Many years ago, 563 BC to be exact, there lived a great princess from the the kingdom of Deulha, named Maya Devi. She was the wife of the great Suddhodana. As often happens with married couples, Maya Devi became pregnant. One day while heavily pregnant, she was traveling between her and her husbands kingdoms and was feeling a bit hot. Fetuses have the tendency to create such feelings. She saw a peaceful pond near a sal forest near the road.
"What a lovely place for a dip!" She thought, exclamation included, and went to bathe. Suddenly, while in the pool, her water broke and she went into labor. "Oh," she said. "I think I'm having my baby now!" but the labor hit her so strongly, she only had enough time to walk 25 steps to a sal tree before she grabbed a branch and popped out the child.
"Never mind, I already had it. "She told her companions who watched the whole scene dumbfounded by the ease of the birth. "Gosh, my mother said having a baby was painful and hard, this must have the been the most peaceful birth ever." And it probably was. The baby sat there quietly and relaxed, his famous disposition already showing.
The next day, she presented the child to her husband.
"So this is our child?" asked Suddhodana
"This is our son."
"Oh goody! A son! I knew you were good for something!"
"You are a very lucky, husband, that I am still quite tired from the birth. Have your ever read Andy Cap? Cause I'd envelop you in a cloud of dust immediately!" Maya Devi was not one to messed with.
"I think we should name him.....Samir!"
"Samir Gautama?" she glared at him.
"Ok, how about.....Hank?"
"We'll call him Siddhartha."
"I like the sound of that name, it kinda just rolls off the tongue."
Maya Devi looked down upon her child. "I've got a good feeling about this one."
"Me too! A son! My little Hank..erm Siddhartha."
"He will be great, maybe a king or a wise teacher."
"A king! I feel it too! He'll be a great king of kings, like this Jesus guy I'm always hearing about.
"I've never heard of such a man," Maya Devi replied. This was, of course, because Suddhodana had a great reputation for anachronism.
"He will be a king, and like all great kings, the best way to prepare him for a successful rule over his people is to shelter him completely from them." said the king.
And so Suddhodana did shelter his son in the palace at Kapilauastu for 29 years. Maya Devi died shortly after her son's birth. Siddhartha married, had a son and lived a rich life. But the life did not breed contentment in the young prince.
"Father, ya know, life here in the palace is pretty bitchin'and all that, but what is it like outside?"
"Son, outside is only suffering. I have gone to great lengths to ensure you do not know suffering."
"What is suffering?"
"Ah! Then that shows that I have done a great job as a father. Ho ho."
"But I want to know."
"Ok son, I'll tell you what is out there. Outside the palace are old people and sick people and poor people and the worst, the worst are the dead people. These are the types of things that cause existential crises. It's just better to never think of these things."
This, however, was not good enough for the young Siddhartha. So he left the palace one day and went into the world outside. Just outside the gates, he met an old man sitting on the ground.
"Hey, what's up with your face?"
"What do you mean, kind prince?"
"You've got lines across your face, like a sultana."
"I'm old."
"What's that?"
"When years pass, living in the hot sun, your face withers until you're an ugly wretch like myself."
"Hmmm, interesting." Siddhartha merrily walked on and saw a man lying on the ground coughing. "Hey, why are you coughing so much?"
"I'm sick, I've been coughing for many years."
"Why don't you just suck on a nice lozenge, I quite partial to the honey lemon flavor, myself. What's your favorite?"
"I'm not a prince. I don't have any lozenges. In fact, I don't even know what a lozenge is."
"I thought everyone had lozenges?"
"Nope, just you."
"Hmmm. Interesting." He was astounded by all the realities in front of him. This did not discourage him from continuing though. Down the road he came across a dirty man in tattered clothes, a portrait of poverty. "Why are your clothes so frayed and torn?"
"I'm poor."
"Poor?"
"I ain't got no money."
"Just go to the tailor, he'll make some good clothes" He held out his shirt fabric for the man to feel. "See this shirt. It's lycra, feel the fabric."
The poor man just looked back at him blankly, making no move to feel this lycra.
Siddhartha was not vexed by the man's rudeness and cheerfully continued, "Well anyway, it's very soft and comfortable. Here, I'll give you the card of my tailor. He's very good and not too expensive if you haggle with just right.."
"Are you daft or deaf?" I ain't got no money. I can't go the tailor. I can't wear lycra. Hell, I don't even know what lyrcra is. Now get, you git!"
Siddhartha was struck by the man's outburst and left confused by the idea that there are people who didn't have the money for even a tailor. He pressed on, maintaining his typically happy demeanor, but he was afraid of what else this outside world had to offer him. On the ground was a man sleeping, but since Siddhartha was a social soul, he gently kicked him on the side with his foot.
"Nameste!" greeted Siddhartha merrily.
"...." replied the man.
He kicked him a little harder. "Namaste sleeping man! How are you today?"
"...." replied the man.
Siddhartha stared. "How rude he thought. Why won't he wake up?" He then slapped the man hard across the face, something sure to wake people from even the deepest of sleeps. "Wake up man! It's a beautiful morning! Surely not the type of day to sleep away."
"....." replied the man.
"He can't wake up." Siddhartha thought. "Why won't you wake up?" he said.
"Why don't you grow a brain you idiot!" The poor man from earlier was standing behind him, obviously annoyed to have crossed his path again.
"He won't wake up."
"He's dead you idiot!"
"Dead?"
"The man is no more. He has ceased to be. He's expired and gone to meet his maker. He's a stiff, bereft of life, he rests in peace. His metabolic processes are now history. He's off the twig. He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisibile! This is an ex-person!"
Siddhartha laughed. "You're a funny man, you should join a theater troupe."
"You're a stupid man and I should kick you in shins. Don't laugh in the presence of this, he probably lived a hard life and had a hard death."
"Oh, that's no good."
"I hope the rock you slept under was nice."
"Oh no, I don't sleep under a rock. I have a lovely bedroom, well four actually, where I sleep. Quite nice, I must say."
"I am going to walk in this direction and I am praying to Brahman that I never see you again!"
"Nameste!" Siddhartha yelled, but the man did not reply. He was exhausted by his day so far and sat down under the nearest tree. In the shade, he began to process all he saw. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he was sad. He stared at the sky for a moment, trying to admire the beauty of the clouds, the way the sun was an orange ball above the endless plains and forests, but couldn't: he was too discontented.. Why did he have so much, when everyone else had so little? Did he deserve such fortune? Why did the one man hate him so much? Was he not polite and friendly to him? If he wasn't greeted with so anger, he wouldn't invited him for a big feast. Most of, he wondered why we were here on this planet?
"Oh dear!" He said aloud. "Is this what my father meant when said I'd have an existential crisis?"
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