Siddhartha

by Advait Kottary

Genres: Biographical

Synopsis

His family was happy to see him, but they had hoped to meet the Siddhartha they knew, not the Buddha he had become.

Long before he became the enlightened leader, he was a boy oblivious of the world. As the young prince navigates politics and relationships, he slowly begins to question his oppressively perfect life. Meanwhile his family struggles to maintain their deception - from banishing the old and sick to hiding their own advancing age - in the hope that they can mould him into a dutiful king.

In Advait Kottary's intricately woven narrative, raw human emotion and conflict is tempered with the boundless compassion of the Buddha. Exciting and insightful in equal measure, Siddhartha is at once a riveting story and a profound meditation on our shared quest for truth.

Release date: May 25, 2023

Publisher: Hachette India

Print pages: 328

Sample

foreword

Good books have a way of finding you at just the right time, and they resonate with you so much more because of that. As you reflect on the text you are reading, you realize that not only do the words connect to what you are going through but that your lived experience informs the way you respond to the book.

So it was with Advait Kottary’s Siddhartha. I had just undergone a complicated eye surgery for retinal detachment and multiple tears. I was under complete bedrest for almost a fortnight. That was when I received a message from Advait, informing me about his maiden work of fiction.

I remember being overwhelmed after I had read the prologue and first chapter. The impatience and despair I was feeling after my surgery faded when I imagined what the Buddha must have experienced to get to what he was seeking.

Reading Advait’s take on the Buddha took me through a whole range of emotions and insights. I particularly enjoyed the form Advait uses, starting with the enlightenment and his attempt at understanding the process that transformed Prince Siddhartha to the Buddha. Advait makes wonderful use of the cinematic device of parallel cutting to go back and forth between looking at the enlightened soul in the present, and the enlightened one looking at the journey that led him to this state.

I was quite taken with the book’s visual approach. I could almost see events unfolding, and characters transforming, in front of my eyes. It is not easy to do that with the articulation of a spiritual quest, which is always internal. But Advait does it very well – he must have imbibed the genes of his mother, author and scriptwriter Gajra Kottary. All through I could sense the imagery behind the written word.

I rejoiced with the mother who gave birth to Siddhartha and cried with the mother who raised him. I travelled with Yashodhara, the wife who supported her husband through thick and thin. I felt the helplessness of his father dealing with his own fears and his dreams and ambitions for his son, which fall apart when the son decides to become a seeker. I sensed what made the characters tick – the transformation each one goes through and how each one shapes Siddhartha’s journey to becoming the Buddha. These are flesh-and-blood characters who come alive in Advait’s prose.

I have read a lot about the Buddha, yet I felt I was reading something new. Advait sheds light on aspects of the Buddha’s life that you might be aware of, but you realize with a start that this is an entirely fresh take. The book clearly involved a lot of research, but the storyteller in Advait never lets the researcher get the better of him. It is remarkable that someone as young as Advait has attempted to get to the core of someone as fathomless as the Buddha, and managed to do so with aplomb and yet understated grace.

As a reader, I had a palpable sense of these characters and the transformation they experience, and I dare say that Advait must have experienced transformations in his own outlook to life in the process of writing this book. After all, how can one remain untouched by the unfathomable humanity of the Buddha? In Advait’s take there’s hope even for Ajatshatru, who can seek the Buddha despite having killed his parents. If Devdutt can overcome greed and animosity in the light of the Buddha, so can anyone. That is one of the biggest takeaways of this book – the message that it is never too late to change. To be able to recognize your ego by watching your breath and thoughts, to let all this melt, to go within, and experience the world inside of you. Because the world outside is a reflection of the world within. Because you have to live through it all for grace to touch you.

Above all, this is a book that makes the Buddha accessible to everyone – young and old. The Buddha here is not an unattainable ideal, but a living practice. Advait’s voice is young, and the simplicity of his language will appeal to an impatient generation always looking to swipe to the next screen. For a generation that is faced with a bewildering array of choices, that is torn apart by forces beyond their control, that is impatient for the next illusory high, the Buddha’s life is worth emulating.

For the Buddha himself lived every choice, every illusion. His life was the crucible for his teachings. And Advait’s evocative prose is the perfect gateway for an introduction to this extraordinary life. The seeker in me would like to invite the seeker in you to experience this journey for yourself.

Rekha Bhardwaj Singer, Live Performer, Seeker

prologue

Siddhartha’s breathing had slowed down to an almost imperceptible rhythm. He could barely feel the beat of his heart any more…

He was motionless, but inside him was a swirl of his thoughts and memories. Perhaps this was the answer to the questions he had had all these years. Perhaps this was the moment hidden behind endless walls of impregnable blankness. Seven years to this moment, what lay beyond?

He waited as he had waited all his life, for the storm within him to abate. As the swirl of thoughts, memories and experiences disappeared like mist in a gust of wind, he found himself staring at the vastness of empty space.

There was no light, just darkness all around him…

But he sensed he was not alone.

Not more than a few feet away, as his eyes seemed to focus, he could see none other than himself seated in the familiar lotus position. An imposter? Or his Other? He had the same expression, the same gaunt physique. The mirror image opened his eyes and stared directly into Siddhartha’s. Siddhartha felt a feeling of cold dread sweep through his being. It felt like an eternity till the Other finally spoke.

‘Siddhartha…’ he said.

It was strange to hear his name in his own voice. The lips of the Other moved as the voice echoed within his own body. What was he?

‘You…’ said the Other, as if to read his mind. He smiled wickedly as if he was feeding off of Siddhartha’s confusion.

Where were they? Was this simulation created by his dazed mind? Siddhartha couldn’t remember how long he had been seated in dhyana.

‘Do not fear, Siddhartha, it is you who called me. Can’t you see? We are one and the same.’

‘How can that be?’ asked Siddhartha, as bewildered as he was wary.

‘Let me show you…’

The Other smiled widely and stood up straight with a speed no human could match in their physical form. His face was blurred now, changing shape with every fleeting moment, like looking at something through a haze. As the Other came forward, he lay his icy fingers on Siddhartha’s head. At once, Siddhartha’s head filled with memories; memories that felt like they were from a different life. At once, his body was flooded with impulses that it hadn’t felt in years.

Sights so beautiful, and yet so distant in his memory, tastes so sweet they overpowered his taste buds till they hurt with pleasure…

A touch so sensuous that it took him back to memories of passion from a lifetime ago. The hunger and constant pain of the ascetic life he had embraced became a distant memory.

What was happening to him? Was he dreaming? He was being haunted by every impulse he had worked to gain mastery over and control.

‘Who are you? What are you doing to me?’ he asked.

‘Don’t you recognize me? I am Mara. I am you…’

‘What is it that you wish of me?’ said Siddhartha. They were surrounded by the vastness of empty space, almost like a cosmic void that went on for eternity. And still it was difficult to focus on this Other as he felt every single sensation he could, all at once. There was pleasure, intense pleasure of every kind.

Mara didn’t answer. He only laughed; the sound was one of sheer devilish happiness.

‘Feel!’ he said loudly, with such force that it seemed to expel three figures from behind him. They were sheathed in a silky mist. As their forms began to drift ever closer to Siddhartha, it became clear that they were three women, almost ethereal in their beauty.

Mara stood where he was and gazed proudly at them, as they bowed before him, before drifting through space, as they made their way towards Siddhartha. They did not tread on any path, but appeared to move with the power of suggestion. They were adorned in swathes of cloth that had no beginning and no end, but much like themselves, drifted into nothingness as they moved.

One of the swirling figures began to approach him, stopping just inches away from him. He could feel her breath on the parched skin of his neck. Goosebumps. She whispered into his ear, ‘Raga…’

Siddhartha said nothing as she moved around him, making sure his skin could feel her presence hovering ever so close to him. One by one, familiar sensations began to make themselves known on Siddhartha’s body – the anticipation of a caress, the familiar fragrance of a lover. No, she would not touch him, it must be Siddhartha who initiated; it must be Siddhartha who broke his resolve. Patiently, she waited near him, making sure that he could not ignore her.

But Siddhartha’s gaze was fixed on Mara. It was surreal to see himself mirrored like that. As Raga began to move her sensuous form, the second and third figures came closer, almost appearing more human as they did.

‘Tanha…’

‘Arati…’

They whispered in each ear, drawing different impulses and sensations. Together, they began to encircle him, each of them looking rapturous, revelling in their beauty. It was like a symphony. Tanha seemed to make him hungry and thirsty; it was the kind of desire for food he had not felt in years, as he became increasingly aware of his gaunt form. Arati awakened a restlessness in him, to the point that he felt repulsed by everything he could perceive around him. And of course, there were Raga’s inescapable waves of lust.

But still he locked eyes with Mara.

‘How will you ever resist them all, Siddhartha?’

Following the motion of his hand, the three nymph-like forms began to encircle him faster and faster, to the point that it was a whirlpool of mist. There was no matter there, it was only impulse. Images began to flash in his mind’s eye; the discomfort of a stifling life as a reluctant monarch, the sea of death that was the battlefield, and of course, Yashodhara. Beautiful Yashodhara…

And still the nymphs moved faster and faster around him. It was overwhelming, and he felt himself being torn apart. The last seven years had been very hard for him physically. This was a different kind of pain.

Breathing deep, he closed his eyes and bowed down to Mara. Smelling an opportunity, Mara spoke with a greater force than he had before.

‘End this quest, here and now! Give in… There is no path ahead for you…’

Siddhartha felt like he was choking with tears, while the rest of his body felt like it was in the throes of a passionate embrace. Hunger made his stomach hurt the way it hadn’t in a long time.

‘There is no path ahead for you, there is nothing. All the pleasures and joys of life you gave up. All for NOTHING!’

Mara’s smile vanished much faster than it had appeared.

Siddhartha began to breathe and centre himself, bowing in prayer to the nymphs and then Mara like they were idols to worship.

‘NO!’ The force of Mara’s voice almost shook Siddhartha from within. The nymphs began to shout out their names one by one in between moans of rapture, lust and depravity.

‘Tanha!’

‘Arati!’

‘Raga…’

It could have been a moment, it could have been eternity. But when Siddhartha opened his eyes again, he felt that everything was different, as if he had woken up from the deepest sleep of his life.

He filled his lungs with fresh air. It was like a balm. As if lifted up by some outside force, he gently arose from his lotus position. The grass below him seemed to have parted as if to seat him. His joints were not stiff, he felt like he had been moving all through. There was no hunger.

As he gazed at the waters flowing downstream, he felt time itself flowing around him in the same way. The only difference was that it was not within the river. It was within himself.

‘Siddhartha…’

He turned around. A young girl, not more than eighteen years old, stood before him with a fresh orange in her hands. It was Sujata. She had been waiting for him to emerge from dhyana for several hours now, but she looked at him oddly, puzzled by his appearance.

‘Siddhartha, your skin!’

Instinctively, she moved a step away, like she was in the presence of a being larger than the physical form it inhabited.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re… It’s almost like you’re radiating light!’

Siddhartha thrust his thumb into the orange, peeling its skin apart. It felt like he was rediscovering all his senses. He could feel every drop of juice contained within it move as he disturbed it, he could feel the earth from which it had drawn its food, he could feel the water that had travelled through its roots. It was a part of this reality…

‘This fruit, Sujata. It is…everything!’

Sujata said nothing. She was still anxious for him to eat. Siddhartha was seldom aware of how long he meditated, and went without food and water for days, but Sujata was often haunted by his appearance when she found him on the verge of starvation.

‘Come, share it with me.’

As he bit into the first segment, he could feel the juices flow into him, the organs in his body absorbing the nutrition that came from the earth he was sitting on not five minutes ago. Sujata held her segment, still transfixed by Siddhartha. Something had changed, a shift. And there was peace, at long last. Siddhartha was refreshed, a new soul. For the first time in the six months that she had known him, he had emerged from his dhyana and had not asked her how long he had been meditating for.

‘In Magadhi, the word for awaken is “bud”, and the one who has awakened is called “buddha”. May I call you Buddha from now on?’

‘Buddha…’ Siddhartha repeated after her, as he let his gaze wander upstream as far as his eye could see, through the flowing water, space and time…

the mother he was born of

The Buddha stood in a long alleyway, adorned with several pillars on either side. They were ornately carved and looked beautiful as they glowed in the golden hue of the hundreds of hand-carved brass lamps that adorned the cool sandstone walls. Day was giving way to dusk in the familiar land of Kapilavastu.

He had walked these same floors so many times before, yet he couldn’t feel the smooth stone beneath his feet. He could hear the footsteps of a small group of people in the passageway and the clinking of jewellery with every step they took. He waited until they came into view, and then he saw his mother…

Prajapati looked resplendent in her bridal gown. She was young, vibrant and beautiful while suitably shy for the occasion. Walking a step behind her father King Anjana, she was glowing with the happiness that only a bride on her wedding day would know. The jewels that adorned her shone in the light from the dancing flames of the rows on lamps on either side. King Anjana wore a look of relieved happiness.

From the other end of the alleyway came the Shakyan retinue. King Shuddhodana was decked in fine silk embroidered with gold threads. The Buddha looked at the woman walking two steps behind the King. Her gait was strong, and her face was impassive. As they came closer, the woman’s gaze met his for a fleeting instant, almost as if she sensed his presence.

This had to be her. Mahamaya…

King Shuddhodana’s first wife Mahamaya gazed lovingly at her sister Prajapati and her father. No words were exchanged, but she tied the shawls draped over their shoulders together. The King bowed his head before King Anjana, knowing he would be stopped from kneeling.

‘No, my son. It’s my good fortune to be able to bless you once again…’

King Shuddhodana held Prajapati’s hand in his. She was shaking with nervousness. He pressed it gently and looked at her, smiling lovingly.

‘Rajadevi Prajapati shall never be left wanting here, and I promise to keep her happy for the rest of our days…’

Shuddhodana motioned with his hand, as his retinue stepped forward to hand over the laden trays to the Koliyans. King Anjana let his royal facade slip ever so slightly, as a tear escaped the eye of an emotional father. Prajapati rushed forward to embrace him and Mahamaya followed suit.

‘There, little one!’ Anjana caressed his youngest daughter’s cheek. Mahamaya came forth, still silent. She had maintained a respectful silence throughout the ceremonies. ‘Now my greatest treasures are going to be your troubles!’ he joked, still tearing up at the sight of his daughters. There was laughter, and Anjana touched the top of Shuddhodana’s head in blessing before leaving swiftly. He would let the emotions pour forth while he returned to Koliya…

Mahamaya led her sister and husband to their chambers for their wedding night. A million thoughts flowed through her head, but her demeanour was rigid and regal, as befitting a queen of her stature. As the retinue neared the chambers, the familiar smell of jasmine incense assailed her nostrils. This walk was not a proud one for her, for every step of the way, she was reminded of why her husband had been forced to remarry. Mahamaya was a wonderful woman, and an equally brilliant queen, but she had been unable to provide her husband with an heir.

Shuddhodana and Prajapati maintained a respectful silence as Mahamaya led them through to the chambers. A gust of cool air from the open gallery rushed enthusiastically through the open door. The entire chamber was lined with silks tied in an ornate fashion from the ceiling, spawning out towards the corners of the room. As they swayed in the breeze, they presented their beautiful sheen to the king and his queens below.

Shuddhodana was pleasantly taken aback at the intricacy of the arrangements.

‘Thank you, Maya…’

‘I did my best, my King.’



Shuddhodana sat cross-legged in front of the blazing fire, with Prajapati and Mahamaya on either side of him. The sun was beating down hard on them. Sage Vachaspati, the learned spiritual advisor to the king, wore a plain white cloth today lined with a thin strip of gold especially for the yagya. It was, however, austere and in stark contrast to the robes worn by the king and his queens.

The three of them were sweating profusely. It was the middle of the day, but Sage Vachaspati was insistent that the Putrakameshthi Yagya be performed when the sun was at its highest in the sky. As he chanted his shlokas, he prompted Shuddhodana to repeatedly pour ghee into the fire with great concentration and devotion.

The Buddha stood a few feet away from the pedestal on which the four of them were seated. How fervently they all prayed for his birth… He could feel the tension in his father’s hands with every passing minute.

Shuddhodana had been married to Prajapati for two months now, and had taken to spending alternate weeks in either of his wives’ chambers. Only a few nights ago Mahamaya awoke with a start in the middle of the night with a feeling that something good might come from this yagya. Shuddhodana was very skeptical, but if it meant the happiness of his queens, he would indulge them with utmost devotion on his part. What was there to lose?

‘The yagya is now almost complete,’ announced Vachaspati. He dabbed his forehead with the end of his kasãva and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everything had gone well…

‘Your Highness, would you please cut this apple into exact halves and give the pieces to your wives?’

Shuddhodana did as he was instructed, carefully cutting the apple from the yagya clean in two. Prajapati and Mahamaya closed their eyes in prayer as they ate the offering, their consternation not betraying their optimism.

It seemed like not even a moment had passed, but the Buddha was sure that it was more. The warmth of the summer air immediately gave way to a hint of autumn chill. The golden rays of the morning sun were knocking at the door of Kapilavastu, ready to bathe it in their glow.

Why was he here?

Mahamaya lay in her bed, staring at the high ceiling, breathing heavily. She was usually up at the crack of dawn. At this time, she would be with Prajapati as they made their way to the temple. The first rays of the sun in the temple’s lawns would be greeted by Sage Vachaspati’s sweet voice echoing out shlokas from its sanctum.

Not today. It was hardly warm, but Mahamaya was sweating profusely. She clutched her stomach as she writhed in pain. Even the soft silk-lined bed linen felt agonizingly uncomfortable against her skin. From outside the closed door, a familiar voice was heard.

‘Bhagini!’

Prajapati stood outside with a look of concern on her face. Mahamaya was seldom even a minute late and missing the morning prayers altogether meant that something was surely amiss.

There was no response from the chambers within. Prajapati called out a few times more, but still there was no reply.

‘I’m sorry…’ she whispered before she barged inside.

‘Bhagini!’

She rushed forward, shocked to see her sister in such discomfort. The bed sheets were wet with sweat, and Mahamaya lay on her side with her jaws clenched. Prajapati poured her sister a glass of water from the jug kept an arm’s length away from the bed.

‘Are you all right?’ Prajapati almost whispered. Mahamaya refused the water and pushed it out of her sight.

‘I’m all right, Praja. I’m just not feeling well this morning.’

‘Let me send for the vaid. Bhagini, you haven’t slept a wink, have you?’

‘I don’t think so, Praja. It’s been a few days, but particularly bad since dawn today. I can’t even think about eating or drinking anything, the thought of it makes me feel even more nauseous than I already am…’

Prajapati could scarcely believe her ears. Both sisters had hoped and prayed so often for signs just like these. Instinctively, she reached out and held her startled sister’s hand tightly. Mahamaya instantly knew what she was thinking.

‘No, Praja, don’t say it. I know what you’re thinking, but at least not yet. Please. So many times I have hoped, and it hasn’t been true,’ she said.

‘How can you say that? It has to be! This is what the yagya has gifted us!’

Mahamaya turned away from her, too scared to allow herself to feel excited like her sister. She had almost given up all hope of a child. Somewhere in her mind, Shuddhodana’s marriage to her sister had made it clear that there was no hope of her delivering good news.

And yet, here she was. Something in her said that this time, the news was good indeed.

‘Bhagini, His Highness needs to know…’

‘No!’

Mahamaya sat up with a jolt that almost scared Prajapati.

‘No, Praja, please… I don’t even know if it’s the good news we’ve been praying for all this time.’

Mahamaya was scared. She held Prajapati’s hand tightly, half in the hope that it actually was good news, and half to hold her back from running off to announce it to the King.

‘Please…’ Mahamaya pleaded. Prajapati had always done right by her elder sister, never once going against her wishes. But that was about to change.

‘No, bhagini… You cannot welcome goodness in your life without opening your mind and heart to the possibility that it exists. Besides, I am here now, with you… and the King should know, and I promise you, the joy will take your pain away.’

And with that, she was out of the room in an instant, before Mahamaya could get a word in.

Of course, she was happy. They were so close as sisters that she knew that if their situations were reversed, she would have behaved just as Prajapati had done today. And yet there was a feeling of guilt. Had she stolen something from Prajapati? The very reason that she had been married to Shuddhodana in the first place…

The Buddha could almost feel her touch as she lay her hand on her stomach. And in the blink of an eye, he was in the same hallway as he was not more than a few moments ago. . .