I was just a young novice monk when I first heard the story of Devadatta—the cousin of the Buddha—who tried to harm the Awakened One. I remember sitting under the mango trees in the monastery garden as my teacher, Venerable Ananda, told it to us from memory.
“Devadatta,” he began, “was born into the same noble family as Siddhartha Gautama, the man who would later become the Buddha.”
We listened closely. Siddhartha had given up his royal life in search of truth and ended up finding the path to enlightenment. But Devadatta, though also raised with great comfort and educated in the same ways, made different choices.
As a child, Devadatta was clever but proud. When Siddhartha became the Buddha and gained many followers, Devadatta too became a monk and joined the Sangha—the community of monks. Yet something in him felt restless. He wasn’t patient like the Buddha. He didn’t want to walk the middle path, the balanced way between too much and too little.
Venerable Ananda told us, “Devadatta wanted power. He wanted the Buddha to step down so that he might become the leader of the monastic community. But the Buddha, who had trained his mind to see clearly, understood Devadatta’s craving.”
One time, Devadatta went to the Buddha and asked to take over the Sangha. The Buddha kindly refused. But Devadatta did not accept this answer. His desire burned stronger.
Devadatta then thought, If I cannot lead the Sangha peacefully, I will remove the Buddha himself.
He tried three times to harm the Buddha. First, he rolled a heavy boulder down a hillside as the Buddha walked below. It missed, but a small piece struck the Buddha’s foot and caused it to bleed. The Buddha, calm and at peace, did not show anger. He simply cleaned the wound and continued his path.
Next, Devadatta sent a wild elephant, trained to be fierce, charging toward the Buddha in the village streets. As the huge beast thundered forward, everyone screamed and scattered. But the Buddha stood still. He looked at the elephant with deep compassion, not fear.
He whispered kind words into the elephant’s mind, sending waves of loving-kindness. The elephant slowed, then knelt respectfully before him.
Finally, Devadatta tried to divide the Sangha. He convinced some monks to follow his stricter and more extreme path. The Buddha taught that the middle path—of mindfulness, kindness, and wisdom—was better than extremes. Many of Devadatta’s followers returned when they saw the results.
In the end, Devadatta became ill and weak. Before death came for him, he regretted his actions and tried to see the Buddha once more. Some say he died with at least a little clarity in his heart.
“What can we learn from this?” our teacher asked.
I raised my hand and said, “That even someone close to the Buddha can forget their way. But the Buddha still showed compassion. He never hated Devadatta, not even when he was hurt.”
Venerable Ananda smiled. “Yes. Mindfulness helps us not to be overcome by hatred. Compassion reminds us that jealousy harms the jealous more than the one they envy. And detachment—freedom from needing power or praise—is the heart of peace.”
That day, I understood that the Buddha's strength was not in fighting back, but in refusing to let hatred steal his peace.
And I walked away from the mango trees vowing to walk the middle path too—one steady step at a time.
I was just a young novice monk when I first heard the story of Devadatta—the cousin of the Buddha—who tried to harm the Awakened One. I remember sitting under the mango trees in the monastery garden as my teacher, Venerable Ananda, told it to us from memory.
“Devadatta,” he began, “was born into the same noble family as Siddhartha Gautama, the man who would later become the Buddha.”
We listened closely. Siddhartha had given up his royal life in search of truth and ended up finding the path to enlightenment. But Devadatta, though also raised with great comfort and educated in the same ways, made different choices.
As a child, Devadatta was clever but proud. When Siddhartha became the Buddha and gained many followers, Devadatta too became a monk and joined the Sangha—the community of monks. Yet something in him felt restless. He wasn’t patient like the Buddha. He didn’t want to walk the middle path, the balanced way between too much and too little.
Venerable Ananda told us, “Devadatta wanted power. He wanted the Buddha to step down so that he might become the leader of the monastic community. But the Buddha, who had trained his mind to see clearly, understood Devadatta’s craving.”
One time, Devadatta went to the Buddha and asked to take over the Sangha. The Buddha kindly refused. But Devadatta did not accept this answer. His desire burned stronger.
Devadatta then thought, If I cannot lead the Sangha peacefully, I will remove the Buddha himself.
He tried three times to harm the Buddha. First, he rolled a heavy boulder down a hillside as the Buddha walked below. It missed, but a small piece struck the Buddha’s foot and caused it to bleed. The Buddha, calm and at peace, did not show anger. He simply cleaned the wound and continued his path.
Next, Devadatta sent a wild elephant, trained to be fierce, charging toward the Buddha in the village streets. As the huge beast thundered forward, everyone screamed and scattered. But the Buddha stood still. He looked at the elephant with deep compassion, not fear.
He whispered kind words into the elephant’s mind, sending waves of loving-kindness. The elephant slowed, then knelt respectfully before him.
Finally, Devadatta tried to divide the Sangha. He convinced some monks to follow his stricter and more extreme path. The Buddha taught that the middle path—of mindfulness, kindness, and wisdom—was better than extremes. Many of Devadatta’s followers returned when they saw the results.
In the end, Devadatta became ill and weak. Before death came for him, he regretted his actions and tried to see the Buddha once more. Some say he died with at least a little clarity in his heart.
“What can we learn from this?” our teacher asked.
I raised my hand and said, “That even someone close to the Buddha can forget their way. But the Buddha still showed compassion. He never hated Devadatta, not even when he was hurt.”
Venerable Ananda smiled. “Yes. Mindfulness helps us not to be overcome by hatred. Compassion reminds us that jealousy harms the jealous more than the one they envy. And detachment—freedom from needing power or praise—is the heart of peace.”
That day, I understood that the Buddha's strength was not in fighting back, but in refusing to let hatred steal his peace.
And I walked away from the mango trees vowing to walk the middle path too—one steady step at a time.
