his spiritual power, and caused him to frame a reply in true words:  “His appearance changed, his vital powers decayed, filled with sorrow, with little pleasure, his spirits gone, his members nerveless, these are the indications of what is called ‘old age.’  This man was once a sucking child, brought up and nourished at his mother’s breast, and as a youth full of sportive life, handsome, and in enjoyment of the five pleasures; as years passed on, his frame decaying, he is brought now to the waste of age.”

The prince, greatly agitated and moved, asked his charioteer another question and said, “Is yonder man the only one afflicted with age, or shall I, and others also, be such as he?” The charioteer again replied and said, “Your highness also inherits this lot:  as time goes on, the form itself is changed, and this must doubtless come, beyond all hindrance.  The youthful form must wear the garb of age, throughout the world, this is the common lot.”

Bodhisattva, who had long prepared the foundation of pure and spotless wisdom, broadly setting the root of every high quality, with a view to gather large fruit in his present life, hearing these words respecting the sorrow of age, was afflicted in mind, and his hair stood upright.  Just as the roll of the thunder and the storm alarm and put to flight the cattle, so was Bodhisattva affected by the words; shaking with apprehension, he deeply sighed; constrained at heart because of the pain of age; with shaking head and constant gaze, he thought upon this misery of decay; what joy or pleasure can men take, he thought, in that which soon must wither, stricken by the marks of age; affecting all without exception; though gifted now with youth and strength, yet not one but soon must change and pine away.  The eye beholding such signs as these before it, how can it not be oppressed by a desire to escape?  Bodhisattva then addressed his charioteer:  “Quickly turn your chariot and go back.  Ever thinking on this subject of old age approaching, what pleasures now can these gardens afford, the years of my life like the fast-flying wind; turn your chariot, and with speedy wheels take me to my palace.”  And so his heart keeping in the same sad tone, he was as one who returns to a place of entombment; unaffected by any engagement or employment, so he found no rest in anything within his home.

The king hearing of his son’s sadness urged his companions to induce him again to go abroad, and forthwith incited his ministers and attendants to decorate the gardens even more than before.  The Deva then caused himself to appear as a sick man; struggling for life, he stood by the wayside, his body swollen and disfigured, sighing with deep-drawn groans; his hands and knees contracted and sore with disease, his tears flowing as he piteously muttered his petition.  The prince asked his charioteer, “What sort of man, again, is this?”