This is the story of a prince who could have been king. Instead — well, this is the story of what he became instead. His father, my king, was Suddhodhana, lord of the Sakya clan. The Sakya kingdom lay at the southern foothills of the Himalayas, along the gentle river Rohini. Its capital was Kapilavastu and there was never a more beautiful city. King Suddhodhana was a good king, his subjects loved him, his clan respected him, and the neighbouring kings treasured his friendship. Everything would have been perfect but for one small fact.

King Suddhodhana and his wife Queen Maya had no children. No laughing voices filled the royal gardens, no little feet pattered behind the queen and her maids, no heir filled the king’s heart with pride. It was the cause of great sorrow among the people, though they never expressed it, and even more so to the royal couple. I was then a small boy, a groom at the king’s stables, but even I could tell that the king and queen were unhappy.

Twenty years went by. I was now the king’s charioteer and I enjoyed his special favour.

It was the seventh day of the Midsummer Festival that Queen Maya had the dream that would change everything. For seven whole days the entire city of Kapilavastu had been celebrating. On the last day of ritual and revelry, Queen Maya distributed four hundred thousand pieces of gold to her people, and finally retired to her chamber to sleep.

As she lay on her couch, she dreamt that four resplendent beings who were too brilliant to even look at, lifted her up, couch and all. They carried her to the Crimson Plain in the Himalayas and put her down gently under the giant sal tree that was seven leagues high and one hundred and forty leagues wide. Their four queens took her by the hand, bathed her in a heavenly lake and dressed her in glimmering clothes. Garlanded with flowers, she was led to a silver hill, on which there stood a golden mansion. Inside was a glorious couch and there she lay down. It was so soft, she felt as if she were floating. She then saw an even more wondrous sight. A great white elephant, with great white ears and a silver-white trunk approached her. In his trunk he held a pure white lotus. He bowed down low before her and uttering a single unforgivable cry, he gently struck her on the side with his dazzling ivory tusks.

The next morning, when Queen Maya awoke, she remembered every detail of her dream. She told her husband, King Suddhodhana, and he marvelled, but was unable to say what it meant. So he called sixty-four learned Brahmins, served them delicacies out of gold and silver bowls, showered them with gifts, and asked them about the dream.

The Brahmins seemed to know at once. “It is simple, Sire,” they told him. “The queen is about to have a boy child. No ordinary child either, but one who will become either a Great King or a Great Saviour.”

The moment these words were spoken, thirty-two good omens occurred. The blind began to see. The lame began to walk. The dumb spoke and the deaf could hear. Chains fell away from prisoners. The fires of hell went out. Men were kind to one another. Musical instruments played all by themselves. The clouds cleared. The salty seas turned sweet. Lotuses rained down from the sky and bloomed out of rocks. And unknown to her, four devas with swords in their hands stood guard over Queen Maya, to protect her from all harm.

To be continued

Extracted from The Greatest Stories Ever Told;
By Sampurna Chattarji;
Publisher: Puffin