An edge of crimson crept along the border of the indigo sky. The blending of colors cast a deeply unsettling glow upon the vast sea of sand that spread in all directions. The landscape was so flat that the rising and falling of the dunes was almost imperceptible—and yet, incongruously long shadows stretched out, as though drawn by an unseen hand into long tracks across the plain.
Here and there, brown objects thrust from the dune sea like fallen branches. Their surfaces had been polished to a shiny luster by the moving sand, yet it was impossible to tell of what substance they were made. Siddhārtha judged that they had been lying here buried for a good hundred thousand years.
“My prince, here is where Tovatsue, capital of Tuṣita, once stood. Now it is nothing but desert. The only signs that anything was here at all are the remnants of the buildings that emerge like fossils from the sand.”
Maudgalyayana and the other monks pressed their hands together in silence. Siddhārtha followed suit.
The translucent sphere in which they traveled floated over the dunes at a height of several centimeters. Suddenly, a blindingly brilliant light cut across the indigo sky above. It was made by a giant object, and for a while fragmented streaks of incandescent ions glowed in the wake of its passage. Some amount of time later, a blast wave of immense heat swept across the desert.
The faint crimson light at the edge of the indigo sky grew brighter and dimmer, a fluctuation that inspired an irrational fear in Siddhārtha.
“The proximity warning system has indicated our arrival path,” Pūrna declared, looking back over his shoulder.
Without a sound, the vast sea of sand split in half, revealing a giant city in the depths below.
Siddhārtha struggled to move his legs, but found the effort baffling. A feeling of resistance troubled every motion, as though his entire body were submerged in water. Each time he tried to step forward, his foot would shift in a different direction of its own accord.
Tu ṣ ita’s capital, Tovatsue, was enormous, full of complicated devices and structures with functions that staggered the prince’s imagination. He grasped that the vast city was in fact a single edifice, its countless parts interconnecting in an immense cylindrical shape. The walls and ceilings of the giant corridors that served as the primary streets glowed with a beautiful aquamarine light, giving a sheen of vitality to the faces and bodies of the five travelers. An incredible number of side streets connected at right angles to the corridors; down these, Siddhārtha could see the edges of living quarters and manufacturing districts. There was a faint floral scent to the air, which was pleasantly dry and a comfortable temperature against his skin.
Siddhārtha blushed when he reflected back on the gloomy, unhealthy design of Kapilavastu, and its sad lack of facilities—the city’s water supply and sewage system were barely sufficient at best. The situation cast shame on both his kingdom’s way of life and its leadership.
And yet, the prince thought, perhaps I am wrong even to compare the two. Is not this Tuṣita, the Pure Land? Am I not the first man to visit this place while still alive? It profanes the sanctity of the divine to compare this hallowed land above Heaven with the refuse-strewn streets of man below!
Prince Siddhārtha hung his head low.
They moved through several levels of the city. Along the corridor, he saw large vertical cylinders at intervals on either side, fashioned from some transparent material that transported crowds of people upward and downward. Of course, the prince realized that the figures he saw were devas, not people. And yet some among the devas wore clothes of silver, with hard-looking helmets, and carried what seemed to be strangely fashioned weapons in their hands.
After a time the five travelers boarded one of the transparent cylinders, and it carried them down into the ground at an alarming speed. The prince’s eyesight dimmed and he found himself suddenly confused as the blood drained from his head.
“Is something wrong?”
“Just . . . a spell of dizziness.”
“Ah, I apologize. Pūrna, a bit slower, if you would.”
The voices of the monks sounded unnervingly distant.
Then a howling wind sounded in the prince’s ears—a wind that bore a great deal of sand. The flying grains blasted his cheek.
Why would there be sand flying through the air down here? the prince asked his wavering heart.
“Prince Siddhārtha, you are in the presence of Brahmā,” Maudgalyayana whispered by the prince’s ear.
Siddhārtha stood upon the sand, supported on either side by Pūrna and Subhuti.
It was hard to say from the ink blue sky—there was a sky here, the prince suddenly realized—whether it was night or day, but when he stared upward, he saw an incredible number of stars hanging there.
“Is it nighttime?” the prince asked, looking up into the thin light.
“Prince Siddhārtha of Śākya?”
The ancient, quiet voice seemed to seep into his heart.
Lord Brahmā!
The prince fell to his knees upon the sand.
“You have journeyed a long way to come here.”
“You must tell me the way to enlightenment. That is my only request!”
In the deep indigo sky, several hundred billion stars suddenly glared more brightly.
“Brahmā is deeply impressed by your dedication to the path of salvation, Siddhārtha.” Brahmā’s voice was deep and grand, and it filled the prince’s chest with its energy as it erupted from the very axis of the world—and yet it contained within it a subtle hint of sorrow. “These Heavens, however, now stand in terrible peril. We are pooling all our strength in an attempt to save them, yet the solution is still far from our grasp. It is difficult even to predict what will be required of us. Thus, though I welcome your visit, I cannot guarantee you will be satisfied with what we have to offer you at this moment.”
The prince peered upward, trying to see Brahmā’s glory; yet though he felt that the god must be near, he saw nothing but the deep spreading indigo of the sky.
Siddhārtha’s head fell as though he had been struck by lightning.
Of course—Brahmā has no form. Brahmā is the universal principle, the will of Heaven! Siddhārtha found that he, too, had lost his physical form, becoming part of the vast indigo void.