Long ago, in the time of the Buddha—who was born as Siddhartha Gautama in the ancient land of India—his teachings had begun to spread far and wide. People from many kingdoms came to listen to him, seeking peace, truth, and freedom from suffering. But not all who heard of the Buddha were pleased. Some were filled with doubts—or worse—jealousy.
In the kingdom of Kosala, there lived a prince named Virochana. He was the younger brother of King Pasenadi, who ruled Kosala with wisdom and often sought the guidance of the Buddha. The king would even travel for hours to sit at the Buddha’s feet, listening with deep respect while the monks and people gathered. This angered Prince Virochana.
Virochana had always wanted greatness. He was a skilled archer, trained in war, admired in court. But no matter how many battles he won or jewels he wore, the people spoke the most of the quiet man in saffron robes—Gautama the Buddha. “What power does a man hold who carries no sword?” Virochana sneered. “Why does my brother honor him above his own blood?”
Unable to hold his bitterness, the prince one day declared he would go and expose this teacher. “He speaks of peace while kings bow to him. Let us see if he can answer a true prince’s challenge.”
With soldiers behind him, Virochana stormed into Jetavana Grove, where the Buddha stayed during the rainy seasons. The garden was peaceful, filled with the scent of blooming mango trees and the soft chants of monks. But when the prince entered, silence fell.
The Buddha sat beneath a sal tree, calm as still water. Though surrounded by many, it was as if the world had come to a halt around him.
“I am Prince Virochana of Kosala,” the young man said proudly. “And I ask you: if you are so wise, what power do you wield? Kings kneel before you—but what army do you command?”
The Buddha opened his eyes slowly, his gaze meeting the prince’s—not with anger, but clear compassion. “The only victory I seek,” the Buddha said, “is not over others, but over oneself. What army could defeat pride, envy, or delusion more fully than the truth?”
The prince was taken aback. For all his strength, no one had ever dared speak to him in this way—not with fear, but with kindness.
Buddha continued, “Those who rule the world must first learn to rule the mind. Anger is a fire you carry—it burns you long before it reaches others.”
Virochana clenched his fists, but something within him stirred. The soldiers behind him looked uncertain. There was no trick in the Buddha’s voice, no sign of challenge. Only a stillness too deep to break.
Days later, the prince returned—not with threats, but questions. He sat at the edge of the teaching circle, quiet, listening. Over time, the anger faded. In its place bloomed something new: understanding.
From that day, the people of Kosala whispered not of a proud prince, but of one humbled by truth.
And though many years have passed, the teaching still echoes: rulers of nations are found in history—but those who master themselves live forever in the hearts of others.
Long ago, in the time of the Buddha—who was born as Siddhartha Gautama in the ancient land of India—his teachings had begun to spread far and wide. People from many kingdoms came to listen to him, seeking peace, truth, and freedom from suffering. But not all who heard of the Buddha were pleased. Some were filled with doubts—or worse—jealousy.
In the kingdom of Kosala, there lived a prince named Virochana. He was the younger brother of King Pasenadi, who ruled Kosala with wisdom and often sought the guidance of the Buddha. The king would even travel for hours to sit at the Buddha’s feet, listening with deep respect while the monks and people gathered. This angered Prince Virochana.
Virochana had always wanted greatness. He was a skilled archer, trained in war, admired in court. But no matter how many battles he won or jewels he wore, the people spoke the most of the quiet man in saffron robes—Gautama the Buddha. “What power does a man hold who carries no sword?” Virochana sneered. “Why does my brother honor him above his own blood?”
Unable to hold his bitterness, the prince one day declared he would go and expose this teacher. “He speaks of peace while kings bow to him. Let us see if he can answer a true prince’s challenge.”
With soldiers behind him, Virochana stormed into Jetavana Grove, where the Buddha stayed during the rainy seasons. The garden was peaceful, filled with the scent of blooming mango trees and the soft chants of monks. But when the prince entered, silence fell.
The Buddha sat beneath a sal tree, calm as still water. Though surrounded by many, it was as if the world had come to a halt around him.
“I am Prince Virochana of Kosala,” the young man said proudly. “And I ask you: if you are so wise, what power do you wield? Kings kneel before you—but what army do you command?”
The Buddha opened his eyes slowly, his gaze meeting the prince’s—not with anger, but clear compassion. “The only victory I seek,” the Buddha said, “is not over others, but over oneself. What army could defeat pride, envy, or delusion more fully than the truth?”
The prince was taken aback. For all his strength, no one had ever dared speak to him in this way—not with fear, but with kindness.
Buddha continued, “Those who rule the world must first learn to rule the mind. Anger is a fire you carry—it burns you long before it reaches others.”
Virochana clenched his fists, but something within him stirred. The soldiers behind him looked uncertain. There was no trick in the Buddha’s voice, no sign of challenge. Only a stillness too deep to break.
Days later, the prince returned—not with threats, but questions. He sat at the edge of the teaching circle, quiet, listening. Over time, the anger faded. In its place bloomed something new: understanding.
From that day, the people of Kosala whispered not of a proud prince, but of one humbled by truth.
And though many years have passed, the teaching still echoes: rulers of nations are found in history—but those who master themselves live forever in the hearts of others.
