SiddharthaThe Warrior Prince

The armies were marching towards each other. The Kosalan contingent stopped at the edge of the plateau, a strategic point affording a view of the enemy's every move. The Kosalan foot soldiers held the front line with deadly spiked chariots. Directly behind them, the cavalry waited by the armored elephants, who looked like lethal gray towers of metal. On the other side of the stream, the Sakyan army advanced across the vast gully. The cavalry, led by Siddhartha, his father, and Ananda, crossed the stream into Kosalan territory.

The Kosalan army remained immobile.

Sudodana didn't like it. Why wasn't Prasenadi reacting? He seemed hypnotized by the Sakyan forces, like a cobra hearing the compelling notes of a flute. The Sakyan king definitely didn't like it.

"Ananda," the King beckoned to the young man, his voice heavy. "We've crossed into his kingdom and Prasenadi just stands there, aloof, like Brahma on his cloud. What is that old fox up to?"

Ananda unsure how to respond looked to Siddhartha, who answered. "He has no honor, father, but he knows strategy."

As Siddhartha spoke those words, he looked around him: the Sakyan army was bunched together in the gully between the stream and the embankment of the plateau.

"Brahman!" Siddhartha cried. "We're heading into a trap!"

"Wait, I cannot just let you go in," he whispered forcefully. "It is my duty to tell you that your presence here goes against all the court edicts, and customs. The King will be very angry, and I'm really not so sure it is a good idea..."

Siddhartha ignored the last-minute plea and opened the door.

A few candles threw a dim light on the stagnating surroundings. They entered a small, clean, barren room with a big window facing the interior of the courtyard. The room was dreary, all of it in shades of brown. A small neat bed stood in the corner. Poshika, Siddhartha's old nurse, lay there in silence, covered by a heavy silk blanket.

As she became aware of their presence, the old woman slowly shuffled to her feet, a movement she accomplished with great effort. Traces of her former beauty still remained, but her extreme frailty and the pain she endured was evident to the youths. Squinting with difficulty, she finally recognized the Prince, and her eyes lit up with tenderness. From years of serving the Kshattriya, the old nanny instinctively reassumed her role, and stuttered, totally flustered by his presence.

She bowed to Siddhartha. Her back, unable to take the exertion, caused her to wince in pain. "Oh! My Prince, here! There must be something I can get you... Uhmm... Uhmm... a herb infusion? Would you like some of the brew I made...?" she mumbled.

Chandaka closed his eyes so as not to witness the pathetic display of weakness, so alien to his temperament. Siddhartha was tongue-tied, as a chaotic array of heart-wrenching emotions flashed over his taut face.

Siddhartha remembered Poshika's warm scent against his skin. She used to be so beautiful. For years he had wondered how long her hair was. She used to wear it in a braid circling her head so that it stood upright like a crown. One day when he walked in on her, she was standing in the middle of the room, her hair flowing to the floor and across the white marble in dark black waves rippling like a sea dragon. Thereafter in his childhood dreams she became a water goddess, who commanded a sea dragon at her fingertips.

Poshika scurried over to a large ceramic pot, took a cup in one trembling hand, grabbed the pot with the other, and attempted to pour a cup of herbal brew. Her efforts were in vain; she poured the scalding water on her hand and let both the pot and the cup fall to shatter on the ground. The sound of the impact sent shock-waves through the youths. Feeling utterly foolish, Poshika hugged herself tightly, then sat down on the bed, desolate, and cried softly in embarrassment.

Once one's mind is made up, action becomes easy; and once again, Siddhartha's face and manner had become animated, alive. The dam had burst and no one knew what would happen to him now. He had said he would leave the palace to devote himself to seeking a solution for one and all, to find Nirvana. It was hard for Sakya to believe in the existence of a solution.

The cocks crowed. Ananda, not having slept a wink, was leaning on his windowsill overlooking the courtyard, waiting for a last glimpse of his childhood companion; the chameleon that he always knew Siddhartha to be.

The clouds scattered to reveal a clear sky, announcing the beauty of a splendid day. The few remaining inhabitants of the palace were fast asleep, deep in their dreams. The courtyard was strewn with the ashes from the night before. The odor of fire still lingered in the crisp morning air and the birds were singing, unaware of the wheels turning.

Siddhartha and Chandaka, who always knew where to be, destined to always identify, open the door, to show the direction for the first step, emerged from the stables on their horses. Ananda watched them pass through the city gates at a leisurely pace, the morning mist wrapped around them like a magic cloak. Ananda's heart was beating hard; he knew that the stakes were unprecedented.

Leaving the city behind, Siddhartha and Chandaka rode through the green valley, side by side, without a word; up across a river's foaming torrents, to the foot of the nearest mountain.

As the mountains rose before them, Siddhartha stopped and dismounted. He walked around to his horse's head, and wrapped his arms around Kantaka's neck. The horse's soft eyes looked at him with infallible instinct. The trust and loyalty shared, the harmony trained and gained between them, made separation so difficult. The faithful animal was so confused at the desertion.

Siddhartha took off his clothes and jewelry. He and Chandaka looked at each other, but no conversation was necessary. Once stripped to his bare red dhoti, Siddhartha handed all his possessions, except for his dagger, over to Chandaka.

"Take these. I have no more use for them," said Siddhartha, calm and resolute.

Chandaka obeyed taking the material goods. Siddhartha turned around to face the mountains, his eyes clear as the sky before them. Taking his knife in hand, he hacked away at his long hair which fell to the ground like shining stars of granite. Kantaka, frightened at his master's increasingly strange behavior, pawed the ground, neighing softly. Siddhartha, his ritual finished, handed Chandaka the dagger. He turned back to his beloved horse, and lovingly caressed the animal's soft muzzle, thinking of how courageously Kantaka had gone into battle, because he trusted his master to bring him to no evil and take care of him forever.

"He knows I have to leave him," Siddhartha's voice trembled, the bond between him and Kantaka went into his very roots.