“The legend of the creation of this Buddha image is completely different from others.
The concept of creating the Buddha image at that time was to negate beliefs rather
than to create faith,” Lord Phoche explained, further arousing my curiosity.

“Creating a Buddha image to negate beliefs? What’s that like? Please tell me the story,” I
asked.

“Let me tell you from the beginning, so you can see the whole picture. About 200 years
after the Buddha’s passing, Buddhism began to show signs of distortion. Before that,
the Buddha did not allow his followers to create idols or likenesses of him for worship
because he foresaw that it would lead to attachment to the individual more than the
teachings. Another negative consequence was that people would turn to the Buddha
for help, using the Buddha image as a tool, or rely on external things, as had been the
case in the past when most people worshiped gods and emphasized rituals, pleading
and begging for things from the outside, instead of trying to rely on the sacredness
within. So, the Buddha only allowed the creation of stupas as memorials, such as
stupas containing his relics and hair, or places he had visited and had important
stories, often appearing as footprints of the Buddha, symbolizing that the Buddha had
been to that place, or places related to him, such as places of birth, enlightenment, and
passing.”

“But in the 200 years after the Buddha’s passing, many souls who in their past lives had
Brahmin beliefs ordained as monks. So, they mixed in the concept of asking for things
from the outside, making vows, and changed from relying on gods, Brahma, Narayana,
Shiva, to relying on the Buddha instead. So, temples in the post-200 years period
became popular for sculpting or carving Buddha images, giving the reason that it was
to commemorate the great compassion of the Buddha. This concept aligned with the
people’s original disposition, which needed a mental anchor, a mental refuge, or
reliance on external things, and it was the old tradition that had been believed in since
the time of the flourishing of Brahminism, that if a benevolent person, a wealthy
person, or a king wanted to build a religious place, they had to build a Buddha image
for worship as well because it was believed that the merit from creating this was
particularly great.”

“And this matter is the key issue of the events that happened to you about 1,000 years
later,” Lord Phoche hinted.

“Please tell me the story. I really want to know,” I said eagerly.

“At that time, you were named Chakkrasiha Kumara. You were born as the son of a king
named Singhapahu, who came to rule the city of Ujjeni about 1,000 years after the time
you are traveling through now.

Originally, Singhapahu, your father, was a commoner, not a king. He was born to a
wealthy mother who had a secret relationship with a Sinhala man, a foreigner.

This Sinhala man had black skin, black hair, and hair on his arms, legs, and all over his
body. He was from a distant land called Sinhala. In the eyes of the villagers at that time,
this Sinhala man was strange and repulsive because of his black skin. When the two
lived together, they soon had one child, named Singhapahu, who was your father. The
woman’s family, who were wealthy, had to accept and allow this Sinhala man to join
their family.

But because this Sinhala man was talented, had a business mind, and had connections
with fellow Sinhala people abroad, he quickly built immense wealth.
But Singhapahu didn’t like his father very much. His appearance was exactly like his
father’s. Whenever he went anywhere, he was insecure and never proud of himself or
his father. When he went to study in high society, among the sons of kings and wealthy
people, most of whom had yellow or white skin and looked clean, he was often teased
by his friends about his black skin. This feeling accumulated and made Singhapahu
hate his father, who made him look like this, and deep down, he also blamed his mother
for choosing such a father.”

“But Singhapahu’s father loved him very much. He did everything to make Singhapahu
a high-class person, sending him to study various subjects at institutions specifically
for princes, especially at Takkasila. He was behind the plan to promote Singhapahu to
the status of king, which coincided with the fact that the ruler of Ujjeni had no male
heirs, only daughters, and the wealth of Singhapahu’s family was greater than that of
the king of Ujjeni. So, the story ended with the marriage ceremony between
Singhapahu and the princess of the city of Ujjeni, and everything went according to
plan when the ruler of Ujjeni passed away. Singhapahu rightfully ascended to the
throne, and the name of the city was changed to ‘Singhapura,’ which later became the
city of Sing Buri.”

“The story seems to be going smoothly and perfectly,” I observed.

“Yes, it seems like the story would end happily ever after. Because not long after
Singhapahu married the princess of Ujjeni, she gave birth to a son with fair skin, unlike
him who had black skin like his father. Perhaps he inherited more genes from his
mother. Singhapahu loved his son very much and named him Chakkrasiha Kumara, and
that child was you,” Lord Phoche elaborated.

“Wow… my story starts from here?” I said.

“Yes… but deep in Singhapahu’s heart, he harbored hatred. Every time he saw his son
with his fair skin, as bright as gold, he hated himself and his father even more.
Although he had everything, there was one thing that caused him lifelong frustration:
his black skin and the hair that grew all over his body. If there was a way to shed the
appearance of a black person, he wouldn’t hesitate. No matter how expensive the skin
whitening products were, he would buy them to get them. He once announced to
everyone that if anyone could make his skin white and clean, he would give half of his
wealth. But in the end, no one succeeded.”

“At the same time, his father was proud of his son, who perfectly resembled the Sinhala
ethnicity. The father would always tell his son to be proud of his ethnicity, to love his
dignity, and to value himself. But the more he said, the more it seemed like he was
cutting open an old wound, making it deeper. Every time there was an argument about
this, Singhapahu’s dissatisfaction with his father grew.”

“Until one day, King Singhapahu and his father went out riding horses in the forest to
hunt, which was a recreational activity that the king and his close soldiers enjoyed the
most. During that hunt, they encountered a young deer that had strayed from the herd.
They chased after it on their horses. Eventually, the unfortunate deer hid in a thicket.
Everyone dismounted and surrounded the thicket to prevent it from escaping. They
crept forward with their most effective hunting bows in hand. As they slowly closed in
on their cornered prey, everyone used hand signals to indicate where it was hiding.
Singhapahu’s father, standing opposite him, signaled that it was hiding behind a large
bush. His father couldn’t see the deer, but Singhapahu probably could. So, he pointed
out the position, and when Singhapahu aimed at the spot his father pointed to, the
large young deer’s head popped up. Singhapahu immediately raised his bow, but as he
aimed at the stationary target, a sure shot, his eyes glanced at his father, just a hand’s
breadth away from the prey.”

“In that instant, a thought popped into Singhapahu’s head. If he used this opportunity
to kill his repulsive father, it would be a reasonable excuse that the arrow missed its
target unintentionally. He would not be guilty. It would be a once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity. If he let it slip away, he didn’t know if he would ever get such a chance
again. With that thought, he drew the bowstring with all his might and moved the
target to his father. Immediately, his father realized that the target of this shot was no
longer the deer because the bow was aimed at him. Although he realized it, it was too
late. In a split second, the arrow pierced his heart. His eyes were still fixed on
Singhapahu. He died instantly by his own son’s hand.”

“Chaos ensued immediately after everyone witnessed the event. There were shouts,
‘The arrow missed! Don’t shoot!’ While the deer jumped out of the encirclement, all the
close soldiers rushed to Singhapahu’s father. When they arrived, they found that he had
died from an arrow in his heart, with his eyes wide open. Loud cries arose, along with
another shout, ‘The royal father is dead!’”