But the impersonality of the Buddha and his disciples did not mean that they were cold and unfeeling. They were not only gentle and compassionate, but deeply sociable, and their attempt to reach out to “the many” attracted people who found this lack of egotism compelling.

Like all his monks, the Buddha was constantly on the road, preaching to as wide an audience as possible, but during the three months of the monsoon, when travel was difficult, he took to staying in the Bamboo Grove outside Rajagaha. Even though the park now belonged to the Sangha, the bhikkhus had not built in it, but still lived in the open. A rich merchant, however, visited the Grove, liked what he saw, and offered to build sixty huts for the monks, and the Buddha gave his permission. The merchant then invited the Buddha and his monks to a meal. It was no small matter to feed such a large gathering, and on the morning of the dinner, the household was in an uproar as the servants prepared a delicious meal of broth, rice, sauces, and sweets. The merchant was so busy hurrying about and giving orders that he scarcely had time to greet his brother-in-law, Anathapindika, a merchant from Savatthi, who had come to Rajagaha on business. “Whatever is going on?” Anathapindika asked in bewilderment. Usually when he visited the household his brother-in-law could not do enough for him. Was there a wedding? Or was the family about to entertain King Bimbisara? “Not at all,” replied the merchant; the Buddha and his monks were coming to dinner.

Anathapindika could hardly believe his ears. “Did you say ‘the Buddha’?” he asked incredulously; had an enlightened Buddha truly come into the world? Could he go to visit him at once? “This is not the time,” the merchant said testily, hurrying off again. “You can go to talk to him early tomorrow morning.” Anathapindika was so excited that he could scarcely sleep, and at dawn he hurried to the Bamboo Grove. As soon as he left the city, however, he was overcome with the dread that was so widespread in the Axial countries. He felt vulnerable. “Light drained from the world, and he could see only darkness ahead.” Fearfully he pressed on, until he saw the Buddha pacing up and down in the morning light. When the Buddha saw Anathapindika, he led him to a seat and called him by name. Like Yasa before him, the merchant was immediately cheered, and as he listened to the Buddha he felt the teaching rising from within with such authority that it seemed inscribed in his deepest soul. “Superb, Lord!” he cried, and begged the Buddha to accept him as a lay disciple. The next day, he entertained the Buddha at his brother-in-law’s house and invited him to visit his own city of Savatthi, the capital of the kingdom of Kosala.

Savatthi was probably the most advanced of all the cities in the Ganges basin in the late sixth century. It was built on the south bank of the Rivati river, at the junction of two trade routes, and was inhabited by some 70,000 families. A leading center of commerce, it was home to many wealthy businessmen like Anathapindika, and the city’s name was said to derive from the word sarvamatthi, since it was a place where “everything was attainable.” Savatthi was protected by imposing walls and watchtowers forty to fifty feet high; the main roads entered the city from the south and converged in a large open square in the town center. Yet despite Savatthi’s prosperity, Anathapindika’s feverish excitement at the prospect of meeting a real Buddha shows that many people felt a nagging void opening up in their lives. It was exactly the place for the Sangha.

Anathapindika spared no expense in setting up a base for the Buddha. He searched hard for a suitable place, and eventually decided on a park owned by Prince Jeta, heir apparent to the throne of Kosala. The prince was reluctant to sell-until Anathapindika brought cartloads of gold coins, which he spread all over the parkland until the ground was entirely covered with the money that he was prepared to offer. Only a small space near the gate remained, and Prince Jeta, realizing belatedly that this was no ordinary purchase and that it might be advisable to make a contribution, threw it in for free, building a gate-house on the spot. Then Anathapindika made Jeta’s Grove ready for the Sangha. He had “open terraces laid out, gates constructed, audience halls erected, fire rooms, storehouses and cupboards built, walks leveled, wells prepared, baths and bathrooms installed, ponds excavated and pavilions made.” This would become one of the most important centers of the Sangha.

Yet these were very elaborate arrangements for men who had embraced “homelessness.” Within a short space of time, the Buddha had acquired three large parks, at Rajagaha, Kapilavatthu and Savatthi, where the monks could live and meditate, surrounded by lotus pools, lush mango trees and shady cloisters of palms. Other donors quickly followed Anathapindika’s example. As soon as they heard that the Buddha was teaching in Savatthi, three bankers from Kosambi on the Jumna river came to hear him preach in Jeta’s Grove and promptly invited him to their own city. Each equipped a “pleasure-park” (arama) for the Sangha there. They not only raised buildings at their own expense, but, like the other donors, they maintained the arama, providing for its upkeep themselves. King Bimbisara employed so many servants for the Bamboo Grove that they filled an entire village. But the monks were not living in luxury. Though ample, the accommodation was simple and the huts sparsely furnished, as befitted followers of the Middle Way. Each bhikkhu had his own cell, but this was often just a partitioned-off area containing only a board to sleep on and a seat with jointed legs.

The bhikkhus did not live in these aramas year-round, but still spent most of their time on the road. At first, most even traveled during the monsoon, but found that this gave offense. Other sects, such as the Jains, refused to travel during the rains, because they would do too much damage to the wildlife, and this violated the principle of ahimsa. Why did these followers of Sakyamuni continue their journeys during the monsoon, people began to ask, “trampling down the new grass, distressing plants, and hurting many little creatures?” Even the vultures, they pointed out, stayed in the treetops during this season. Why did the Buddha’s monks alone feel obliged to trudge around the muddy paths and roads, taking no heed of anybody but themselves?

The Buddha was sensitive to this kind of criticism, and when he heard about these complaints, he made the monsoon retreat (vassa) obligatory for all Sangha members. But he went one step further than the other wanderers, and invented the monastic communal life. Monks in the other sects either lived alone during the vassa, or they put up wherever they happened to be, sharing a forest clearing with ascetics who followed quite different dhammas. The Buddha ordered his bhikkhus to live together during the vassa, not with members of other sects; they could choose one of the aramas or a country settlement (avasa), which the monks built each year from scratch. Each arama and avasa had fixed boundaries; no monk was allowed to leave the retreat for more than a week during the three months of the monsoon, except for a very good reason. Gradually, the monks began to evolve a community life. They devised simple ceremonies, which took place in the assembly hall of their settlement. In the morning, they would meditate and listen to the instructions given by the Buddha or one of the senior monks. Then they set off with their bowls to the town to seek the day’s provisions, and ate their main meal. In the afternoon there would be a siesta, followed by more meditation in the evening.

But above all, the bhikkhus had to learn to live together amicably. The inevitable difficulties of living with people whom they might not find personally congenial would put the equanimity they were supposed to have acquired in meditation to the test. It was no good radiating compassion to the four quarters of the earth if bhikkhus could not be kind to one another. There were times when the Buddha had to take his monks to task. Once he rebuked them for failing to take care of a bhikkhu who had dysentery. On another occasion, when the Buddha and his entourage were traveling to Savatthi, a clique of monks went ahead to one of their local settlements and secured all the beds. Poor Sariputta, who seems to have had a bad cough, had to spend the night outside under a tree. Such rudeness, the Buddha told the guilty monks, undermined the whole mission of the Sangha, since it would put people off the Dhamma. But gradually, the best of the bhikkhus learned to set aside their own selfish inclinations and consider their fellows. The person who returned first from town with the alms-food made the hut ready for the others, setting out the seats and preparing the water for cooking. The one who arrived home last ate the leftovers and put everything away. “We are very different in body, Lord,” one of the monks told the Buddha about his community, “but we have, I think, only one mind.” Why should he not ignore his own likes and dislikes, and do only what the others wished? This bhikkhu felt lucky to be living the holy life with such companions. In the communal life of the vassa, the Buddha had found another way to teach his monks to live for others.