Two Destinies

Moonlight glittered on the palace pond like silver carp. Hearing his father approach, twelve-year-old Siddhartha realized the hour was late. The moon had reached its zenith. Tossing a rock into the pond, he shattered its glassy surface. Dark ripples spread across the water, ending the evening's spell.

“Why are you up, my son?” King Suddhodana recognized the troubled look in his son's dark, unwavering eyes.

“Father, why can't I explore outside the palace?” Frustration was unmistakable in Siddhartha's reply.

The king frowned, knowing his son was questioning traditional rules that had long guided court life.

“If I'm to be a good king, I should see how our subjects live,” Siddhartha said.

“You're too young to venture into the harshness of the world,” the king replied. He pointed toward the garden. “For now, enjoy the beauty within our palace walls. See how everything is ready for tomorrow's celebration? There will be singers, royal musicians, and a magician to entertain you.”

“Why do you give me three of everything? I have a winter palace, one for summer, and another for rainy season. I have three servants. Even three lotus ponds in my garden.”

“Asita, our soothsayer, predicted three pillars would support your life path. The first pillar is devotion to duty. The second, wisdom. And third, love, shared by all you serve. Three symbolizes your destiny. Now, isn't the garden magnificent?”

Siddhartha remained silent. The rainbow streamers decorating the garden reminded him of his father's wish to distract him from the outside world. Marvelous smells drifting from the palace kitchen — of chicken stewing in coconut milk, along with endless breads, cakes, and sweet pickled fish — teased his appetite. Tomorrow's celebration would be perfect, yet Siddhartha felt uneasy.

King Suddhodana gazed with worry at his strange son. Other children would be thrilled to live a prince's life, but not Siddhartha. With a sigh the king clapped his hands and commanded three lemon-robed servants to assist Siddhartha to bed.

“May I go to the plowing ceremony in the village?” Siddhartha begged.

“Children are not allowed,” the king said, shaking his head firmly. “Not even a prince.” He failed to hear his son's sigh as they parted.

After the servants withdrew, a shadow slipped into Siddhartha's room. “My prince, I have need of you,” a familiar voice whispered.

“Channa, what is it?” Siddhartha leaped from his bed.

“It's been weeks since you visited the stables. Kanthaka is sick.”

“Why wasn't I told?”

“It is the king's wish that your eyes not gaze upon sickness or suffering.” Channa swallowed nervously. “If His Majesty discovers I...”

“My father has no right to hide Kanthaka's illness from me.” Siddhartha's face turned scarlet. “Take me to the stables at once, Channa.”

“If we are quiet, we can get past the guards,” Channa whispered, opening the door a  crack. Three guards in red and blue kasi cloth sat in a corner, arguing over a game of dice. Hugging the shadows, Channa and Siddhartha slipped away unnoticed.

At Kanthaka's stall, the prince knelt beside the black stallion. The great horse lay still, eyes closed, breathing shallowly. His nostrils quivered at Siddhartha's smell.

“Can you do nothing, Channa?”

“Only you can cure Kanthaka, my prince.”

“What can I do that the greatest horse master in our kingdom can't do?”

“There are stronger medicines than man-mixed herbs.”

“What medicine is that?” Siddhartha wondered aloud.

“Discover it for yourself, my prince,” Channa said, leaving Siddhartha's side.

“Forgive me, Kanthaka,” Siddhartha whispered, as he gently stroked the horse's neck. Recognizing his master's touch, the horse nickered weakly. “While daydreaming about the world outside, I have neglected my closest companion. How could I do this?”

Siddhartha remained at the horse's side through the night, until sounds of morning stirred in the palace.

“Remember our rides in the park? We will go again. Forgive me,” Siddhartha sobbed. “I promise I'll never again forget my duty to you.”

Kanthaka's eyes fluttered. Snorting softly, Kanthaka kicked twice, shook himself, then stumbled to his feet.

“Channa, come! Look! Kanthaka is standing.”

“It seems even animals need more than food and shelter to live, my prince,” Channa said when he returned.

“I know it now,” Siddhartha said, lowering his head in guilt. “If only Father understood the same is true of me.”

“Perhaps I do,” a deep voice spoke from the stable shadows. “You have learned an important lesson, my son. And I have been reminded of one.”

Channa bowed as King Suddhodana stepped into the morning light.

“Father!” Siddhartha exclaimed.

“I found you missing from your room. I might never have discovered your feelings otherwise. But, knowing Channa, I expected to find you here.”

Siddhartha winked at his faithful servant.

“You are more man now than when we spoke earlier, my son. You have learned you are no greater than the least of your subjects. I have learned I can't protect you from your destiny.”

“My destiny as king?” Siddhartha asked.

“As king or sage,” his father said. “Asita prophesized that you would choose between two great destinies. That is why we named you Siddhartha, ‘One Whose Aim Is Accomplished.’”

“Sages dress in rags, begging alms with a wooden bowl, and speak riddles no one understands,” Siddhartha laughed. “Only great kings can help the people.”

“Perhaps,” his father said. “I hope you choose to be king. But to be a good king, you must meet your subjects.”

“Then I can go outside the palace?”

“Channa will guide you, as will I. But today you may take part in the plowing ceremony. After all — I am king. Who else can decide such things?”

Many years later, at age twenty-nine, Prince Siddhartha Gautama discovered his true destiny. Leaving palace and riches behind to journey the world, he became a teacher. People called him Shakyamuni, “Sage of the Shakya,” the clan of his father. We know him as Buddha, meaning “the Enlightened One.”