fa Hien, “before you reach the top [of the peak], there is a cavern, facing the south, in which Buddha sat in meditation. Thirty paces to the northwest there is another, where Ananda was sitting in meditation, when the deva Mara Pisuna, having assumed the form of a large vulture, took his place in front of the cavern, and frightened the disciple. Then Buddha, by his mysterious supernatural power, made a cleft in the rock, introduced his land, and stroked Ananda’s shoulder, so that his fear immediately passed away. The footprint’s of the bird and the cleft for (Buddha’s) hand are still there, and hence comes the name of ‘The Hill of the Vulture Cavern.’”
Just before the top of the peak there are two caves, apparently the ones referred to by Fa Hien, although admittedly the first faces north and not south. (Both Fa Hien and Xuanzang often got their directions confused.) I pop into this one, the lesser visited of the two, and after lighting three candles and a couple of sticks of incense, spend about twenty minutes collecting my “tots,” as the teacher at the Root Institute retreat, Antonio Satta, called them in his thick Italian accent.
This meditation completed I proceed to the second cave, indeed some thirty paces further on. Here there are twenty or so pilgrims gathered, and a Taiwanese monk is giving a lecture on this famous spot through a hand-held loudspeaker. This is the Sukarakhata, or Boar’s Grotto, which supposedly had first been fashioned by a wild boar which rooted out a hole from under a large overhanging rock. This hole was enlarged and improved upon by wandering ascetics seeking a quiet shelter and retreat. According to some accounts the Buddha himself delivered two discourses here called the Sukarakhata Sutra and the Dighanakha Sutra, although he of course did not have the benefit of a hand-held loudspeaker.
Fa Hien was overcome with emotion here. “I, Fa Hien, was born when I could not meet the Buddha; and now I only see the footprints which he has left and nothing more,” he wrote, adding that the thought so saddened him that he had to struggle to hold back his tears. He relates further that he remained overnight in front of this cave, spending part of the time chanting the Surangma Sutra, and only returned to the city the next day.
Xuanzang also visited these caves. Although his account is somewhat garbled they are apparently the “stone houses” he refers to. At least a nearby sign in English and Hindi says, “These caves may represent the stone houses on the Gridhrakuta Hill [Vulture’s Peak] seen by the Chinese pilgrim Hiuen Tsang in the 7th century a.d.” He also recounts a slightly different version of Ananda’s confrontation with Mara, which according to him took place on a “great and extraordinary stone” above one of the “stone houses” His account of the location is very confusing, but he may be referring to a huge protrusion of rock just above the Boar’s Grotto:
“When the venerable Ananda had entered Samadhi in this place, Mara-raja, assuming the form of a vulture, in the middle of the night, during the dark portion of the month, took his place on this rock, and flapping his wings and uttering loud screams, tried to frighten the venerable one. Ananda, filled with fear was at a loss to know what to do; then Tathagatha [the Buddha], by his spiritual power, seeing his state, stretched out his hand to compose him. He pierced the stone wall and patted the head of Ananda, and with his words of great love he spoke to him thus: ‘You need not fear the assumed form which Mara has taken’ Ananda in consequence recovered his composure, and remained with his heart and body at rest and peace. Although years and months have elapsed [in fact, over 1100 years] since then, yet the bird traces on the hole in the rock still remain visible.”
Xuanzang also relates that Sariputta, one of the two chief disciples of the Buddha (Mahamaudgalyayana was the other), achieved enlightenment in one of these caves, and some accounts maintain that this took place here at this second cave. A Taiwanese woman in her sixties who strikes up a conversation with me says also that this is what the monk tour-guide with the loudspeaker has just related. He also claims that Bimbisara’s royal treasure is enclosed in the huge rock just above the Boar’s Grotto and that to this day no one has been able to break into the rock and claim it, a legend I have not seen anywhere repeated in print.
From the cave the trail passes by a brick platform which marks the foundation of a temple which apparently existed in Buddha’s day but has long since disappeared and then turns into a stone staircase leading to the top of Vulture’s Peak itself. On the summit, which is just over a half mile as the crows flies from the parking lot and 369 vertical feet higher, is a flat paved area the size of a tennis court surrounded on three sides by a low brick wall. You must take off your shoes to enter this area. In the middle of the enclosure is an altar laden with prayer scarves and flowers. In front of the altar thirty or forty Thai monks chant a sutra. Just as I arrive the two elderly monks who have been carried here to the top by porters and are now being sheltered by the sun by two young monks holding umbrellas approach the altar and add big bundles of flowers. The Taiwanese woman who spoke to me earlier is kneeling just behind the monks and she bids me to sit down beside her. In front of us is the view the Buddha himself enjoyed while he was giving some of his most famous teachings.
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