English
From the Yama heaven, with his army, King Suyāma came to conquer, The steadfast one, with beautiful chowries Like streams of golden water pouring down. The Deva-king Indra blew the Vijayuttara conch, Twenty hundred cubits long, at that time; The Tāvatiṃsa deities, approaching him, Worshipped him with coral-tree flowers and more. Preceded by Yakkhas and other beings, The four Deva-kings in the four directions, Provided protection, the heavenly realms Approaching him with hair standing on end. Playing the Veḷu harp, creating a circle of sound, Pañcasikha, the Nāga-king Kāla, Worshipped him, singing praises With hundreds of songs of praise. Thus, with trumpets, drums, conches, harps, Bells, fans, parasols, and chowries, With dances and the five kinds of music, With lamps, incense, and flags, they honored him. Siddhattha, whose domain Māra could not enter, Intending to bring the world under his sway, Heard the sound at the Bodhi-maṇḍala, Then Māra began to go there; 62. At that time, frightening things, Reasons for Māra's descent, Eye-darting ill omens, Forms and the like, for the three-world's eye; 63. Dry cloud-like sounds, drum-like sounds, Explosions deafening the sky, Terrible lightning flashes, Announced Māra's battle's beginning; 64. Māra's arrival was like dust, Raised by the horses' hooves, Hundreds of meteors fell, causing Eye-hurting, unpleasant flashes, burning in the directions; 65. In the sky wandered headless forms, Crows, carrion-fed ravens, Harsh winds blew, making noise, Dust and smoke rose in the directions; 66. Light disappeared, thick darkness Descended, covered with mist, The sky and earth greatly trembled, A cloud-covered day became the day; 67. "To make Siddhartha's unaccomplished aim unaccomplished," Said the desire-realm Māra's servants, Then, with his army, Prajāpati Disappeared right there and then; 68. That white one in front of Prajāpati Was twelve yojanas wide, Thus, the right and left, and the world- Element's boundary was behind as well; 69. Above, it was nine yojanas in size, The sound was like the earth splitting, That half was a hundred yojanas, High was that Girimekhala elephant; 70. There were no assemblies, they were created, Two alike, wielding similar weapons, By that practice, goosebumps arose, Even if I were to remember it; 71. Quickly creating a thousand arms, Taking various weapons with them, Mounted on Girimekhala with his army, Māra appeared, holding a grudge; 72. The lord of gods, with his own glory, Gathered up the white umbrella and went, The lord of gods, with his own glory, Put the conch shell on his back and fled; (Yamakabandhanaṃ) 73. The conch-blower went with a contracted face, The Nāga king Kāla went to the underworld, The Vīṇā-player Pañcasikha, without regard for his friends, Fled from there in a quarrel; 74. Seeing Māra's army gathering, The assembled people fled in fear, Like a lion roaring, the Sakyan lion stood, Alone, like one crushing a potter's clay. Seeing the radiant beauty of his lips, His face like a lotus, the abode of grace, "There is no one equal to Siddhattha in the world," Thus, Kalī spoke to Māra's army. "We can never stand against him, Nor dare to attack him," O fathers, Saying this, Māra from the north side, Encamped his army, bearing deep hatred. Seeing Māra's army advancing, Establishing a firm protective barrier, He too, the hero, encamped his army, To conquer him with the ten perfections as soldiers. Māra, capable of crushing mountains, Meru, and the world's rim, Stirring up the three worlds, in all directions, Raised a terrible wind. That wind, unhindered by the power of perfection, Though like a destructive storm, without force, Became like a gentle breeze with a fan, Relieving weariness and fatigue. Māra caused a rain of water, With torrents tearing apart the earth, Deep, like thunderbolts from the sky, With high waves, breaking trees and rocks. The hero, with the bond of the perfection's fence, Established protection in his own field of being, By that, the flood, going astray, Became the cause of sweeping away the opposing army. Like a spark of fire, he, Hot, blazing, and luminous, Caused a rain of hailstones, irresistible, Māra attempted to burn him. That terrible rain, falling on Māra's head, Stopped by the force of the perfection's wind, That rain, in the presence of the diamond throne, Became a shower of flowers for worship. Unbelieving, with sharp, bright edges, Burning, covering the sky and the space, Māra caused a rain of swords, spears, and javelins, Falling in all directions. In that armor of the perfections, The discharged rain of weapons, with blunted tips, Having reached, became a shower of flowers, Falling on his feet and head. Māra, crackling and sputtering, Gathering. He raised a firebrand, Made of lightning, full of sparks, The color of a blossoming palāsa tree; 87. Quickly, with incantations of the ultimate mantra, He extinguished the blazing coals, That Buddha-sprout, full moon orb, A dwelling place scattered with rays; 88. To turn the ultimate enemy, Māra, to ashes, Smoke-filled, without emerging flames, Like Māra's terrifying drum, He raised a shower of ash and embers; 89. That shower, scattered with white ash, By the power of accumulated perfections, Became sandalwood powder, At the foot of Māra's enemy; 90. In this womb of the earth's crust, The color of lac melted by fire, A stream of water, causing terror even to himself, The dark one rained down a great water shower; 91. Seeing the Ganges of rays from his nails and toes Washing away the mass of water, The dark one, like a fire with excessive anger, Became darker, his body scorched; 92. Smoking, with the glow of Avīci, Covered with dense foam and bubbles, A shower of mud, deeply submerged, Māra created a mire of the five sensual pleasures; 93. In that mire, transformed into sandalwood paste By the power of perfections, Māra, seeing me as a blossoming lotus, Was like one whose face was struck by mud in anger; 94. Thinking, "Let us strike Māra's enemy with this," Māra raised a dense mass of darkness, Terrible as the darkness between the worlds, Severing the directions; 95. This, pierced by the net of rays of accumulated perfections, By the sprout of the conqueror of all darkness, Risen from the mountain of the seat of enlightenment, Is indeed for the destruction of Māra's snow; 96. Saying, "Seize him, bind him!" In a manner indescribable by poets, He came with Māra's army, Angry, he fought, a reckless kinsman; 97. Seeing him, unshaken, steadfast, "This seat of enlightenment you cannot attain, It is mine alone, therefore, Arise from it, O friend," he said; 98. "Not even one of the thirty perfections Has been fulfilled by you while seated on the throne," When this was said, he threw the wheel of victory. On the head was the wheel, marked with the best wheel, 99. That wheel-weapon, its power cast aside, Of Māra, victorious in battle, On the head, in the best seat's presence, Shone like a raised white parasol; 100. "In your accumulation of perfections, Who is the witness?" "I myself am the witness," "A witness!" thus the advancing Māra's army's Roar resounded, cleaving the earth; 101. Extending his own witness-emitting hand, The hero stretched forth his arm, As if silencing the witness-claiming Māra's army, As if threatening, the earth trembled; 102. The elephant Girimekhala, with severed tusk, Fell to his knees in worship, Māra, defeated, unclothed, Powerless, fled; 103. The terrible chief of the mighty Māra's elephant force, The breaker of pride's frontal globes, On the diamond seat at the Bodhi tree's root, The Māra-conqueror shone like a lion; Thus, in the Jinavaṃsadīpa, composed by the ascetic named Medhānanda, the source of joy for all poets, in the not-far-off Nidāna, the twelfth chapter, the account of the destruction of the deva-son Māra's army, is completed. 1. The destroyer of all Māra's frost, The radiant with the rays of the Jina's sprout, Like the sun, having made way, Approached the western mountain, moving slowly; 2. Filled with the water of the ocean's love, Became the dust-covered earth's surface, Like a lamp's flame lit By a wick of placed-upon-another-mountain; 3. Born from the womb of the eastern mountain, Like his own reflection, beautiful with rays, Immediately on that peak, the moon, A circle of earth-like appearance, arose; 4. The red-colored sun's rays Of the evening's beauty, for a moment, Resembled the jewel ornaments On the ears of the eastern and western mountains; 5. The sun's rays, scattered, the lotus-filled lake, The lotus's soft petal-cupped hands, In the garden, the wind-blown trees, Bowed, unbowed, like ascetics; 6. Shining on the crest of the western sea, The sun, beyond the darkness's net, Stole the beauty of the closing lotus; A swarm of bees heavy over the lake; 7. In a bowl of salty ocean glass, A peak of another mountain embraced, The sun's orb having fallen, submerged, Why did it not bring back the dawn? 8. The orb of the sun, with its ruby-red light, Now swallowed by the great ocean, Like vomited blood from its mouth, A line of clouds shone at day's end. 9. With flashes of widespread clouds, again and again, Adorned with the wealth of crimson shoots, The forest thicket, gradually within the branches, Transformed the bursting mass of darkness. 10. Indifferent to good and bad people, Like a passionate woman in distress, Bees avoided the honeyed ones, The lotus, made impure, devoid of dust. 11. A line of buds, a swarm of intoxicated bees, Agitated by the wind's wave-like arms, With beautiful lotus-filled ponds, full of splendor, Like rows of great jeweled anklets. 12. Ripe and unripe fruits on the Sāla trees, Making a loud noise on the treetops, Shattering the darkness, deafening,