This noble teaching on how to respond when faced with anger is set in a mythical context. The story is told by the Buddha and describes a great war between the devas (gods) and asuras (demons) that took place in ancient times. The devas are ultimately victorious (as they are in the Greek and Norse versions of the same myth) and capture Vepacitti, the ruler of the asuras. Bound in chains, he is brought to Tavatimsa and into the presence of Sakka, ruler of the gods.
The conflict between the devas and asuras was not merely a battle of strength, but one of ideals. While the devas symbolized order, wisdom, and forbearance, the asuras represented chaos, ignorance, and the unchecked expression of desire. Throughout the war, Sakka led his forces not with brute force alone, but with restraint and strategy, urging his warriors to fight not out of hatred for their enemies but out of a commitment to uphold balance in the cosmos. Vepacitti, on the other hand, drove his legions through intimidation and raw fury, promising power and glory for those who would serve him. Yet, in the end, his ferocity was no match for Sakka’s calm resolve.
After his capture, Vepacitti was brought in chains to Tavatimsa, the grand celestial city of the gods, its golden towers and gardens shining brilliantly against the backdrop of the heavens. There, in the radiant throne hall, he faced his rival, Sakka. The contrast between the two figures could not have been more striking: Sakka stood tall and serene, his demeanor as unshakeable as a mountain peak, while Vepacitti, despite his defeat, remained defiant, his eyes burning with unyielding malice.
Being the demon that he is, Vepacitti hurled a torrent of abuse at his captor, calling him all sorts of insulting names (the catalog of which, found in the commentary, is quite interesting). He railed against Sakka’s victory, mocking him as a weakling who relied on trickery and luck rather than true might. The air crackled with tension as his curses echoed through the hall, but Sakka, however, remained unmoved, his expression unchanging.
This display of restraint deeply puzzled Matali, Sakka’s loyal charioteer, who had served by his side through countless battles. Matali knew Sakka’s power; he had witnessed him split mountains and command storms. Why, then, did his master endure such insults without retaliation? As the tirade continued, Matali could hold back no longer. Stepping forward, he addressed Sakka:
“Great lord,” he began, his voice firm yet respectful, “why do you not respond to this vile creature’s provocations? A warrior of your stature should not bear such insults in silence. Show him your strength—make him see the consequences of mocking a king of the gods.”
But Sakka merely smiled, a calm and knowing smile that seemed to transcend the tumult around him. “Patience, Matali,” he replied softly. “What harm can his words do to me? Just as a man of sound mind does not grasp at weapons hurled at him but lets them fall harmlessly to the ground, so too should one not grasp at angry words and retaliate. Forbearance is the armor of the wise, and the true measure of strength is not in the ability to strike but in the ability to endure.”
Matali fell silent, awed by his lord’s composure. In response, Sakka began the following poetic exchange, his verses rich with meaning and layered with wisdom:
“He who, when reviled, reviles not back,
When provoked, does not get angry—
Such a one, I say, wins a battle
Hard to win.
He who knows both victory and defeat
And neither rejoices nor grieves,
Is the one I call a true warrior—
For he has conquered himself.”
The poem is in the prevalent vatta meter, with eight syllables per line, and contains much subtle wordplay. For example, the words bala (fool) and bala (strong) dance with one another throughout the piece (appearing fully 17 times), nowhere more intimately than in the frolicking alliteration of lines 31 and 32 (abalan-tam balam aahu yassa balaabalam balam). The linking of the word titikkhati (forbearance) with the similarly sounding tikicchati (healing) is also a poignant touch that is hardly accidental. Through these wordplays, Sakka conveyed the paradox of strength: the ability to bear the weight of insult and injury without succumbing to the desire for vengeance.
As Vepacitti heard these words, his expression changed. Rage still simmered beneath the surface, but for a moment, there was a flicker of something else—a hint of doubt, a shadow of confusion. How could one remain so serene in the face of such hatred? What was this strength that did not rely on force, that did not demand victory through domination?
The exchange shows how the Buddha adapted the heroic ideals of his warrior heritage to the inner struggle for self-mastery. The strength of the victorious Sakka lies in his wisdom and forbearance. The weakness of the vanquished asura stems from his lack of understanding (hence the label “fool”), which renders him helpless to resist the passions raging within. It is not enough to defeat one’s enemies through might alone, for the true battlefield lies within the heart.
Although these verses were penned 2,500 years ago, the truth behind them is timeless. It is the same truth that has helped many non-violent social and political reform movements achieve dramatic results in our own century. Conquest is only the apparent victory of the short-sighted, while the transformation of oneself and others is the more lasting victory of the wise. Remaining unprovoked in the face of anger and hostility still offers the best hope for healing our troubled world.
Indeed, in a world often quick to respond with aggression, Sakka’s response serves as a reminder of a deeper kind of courage—the courage to endure, to be unyielding in one’s principles without needing to overpower others. For in the end, it is not by silencing our enemies but by mastering ourselves that we achieve true victory.
Link: https://wisdomtea.org/2024/10/03/calm-in-the-face-of-anger/
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