The
Light of
by
Sir
Edwin Arnold
Cardiff Theosophical Society in Wales
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24 -1DL
The
Light of
by
Sir
Edwin Arnold
Contents
Preface
Book 1
Book 2
Book 3
Book 4
Book 5
Book 6
Book 7
Book 8
Two Poems:
"After Death in
Notices of The
Light of
PREFACE.
In the following
Poem I have sought, by the medium of an imaginary Buddhist votary, to depict
the life and character and indicate the philosophy of that noble hero and
reformer, Prince Gautama of
A generation
ago little or nothing was known in Europe of this great faith of Asia, which
had nevertheless existed during twenty-four centuries, and at this day
surpasses, in the number of its followers and the area of its prevalence,
any other form
of creed. Four hundred and seventy millions of our race live and die in the
tenets of Gautama; and the spiritual dominions of this ancient teacher extend,
at the present time, from Nepaul and
passed away
from the land of its birth, the mark of Gautama's sublime teaching is stamped
ineffaceably upon modern Brahmanism, and the most characteristic habits and
convictions of the Hindus are clearly due to the benign influence of Buddha's
precepts. More than a third of mankind, therefore, owe their moral and
religious ideas to this illustrious prince, whose personality, though
imperfectly revealed in the existing sources of information, cannot but appear
the highest, gentlest, holiest, and most beneficent, with one exception, in the
history of Thought. Discordant in frequent particulars, and sorely overlaid by
corruptions, inventions, and misconceptions, the Buddhistical books yet agree
in the one point of recording nothing -- no single act or word -- which mars
the perfect purity and tenderness of this Indian teacher, who united the truest
princely qualities with the intellect of a sage and the passionate devotion of
a
martyr. Even M.
Barthelemy St. Hilaire, totally misjudging, as he does, many points of
Buddhism, is well cited by Professor Max Muller as saying of Prince Siddartha,
"Sa vie n'a point de tache. Son constant heroisme egale sa conviction ; et
si la theorie qu'il preconise est fausse, les exemples personnels qu'il donne
sont irreprochables. Il est le modele acheve de toutes les vertus qu'il preche;
son abnegation, sa charite, son inalterable douceur ne se dementent point un
seul instant. . . . Il prepare silencieusement sa doctrine par six annees de
retraite et de meditation; il la propage par la seule puissance de la parole et
de la persuasion pendant plus d'un demi-siecle, et quand il meurt entre les
bras de ses disciples, c'est avec la serenite d'un sage qui a pratique
le bien toute
sa vie, et qui est assure d'avoir trouve le vrai." To Gautama has
consequently been given this stupendous conquest of humanity; and -- though he
discountenanced
ritual, and declared himself, even when on the threshold of Nirvana, to be only
what all other men might become -- the love and gratitude of Asia, disobeying
his mandate, have given him fervent worship. Forests of flowers are daily laid
upon his stainless shrines, and countless millions of lips daily repeat the
formula, "I take refuge in Buddha!"
The Buddha of
this poem -- if, as need not be doubted, he really existed -- was born on the
borders of Nepaul, about 620 B.C., and died about 543 B.C. at Kusinagara in
compared with
this venerable religion, which has in it the eternity of a universal hope, the
immortality of a boundless love, an indestructible element of faith in final
good, and the proudest assertion ever made of human freedom.
The
extravagances which disfigure the record and practice of Buddhism are to be
referred to that inevitable degradation which priesthoods always inflict upon
great idea committed to their charge. The power and sublimity of Gautama's
original doctrines should be estimated by their influence, not by their
interpreters; nor by that innocent but lazy and ceremonious church which has
arisen on the foundations of the Buddhistic Brotherhood or "Sangha."
I have put my
poem into a Buddhist's mouth, because, to appreciate the spirit of Asiatic
thoughts, they should be regarded from the Oriental point of view; and neither
the miracles which consecrate this record, nor the philosophy which it
embodies, could have been otherwise so naturally reproduced. The doctrine of
Transmigration, for instance -- startling to modern minds -- was established
and thoroughly accepted by the Hindus of Buddha's time; that period when
Jerusalem
was being taken
by Nebuchadnezzar, when Nineveh was falling to the Medes, and Marseilles was
founded by the Phocaeans. The exposition here offered of so antique a system is
of necessity incomplete, and -- in obedience to the laws of poetic art --
passes rapidly by many matters philosophically most important, as well as over
the long ministry of Gautama. But my purpose has been obtained if any just
conception be here conveyed of the lofty character of this noble prince, and of
the general purport of his doctrines. As to these there has arisen prodigious
controversy among the erudite, who will be aware that I have taken the
imperfect Buddhistic citations much as they stand in Spence Hardy's work, and
have also modified more than one passage in the received narratives.
The views,
however, here indicated of "Nirvana," "Dharma,"
"Karma," and the other chief features of Buddhism, are at least the
fruits of considerable study, and also of a firm conviction that a third of
mankind would never have been
brought to
believe in blank abstractions, or in Nothingness as the issue and crown of
Being.
Finally, in
reverence to the illustrious Promulgator of this "Light of Asia," and
in homage to the many eminent scholars who have devoted noble labors to his
memory, for which both repose and ability are wanting to me, I beg that the
shortcomings of
my too-hurried study may be forgiven. It has been composed in the brief
intervals of days without leisure, but is inspired by an abiding desire to aid
in the better mutual knowledge of East and West. The time may
come, I hope,
when this book and my "Indian Song of Songs" will preserve the memory
of one who loved
EDWIN ARNOLD,
C.S.I.
London, July,
1879.
Book the First.
The Scripture
of the Saviour of the World,
Lord Buddha --
Prince Siddártha styled on earth --
In Earth and
Heavens and Hells Incomparable,
All-honored,
Wisest, Best, most Pitiful;
The Teacher of
Nirvana and the Law.
Thus came he to
be born again for men.
Below the
highest sphere four Regents sit
Who rule our
world, and under them are zones
Nearer, but
high, where saintliest spirits dead
Wait thrice ten
thousand years, then Eve again;
And on Lord
Buddha, waiting in that sky,
Came for our
sakes the five sure signs of birth
So that the
Devas knew the signs, and said
"Buddha
will go again to help the World."
"Yea!"
spake He, "now I go to help the World
This last of
many times; for birth and death
End hence for
me and those who learn my Law.
I will go down
among the Sâkyas,
Under the
southward snows of Himalay,
Where pious
people live and a just King."
That night the
wife of King Suddhôdana,
Maya the Queen,
asleep beside her Lord,
Dreamed a
strange dream; dreamed that a star from heaven --
Splendid,
six-rayed, in color rosy-pearl,
Whereof the
token was an Elephant
Six-tusked and
whiter than Vahuka's milk --
Shot through
the void and, shining into her,
Entered her
womb upon the right. Awaked,
Bliss beyond
mortal mother's filled her breast,
And over half
the earth a lovely light
Forewent the
morn. The strong hills shook; the waves
Sank lulled;
all flowers that blow by day came forth
As 'twere high
noon; down to the farthest hells
Passed the
Queen's joy, as when warm sunshine thrills
Wood-glooms to
gold, and into all the deeps
A tender
whisper pierced. "Oh ye," it said,
"The dead
that are to live, the live who die,
Uprise, and
hear, and hope! Buddha is come!"
Whereat in
Limbos numberless much peace
Spread, and the
world's heart throbbed, and a wind blew
With unknown
freshness over lands and seas.
And when the morning
dawned, and this was told,
The grey
dream-readers said "The dream is good!
The Crab is in
conjunction with the Sun
The Queen shall
bear a boy, a holy child
Of wondrous
wisdom, profiting all flesh,
Who shall
deliver men from ignorance,
Or rule the world,
if he will deign to rule."
In this wise
was the holy Buddha born.
Queen Maya
stood at noon, her days fulfilled,
Under a Palsa
in the Palace-grounds,
A stately
trunk, straight as a temple-shaft,
With crown of
glossy leaves and fragrant blooms;
And, knowing
the time come -- for all things knew --
The conscious
tree bent down its boughs to make
A bower about
Queen Maya's majesty,
And Earth put
forth a thousand sudden flowers
To spread a
couch, while, ready for the bath,
The rock hard
by gave out a limpid stream
Of crystal
flow. So brought she forth her child
Pangless -- he
having on his perfect form
The marks,
thirty and two, of blessed birth;
Of which the
great news to the Palace came.
But when they
brought the painted palanquin
To fetch him
home, the bearers of the poles
Were the four
Regents of the Earth, come down
From
On brazen
plates -- the Angel of the East,
Whose hosts are
clad in silver robes, and bear
Targets of
pearl: the Angel of the South,
Whose horsemen,
the Kumbhandas, ride blue steeds,
With sapphire
shields: the Angel of the West,
By Nâgas
followed, riding steeds blood-red,
With coral
shields: the Angel of the North,
Environed by
his Yakshas, all in gold,
On yellow
horses, bearing shields of gold.
These, with
their pomp invisible, came down
And took the
poles, in caste and outward garb
Like bearers,
yet most mighty gods; and gods
Walked free
with men that day, though men knew not:
For Heaven was
filled with gladness for Earth's sake,
Knowing Lord
Buddha thus was come again.
But King
Suddhôdana wist not of this;
The portents
troubled, till his dream-readers
Augured a
Prince of earthly dominance,
A Chakravartîn,
such as rise to rule
Once in each
thousand years; seven gifts he has --
The Chakra-ratna,
disc divine; the gem;
The horse, the
Aswa-ratna, that proud steed
Which tramps
the clouds; a snow-white elephant,
The
Hasti-ratna, born to bear his King;
The crafty
Minister, the General
Unconquered,
and the wife of peerless grace,
The Istrî-ratna,
lovelier than the Dawn.
For which gifts
looking with this wondrous boy,
The King gave
order that his town should keep
High festival;
therefore the ways were swept,
Rose-odors
sprinkled in the street, the trees
Were hung with lamps
and flags, while merry crowds
Gaped on the
sword-players and posturers,
The jugglers,
charmers, swingers, rope-walkers,
The
nautch-girls in their spangled skirts and bells
That chime
light laughter round their restless feet;
The masquers
wrapped in skins of bear and deer.
The
tiger-tamers, wrestlers, quail-fighters,
Beaters of drum
and twanglers of the wire,
Who made the
people happy by command.
Moreover from
afar came merchant-men,
Bringing, on
tidings of this birth, rich gifts
In golden
trays; goat-shawls, and nard and jade,
Turkises,
"evening-sky" tint, woven webs --
So fine twelve
folds bide not a modest face --
Waist-cloths
sewn thick with pearls, and sandal-wood;
Homage from
tribute cities; so they called
Their Prince
Savârthasiddh, "All-Prospering,"
Briefer,
Siddártha.
'Mongst the
strangers came
A grey-haired
saint, Asita, one whose ears,
Long closed to
earthly things, caught heavenly sounds,
And heard at
prayer beneath his peepul-tree
The Devas
singing songs at Buddha's birth.
Wondrous in
lore he was by age and fasts;
Him, drawing
nigh, seeming so reverend,
The King
saluted and Queen Maya made
To lay her babe
before such holy feet;
But when he saw
the Prince the old man cried
"Ah,
Queen, not so!" and thereupon he touched
Eight times the
dust, laid his waste visage there,
Saying, "O
Babe! I worship! Thou art He!
I see the rosy
light, the foot-sole marks,
The soft curled
tendril of the Swastika,
The sacred
primal signs thirty and two,
The eighty
lesser tokens. Thou art Buddh,
And thou wilt preach
the Law and save all flesh
Who learn the
Law, though I shall never hear,
Dying too soon,
who lately longed to die;
Howbeit I have
seen Thee. Know, O King!
This is that
Blossom on our human tree
Which opens
once in many myriad years --
But opened, fills
the world with Wisdom's scent
And Love's
dropped honey; from thy royal root
A Heavenly
Lotus springs: Ah, happy House!
Yet not
all-happy, for a sword must pierce
Thy bowels for
this boy -- whilst thou, sweet Queen!
Dear to all
gods and men for this great birth,
Henceforth art
grown too sacred for more woe,
And life is
woe, therefore in seven days
Painless thou
shalt attain the close of pain."
Which fell: for
on the seventh evening
Queen Maya
smiling slept, and waked no more,
Passing content
to Trâyastrinshas-Heaven,
Where countless
Devas worship her and wait
Attendant on
that radiant Motherhead.
But for the
Babe they found a foster-nurse,
Princess
Mahâprajâpati -- her breast
Nourished with
noble milk the lips of Him
Whose lips
comfort the Worlds.
When th' eighth
year passed
The careful
King bethought to teach his son
All that a
Prince should learn, for still he shunned
The too vast
presage of those miracles,
The glories and
the sufferings of a Buddh.
So, in full
council of his Ministers,
"Who is the
wisest man, great sirs," he asked,
"To teach
my Prince that which a Prince should know?"
Whereto gave
answer each with instant voice
"King!
Viswamitra is the wisest one,
The furthest
seen in Scriptures, and the best
In learning,
and the manual arts, and all."
Thus Viswamitra
came and heard commands;
And, on a day
found fortunate, the Prince
Took up his
slate of ox-red sandal-wood,
All-beautified
by gems around the rim,
And Sprinkled
smooth with dust of emery,
These took he,
and his writing-stick, and stood
With eyes bent
down before the Sage, who said,
"Child,
write this Scripture," speaking slow the verse
"Gâyatrî"
named, which only High-born hear: --
Om, tatsaviturvarenyam
Bhargo devasya dhîmahi
Dhiyo yo na prachodayât.
"Acharya,
I write," meekly replied
The Prince, and
quickly on the dust he drew --
Not in one
script, but many characters --
The sacred
verse; Nagri and Dakshin, Nî,
Mangal,
Parusha, Yava, Tirthi, Uk,
Darad,
Sikhyani, Mana, Madhyachar,
The pictured
writings and the speech of signs,
Tokens of
cave-men and the sea-peoples,
Of those who
worship snakes beneath the earth,
And those who
flame adore and the sun's orb,
The Magians and
the dwellers on the mounds;
Of all the
nations all strange scripts he traced
One after other
with his writing-stick,
Reading the
master's verse in every tongue;
And Viswamitra
said, "It is enough,
Let us to
numbers.
After me repeat
Your numeration
till we reach the Lakh,
One, two,
three, four, to ten, and then by tens
To hundreds,
thousands." After him the child
Named digits,
decads, centuries; nor paused,
The round lakh
reached, but softly murmured on
"Then
comes the kôti, nahut, ninnahut,
Khamba,
viskhamba, abab, attata,
To kumuds,
gundhikas, and utpalas,
By pundarîkas
unto padumas,
Which last is
how you count the utmost grains
Of Hastagiri
ground to finest dust;
But beyond that
a numeration is,
The Kâtha, used
to count the stars of night;
The Kôti-Kâtha,
for the ocean drops;
Ingga, the
calculus of circulars;
Sarvanikchepa,
by the which you deal
With all the sands
of Gunga, till we come
To
Antah-Kalpas, where the unit is
The sands of
ten crore Gungas. If one seeks
More
comprehensive scale, th' arithmic mounts
By the Asankya,
which is the tale
Of all the
drops that in ten thousand years
Would fall on
all the worlds by daily rain;
Thence unto
Maha Kalpas, by the which
The Gods
compute their future and their past."
"'Tis
good," the Sage rejoined, "Most noble Prince,
If these thou
know'st, needs it that I should teach
The mensuration
of the lineal?"
Humbly the boy replied,
"Acharya!"
"Be
pleased to hear me. Paramânus ten
A parasukshma
make; ten of those build
The trasarene,
and seven trasarenes
One
mote's-length floating in the beam, seven motes
The
whisker-point of mouse, and ten of these
One likhya;
likhyas ten a yuka, ten
Yukas a heart
of barley, which is held
Seven times a
wasp-waist; so unto the grain
Of mung and
mustard and the barley-corn,
Whereof ten
give the finger-joint, twelve joints
The span,
wherefrom we reach the cubit, staff,
Bow-length,
lance-length; while twenty lengths of lance
Mete what is
named a 'breath,' which is to say
Such space as
man may stride with lungs once filled,
Whereof a gow
is forty, four times that
A yôjana; and,
Master! if it please,
I shall recite
how many sun-motes lie
From end to end
within a yôjana."
Thereat, with
instant skill, the little Prince
Pronounced the
total of the atoms true.
But Viswamitra
heard it on his face
Prostrate
before the boy; "For thou," he cried,
Art Teacher of
thy teachers -- thou, not I,
Art Guru. Oh, I
worship thee, sweet Prince!
That comest to
my school only to show
Thou knowest
all without the books, and know'st
Fair reverence
besides."
Which reverence
Lord Buddha
kept to all his schoolmasters,
Albeit beyond
their learning taught; in speech
Right gentle,
yet so wise; princely of mien,
Yet
softly-mannered; modest, deferent,
And
tender-hearted, though of fearless blood;
No bolder
horseman in the youthful band
E'er rode in
gay chase of the shy gazelles;
No keener
driver of the chariot
In mimic contest
scoured the Palace-courts;
Yet in mid-play
the boy would ofttimes pause,
Letting the
deer pass free; would ofttimes yield
His half-won
race because the laboring steeds
Fetched painful
breath; or if his princely mates
Saddened to
lose, or if some wistful dream
Swept o'er his
thoughts. And ever with the years
Waxed this
compassionateness of our Lord,
Even as a great
tree grows from two soft leaves
To spread its
shade afar; but hardly yet
Knew the young
child of sorrow, pain, or tears,
Save as strange
names for things not felt by kings,
Nor ever to be
felt. But it befell
In the Royal
garden on a day of spring,
A flock of wild
swans passed, voyaging north
To their
nest-places on Himâla's breast.
Calling in
love-notes down their snowy line
The bright birds
flew, by fond love piloted;
And Devadatta,
cousin of the Prince,
Pointed his
bow, and loosed a wilful shaft
Which found the
wide wing of the foremost swan
Broad-spread to
glide upon the free blue road,
So that it
fell, the bitter arrow fixed,
Bright scarlet
blood-gouts staining the pure plumes.
Which seeing,
Prince Siddârtha took the bird
Tenderly up,
rested it in his lap --
Sitting with
knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits --
And, soothing
with a touch the wild thing's fright,
Composed its
ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,
Caressed it
into peace with light kind palms
As soft as
plantain-leaves an hour unrolled;
And while the
left hand held, the right hand drew
The cruel steel
forth from the wound and laid
Cool leaves and
healing honey on the smart.
Yet all so
little knew the boy of pain
That curiously
into his wrist he pressed
The arrow's
barb, and winced to feel it sting,
And turned with
tears to soothe his bird again.
Then some one
came who said, "My Prince hath shot
A swan, which fell
among the roses here,
He bids me pray
you send it. Will you send?"
"Nay,"
quoth Siddârtha, "if the bird were dead
To send it to
the slayer might be well,
But the swan
lives; my cousin hath but killed
The god-like
speed which throbbed in this white Wing."
And Devadatta
answered, "The wild thing,
Living or dead,
is his who fetched it down;
'Twas no man's
in the clouds, but fall'n 'tis mine,
Give me my
prize, fair Cousin." Then our Lord
Laid the swan's
neck beside his own smooth cheek
And gravely
spake, "Say no! the bird is mine,
The first of
myriad things which shall be mine
By right of
mercy and love's lordliness.
For now I know,
by what within me stirs,
That I shall
teach compassion unto men
And be a
speechless world's interpreter,
Abating this
accursed flood of woe,
Not man's
alone; but, if the Prince disputes,
Let him submit
this matter to the wise
And we will
wait the word." So was it done;
In full divan
the business had debate,
And many
thought this thing and many that,
Till there
arose an unknown priest who said,
"If life
be aught, the savior of a life
Owns more the
living thing than he can own
Who sought to
slay -- the slayer spoils and wastes
The cherisher
sustains, give him the bird:"
Which judgment
all found just; but when the King
Sought out the
sage for honor, he was gone;
And some one
saw a hooded snake glide forth, --
The gods come
ofttimes thus! So our Lord Buddh
Began his works
of mercy.
Yet not more
Knew he as yet
of grief than that one bird's,
Which, being
healed, went joyous to its kind.
But on another
day the King said, "Come,
Sweet son! and
see the pleasaunce of the spring,
And how the
fruitful earth is wooed to yield
Its riches to
the reaper; how my realm --
Which shall be
thine when the pile flames for me --
Feeds all its
mouths and keeps the King's chest filled.
Fair is the
season with new leaves, bright blooms,
Green grass,
and cries of plough-time." So they rode
Into a land of
wells and gardens, where,
All up and down
the rich red loam, the steers
Strained their
strong shoulders in the creaking yoke
Dragging the
ploughs; the fat soil rose and rolled
In smooth dark
waves back from the plough; who drove
Planted both
feet upon the leaping share
To make the
furrow deep; among the palms
The tinkle of
the rippling water rang,
And where it
ran the glad earth 'broidered it
With balsams
and the spears of lemon-grass.
Elsewhere were
sowers who went forth to sow;
And all the
jungle laughed with nesting-songs,
And all the
thickets rustled with small life
Of lizard, bee,
beetle, and creeping things
Pleased at the
spring-time. In the mango-sprays
The sun-birds
flashed; alone at his green forge
Toiled the loud
coppersmith; bee-eaters hawked
Chasing the
purple butterflies; beneath,
Striped
squirrels raced, the mynas perked and picked,
The nine brown
sisters chattered in the thorn,
The pied
fish-tiger hung above the pool,
The egrets
stalked among the buffaloes,
The kites
sailed circles in the golden air;
About the
painted temple peacocks flew,
The blue doves
cooed from every well, far off
The village
drums beat for some marriage-feast;
All things
spoke peace and plenty, and the Prince
Saw and
rejoiced. But, looking deep, he saw
The thorns
which grow upon this rose of life:
How the swart
peasant sweated for his wage,
Toiling for leave
to live; and how he urged
The great-eyed
oxen through the flaming hours,
Goading their
velvet flanks: then marked he, too,
How lizard fed
on ant, and snake on him,
And kite on
both; and how the fish-hawk robbed
The fish-tiger
of that which it had seized;
The shrike
chasing the bulbul, which did chase
The jewelled
butterflies: till everywhere
Each slew a
slayer and in turn was slain,
Life living
upon death. So the fair show
Veiled one
vast, savage, grim conspiracy
Of mutual murder,
from the worm to man,
Who himself
kills his fellow; seeing which --
The hungry
ploughman and his laboring kine,
Their dewlaps
blistered with the bitter yoke,
The rage to
live which makes all living strife --
The Prince
Siddârtha sighed. "Is this," he said,
"That
happy earth they brought me forth to see?
How salt with
sweat the peasant's bread! how hard
The oxen's
service! in the brake how fierce
The war of weak
and strong! i' th' air what plots!
No refuge e'en
in water. Go aside
A space, and
let me muse on what ye show."
So saying, the
good Lord Buddha seated him
Under a
jambu-tree, with ankles crossed --
As holy statues
sit -- and first began
To meditate
this deep disease of life,
What its far
source and whence its remedy.
So vast a pity
filled him, such wide love
For living
things, such passion to heal pain,
That by their
stress his princely spirit passed
To ecstasy,
and, purged from mortal taint
Of sense and
self, the boy attained thereat
Dhyâna, first
step of "the path."
There flew
High overhead that
hour five holy ones,
Whose free
wings faltered as they passed the tree.
"What
power superior draws us from our flight?"
They asked, for
spirits feel all force divine,
And know the
sacred presence of the pure.
Then, looking downward,
they beheld the Buddh
Crowned with a
rose-hued aureole, intent
On thoughts to
save; while from the grove a voice
Cried,
"Rishis! this is He shall help the world,
Descend and
worship." So the Bright Ones came
And sang a song
of praise, folding their wings,
Then journeyed
on, taking good news to Gods.
But certain
from the King seeking the Prince
Found him still
musing, though the noon was past,
And the sun
hastened to the western hills:
Yet, while all
shadows moved, the jambu-tree's
Stayed in one
quarter, overspreading him,
Lest the sloped
rays should strike that sacred head;
And he who saw
this sight heard a voice say,
Amid the
blossoms of the rose-apple,
"Let be
the King's son! till the shadow goes
Forth from his
heart my shadow will not shift."
Book the
Second.
Now, when our
Lord was come to eighteen years,
The King
commanded that there should be built
Three stately
houses, one of hewn square beams
With cedar
lining, warm for winter days;
One of veined
marbles, cool for summer heat;
And one of
burned bricks, with blue tiles bedecked,
Pleasant at
seed-time, when the champaks bud --
Subha, Suramma,
Ramma, were their names.
Delicious
gardens round about them bloomed,
Streams
wandered wild and musky thickets stretched,
With many a
bright pavilion and fair lawn
In midst of
which Siddârtha strayed at will,
Some new
delight provided every hour;
And happy hours
he knew, for life was rich,
With youthful
blood at quickest; yet still came
The shadows of
his meditation back,
As the lake's
silver dulls with driving clouds.
Which the King
marking, called his Ministers:
Bethink ye,
sirs! how the old Rishi spake,"
He said,
"and what my dream-readers foretold.
This boy, more
dear to me than mine heart's blood,
Shall be of
universal dominance,
Trampling the
neck of all his enemies,
A King of kings
-- and this is in my heart; --
Or he shall
tread the sad and lowly path
Of self-denial
and of pious pains,
Gaining who
knows what good, when all is lost
Worth keeping;
and to this his wistful eyes
Do still incline
amid my palaces.
But ye are
sage, and ye will counsel me;
How may his
feet be turned to that proud road
Where they
should walk, and all fair signs come true
Which gave him
Earth to rule, if he would rule?"
The eldest
answered, "Maharaja! love
Will cure these
thin distempers; weave the spell
Of woman's
wiles about his idle heart.
What knows this
noble boy of beauty yet,
Eyes that make
heaven forgot, and lips of balm?
Find him soft
wives and pretty playfellows;
The thoughts ye
cannot stay with brazen chains
A girl's hair
lightly binds."
And all thought
good,
But the King
answered, "If we seek him wives,
Love chooseth
ofttimes with another eye;
And if we bid
range Beauty's garden round,
To pluck what
blossom pleases, he will smile
And sweetly
shun the joy he knows not of."
Then said
another, "Roams the barasingh
Until the fated
arrow flies; for him,
As for less
lordly spirits, some one charms,
Some face will
seem a Paradise, some form
Fairer than
pale Dawn when she wakes the world,
This do, my
King! Command a festival
Where the
realm's maids shall be competitors
In youth and
grace, and sports that Sâkyas use.
Let the Prince
give the prizes to the fair,
And, when the
lovely victors pass his seat,
There shall be
those who mark if one or two
Change the
fixed sadness of his tender cheek;
So we may
choose for Love with Love's own eyes,
And cheat his
Highness into happiness."
This thing
seemed good; wherefore upon a day
The criers bade
the young and beautiful
Pass to the
palace, for 'twas in command
To hold a court
of pleasure, and the Prince
Would give the
prizes, something rich for all,
The richest for
the fairest judged. So flocked
Kapilavastu's
maidens to the gate,
Each with her
dark hair newly smoothed and bound,
Eyelashes
lustred with the soorma-stick,
Fresh-bathed
and scented; all in shawls and cloths
Of gayest;
slender hands and feet new-stained
With crimson,
and the tilka-spots stamped bright.
Fair show it
was of all those Indian girls
Slow-pacing
past the throne with large black eyes
Fixed on the
ground, for when they saw the Prince
More than the
awe of Majesty made beat
Their
fluttering hearts, he sate so passionless,
Gentle, but so
beyond them. Each maid took
With
down-dropped lids her gift, afraid to gaze;
And if the
people hailed some lovelier one
Beyond her
rivals worthy royal smiles,
She stood like
a scared antelope to touch
The gracious
hand, then fled to join her mates
Trembling at
favor, so divine he seemed,
So high and
saint-like and above her world.
Thus filed
they, one bright maid after another,
The city's
flowers, and all this beauteous march
Was ending and
the prizes spent, when last
Came young
Yasôdhara, and they that stood
Nearest
Siddârtha saw the princely boy
Start, as the
radiant girl approached. A form
Of heavenly mould;
a gait like Parvati's;
Eyes like a
hind's in love-time, face so fair
Words cannot
paint its spell; and she alone
Gazed full --
folding her palms across her breasts --
On the boy's
gaze, her stately neck unbent.
"Is there
a gift for me?" she asked, and smiled.
"The gifts
are gone," the Prince replied, "yet take
This for
amends, dear sister, of whose grace
Our happy city
boasts;" therewith he loosed
The emerald
necklet from his throat, and clasped
Its green beads
round her dark and silk-soft waist;
And their eyes
mixed, and from the look sprang love.
Long after --
when enlightenment was full --
Lord Buddha --
being prayed why thus his heart
Took fire at
first glance of the Sâkya girl,
Answered,
"We were not strangers, as to us
And all it
seemed; in ages long gone by
A hunter's son,
playing with forest girls
By Yamun's
springs, where Nandadevi stands,
Sate umpire
while they raced beneath the firs
Like hares at
eve that run their playful rings;
One with
flower-stars crowned he, one with long plume
Plucked from
eyed pheasant and the jungle-cock,
One with
fir-apples; but who ran the last
Came first for
him, and unto her the boy
Gave a tame
fawn and his heart's love beside.
And in the wood
they lived many glad years,
And in the wood
they undivided died.
Lo! as hid seed
shoots after rainless years,
So good and
evil, pains and pleasures, hates
And loves, and
all dead deeds, come forth again
Bearing bright
leaves or dark, sweet fruit or sour.
Thus I was he
and she Yasôdhara;
And while the wheel
of birth and death turns round,
That which hath
been must be between us two."
But they who
watched the Prince at prize-giving
Saw and heard
all, and told the careful King
How sate
Siddârtha
heedless, till
there passed
Great
Suprabuddha's child, Yasôdhara;
And how -- at
sudden sight of her -- he changed,
And how she
gazed on him and he on her,
And of the
jewel-gift, and what beside
Passed in their
speaking glance.
The fond King
smiled:
Look! we have
found a lure; take counsel now
To fetch
therewith our falcon from the clouds.
Let messengers
be sent to ask the maid
In marriage for
my son." But it was law
With Sâkyas,
when any asked a maid
Of noble house,
fair and desirable,
He must make
good his skill in martial arts
Against all
suitors who should challenge it;
Nor might this
custom break itself for kings.
Therefore her
father spake: "Say to the King,
The child is
sought by princes far and near;
If thy most
gentle son can bend the bow,
Sway sword, and
back a horse better than they,
Best would he be
in all and best to us:
But how shall
this be, with his cloistered ways?"
Then the King's
heart was sore, for now the Prince
Begged sweet
Yasôdhara for wife -- in vain,
With Devadatta
foremost at the bow,
Ardjuna master
of all fiery steeds,
And Nanda chief
in sword-play; but the Prince
Laughed low and
said, "These things, too, I have learned;
Make
proclamation that thy son will meet
All comers at
their chosen games. I think
I shall not
lose my love for such as these."
So 'twas given
forth that on the seventh day
The Prince
Siddârtha summoned whoso would
To match with
him in feats of manliness,
The victor's
crown to be Yasôdhara.
Therefore, upon
the seventh day, there went:
The Sâkya lords
and town and country round
Unto the
maidân; and the maid went too
Amid her
kinsfolk, carried as a bride,
With music, and
with litters gayly dight,
And gold-horned
oxen, flower-caparisoned.
Whom Devadatta
claimed, of royal line,
And Nanda and
Ardjuna, noble both,
The flower of
all youths there, till the Prince came
Riding his
white horse Kantaka, which neighed,
Astonished at
this great strange world without:
Also Siddârtha
gazed with wondering eyes
On all those
people born beneath the throne,
Otherwise
housed than kings, otherwise fed,
And yet so like
-- perchance -- in joys and griefs.
But when the
Prince saw sweet Yasôdhara,
Brightly he
smiled, and drew his silken rein,
Leaped to the
earth from Kantaka's broad back,
And cried,
"He is not worthy of this pearl
Who is not
worthiest; let my rivals prove
If I have dared
too much in seeking her."
Then Nanda
challenged for the arrow-test
And set a
brazen drum six gows away,
Ardjuna six and
Devadatta eight;
But Prince
Siddârtha bade them set his drum
Ten gows from
off the line, until it seemed
A cowry-shell
for target. Then they loosed,
And Nanda
pierced his drum, Ardjuna his,
And Devadatta
drove a well-aimed shaft
Through both
sides of his mark, so that the crowd
Marvelled and
cried; and sweet Yasôdhara
Dropped the
gold sari o'er her fearful eyes,
Lest she should
see her Prince's arrow fail.
But he, taking
their bow of lacquered cane,
With sinews
bound, and strung with silver wire,
Which none but
stalwart arms could draw a span,
Thrummed it --
low laughing -- drew the twisted string
Till the horns
kissed, and the thick belly snapped:
"That is
for play, not love," he said; "hath none
A bow more fit
for Sâkya lords to use?"
And one said,
"There is Sinhahânu's bow,
Kept in the
temple since we know not when,
Which none can
string, nor draw if it be strung."
"Fetch me,"
he cried, "that weapon of a man!"
They brought
the ancient bow, wrought of black steel
Laid with gold
tendrils on its branching curves
Like
bison-horns; and twice Siddârtha tried
Its strength
across his knee, then spake -- "Shoot now
With this, my
cousins!" but they could not bring
The stubborn
arms a hand's-breadth nigher use;
Then the
Prince, lightly leaning, bent the bow,
Slipped home
the eye upon the notch, and twanged
Sharply the
cord, which, like an eagle's wing
Thrilling the
air, sang forth so clear and loud
That feeble
folk at home that day inquired
"What is
this sound?" and people answered them,
"It is the
sound of Sinhahânu's bow,
Which the
King's son has strung and goes to shoot;"
Then fitting
fair a shaft, he drew and loosed,
And the keen arrow
clove the sky, and drave
Right through
that farthest drum, nor stayed its flight,
But skimmed the
plain beyond, past reach of eye.
Then Devadatta
challenged with the sword,
And clove a
Talas-tree six fingers thick;
Ardjuna seven;
and Nanda cut through nine;
But two such
stems together grew, and both
Siddârtha's
blade shred at one flashing stroke,
Keen, but so
smooth that the straight trunks upstood,
And Nanda
cried, "His edge turned!" and the maid
Trembled anew
seeing the trees erect,
Until the Devas
of the air, who watched,
Blew light
breaths from the south, and both green crowns
Crashed in the
sand, clean-felled.
Then brought
they steeds,
High-mettled,
nobly-bred, and three times scoured
Around the
maidân, but white Kantaka
Left even the fleetest
far behind -- so swift,
That ere the
foam fell from his mouth to earth
Twenty
spear-lengths he flew; but Nanda said,
"We too
might win with such as Kantaka
Bring an
unbroken horse, and let men see
Who best can
back him!" So the syces brought
A stallion dark
as night, led by three chains,
Fierce-eyed,
with nostrils wide and tossing mane,
Unshod,
unsaddled, for no rider yet
Had crossed
him. Three times each young Sâkya
Sprang to his
mighty back, but the hot steed
Furiously
reared, and flung them to the plain
In dust and
shame; only Ardjuna held
His seat
awhile, and, bidding loose the chains,
Lashed the
black flank, and shook the bit, and held
The proud jaws
fast with grasp of master-hand,
So that in
storms of wrath and rage and fear
The savage
stallion circled once the plain
Half-tamed; but
sudden turned with naked teeth,
Gripped by the
foot Ardjuna, tore him down,
And would have
slain him, but the grooms ran in
Fettering the
maddened beast. Then all men cried,
"Let not
Siddârtha meddle with this Bhűt,
Whose liver is
a tempest, and his blood
Red
flame;" but the Prince said, "Let go the chains,
Give me his
forelock only," which he held
With quiet
grasp, and, speaking some low word,
Laid his right
palm across the stallion's eyes,
And drew it gently
down the angry face,
And all along
the neck and panting flanks,
Till men
astonished saw the night-black horse
Sink his fierce
crest and stand subdued and meek,
As though he
knew our Lord and worshipped him.
Nor stirred he
while Siddârtha mounted, then
Went soberly to
touch of knee and rein
Before all
eyes, so that the people said,
"Strive no
more, for Siddârtha is the best."
And all the
suitors answered "He is best!"
And
Suprabuddha, father of the maid,
Said, "It
was in our hearts to find thee best,
Being dearest,
yet what magic taught thee more
Of manhood 'mid
thy rose-bowers and thy dreams
Than war and
chase and world's work bring to these.
But wear, fair
Prince, the treasure thou hast won."
Then at a word
the lovely Indian girl
Rose from her
place above the throng, and took
A crown of
môgra-flowers and lightly drew
The veil of
black and gold across her brow,
Proud pacing
past the youths, until she came
To where
Siddârtha stood in grace divine,
New lighted
from the night-dark steed, which bent
Its strong neck
meekly underneath his arm.
Before the
Prince lowly she bowed, and bared
Her face
celestial beaming with glad love;
Then on his
neck she hung the fragrant wreath,
And on his
breast she laid her perfect head,
And stooped to touch
his feet with proud glad eyes,
Saying,
"Dear Prince, behold me, who am thine!"
And all the
throng rejoiced, seeing them pass
Hand fast in
hand, and heart beating with heart,
The veil of
black and gold drawn close again.
Long after --
when enlightenment was come --
They prayed
Lord Buddha touching all, and why
She wore this
black and gold, and stepped so proud,
And the
World-honored answered, "Unto me
This was
unknown, albeit it seemed half known;
For while the
wheel of birth and death turns round,
Past things and
thoughts, and buried lives come back.
I now remember,
myriad rains ago,
What time I
roamed Himâla's hanging woods,
A tiger, with
my striped and hungry kind;
I, who am
Buddh, couched in the kusa grass
Gazing with
green blinked eyes upon the herds
Which pastured
near and nearer to their death
Round my
day-lair; or underneath the stars
I roamed for
prey, savage, insatiable,
Sniffing the
paths for track of man and deer.
Amid the beasts
that were my fellows then,
Met in deep
jungle or by reedy jheel,
A tigress,
comeliest of the forest, set
The males at
war; her hide was lit with gold,
Black-broidered
like the veil Yasôdhara
Wore for me;
hot the strife waxed in that wood
With tooth and
claw, while underneath a neem
The fair beast watched
us bleed, thus fiercely wooed.
And I remember,
at the end she came
Snarling past
this and that torn forest-lord.
Which I had
conquered, and with fawning jaws
Licked my
quick-heaving flank, and with me went
Into the wild
with proud steps, amorously.
The wheel of
birth and death turns low and high."
Therefore the
maid was given unto the Prince
A willing
spoil; and when the stars were good --
Mesha, the Red
Ram, being Lord of heaven --
The marriage
feast was kept, as Sâkyas use,
The golden gadi
set, the carpet spread,
The wedding
garlands hung, the arm-threads tied,
The sweet cake
broke, the rice and attar thrown,
The two straws
floated on the reddened milk,
Which, coming
close, betokened "love till death;"
The seven steps
taken thrice around the fire,
The gifts
bestowed on holy men, the alms
And temple
offerings made, the mantras sung,
The garments of
the bride and bridegroom tied.
Then the grey
father spake : "Worshipful Prince,
She that was
ours henceforth is only thine;
Be good to her,
who hath her life in thee."
Wherewith they
brought home sweet Yasôdhara,
With songs and
trumpets, to the Prince's arms,
And love was
all in all.
Yet not to love
Alone trusted
the King; love's prison-house
Stately and
beautiful he bade them build,
So that in all the
earth no marvel was
Like
Vishramvan, the Prince's pleasure-place.
Midway in those
wide palace-grounds there rose
A verdant hill
whose base Rohini bathed,
Murmuring adown
from Himalay's broad feet,
To bear its
tribute into Gunga's waves.
Southward a growth
of tamarind trees and sâl,
Thick set with
pale sky-colored ganthi flowers,
Shut out the
world, save if the city's hum
Came on the
wind no harsher than when bees
Hum out of
sight in thickets. Northwards soared
The stainless
ramps of huge Himâla's wall,
Ranged in white
ranks against the blue -- untrod,
Infinite,
wonderful -- whose uplands vast,
And lifted
universe of crest and crag,
Shoulder and
shelf, green slope and icy horn,
Riven ravine,
and splintered precipice,
Led climbing
thought higher and higher, until
It seemed to
stand in heaven and speak with gods.
Beneath the
snows dark forests spread, sharp laced
With leaping
cataracts and veiled with clouds:
Lower grew
rose-oaks and the great fir groves
Where echoed
pheasant's call and panther's cry,
Clatter of wild
sheep on the stones, and scream
Of circling
eagles: under these the plain
Gleamed like a
praying-carpet at the foot
Of those
divinest altars. Fronting this
The builders
set the bright pavilion up,
Fair-planted on
the terraced hill, with towers
On either flank
and pillared cloisters round.
Its beams were
carved with stories of old time --
Radha and
Krishna and the sylvan girls --
Sita and
Hanuman and Draupadi;
And on the
middle porch God Ganesha,
With disc and
hook -- to bring wisdom and wealth --
Propitious
sate, wreathing his sidelong trunk.
By winding ways
of garden and of court
The inner gate
was reached, of marble wrought,
White with pink
veins; the lintel lazuli,
The threshold
alabaster, and the doors
Sandal-wood,
cut in pictured panelling;
Whereby to
lofty halls and shadowy bowers
Passed the
delighted foot, on stately stairs,
Through
latticed galleries, 'neath painted roofs
And clustering
columns, where cool fountains -- fringed
With lotus and
nelumbo -- danced, and fish
Gleamed through
their crystal, scarlet, gold, and blue.
Great-eyed
gazelles in sunny alcoves browsed
The blown red
roses; birds of rainbow wing
Fluttered among
the palms; doves, green and grey,
Built their
safe nests on gilded cornices;
Over the
shining pavements peacocks drew
The splendors
of their trains, sedately watched
By milk-white
herons and the small house-owls.
The plum-necked
parrots swung from fruit to fruit;
The yellow
sunbirds whirred from bloom to bloom,
The timid
lizards on the lattice basked
Fearless, the squirrels
ran to feed from hand,
For all was
peace: the shy black snake, that gives
Fortune to
households, sunned his sleepy coils
Under the
moon-flowers, where the musk-deer played,
And brown-eyed
monkeys chattered to the crows.
And all this
house of love was peopled fair
With sweet
attendance, so that in each part
With lovely
sights were gentle faces found,
Soft speech and
willing service, each one glad
To gladden,
pleased at pleasure, proud to obey;
Till life
glided beguiled, like a smooth stream
Banked by
perpetual flow'rs, Yasôdhara
Queen of the
enchanting Court.
But innermost,
Beyond the
richness of those hundred halls,
A secret
chamber lurked, where skill had spent
All lovely
fantasies to lull the mind.
The entrance of
it was a cloistered square --
Roofed by the
sky, and in the midst a tank
Of milky marble
built, and laid with slabs
Of milk-white
marble; bordered round the tank
And on the
steps, and all along the frieze
With tender
inlaid work of agate-stones.
Cool as to
tread in summer-time on snows
It was to
loiter there; the sunbeams dropped
Their gold,
and, passing into porch and niche,
Softened to
shadows, silvery, pale, and dim,
As if the very
Day paused and grew Eve
In love and
silence at that bower's gate
For there beyond
the gate the chamber was,
Beautiful,
sweet; a wonder of the world!
Soft light from
perfumed lamps through windows fell
Of nakre and
stained stars of lucent film
On golden
cloths outspread, and silken beds,
And heavy
splendor of the purdah's fringe,
Lifted to take
only the loveliest in.
Here, whether
it was night or day none knew,
For always
streamed that softened light, more bright
Than sunrise,
but as tender as the eve's;
And always
breathed sweet airs, more joy-giving
Than morning's,
but as cool as midnight's breath;
And night and
day lutes sighed, and night and day
Delicious foods
were spread, and dewy fruits,
Sherbets new
chilled with snows of Himalay,
And sweetmeats
made of subtle daintiness,
With sweet
tree-milk in its own ivory cup.
And night and
day served there a chosen band
Of nautch
girls, cup-bearers, and cymballers,
Delicate,
dark-browed ministers of love,
Who fanned the
sleeping eyes of the happy Prince,
And when he
waked, led back his thoughts to bliss
With music
whispering through the blooms, and charm
Of amorous
songs and dreamy dances, linked
By chime of
ankle-bells and wave of arms
Of musk and
champak and the blue haze spread
From burning
spices soothed his soul again
To drowse by
sweet Yasôdhara; and thus
Siddârtha lived
forgetting.
Furthermore,
The King
commanded that within those walls
No mention
should be made of death or age,
Sorrow, or
pain, or sickness. If one drooped
In the lovely
Court -- her dark glance dim, her
Faint in the
dance -- the guiltless criminal
Passed forth an
exile from that Paradise,
Lest he should
see and suffer at her woe.
Bright-eyed
intendants watched to execute
Sentence on
such as spake of the harsh world
Without, where
aches and plagues were, tears and fears,
And wail of
mourners, and grim fume of pyres.
'Twas treason
if a thread of silver strayed
In tress of
singing-girl or nautch-dancer;
And every dawn
the dying rose was plucked,
The dead leaves
hid, all evil sights removed:
For said the
King, "If he shall pass his youth
Far from such
things as move to wistfulness,
And brooding on
the empty eggs of thought,
The shadow of
this fate, too vast for man,
May fade,
belike, and I shall see him grow
To that great
stature of fair sovereignty
When he shall
rule all lands -- if he will rule --
The King of
kings and glory of his time."
Wherefore,
around that pleasant prison-house --
Where love was
gaoler and delights its bars,
But far removed
from sight -- the King bade build
A massive wall,
and in the wall a gate
With brazen
folding-doors, which but to roll
Back on their
hinges asked a hundred arms;
Also the noise
of that prodigious gate
Opening, was
heard full half a yôjana.
And inside this
another gate he made,
And yet within
another -- through the three
Must one pass
if he quit that Pleasure-house.
Three mighty
gates there were, bolted and barred,
And over each
was set a faithful watch;
And the King's
order said, "Suffer no man
To pass the
gates, though he should be the Prince:
This on your
lives -- even though it be my son."
Book the Third.
In which calm
home of happy life and love
Ligged our Lord
Buddha, knowing not of woe,
Nor want, nor
pain, nor plague, nor age, nor death,
Save as when
sleepers roam dim seas in dreams,
And land
awearied on the shores of day,
Bringing
strange merchandise from that black voyage.
Thus ofttimes
when he lay with gentle head
Lulled on the
dark breasts of Yasôdhara,
Her fond hands
fanning slow his sleeping lids,
He would start
up and cry, My world! Oh, world!
I hear! I know!
I come ! And she would ask,
"What ails
my Lord?" with large eyes terror-struck
For at such
times the pity in his look
Was awful, and
his visage like a god's.
Then would he
smile again to stay her tears,
And bid the
vinas sound; but once they set
A stringed
gourd on the sill, there where the wind
Could linger
o'er its notes and play at will --
Wild music
makes the wind on silver strings --
And those who
lay around heard only that;
But Prince
Siddârtha heard the Devas play,
And to his ears
they sang such words as these: --
We are the voices of the wandering wind,
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life,
A moan , a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.
Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot know,
Nor where life springs nor whither life doth
go:
We are as ye are, ghosts from the inane,
What pleasure have we of our changeful pain?
What pleasure hast thou of thy changeless
bliss?
Nay, if love lasted, there were joy in this;
But life's way is the wind's way, all these
things
Are but brief voices breathed on shifting
strings.
O Maya's son! because we roam the earth
Moan we upon these strings; we make no mirth,
So many woes we see in many lands,
So many streaming eyes and wringing hands.
Yet mock we while we wail, for, could they
know,
This life they cling to is but empty show;
'Twere all as well to bid a cloud to stand,
Or hold a running river with the hand.
But thou that art to save, thine hour is
nigh!
The sad world waiteth in its misery,
The blind world stumbleth on its round of
pain;
Rise, Maya's child! wake! slumber not again!
We are the voices of the wandering wind:
Wander thou, too, O Prince, thy rest to find;
Leave love for love of lovers for woe's sake
Quit state for sorrow, and deliverance make.
So sigh we, passing o'er the silver strings,
To thee who know'st not yet of earthly
things;
So say we; mocking, as we pass away,
These lovely shadows wherewith thou dost
play.
Thereafter it
befell he sate at eve
Amid his
beauteous Court, holding the hand
Of sweet
Yasôdhara, and some maid told --
With breaks of
music when her rich voice dropped --
An ancient tale
to speed the hour of dusk,
Of love, and of
a magic horse, and lands
Wonderful,
distant, where pale peoples dwelled,
And where the
sun at night sank into seas.
Then spake he,
sighing, "Chitra brings me back
The wind's song
in the strings with that fair tale.
Give her,
Yasôdhara, thy pearl for thanks.
But thou, my
pearl! is there so wide a world?
Is there a land
which sees the great sun roll
Into the waves,
and are there hearts like ours,
Countless,
unknown, not happy -- it may be --
Whom we might
succor if we knew of them?
Ofttimes I
marvel, as the Lord of day
Treads from the
east his kingly road of gold,
Who first on
the world's edge hath hailed his beam,
The children of
the morning; oftentimes,
Even in thine
arms and on thy breasts, bright wife,
Sore have I
panted, at the sun's decline,
To pass with
him into that crimson west
And see the
peoples of the evening.
There must be
many we should love -- how else?
Now have I in
this hour an ache, at last,
Thy soft lips
cannot kiss away: oh, girl!
O Chitra! you
that know of fairyland!
Where tether
they that swift steed of the tale?
My palace for
one day upon his back,
To ride and
ride and see the spread of the earth
Nay, if I had
yon callow vulture's plumes --
The carrion
heir of wider realms than mine --
How would I
stretch for topmost Himalay,
Light where the
rose-gleam lingers on those snows,
And strain my
gaze with searching what is round!
Why have I
never seen and never sought?
Tell me what
lies beyond our brazen gates."
Then one
replied, "The city first, fair Prince!
The temples,
and the gardens, and the groves,
And then the
fields, and afterwards fresh fields,
With nullahs,
maidâns, jungle, koss on koss;
And next King
Bimbasâra's realm, and then
The vast flat
world, with crores on crores of folk."
"Good,"
said Siddârtha, "let the word be sent
That Channa
yoke my chariot --at noon
To-morrow I
shall ride and see beyond."
Whereof they
told the King: "Our Lord, thy son,
Wills that his
chariot be yoked at noon,
That he may
ride abroad and see mankind."
"Yea!"
spake the careful King, "'tis time he see!
But let the
criers go about and bid
My city deck
itself, so there be met
No noisome
sight; and let none blind or maimed,
None that is
sick or stricken deep in years,
No leper, and
no feeble folk come forth."
Therefore the
stones were swept, and up and down
The
water-carriers sprinkled all the streets
From spirting
skins, the housewives scattered fresh
Red powder on
their thresholds, strung new wreaths,
And trimmed the
tulsi-bush before their doors.
The paintings
on the walls were heightened up
With liberal
brush, the trees set thick with flags,
The idols
gilded; in the four-went ways
Suryadeva and
the great gods shone
'Mid shrines of
leaves; so that the city seemed
A capital of
some enchanted land.
Also the criers
passed, with drum and gong,
Proclaiming
loudly, "Ho! all citizens,
The King
commands that there be seen to-day
No evil sight:
let no one blind or maimed,
None that is
sick or stricken deep in years,
No leper, and
no feeble folk go forth.
Let none, too,
burn his dead nor bring them out
Till nightfall.
Thus Suddhôdana commands."
So all was
comely and the houses trim
Throughout Kapilavastu,
while the Prince
Came forth in
painted car, which two steers drew,
Snow-white,
with swinging dewlaps and huge humps
Wrinkled
against the carved and lacquered yoke.
Goodly it was
to mark the people's joy
Greeting their
Prince; and glad Siddârtha waxed
At sight of all
those liege and friendly folk
Bright-clad and
laughing as if life were good.
"Fair is
the world," he said, "it likes me well!
And light and
kind these men that are not kings,
And sweet my
sisters here, who toil and tend;
What have I
done for these to make them thus?
Why, if I love
them, should those children know?
I pray take up
yon pretty Sâkya boy
Who flung us
flowers, and let him ride with me.
How good it is
to reign in realms like this!
How simple
pleasure is, if these be pleased
Because I come
abroad! How many things
I need not if
such little households hold
Enough to make
our city full of smiles!
Drive, Channa!
through the gates, and let me see
More of this
gracious world I have not known."
So passed they
through the gates, a joyous crowd
Thronging about
the wheels, whereof some ran
Before the
oxen, throwing wreaths, some stroked
Their silken
flanks, some brought them rice and cakes,
All crying,
"Jai! jai! for our noble Prince!"
Thus all the
path was kept with gladsome looks
And filled with
fair sights -- for the King's word was
That such
should be -- when midway in the road,
Slow tottering
from the hovel where he hid,
Crept forth a
wretch in rags, haggard and foul,
An old, old
man, whose shrivelled skin, sun-tanned,
Clung like a
beast's hide to his fleshless bones.
Bent was his
back with load of many days,
His eyepits red
with rust of ancient tears,
His dim orbs
blear with rheum, his toothless jaws
Wagging with
palsy and the fright to see
So many and
such joy. One skinny hand
Clutched a worn
staff to prop his quavering limbs,
And one was
pressed upon the ridge of ribs
Whence came in
gasps the heavy painful breath.
"Alms!"
moaned he, "give, good people! for I die
To-morrow or
the next day!" then the cough
Choked him, but
still he stretched his palm, and stood
Blinking, and
groaning 'mid his spasms, "Alms!"
Then those
around had wrenched his feeble feet
Aside, and
thrust him from the road again,
Saying,
"The Prince! dost see? get to thy lair!"
But that
Siddârtha cried, "Let be! let be!
Channa! what
thing is this who seems a man,
Yet surely only
seems, being so bowed,
So miserable,
so horrible, so sad?
Are men born
sometimes thus? What meaneth he
Moaning
'to-morrow or next day I die?'
Finds he no
food that so his bones jut forth?
What woe hath
happened to this piteous one?"
Then answer
made the charioteer, "Sweet Prince!
This is no
other than an aged man.
Some fourscore
years ago his back was straight,
His eye bright,
and his body goodly: now
The thievish
years have sucked his sap away,
Pillaged his
strength and filched his will and wit;
His lamp has
lost its oil, the wick burns black;
What life he
keeps is one poor lingering spark
Which flickers
for the finish: such is age;
Why should your
Highness heed?" Then spake the Prince --
"But shall
this come to others, or to all,
Or is it rare
that one should be as he?"
"Most
noble," answered Channa, "even as he,
Will all these
grow if they shall live so long."
"But,"
quoth the Prince, "if I shall live as long
Shall I be
thus; and if Yasôdhara
Live fourscore
years, is this old age for her,
Jâlîni, little
Hasta, Gautami,
And Gunga, and
the others?" "Yea, great Sir!"
The charioteer
replied. Then spake the Prince:
"Turn
back, and drive me to my house again!
I have seen
that I did not think to see."
Which
pondering, to his beauteous Court returned
Wistful
Siddârtha, sad of mien and mood;
Nor tasted he
the white cakes nor the fruits
Spread for the
evening feast, nor once looked up
While the best
palace-dancers strove to charm:
Nor spake -- save
one sad thing -- when wofully
Yasôdhara sank
to his feet and wept,
Sighing,
"Hath not my Lord comfort in me?"
"Ah,
Sweet!" he said, "such comfort that my soul
Aches, thinking
it must end, for it will end,
And we shall
both grow old, Yasôdhara!
Loveless,
unlovely, weak, and old, and bowed.
Nay, though we
locked up love and life with lips
So close that
night and day our breaths grew one
Time would
thrust in between to filch away
My passion and
thy grace, as black Night steals
The rose-gleams
from yon peak, which fade to grey
And are not
seen to fade. This have I found,
And all my
heart is darkened with its dread,
And all my
heart is fixed to think how Love
Might save its
sweetness from the slayer, Time,
Who makes men
old." So through that night he sate
Sleepless,
uncomforted.
And all that
night
The King
Suddhôdana dreamed troublous dreams.
The first fear
of his vision was a flag
Broad,
glorious, glistening with a golden sun,
The mark of
Indra; but a strong wind blew,
Rending its
folds divine, and dashing it
Into the dust;
whereat a concourse came
Of shadowy
Ones, who took the spoiled silk up
And bore it
eastward from the city gates.
The second fear
was ten huge elephants,
With silver
tusks and feet that shook the earth,
Trampling the southern
road in mighty march;
And he who sate
upon the foremost beast
Was the King's
son -- the others followed him,
The third fear
of the vision was a car,
Shining with
blinding light, which four steeds drew,
Snorting white
smoke and champing fiery foam;
And in the car
the Prince Siddârtha sate.
The fourth fear
was a wheel which turned and turned,
With nave of
burning gold and jewelled spokes,
And strange
things written on the binding tire,
Which seemed
both fire and music as it whirled.
The fifth fear
was a mighty drum, set down
Midway between
the city and the hills,
On which the
Prince beat with an iron mace,
So that the
sound pealed like a thunderstorm,
Rolling around
the sky and far away.
The sixth fear
was a tower, which rose and rose
High o'er the city
till its stately head
Shone crowned
with clouds, and on the top the Prince
Stood,
scattering from both hands, this way and that,
Gems of most
lovely light, as if it rained
Jacynths and
rubies; and the whole world came,
Striving to
seize those treasures as they fell
Towards the
four quarters. But the seventh fear was
A noise of
wailing, and behold six men
Who wept and
gnashed their teeth, and laid their palms
Upon their
mouths, walking disconsolate.
These seven
fears made the vision of his sleep,
But none of all
his wisest dream-readers
Could tell
their meaning. Then the King was wroth,
Saying,
"There cometh evil to my house,
And none of ye
have wit to help me know
What the great
gods portend sending me this."
So in the city
men went sorrowful
Because the
King had dreamed seven signs of fear
Which none
could read; but to the gate there came
An aged man, in
robe of deer-skin clad,
By guise a
hermit, known to none; he cried,
"Bring me
before the King, for I can read
The vision of
his sleep;" who, when he heard
The sevenfold
mysteries of the midnight dream,
Bowed reverent
and said, "O Maharâj!
I hail this
favored House, whence shall arise
A
wider-reaching splendor than the sun's!
Lo! all these
seven fears are seven joys,
Whereof the
first, where thou didst see a flag
Broad,
glorious, gilt with Indra's badge -- cast down
And carried
out, did signify the end
Of old faiths
and beginning of the new,
For there is
change with gods not less than men,
And as the days
pass kalpas pass at length.
The ten great
elephants that shook the earth
The ten great
gifts of wisdom signify,
In strength
whereof the Prince shall quit his state
And shake the
world with passage of the Truth.
The four
flame-breathing horses of the car
Are those four fearless
virtues which shall bring
Thy son from
doubt and gloom to gladsome light;
The wheel that
turned with nave of burning gold
Was that most
precious Wheel of perfect Law
Which he shall
turn in sight of all the world.
The mighty drum
whereon the Prince did beat,
Till the sound
filled all lands, doth signify
The thunder of
the preaching of the Word
Which he shall
preach; the tower that grew to heaven
The growing of
the Gospel of this Buddh
Sets forth; and
those rare jewels scattered thence
The untold treasures
are of that good Law
To gods and men
dear and desirable.
Such is the
interpretation of the tower;
But for those
six men weeping with shut mouths,
They are the
six chief teachers whom thy son
Shall, with
bright truth and speech unanswerable,
Convince of
foolishness. O King! rejoice;
The fortune of
my Lord the Prince is more
Than kingdoms,
and his hermit-rags will be
Beyond fine
cloths of gold. This was thy dream!
And in seven
nights and days these things shall fall."
So spake the
holy man, and lowly made
The eight
prostrations, touching thrice the ground;
Then turned and
passed; but when the King bade send
A rich gift
after him, the messenger
Brought word,
"We came to where he entered in
At Chandra's
temple, but within was none
Save a grey owl
which fluttered from the shrine."
The gods come
sometimes thus.
But the sad
King
Marvelled, and
gave command that new delights
Be compassed to
enthrall Siddârtha's heart
Amid those
dancers of his pleasure-house,
Also he set at
all the brazen doors
A doubled
guard.
Yet who shall
shut out Fate?
For once again
the spirit of the Prince
Was moved to
see this world beyond his gates,
This life of
man, so pleasant if its waves
Ran not to
waste and woful finishing
In Time's dry
sands. "I pray you let me view
Our city as it
is," such was his prayer
To King
Suddhôdana. "Your Majesty
In tender heed
hath warned the folk before
To put away ill
things and common sights,
And make their
faces glad to gladden me,
And all the
causeways gay; yet have I learned
This is not
daily life, and if I stand
Nearest, my
father, to the realm and thee,
Fain would I
know the people and the streets,
Their simple
usual ways, and workday deeds,
And lives which
those men live who are not kings.
Give me good
leave, dear Lord! to pass unknown
Beyond my happy
gardens; I shall come
The more
contented to their peace again,
Or wiser,
father, if not well content.
Therefore, I
pray thee, let me go at will
To-morrow, with
my servants, through the streets."
And the King
said, among his Ministers,
"Belike this
second flight may mend the first.
Note how the
falcon starts at every sight
New from his
hood, but what a quiet eye
Cometh of
freedom; let my son see all,
And bid them
bring me tidings of his mind."
Thus on the
morrow, when the noon was come,
The Prince and
Channa passed beyond the gates,
Which opened to
the signet of the King;
Yet knew not
they who rolled the great doors back
It was the
King's son in that merchant's robe,
And in the
clerkly dress his charioteer.
Forth fared
they by the common way afoot,
Mingling with
all the Sâkya citizens,
Seeing the glad
and sad things of the town:
The painted
streets alive with hum of noon,
The traders
cross-legged 'mid their spice and grain,
The buyers with
their money in the cloth,
The war of
words to cheapen this or that,
The shout to
clear the road, the huge stone wheels,
The strong slow
oxen and their rustling loads,
The singing
bearers with the palanquins,
The
broad-necked hamals sweating in the sun,
The housewives
bearing water from the well
With balanced
chatties, and athwart their hips
The black-eyed
babes; the fly-swarmed sweetmeat shops,
The weaver at
his loom, the cotton-bow
Twanging, the
millstones grinding meal, the dogs
Prowling for
orts, the skilful armorer
With tong and
hammer linking shirts of mail,
The blacksmith
with a mattock and a spear
Reddening
together in his coals, the school
Where round
their Guru, in a grave half-moon,
The Sâkya
children sang the mantras through,
And learned the
greater and the lesser gods;
The dyers
stretching waistcloths, in the sun
Wet from the
vats -- orange, and rose, and green;
The soldiers
clanking past with swords and shields,
The
camel-drivers rocking on the humps,
The Brahman
proud, the martial Kshatriya,
The humble
toiling Sudra; here a throng
Gathered to
watch some chattering snake-tamer
Wind round his
wrist the living jewellery
Of asp and nâg,
or charm the hooded death
To angry dance
with drone of beaded gourd;
There a long
line of drums and horns, which went,
With steeds gay
painted and silk canopies,
To bring the
young bride home; and here a wife
Stealing with
cakes and garlands to the god
To pray her
husband's safe return from trade,
Or beg a boy
next birth; hard by the booths
Where the swart
potters beat the noisy brass
For lamps and
lotas; thence, by temple walls
And gateways,
to the river and the bridge
Under the city
walls.
These had they
passed
When from the
roadside moaned a mournful voice,
"Help,
masters! lift me to my feet; oh, help
Or I shall die
before I reach my house!"
A stricken wretch
it was, whose quivering frame,
Caught by some
deadly plague, lay in the dust
Writhing, with
fiery purple blotches specked;
The chill sweat
beaded on his brow, his mouth
Was dragged
awry with twitchings of sore pain,
The wild eyes
swam with inward agony.
Gasping, he
clutched the grass to rise, and rose
Half-way, then
sank, with quaking feeble limbs
And scream of
terror, crying, "Ah, the pain
Good people,
help!" whereon Siddârtha ran,
Lifted the
woful man with tender hands,
With sweet
looks laid the sick head on his knee,
And while his
soft touch comforted the wretch,
Asked,
"Brother, what is ill with thee? what harm
Hath fallen?
wherefore canst thou not arise?
Why is it,
Channa, that he pants and moans,
And gasps to
speak and sighs so pitiful?"
Then spake the
charioteer: "Great Prince! this man
Is smitten with
some pest; his elements
Are all
confounded; in his veins the blood,
Which ran a
wholesome river, leaps and boils
A fiery flood;
his heart, which kept good time,
Beats like an
ill-played drum-skin, quick and slow;
His sinews
slacken like a bow-string slipped;
The strength is
gone from ham, and loin, and neck,
And all the
grace and joy of manhood fled:
This is a sick
man with the fit upon him.
See how he
plucks and plucks to seize his grief,
And rolls his
bloodshot orbs, and grinds his teeth,
And draws his
breath as if 'twere choking smoke.
Lo! now he
would be dead, but shall not die
Until the
plague hath had its work in him,
Killing the
nerves which die before the life;
Then, when his
strings have cracked with agony
And all his
bones are empty of the sense
To ache, the
plague will quit and light elsewhere.
Oh, sir! it is
not good to hold him so!
The harm may
pass, and strike thee, even thee."
But spake the
Prince, still comforting the man,
"And are
there others, are there many thus?
Or might it be
to me as now with him?"
"Great
Lord!" answered the charioteer, "this comes
In many forms
to all men; griefs and wounds,
Sickness and
tetters, palsies, leprosies,
Hot fevers,
watery wastings, issues, blains
Befall all
flesh and enter everywhere."
"Come such
ills unobserved?" the Prince inquired.
And Channa
said, "Like the sly snake they come
That stings
unseen; like the striped murderer,
Who waits to
spring from the Karunda bush.
Hiding beside
the jungle path; or like
The lightning,
striking these and sparing those,
As chance may
send."
"Then all
men live in fear?"
"So live
they, Prince!"
"And none
can say, 'I sleep
Happy and whole
to-night, and so shall wake?' "
"None say
it."
"And the end
of many aches,
Which come
unseen, and will come when they come,
Is this, a
broken body and sad mind,
And so old
age?"
"Yea, if
men last as long."
"But if
they cannot bear their agonies,
Or if they will
not bear, and seek a term;
Or if they
bear, and be, as this man is,
Too weak except
for groans, and so still live,
And growing
old, grow older, then what end?"
"They die,
Prince."
"Die?"
"Yea, at
the last comes death,
In whatsoever
way, whatever hour.
Some few grow
old, most suffer and fall sick,
But all must
die -- behold, where comes the Dead!"
Then did
Siddârtha raise his eyes, and see
Fast pacing
towards the river brink a band
Of wailing
people, foremost one who swung
An earthen bowl
with lighted coals, behind
The kinsmen
shorn, with mourning marks, ungirt,
Crying aloud,
"O Rama, Rama, hear!
Call upon Rama,
brothers;" next the bier,
Knit of four
poles with bamboos interlaced,
Whereon lay
stark and stiff, feet foremost, lean,
Chapfallen,
sightless, hollow-flanked, a-grin,
Sprinkled with red
and yellow dust -- the Dead,
Whom at the
four-went ways they turned head first,
And crying
"Rama, Rama!" carried on
To where a pile
was reared beside the stream;
Thereon they
laid him, building fuel up --
Good sleep hath
one that slumbers on that bed!
He shall not
wake for cold albeit he lies
Naked to all
the airs -- for soon they set
The red flame
to the corners four, which crept,
And licked, and
flickered, finding out his flesh
And feeding on
it with swift hissing tongues,
And crackle of
parched skin, and snap of joint,
Till the fat
smoke thinned and the ashes sank
Scarlet and
grey, with here and there a bone
White midst the
grey -- the total of the man.
Then spake the
Prince: "Is this the end which comes
To all who
live?"
"This is
the end that comes
To all,"
quoth Channa; "he upon the pyre --
Whose remnants
are so petty that the crows
Caw hungrily,
then quit the fruitless feast --
Ate, drank,
laughed, loved, and lived, and liked life well.
Then came --
who knows? -- some gust of jungle-wind,
A stumble on
the path, a taint in the tank,
A snake's nip,
half a span of angry steel,
A chill, a
fishbone, or a falling tile,
And life was
over and the man is dead;
No appetites,
no pleasures, and no pains
Hath such; the
kiss upon his lips is nought,
The fire-scorch
nought; he smelleth not his flesh
A-roast, nor
yet the sandal and the spice
They burn; the
taste is emptied from his mouth,
The hearing of
his ears is clogged, the sight
Is blinded in
his eyes; those whom he loved
Wail desolate,
for even that must go,
The body, which
was lamp unto the life,
Or worms will
have a horrid feast of it.
Here is the
common destiny of flesh:
The high and
low, the good and bad, must die,
And then, 'tis
taught, begin anew and live
Somewhere,
somehow, -- who knows? -- and so again
The pangs, the
parting, and the lighted pile: --
Such is man's
round."
But lo!
Siddârtha turned
Eyes gleaming
with divine tears to the sky,
Eyes lit with
heavenly pity to the earth;
From sky to
earth he looked, from earth to sky,
As if his spirit
sought in lonely flight
Some far-off
vision, linking this and that,
Lost -- past --
but searchable, but seen, but known.
Then cried he,
while his lifted countenance
Glowed with the
burning passion of a love
Unspeakable,
the ardor of a hope
Boundless, insatiate:
"Oh! suffering world,
Oh! known and
unknown of my common flesh,
Caught in this
common net of death and woe,
And life which
binds to both! I see, I feel
The vastness of
the agony of earth,
The vainness of
its joys, the mockery
Of all its best,
the anguish of its worst;
Since pleasures
end in pain, and youth in age,
And love in
loss, and life in hateful death,
And death in
unknown lives, which will but yoke
Men to their
wheel again to whirl the round
Of false
delights and woes that are not false.
Me too this
lure hath cheated, so it seemed
Lovely to live,
and life a sunlit stream
For ever
flowing in a changeless peace;
Whereas the
foolish ripple of the flood
Dances so
lightly down by bloom and lawn
Only to pour
its crystal quicklier
Into the foul
salt sea. The veil is rent
Which blinded
me! I am as all these men
Who cry upon
their gods and are not heard
Or are not
heeded -- yet there must be aid!
For them and me
and all there must be help!
Perchance the
gods have need of help themselves
Being so feeble
that when sad lips cry
They cannot
save! I would not let one cry
Whom I could
save! How can it be that Brahm
Would make a
world and keep it miserable,
Since, if
all-powerful, he leaves it so,
He is not good,
and if not powerful,
He is not God?
-- Channa! lead home again!
It is enough!
mine eyes have seen enough!"
Which when the
King heard, at the gates he set
A triple guard,
and bade no man should pass
By day or
night, issuing or entering in,
Until the days
were numbered of that dream.
Book the
Fourth.
But when the
days were numbered, then befell
The parting of
our Lord -- which was to be --
Whereby came
wailing in the Golden Home,
Woe to the King
and sorrow o'er the land,
But for all
flesh deliverance, and that Law
Which -- whoso
hears -- the same shall make him free.
Softly the
Indian night sinks on the plains
At full moon in
the month of Chaitra Shud,
When mangoes
redden and the asôka buds
Sweeten the
breeze, and Rama's birthday comes,
And all the
fields are glad and all the towns.
Softly that
night fell over Vishramvan,
Fragrant with
blooms and jewelled thick with stars,
And cool with
mountain airs sighing adown
From snow-flats
on Himâla high-outspread;
For the moon
swung above the eastern peaks,
Climbing the
spangled vault, and lighting clear
Rohini's
ripples and the hills and plains,
And all the
sleeping land, and near at hand
Silvering those
roof-tops of the pleasure-house,
Where nothing
stirred nor sign of watching was,
Save at the
outer gates, whose warders cried
Mudra, the watchword,
and the countersign
Angana, and the
watch-drums beat a round;
Whereat the
earth lay still, except for call
Of prowling
jackals, and the ceaseless trill
Of crickets on
the garden grounds.
Within --
Where the moon
glittered through the lace-worked stone,
Lighting the
walls of pearl-shell and the floors
Paved with
veined marble -- softly fell her beams
On such rare
company of Indian girls,
It seemed some
chamber sweet in Paradise
Where Devîs
rested. All the chosen ones.
Of Prince
Siddârtha's pleasure-home were there,
The brightest
and most faithful of the Court,
Each form so
lovely in the peace of sleep,
That you had
said "This is the pearl of all!"
Save that
beside her or beyond her lay
Fairer and
fairer, till the pleasured gaze
Roamed o'er
that feast of beauty as it roams
From gem to gem
in some great goldsmith-work,
Caught by each
color till the next is seen.
With careless
grace they lay, their soft brown limbs
Part hidden,
part revealed; their glossy hair
Bound back with
gold or flowers, or flowing loose
In black waves
down the shapely nape and neck.
Lulled into
pleasant dreams by happy toils,
They slept, no
wearier than jewelled birds
Which sing and
love all day, then under wing
Fold head till
morn bids sing and love again.
Lamps of chased
silver swinging from the roof
In silver
chains, and fed with perfumed oils,
Made with the
moonbeams tender lights and shades,
Whereby were
seen the perfect lines of grace,
The bosom's
placid heave, the soft stained palms
Drooping or
clasped, the faces fair and dark,
The great
arched brows, the parted lips, the teeth
Like pearls a
merchant picks to make a string,
The
satin-lidded eyes, with lashes dropped
Sweeping the
delicate cheeks, the rounded wrists,
The smooth
small feet with bells and bangles decked,
Tinkling low
music where some sleeper moved,
Breaking her
smiling dream of some new dance
Praised by the
Prince, some magic ring to find,
Some fairy
love-gift. Here one lay full-length,
Her vina by her
cheek, and in its strings
The little
fingers still all interlaced
As when the
last notes of her light song played
Those radiant
eyes to sleep and sealed her own.
Another
slumbered folding in her arms
A
desert-antelope, its slender head
Buried with
back-sloped horns between her breasts
Soft nestling;
it was eating -- when both drowsed --
Red roses, and
her loosening hand still held
A rose
half-mumbled, while a rose-leaf curled
Between the
deer's lips. Here two friends had dozed
Together,
weaving môgra-buds, which bound
Their
sister-sweetness in a starry chain,
Linking them
limb to limb and heart to heart,
One pillowed on
the blossoms, one on her.
Another, ere
she slept, was stringing stones
To make a
necklet -- agate, onyx, sard,
Coral, and
moonstone -- round her wrist it gleamed
A coil of
splendid color, while she held,
Unthreaded yet,
the bead to close it up
Green turkis,
carved with golden gods and scripts.
Lulled by the
cadence of the garden stream,
Thus lay they
on the clustered carpets, each
A girlish rose
with shut leaves, waiting dawn
To open and
make daylight beautiful.
This was the
antechamber of the Prince;
But at the
purdah's fringe the sweetest slept --
Gunga and
Gotami -- chief ministers
In that still
house of love.
The purdah
hung,
Crimson and
blue, with broidered threads of gold,
Across a portal
carved in sandal-wood,
Whence by three
steps the way was to the bower
Of inmost
splendor, and the marriage-couch
Set on a dais
soft with silver cloths,
Where the foot
fell as though it trod on piles
Of neem-blooms.
All the walls were plates of pearl,
Cut shapely
from the shells of Lanka's wave;
And o'er the
alabaster roof there ran
Rich inlayings
of lotus and of bird,
Wrought in
skilled work of lazulite and jade,
Jacynth and
jasper; woven round the dome,
And down the
sides, and all about the frames
Wherein were
set the fretted lattices,
Through which
there breathed, with moonlight and cool airs,
Scents from the
shell-flowers and the jasmine sprays;
Not bringing
thither grace or tenderness
Sweeter than
shed from those fair presences
Within the
place -- the beauteous Sâkya Prince,
And hers, the
stately, bright Yasôdhara.
Half risen from
her soft nest at his side,
The chuddah
fallen to her waist, her brow
Laid in both
palms, the lovely Princess leaned
With heaving
bosom and fast falling tears.
Thrice with her
lips she touched Siddârtha's hand,
And at the
third kiss moaned, "Awake, my Lord!
Give me the
comfort of thy speech!" Then he --
"What is
it with thee, O my life?" but still
She moaned anew
before the words would come;
Then spake,
"Alas, my Prince! I sank to sleep
Most happy, for
the babe I bear of thee
Quickened this
eve, and at my heart there beat
That double
pulse of life and joy and love
Whose happy
music lulled me, but -- aho! --
In slumber I
beheld three sights of dread,
With thought
whereof my heart is throbbing yet.
I saw a white
bull with wide branching horns,
A lord of
pastures, pacing through the streets,
Bearing upon
his front a gem which shone
As if some star
had dropped to glitter there,
Or like the
kantha-stone the great Snake keeps
To make bright
daylight underneath the earth.
Slow through
the streets towards the gates he paced,
And none could
stay him, though there came a voice
From Indra's
temple, 'If ye stay him not,
The glory of
the city goeth forth.'
Yet none could
stay him. Then I wept aloud,
And locked my
arms about his neck, and strove,
And bade them
bar the gates; but that ox-king
Bellowed, and,
lightly tossing free his crest,
Broke from my
clasp, and bursting through the bars,
Trampled the
warders down and passed away.
The next
strange dream was this: Four Presences
Splendid, with
shining eyes, so beautiful
They seemed the
Regents of the Earth who dwell
On Mount
Sumeru, lighting from the sky
With retinue of
countless heavenly ones,
Swift swept
unto our city, where I saw
The golden flag
of Indra on the gate
Flutter and
fall; and lo! there rose instead
A glorious
banner, all the folds whereof
Rippled with
flashing fire of rubies sewn
Thick on the
silver threads, the rays wherefrom
Set forth new
words and weighty sentences
Whose message
made all living creatures glad;
And from the
east the wind of sunrise blew
With tender
waft, opening those jewelled scrolls
So that all
flesh might read; and wondrous blooms
Plucked in what
clime I know not -- fell in showers,
Colored as none
are colored in our groves."
Then spake the
Prince: "All this, my Lotus-flower!
Was good to
see."
"Ay,
Lord," the Princess said,
Save that it
ended with a voice of fear
Crying, 'The
time is nigh! the time is nigh!'
Thereat the
third dream came; for when I sought
Thy side, sweet
Lord! ah, on our bed there lay
An unpressed
pillow and an empty robe --
Nothing of thee
but those! -- nothing of thee,
Who art my life
and light, my king, my world!
And sleeping
still I rose, and sleeping saw
Thy belt of
pearls, tied here below my breasts,
Change to a
stinging snake; my ankle-rings
Fall off, my
golden bangles part and fall;
The jasmines in
my hair wither to dust;
While this our
bridal-couch sank to the ground,
And something
rent the crimson purdah down;
Then far away I
heard the white bull low,
And far away
the embroidered banner flap,
And once again
that cry, 'The time is come!'
But with that
cry -- which shakes my spirit still
I woke! O
Prince! what may such visions mean
Except I die,
or -- worse than any death --
Thou shouldst
forsake me or be taken?"
Sweet
As the last
smile of sunset was the look
Siddârtha bent
upon his weeping wife.
"Comfort
thee, dear!" he said, "if comfort lives
In changeless
love; for though thy dreams may be
Shadows of things
to come, and though the gods
Are shaken in
their seats, and though the world
Stands nigh,
perchance, to know some way of help,
Yet, whatsoever
fall to thee and me,
Be sure I loved
and love Yasôdhara.
Thou knowest
how I muse these many moons,
Seeking to save
the sad earth I have seen;
And when the
time comes, that which will be will.
But if my soul
yearns sore for souls unknown,
And if I grieve
for griefs which are not mine,
Judge how my
high-winged thoughts must hover here
O'er all these
lives that share and sweeten mine
So dear! and
thine the dearest, gentlest, best,
And nearest.
Ah, thou mother of my babe!
Whose body
mixed with mine for this fair hope,
When most my
spirit wanders, ranging round
The lands and
seas -- as full of ruth for men
As the far-flying
dove is full of ruth
For her twin
nestlings -- ever it has come
Home with glad
wing and passionate plumes to thee,
Who art the
sweetness of my kind best seen,
The utmost of
their good, the tenderest
Of all their
tenderness, mine most of all.
Therefore,
whatever after this betide,
Bethink thee of
that lordly bull which lowed,
That jewelled
banner in thy dream which waved
Its folds
departing, and of this be sure,
Always I loved
and always love thee well,
And what I sought
for all sought most for thee.
But thou, take
comfort; and, if sorrow falls,
Take comfort
still in deeming there may be
A way of peace
on earth by woes of ours;
And have with
this embrace what faithful love
Can think of
thanks or frame for benison --
Too little,
seeing love's strong self is weak --
Yet kiss me on
the mouth, and drink these words
From heart to
heart therewith, that thou mayst know --
What others
will not -- that I loved thee most
Because I loved
so well all living souls.
Now, Princess!
rest, for I will rise and watch."
Then in her
tears she slept, but sleeping sighed --
As if that
vision passed again -- "The time!
The time is
come!" Where at Siddârtha turned,
And, lo! the
moon shone by the Crab the stars
In that same
silver order long foretold
Stood ranged to
say, "This is the night choose thou
The way of
greatness or the way of good:
To reign a King
of kings, or wander lone,
Crownless and
homeless, that the world be helped."
Moreover, with
the whispers of the gloom
Came to his
ears again that warning song,
As when the
Devas spoke upon the wind:
And surely Gods
were round about the place
Watching our
Lord, who watched the shining stars.
"I will
depart," he spake; "the hour is come!
Thy tender
lips, dear sleeper, summon me
To that which
saves the earth but sunders us;
And in the
silence of yon sky I read
My fated
message flashing. Unto this
Came I, and
unto this all nights and days
Have led me;
for I will not have that crown
Which may be
mine: I lay aside those realms
Which wait the gleaming
of my naked sword:
My chariot
shall not roll with bloody wheels
From victory to
victory, till earth
Wears the red
record of my name. I choose
To tread its
paths with patient, stainless feet,
Making its dust
my bed, its loneliest wastes
My dwelling,
and its meanest things my mates:
Clad in no
prouder garb than outcasts wear,
Fed with no
meats save what the charitable
Give of their
will, sheltered by no more pomp
Than the dim
cave lends or the jungle-bush.
This will I do
because the woful cry
Of life and all
flesh living cometh up
Into my ears,
and all my soul is full
Of pity for the
sickness of this world;
Which I will
heal, if healing may be found
By uttermost
renouncing and strong strife.
For which of
all the great and lesser Gods
Have power or
pity? Who hath seen them -- who?
What have they
wrought to help their worshippers?
How hath it
steaded man to pray, and pay
Tithes of the
corn and oil, to chant the charms,
To slay the
shrieking sacrifice, to rear
The stately
fane, to feed the priests, and call
On Vishnu,
Shiva, Surya, who save
None -- not the
worthiest -- from the griefs that teach
Those litanies
of flattery and fear
Ascending day
by day, like wasted smoke?
Hath any of my
brothers 'scaped thereby
The aches of life,
the stings of love and loss,
The fiery fever
and the ague-shake,
The slow, dull
sinking into withered age,
The horrible
dark death -- and what beyond
Waits -- till
the whirling wheel comes up again,
And new lives
bring new sorrows to be borne,
New generations
for the new desires
Which have
their end in the old mockeries?
Hath any of my
tender sisters found
Fruit of the
fast or harvest of the hymn,
Or bought one
pang the less at bearing-time
For white curds
offered and trim tulsi-leaves?
Nay; it may be
some of the Gods are good
And evil some,
but all in action weak;
Both pitiful
and pitiless, and both --
As men are --
bound upon this wheel of change,
Knowing the
former and the after lives.
For so our
scriptures truly seem to teach,
That -- once,
and wheresoe'er, and whence begun --
Life runs its
rounds of living, climbing up
From mote, and
gnat, and worm, reptile, and fish,
Bird and
shagged beast, man, demon, deva, God,
To clod and
mote again; so are we kin
To all that is;
and thus, if one might save
Man from his
curse, the whole wide world should share
The lightened
horror of this ignorance
Whose shadow is
chill fear, and cruelty
Its bitter
pastime. Yea, if one might save
And means must
be! There must be refuge! Men
Perished in
winter-winds till one smote fire
From
flint-stones coldly hiding what they held,
The red spark
treasured from the kindling sun.
They gorged on
flesh like wolves, till one sowed corn,
Which grew a
weed, yet makes the life of man;
They mowed and
babbled till some tongue struck speech,
And patient
fingers framed the lettered sound.
What good gift
have my brothers, but it came
From search and
strife and loving sacrifice?
If one, then,
being great and fortunate,
Rich, dowered
with health and ease, from birth designed
To rule -- if
he would rule -- a King of kings
If one, not
tired with life's long day but glad
I' the
freshness of its morning, one not cloyed
With love's
delicious feasts, but hungry still;
If one not worn
and wrinkled, sadly sage,
But joyous in
the glory and the grace
That mix with
evils here, and free to choose
Earth's
loveliest at his will: one even as I,
Who ache not,
lack not, grieve not, save with griefs
Which are not
mine, except as I am man;
If such a one,
having so much to give,
Gave all,
laying it down for love of men,
And thenceforth
spent himself to search for truth,
Wringing the
secret of deliverance forth,
Whether it lurk
in hells or hide in heavens.
Or hover,
unrevealed, nigh unto all:
Surely at last,
far off, sometime, somewhere,
The veil would lift
for his deep-searching eyes,
The road would
open for his painful feet,
That should be
won for which he lost the world,
And Death might
find him conqueror of death.
This will I do,
who have a realm to lose
Because I love
my realm, because my heart
Beats with each
throb of all the hearts that ache,
Known and
unknown, these that are mine and those
Which shall be
mine, a thousand million more
Saved by this
sacrifice I offer now.
Oh, summoning
stars! I come! Oh, mournful earth!
For thee and
thine I lay aside my youth,
My throne, my
joys, my golden days, my nights,
My happy palace
-- and thine arms, sweet Queen!
Harder to put
aside than all the rest!
Yet thee, too,
I shall save, saving this earth;
And that which
stirs within thy tender womb,
My child, the
hidden blossom of our loves,
Whom if I wait
to bless my mind will fail.
Wife! child!
father! and people! ye must share
A little while
the anguish of this hour
That light may
break and all flesh learn the Law.
Now am I fixed,
and now I will depart,
Never to come
again till what I seek
Be found -- if
fervent search and strife avail."
So with his
brow he touched her feet, and bent
The farewell of
fond eyes, unutterable,
Upon her
sleeping face, still wet with tears;
And thrice
around the bed in reverence,
As though it
were an altar, softly stepped
With clasped
hands laid upon his beating heart,
"For
never," spake he, "lie I there again!"
And thrice he
made to go, but thrice came back,
So strong her
beauty was, so large his love:
Then, o'er his
head drawing his cloth, he turned
And raised the
purdah's edge:
There drooped,
close-hushed,
In such sealed
sleep as water-lilies know,
The lovely
garden of his Indian girls;
That twin
dark-petalled lotus-buds of all
Gunga and
Gotami -- on either side,
And those,
their silk-leaved sisterhood, beyond.
Pleasant ye are
to me, sweet friends!" he said,
And dear to
leave; yet if I leave ye not
What else will
come to all of us save eld
Without assuage
and death without avail?
Lo! as ye lie
asleep so must ye lie
A-dead; and when
the rose dies where are gone
Its scent and
splendor? when the lamp is drained
Whither is fled
the flame? Press heavy, Night!
Upon their
down-dropped lids and seal their lips,
That no tear
stay me and no faithful voice.
For all the
brighter that these made my life,
The bitterer it
is that they and I,
And all, should
live as trees do -- so much spring,
Such and such
rains and frosts, such winter-times,
And then dead
leaves, with maybe spring again,
Or axe-stroke
at the root. This will not I,
Whose life here
was a God's! -- this would not I,
Though all my
days were godlike, while men moan
Under their
darkness. Therefore farewell, friends!
While life is
good to give, I give, and go
To seek
deliverance and that unknown Light!"
Then, lightly
treading where those sleepers lay,
Into the night
Siddartha passed: its eyes,
The watchful
stars, looked love on him: its breath,
The wandering
wind, kissed his robe's fluttered fringe
The
garden-blossoms, folded for the dawn,
Opened their
velvet hearts to waft him scents
From pink and
purple censers: o'er the land,
From Himalay
unto the Indian Sea,
A tremor
spread, as if earth's soul beneath
Stirred with an
unknown hope; and holy books
Which tell the
story of our Lord -- say, too,
That rich
celestial musics thrilled the air
From hosts on
hosts of shining ones, who thronged
Eastward and
westward, making bright the night --
Northward and
southward, making glad the ground.
Also those four
dread Regents of the Earth,
Descending at
the doorway, two by two, --
With their
bright legions of Invisibles
In arms of
sapphire, silver, gold, and pearl --
Watched with
joined hands the Indian Prince, who stood,
His tearful
eyes raised to the stars, and lips
Close-set with
purpose of prodigious love.
Then strode he forth
into the gloom and cried,
"Channa,
awake! and bring out Kantaka!"
"What
would my Lord?" the charioteer replied --
Slow-rising
from his place beside the gate --
To ride at
night when all the ways are dark?"
"Speak
low," Siddârtha said, "and bring my horse,
For now the
hour is come when I should quit
This golden
prison where my heart lives caged
To find the
truth; which henceforth I will seek,
For all men's
sake, until the truth be found."
"Alas!
dear Prince," answered the charioteer,
"Spake
then for nought those wise and holy men
Who cast the
stars and bade us wait the time
When King
Suddhôdana's great son should rule
Realms upon
realms, and be a Lord of lords?
Wilt thou ride
hence and let the rich world slip
Out of thy
grasp, to bold a beggar's bowl?
Wilt thou go
forth into the friendless waste
That hast this
Paradise of pleasures here?"
The Prince made
answer, "Unto this I came,
And not for
thrones: the kingdom that I crave
Is more than
many realms -- and all things pass
To change and
death. Bring me forth Kantaka!"
"Most
honored," spake again the charioteer,
Bethink thee of
my Lord thy father's grief!
Bethink thee of
their woe whose bliss thou art --
How shalt thou
help them, first undoing them?"
Siddârtha
answered, "Friend, that love is false
Which clings to
love for selfish sweets of love
But I, who love
these more than joys of mine --
Yea, more than
joy of theirs -- depart to save
Them and all
flesh, if utmost love avail
Go, bring me
Kantaka!"
Then Channa
said,
"Master, I
go!" and forthwith, mournfully,
Unto the stall
he passed, and from the rack
Took down the
silver bit and bridle-chains,
Breast-cord and
curb, and knitted fast the straps,
And linked the
hooks, and led out Kantaka:
Whom tethering
to the ring, he combed and dressed,
Stroking the
snowy coat to silken gloss;
Next on the
steed he laid the numdah square,
Fitted the
saddle-cloth across, and set
The saddle
fair, drew tight the jewelled girths,
Buckled the
breech-bands and the martingale,
And made fall
both the stirrups of worked gold.
Then over all
he cast a golden net,
With tassels of
seed-pearl and silken strings,
And led the
great horse to the palace door,
Where stood the
Prince; but when he saw his Lord.
Right glad he
waxed and joyously he neighed,
Spreading his
scarlet nostrils; and the books
Write,
"Surely all had heard Kantaka's neigh,
And that strong
trampling of his iron heels,
Save that the
Devas laid their unseen wings
Over their ears
and kept the sleepers deaf."
Fondly
Siddârtha drew the proud head down,
Patted the shining
neck, and said, "Be still,
White Kantaka!
be still, and bear me now
The farthest
journey ever rider rode;
For this night
take I horse to find the truth,
And where my
quest will end yet know I not,
Save that it
shall not end until I find.
Therefore to-night,
good steed, be fierce and bold!
Let nothing
stay thee, though a thousand blades
Deny the road!
let neither wall nor moat
Forbid our
flight! Look! if I touch thy flank
And cry, 'On,
Kantaka!' let whirlwinds lag
Behind thy
course! Be fire and air, my horse!
To stead thy
Lord, so shalt thou share with him
The greatness
of this deed which helps the world
For therefore
ride I, not for men alone,
But for all
things which, speechless, share our pain
And have no
hope, nor wit to ask for hope.
Now, therefore,
bear thy master valorously!"
Then to the
saddle lightly leaping, he
Touched the
arched crest, and Kantaka sprang forth
With armed
hoofs sparkling on the stones and ring
Of champing
bit; but none did hear that sound,
For that the
Suddha Devas, gathering near,
Plucked the red
mohra-flowers and strewed them thick
Under his
tread, while hands invisible
Muffled the
ringing bit and bridle chains.
Moreover, it is
written when they came
Upon the
pavement near the inner gates,
The Yakshas of the
air laid magic cloths
Under the
stallion's feet, so that he went
Softly and
still.
But when they
reached the gate
Of tripled
brass -- which hardly fivescore men
Served to unbar
and open -- lo! the doors
Rolled back all
silently, though one might hear
In daytime two
koss off the thunderous roar
Of those grim
hinges and unwieldy plates.
Also the middle
and the outer gates
Unfolded each
their monstrous portals thus
In silence as
Siddârtha and his steed
Drew near;
while underneath their shadow lay,
Silent as dead
men, all those chosen guards --
The lance and
sword let fall, the shields unbraced,
Captains and
soldiers -- for there came a wind,
Drowsier than
blows o'er Malwa's fields of sleep,
Before the
Prince's path, which, being breathed,
Lulled every
sense aswoon: and so he passed
Free from the
palace.
When the
morning star
Stood half a
spear's length from the eastern rim,
And o'er the
earth the breath of morning sighed
Rippling
Anoma's wave, the border-stream,
Then drew he
rein, and leaped to earth and kissed
White Kantaka
betwixt the ears, and spake
Full sweet to
Channa: "This which thou hast done
Shall bring
thee good and bring all creatures good.
Be sure I love
thee always for thy love.
Lead back my
horse and take my crest-pearl here,
My princely robes,
which henceforth stead me not,
My jewelled
sword-belt and my sword, and these
The long locks
by its bright edge severed thus
From off my
brows. Give the King all, and say
Siddârtha prays
forget him till he come
Ten times a
Prince, with royal wisdom won
From lonely
searchings and the strife for light;
Where, if I
conquer, lo! all earth is mine --
Mine by chief
service! -- tell him -- mine by love
Since there is
hope for man only in man,
And none hath
sought for this as I will seek,
Who cast away
my world to save my world."
Book the Fifth.
Round Rajagriha
five fair hills arose,
Guarding King
Bimbasâra's sylvan town:
Baibhâra green
with lemon-grass and palms;
Bipulla, at
whose foot thin Sarsuti
Steals with
warm ripple; shadowy Tapovan,
Whose steaming pools
mirror black rocks, which ooze
Sovereign
earth-butter from their rugged roofs
South-east the
vulture-peak Sailâgiri;
And eastward
Ratnagiri, hill of gems.
A winding
track, paven with footworn slabs,
Leads thee by
safflower fields and bamboo tufts
Under dark
mangoes and the jujube-trees,
Past milk-white
veins of rock and jasper crags,
Low cliff and
flats of jungle-flowers, to where
The shoulder of
that mountain, sloping west,
O'erhangs a
cave with wild figs canopied.
Lo! thou who
comest thither, bare thy feet
And bow thy
head! for all this spacious earth
Hath not a spot
more dear and hallowed. Here
Lord Buddha
sate the scorching summers through,
The driving
rains, the chilly dawns and eves;
Wearing for all
men's sakes the yellow robe,
Eating in beggar's
guise the scanty meal
Chance-gathered
from the charitable; at night
Couched on the
grass, homeless, alone; while yelped
The sleepless
jackals round his cave, or coughs
Of famished
tiger from the thicket broke.
By day and
night here dwelt the World-honored,
Subduing that
fair body born for bliss
With fast and
frequent watch and search intense
Of silent
meditation, so prolonged
That ofttimes
while he mused -- as motionless
As the fixed
rock his seat -- the squirrel leaped
Upon his knee,
the timid quail led forth
Her brood
between his feet, and blue doves pecked
The rice-grains
from the bowl beside his hand.
Thus would he
muse from noontide -- when the land
Shimmered with
heat, and walls and temples danced
In the reeking
air -- till sunset, noting not
The blazing
globe roll down, nor evening glide,
Purple and
swift, across the softened fields;
Nor the still
coming of the stars, nor throb
Of drum-skins
in the busy town, nor screech
Of owl and
night-jar; wholly wrapt from self
In keen unravelling
of the threads of thought
And steadfast
pacing of life's labyrinths.
Thus would he
sit till midnight hushed the world
Save where the
beasts of darkness in the brake
Crept and cried
out, as fear and hatred cry,
As lust and
avarice and anger creep
In the black
jungles of man's ignorance.
Then slept he
for what space the fleet moon asks
To swim a tenth
part of her cloudy sea;
But rose ere
the False-dawn, and stood again
Wistful on some
dark platform of his hill,
Watching the
sleeping earth with ardent eyes
And thoughts
embracing all its living things,
While o'er the
waving fields that murmur moved
Which is the
kiss of Morn waking the lands,
And in the east
that miracle of Day
Gathered and
grew. At first a dusk so dim
Night seems
still unaware of whispered dawn,
But soon --
before the jungle-cock crows twice --
A white verge
clear, a widening, brightening white,
High as the
herald-star, which fades in floods
Of silver,
warming into pale gold, caught
By topmost
clouds, and flaming on their rims
To fervent
golden glow, flushed from the brink
With saffron,
scarlet, crimson, amethyst;
Whereat the sky
burns splendid to the blue,
And, robed in
raiment of glad light, the King
Of Life and
Glory cometh!
Then our Lord,
After the
manner of a Rishi, hailed
The rising orb,
and went -- ablutions made --
Down by the
winding path unto the town;
And in the
fashion of a Rishi passed
From street to
street, with begging-bowl in hand,
Gathering the
little pittance of his needs.
Soon was it
filled, for all the townsmen cried,
"Take of
our store, great sir!" and "Take of ours!"
Marking his
godlike face and eyes enwrapt;
And mothers,
when they saw our Lord go by,
Would bid their
children fall to kiss his feet,
And lift his
robe's hem to their brows, or run
To fill his jar,
and fetch him milk and cakes.
And ofttimes as
he paced, gentle and slow,
Radiant with
heavenly pity, lost in care
For those he
knew not, save as fellow-lives,
The dark
surprised eyes of some Indian maid
Would dwell in
sudden love and worship deep
On that
majestic form, as if she saw
Her dreams of
tenderest thought made true, and grace
Fairer than
mortal fire her breast. But he
Passed onward
with the bowl and yellow robe,
By mild speech
paying all those gifts of hearts,
Wending his way
back to the solitudes
To sit upon his
hill with holy men,
And hear and
ask of wisdom and its roads.
Midway on
Ratnagiri's groves of calm,
Beyond the
city, but below the caves,
Lodged such as
hold the body foe to soul,
And flesh a
beast which men must chain and tame
With bitter
pains, till sense of pain is killed,
And tortured
nerves vex torturer no more --
Yogis and
Brahmacharis, Bhikshus, all
A gaunt and
mournful band, dwelling apart.
Some day and
night had stood with lifted arms,
Till -- drained
of blood and withered by disease --
Their
slowly-wasting joints and stiffened limbs
Jutted from
sapless shoulders like dead forks
From forest
trunks. Others had clenched their hands
So long and
with so fierce a fortitude,
The claw-like
nails grew through the festered palm.
Some walked on
sandals spiked; some with sharp flints
Gashed breast
and brow and thigh, scarred these with fire,
Threaded their
flesh with jungle thorns and spits,
Besmeared with
mud and ashes, crouching foul
In rags of dead
men wrapped about their loins.
Certain there
were inhabited the spots
Where
death-pyres smouldered, cowering defiled
With corpses
for their company, and kites
Screaming
around them o'er the funeral-spoils:
Certain who
cried five hundred times a day
The names of
Shiva, wound with darting snakes
About their
sun-tanned necks and hollow flanks
One palsied
foot drawn up against the ham.
So gathered
they, a grievous company;
Crowns
blistered by the blazing heat, eyes bleared,
Sinews and
muscles shrivelled, visages
Haggard and wan
as slain men's, five days dead;
Here crouched
one in the dust who noon by noon
Meted a
thousand grains of millet out,
Ate it with
famished patience, seed by seed,
And so starved
on; there one who bruised his pulse
With bitter
leaves lest palate should be pleased;
And next, a
miserable saint self-maimed,
Eyeless and
tongueless, sexless, crippled, deaf;
The body by the
mind being thus stripped
For glory of
much suffering, and the bliss
Which they
shall win -- say holy books -- whose woe
Shames gods
that send us woe, and makes men gods
Stronger to
suffer than Hell is to harm.
Whom sadly
eying spake our Lord to one,
Chief of the
woe-begones: "Much-suffering sir!
These many
moons I dwell upon the hill --
Who am a seeker
of the Truth -- and see
My brothers
here, and thee, so piteously
Self-anguished;
wherefore add ye ills to life
Which is so
evil?"
Answer made the
sage:
" 'Tis
written if a man shall mortify
His flesh, till
pain be grown the life he lives
And death
voluptuous rest, such woes shall purge
Sin's dross away,
and the soul, purified,
Soar from the
furnace of its sorrow, winged
For glorious
spheres and splendor past all thought."
"Yon cloud
which floats in heaven," the Prince replied,
"Wreathed
like gold cloth around your Indra's throne,
Rose thither from
the tempest-driven sea;
But it must
fall again in tearful drops,
Trickling
through rough and painful water-ways
By cleft and
nullah and the muddy flood,
To Gunga and
the sea, wherefrom it sprang.
Know'st thou,
my brother, if it be not thus,
After their
many pains, with saints in bliss?
Since that
which rises falls, and that which buys
Is spent; and
if ye buy heav'n with your blood
In hell's hard
market, when the bargain's through
The toil begins
again!"
"It may
begin,"
The hermit
moaned. "Alas! we know not this,
Nor surely
anything; yet after night
Day comes, and
after turmoil peace, and we
Hate this
accursed flesh which clogs the soul
That fain would
rise; so, for the sake of soul,
We stake brief
agonies in game with Gods
To gain the
larger joys."
"Yet if
they last
A myriad
years," he said, "they fade at length,
Those joys; or
if not, is there then some life
Below, above,
beyond, so unlike life
It will not
change? Speak! do your Gods endure
For ever,
brothers?"
"Nay,"
the Yogis said,
"Only great
Brahm endures: the Gods but live."
Then spake Lord
Buddha: "Will ye, being wise,
As ye seem holy
and strong-hearted ones,
Throw these
sore dice, which are your groans and moans,
For gains which
maybe dreams, and must have end?
Will ye, for
love of soul, so loathe your flesh,
So scourge and
maim it, that it shall not serve
To bear the
spirit on, searching for home,
But founder on
the track before nightfall,
Like willing
steed o'er-spurred? Will ye, sad sirs,
Dismantle and
dismember this fair house,
Where we have
come to dwell by painful pasts;
Whose windows
give us light -- the little light --
Whereby we gaze
abroad to know if dawn
Will break, and
whither winds the better road?"
Then cried
they, "We have chosen this for road
And tread it,
Rajaputra, till the close
Though all its
stones were fire -- in trust of death.
Speak, if thou
know'st a way more excellent;
If not, peace
go with thee!"
Onward he
passed,
Exceeding
sorrowful, seeing how men
Fear so to die
they are afraid to fear,
Lust so to live
they dare not love their life,
But plague it
with fierce penances, belike
To please the
Gods who grudge pleasure to man;
Belike to balk
hell by self-kindled hells;
Belike in holy
madness, hoping soul
May break the
better through their wasted flesh.
"Oh,
flowerets of the field!" Siddârtha said,
"Who turn
your tender faces to the sun --
Glad of the
light, and grateful with sweet breath
Of fragrance
and these robes of reverence donned
Silver and gold
and purple -- none of ye
Miss perfect
living, none of ye despoil
Your happy
beauty. Oh, ye palms! which rise
Eager to pierce
the sky and drink the wind
Blown from
Malaya and the cool blue seas,
What secret
know ye that ye grow content,
From time of
tender shoot to time of fruit,
Murmuring such
sun-songs from your feathered crowns?
Ye, too, who
dwell so merry in the trees --
Quick-darting
parrots, bee-birds, bulbuls, doves --
None of ye hate
your life, none of ye deem
To strain to
better by foregoing needs!
But man, who
slays ye -- being lord -- is wise,
And wisdom,
nursed on blood, cometh thus forth
In
self-tormentings!"
While the
Master spake
Blew down the
mount the dust of pattering feet,
White goats and
black sheep winding slow their way,
With many a
lingering nibble at the tufts,
And wanderings
from the path, where water gleamed
Or wild figs
hung. But always as they strayed
The herdsman
cried, or slung his sling, and kept
The silly crowd
still moving to the plain.
A ewe with
couplets in the flock there was,
Some hurt had
lamed one lamb, which toiled behind
Bleeding, while
in the front its fellow skipped,
And the vexed
dam hither and thither ran,
Fearful to lose
this little one or that;
Which when our
Lord did mark, full tenderly
He took the
limping lamb upon his neck,
Saying,
"Poor woolly mother, be at peace!
Whither thou
goest I will bear thy care;
'Twere all as
good to ease one beast of grief
As sit and
watch the sorrows of the world
In yonder
caverns with the priests who pray."
"But,"
spake he to the herdsmen, "wherefore, friends!
Drive ye the
flocks adown under high noon,
Since 'tis at
evening that men fold their sheep?"
And answer gave
the peasants: "We are sent
To fetch a
sacrifice of goats five score,
And five score
sheep, the which our Lord the King
Slayeth this
night in worship of his gods."
Then said the
Master: "I will also go!"
So paced he
patiently, bearing the lamb
Beside the
herdsmen in the dust and sun,
The wistful ewe
low-bleating at his feet.
Whom, when they
came unto the river-side,
A woman --
dove-eyed, young, with tearful face,
And lifted hands
-- saluted, bending low:
"Lord!
thou art he," she said, "who yesterday
Had pity on me
in the fig-grove here,
Where I live
lone and reared my child; but he
Straying amid
the blossoms found a snake,
Which twined
about his wrist, whilst he did laugh
And tease the
quick forked tongue and opened mouth
Of that cold
playmate. But, alas! ere long
He turned so
pale and still, I could not think
Why he should
cease to play, and let my breast
Fall from his
lips. And one said, 'He is sick
Of poison;' and
another, 'He will die.'
But I, who
could not lose my precious boy,
Prayed of them
physic, which might bring the light
Back to his
eyes; it was so very small
That kiss-mark
of the serpent, and I think
It could not
hate him, gracious as he was,
Nor hurt him in
his sport. And some one said,
'There is a
holy man upon the hill --
Lo! now he
passeth in the yellow robe
Ask of the
Rishi if there be a cure
For that which
ails thy son.' Whereon I came
Trembling to
thee, whose brow is like a god's,
And wept and
drew the face cloth from my babe,
Praying thee
tell what simples might be good.
And thou, great
sir! didst spurn me not, but gaze
With gentle
eyes and touch with patient hand;
Then draw the
face-cloth back, saying to me,
'Yea! little
sister, there is that might heal
Thee first, and
him, if thou, couldst fetch the thing;
For they who
seek physicians bring to them
What is
ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find
Black
mustard-seed, a tola; only mark
Thou take it
not from any hand or house
Where father, mother,
child, or slave hath died;
It shall be
well if thou canst find such seed.'
Thus didst thou
speak, my Lord!"
The Master
smiled
Exceeding
tenderly. "Yea! I spake thus,
Dear
Kisagôtami! But didst thou find
The seed?"
"I went,
Lord, clasping to my breast
The babe, grown
colder, asking at each hut --
Here in the
jungle and towards the town --
'I pray you,
give me mustard, of your grace,
A tola --
black;' and each who had it gave,
For all the
poor are piteous to the poor;
But when I
asked, 'In my friend's household here
Hath any
peradventure ever died --
Husband or
wife, or child, or slave?' they said:
'O Sister! what
is this you ask? the dead
Are very many,
and the living few!'
So with sad
thanks I gave the mustard back,
And prayed of
others; but the others said,
'Here is the
seed, but we have lost our slave!'
'Here is the
seed, but our good man is dead!'
'Here is some
seed, but he that sowed it died
Between the
rain-time and the harvesting!'
Ah, sir! I
could not find a single house
Where there was
mustard-seed and none had died!
Therefore I
left my child -- who would not suck
Nor smile --
beneath the wild-vines by the stream,
To seek thy
face and kiss thy feet, and pray
Where I might
find this seed and find no death,
If now, indeed,
my baby be not dead,
As I do fear,
and as they said to me."
"My
sister! thou hast found," the Master said,
"Searching
for what none finds -- that bitter balm
I had to give
thee. He thou lovedst slept
Dead on thy
bosom yesterday: to-day
Thou know'st
the whole wide world weeps with thy woe
The grief which
all hearts share grows less for one.
Lo! I would
pour my blood if it could stay
Thy tears and
win the secret of that curse
Which makes
sweet love our anguish, and which drives
O'er flowers
and pastures to the sacrifice --
As these dumb
beasts are driven -- men their lords.
I seek that
secret: bury thou thy child!"
So entered they
the city side by side,
The herdsmen
and the Prince, what time the sun
Gilded slow
Sona's distant stream, and threw
Long shadows
down the street and through the gate
Where the
King's men kept watch. But when these saw
Our Lord
bearing the lamb, the guards stood back,
The
market-people drew their wains aside,
In the bazaar
buyers and sellers stayed
The war of
tongues to gaze on that mild face;
The smith, with
lifted hammer in his hand,
Forgot to
strike; the weaver left his web,
The scribe his
scroll, the money-changer lost
His count of
cowries; from the unmatched rice
Shiva's white
bull fed free; the wasted milk
Ran o'er the
Iota while the milkers watched
The passage of
our Lord moving so meek,
With yet so
beautiful a majesty.
But most the
women gathering in the doors
Asked,
"Who is this that brings the sacrifice
So graceful and
peace-giving as he goes?
What is his
caste? whence hath he eyes so sweet?
Can he be Sâkra
or the Devaraj?"
And others
said, "It is the holy man
Who dwelleth
with the Rishis on the hill."
But the Lord
paced, in meditation lost,
Thinking,
"Alas! for all my sheep which have
No shepherd;
wandering in the night with none
To guide them;
bleating blindly towards the knife
Of Death, as
these dumb beasts which are their kin."
Then some one
told the King, "There cometh here
A holy hermit,
bringing down the flock
Which thou
didst bid to crown the sacrifice."
The King stood
in his hall of offering,
On either hand
the white-robed Brahmans ranged
Muttered their
mantras, feeding still the fire
Which roared
upon the midmost altar. There
From scented
woods flickered bright tongues of flame,
Hissing and
curling as they licked the gifts
Of ghee and
spices and the Soma juice,
The joy of
Indra. Round about the pile
A slow, thick,
scarlet streamlet smoked and ran,
Sucked by the
sand, but ever rolling down,
The blood of
bleating victims. One such lay,
A spotted goat,
long-horned, its head bound back
With munja
grass; at its stretched throat the knife
Pressed by a
priest, who murmured, "This, dread gods,
Of many yajnas
cometh as the crown
From Bimbasâra:
take ye joy to see
The spirted
blood, and pleasure in the scent
Of rich flesh
roasting 'mid the fragrant flames;
Let the King's
sins be laid upon this goat,
And let the
fire consume them burning it,
For now I
strike."
But Buddha
softly said,
"Let him
not strike, great King!" and therewith loosed
The victim's
bonds, none staying him, so great
His presence
was. Then, craving leave, he spake
Of life, which
all can take but none can give,
Life, which all
creatures love and strive to keep,
Wonderful, dear
and pleasant unto each,
Even to the
meanest; yea, a boon to all
Where pity is,
for pity makes the world
Soft to the
weak and noble for the strong.
Unto the dumb
lips of his flock he lent
Sad pleading
words, showing how man, who prays
For mercy to
the gods, is merciless,
Being as god to
those; albeit all life
Is linked and
kin, and what we slay have given
Meek tribute of
the milk and wool, and set
Fast trust upon
the hands which murder them.
Also he spake
of what the holy books
Do surely
teach, how that at death some sink
To bird and
beast, and these rise up to man
In wanderings of
the spark which grows purged flame.
So were the
sacrifice new sin, if so
The fated
passage of a soul be stayed.
Nor, spake he,
shall one wash his spirit clean
By blood; nor
gladden gods, being good, with blood;
Nor bribe them,
being evil; nay, nor lay
Upon the brow
of innocent bound beasts
One hair's
weight of that answer all must give
For all things
done amiss or wrongfully,
Alone, each for
himself, reckoning with that
The fixed
arithmic of the universe,
Which meteth
good for good and ill for ill,
Measure for
measure, unto deeds, words, thoughts;
Watchful,
aware, implacable, unmoved;
Making all
futures fruits of all the pasts.
Thus spake he,
breathing words so piteous
With such high
lordliness of ruth and right,
The priests
drew back their garments o'er the hands
Crimsoned with
slaughter, and the King came near,
Standing with
clasped palms reverencing Buddh;
While still our
Lord went on, teaching how fair
This earth were
if all living things be linked
In friendliness
and common use of foods,
Bloodless and
pure; the golden grain, bright fruits,
Sweet herbs
which grow for all, the waters wan,
Sufficient
drinks and meats. Which when these heard,
The might of
gentleness so conquered them,
The priests
themselves scattered their altar-flames
And flung away the
steel of sacrifice;
And through the
land next day passed a decree
Proclaimed by
criers, and in this wise graved
On rock and
column: "Thus the King's will is: --
There hath been
slaughter for the sacrifice
And slaying for
the meat, but henceforth none
Shall spill the
blood of life nor taste of flesh,
Seeing that
knowledge grows, and life is one,
And mercy
cometh to the merciful."
So ran the
edict, and from those days forth
Sweet peace
hath spread between all living kind,
Man and the
beasts which serve him, and the birds,
On all those
banks of Gunga where our Lord
Taught with his
saintly pity and soft speech.
For aye so
piteous was the Master's heart
To all that
breathe this breath of fleeting life,
Yoked in one
fellowship of joys and pains,
That it is written
in the holy books
How, in an
ancient age -- when Buddha wore
A Brahman's
form, dwelling upon the rock
Named Munda, by
the village of Dâlidd --
Drought
withered all the land: the young rice died
Ere it could
hide a quail; in forest glades
A fierce sun sucked
the pools; grasses and herbs
Sickened, and
all the woodland creatures fled
Scattering for
sustenance. At such a time,
Between the hot
walls of a nullah, stretched
On naked
stones, our Lord spied, as he passed,
A starving
tigress. Hunger in her orbs
Glared with
green flame; her dry tongue lolled span
Beyond the
gasping jaws and shrivelled jowl;
Her painted
hide hung wrinkled on her ribs,
As when between
the rafters sinks a thatch
Rotten with
rains; and at the poor lean dugs
Two cubs,
whining with famine, tugged and sucked,
Mumbling those
milkless teats which rendered nought,
While she,
their gaunt dam, licked full motherly
The clamorous
twins, yielding her flank to them
With moaning
throat, and love stronger than want,
Softening the
first of that wild cry wherewith
She laid her
famished muzzle to the sand
And roared a
savage thunder-peal of woe.
Seeing which
bitter strait, and heeding nought
Save the
immense compassion of a Buddh,
Our Lord
bethought, "There is no other way
To help this
murderess of the woods but one.
By sunset these
will die, having no meat:
There is no
living heart will pity her,
Bloody with
ravin, lean for lack of blood.
Lo! if I feed
her, who shall lose but I,
And how can
love lose doing of its kind
Even to the
uttermost?" So saying, Buddh
Silently laid
aside sandals and staff,
His sacred
thread, turban, and cloth, and came
Forth from
behind the milk-bush on the sand,
Saying,
"Ho! mother, here is meat for thee!"
Whereat the
perishing beast yelped hoarse and shrill,
Sprang from her
cubs, and, hurling to the earth
That willing
victim, had her feast of him
With all the
crooked daggers of her claws
Rending his
flesh, and all her yellow fangs
Bathed in his
blood: the great cat's burning breath
Mixed with the
last sigh of such fearless love.
Thus large the
Master's heart was long ago,
Not only now,
when with his gracious ruth
He bade cease
cruel worship of the Gods.
And much King
Bimbasâra prayed our Lord --
Learning his
royal birth and holy search --
To tarry in
that city, saying oft,
"Thy
princely state may not abide such fasts;
Thy hands were
made for sceptres, not for alms.
Sojourn with
me, who have no son to rule,
And teach my
kingdom wisdom, till I die,
Lodged in my
palace with a beauteous bride."
But ever spake
Siddârtha, of set mind,
"These
things I had, most noble King, and left,
Seeking the
Truth; which still I seek, and shall;
Not to be
stayed though Sâkra's Palace ope'd
Its doors of
pearl and Devîs wooed me in.
I go to build
the Kingdom of the Law,
Journeying to
Gaya and the forest shades,
Where, as I
think, the light will come to me;
For nowise here
among the Rishis comes
That light, nor
from the Shasters, nor from fasts
Borne till the
body faints, starved by the soul.
Yet there is
light to reach and truth to win;
And surely, O true
Friend, if I attain
I will return
and quit thy love."
Thereat
Thrice round
the Prince King Bimbasâra paced,
Reverently
bending to the Master's feet,
And bade him
speed. So passed our Lord away
Towards
Uravilva, not yet comforted,
And wan of
face, and weak with six years' quest.
But they upon
the hill and in the grove --
Alâra, Udra,
and the ascetics five --
Had stayed him,
saying all was written clear
In holy
Shasters, and that none might win
Higher than
Sruti and than Smriti -- nay,
Not the chief
saints! -- for how should mortal man
Be wiser than
the Jnana-Kând, which tells
How Brahm is
bodiless and actionless,
Passionless,
calm, unqualified, unchanged,
Pure life, pure
thought, pure joy? Or how should man
Be better than
the Karmma-Kând, which shows
How he may
strip passion and action off,
Break from the
bond of self, and so, unsphered,
Be God, and
melt into the vast divine,
Flying from
false to true, from wars of sense
To peace
eternal, where the silence lives?
But the Prince
heard them, not yet comforted.
Book the Sixth.
Thou who
wouldst see where dawned the light at last,
North-westwards
from the "Thousand Gardens" go
By Gunga's
valley till thy steps be set
On the green
hills where those twin streamlets spring
Nilâjan and
Mohâna; follow them,
Winding beneath
broad-leaved mahúa-trees,
'Mid thickets
of the sansár and the bir,
Till on the
plain the shining sisters meet
In Phalgú's
bed, flowing by rocky banks
To Gâya and the
red Barabar hills.
Hard by that
river spreads a thorny waste,
Uruwelaya named
in ancient days,
With sandhills
broken; on its verge a wood
Waves sea-green
plumes and tassels 'thwart the sky,
With
undergrowth wherethrough a still flood steals,
Dappled with
lotus-blossoms, blue and white,
And peopled
with quick fish and tortoises.
Near it the
village of Senáni reared
Its roofs of
grass, nestled amid the palms,
Peaceful with
simple folk and pastoral toils.
There in the
sylvan solitudes once more
Lord Buddha
lived, musing the woes of men,
The ways of
fate, the doctrines of the books,
The lessons of
the creatures of the brake,
The secrets of
the silence whence all come,
The secrets of
the gloom whereto all go,
The life which
lies between, like that arch flung
From cloud to
cloud across the sky, which hath
Mists for its masonry
and vapory piers,
Melting to void
again which was so fair
With sapphire
hues, garnet, and chrysoprase.
Moon after moon
our Lord sate in the wood,
So meditating
these that he forgot
Ofttimes the
hour of food, rising from thoughts
Prolonged
beyond the sunrise and the noon
To see his bowl
unfilled, and eat perforce
Of wild fruit
fallen from the boughs o'erhead,
Shaken to earth
by chattering ape or plucked
By purple
parokeet. Therefore his grace
Faded; his
body, worn by stress of soul,
Lost day by day
the marks, thirty and two,
Which testify
the Buddha. Scarce that leaf,
Fluttering so
dry and withered to his feet
From off the
sâl-branch, bore less likeliness
Of spring's
soft greenery than he of him
Who was the
princely flower of all his land.
And once at
such a time the o'erwrought Prince
Fell to the
earth in deadly swoon, all spent,
Even as one
slain, who hath no longer breath
Nor any stir of
blood; so wan he was,
So motionless.
But there came by that way
A shepherd-boy,
who saw Siddârtha lie
With lids fast-closed,
and lines of nameless pain
Fixed on his
lips -- the fiery noonday sun
Beating upon
his head -- who, plucking boughs
From wild
rose-apple trees, knitted them thick
Into a bower to
shade the sacred face.
Also he poured
upon the Master's lips
Drops of warm
milk, pressed from his she-goat's bag,
Lest, being of
low caste, he do wrong to one
So high and
holy seeming. But the books
Tell how the
jambu-branches, planted thus,
Shot with quick
life in wealth of leaf and flower
And glowing
fruitage interlaced and close,
So that the
bower grew like a tent of silk
Pitched for a
king at hunting, decked with studs
Of silver-work
and bosses of red gold.
And the boy
worshipped, deeming him some God;
But our Lord
gaining breath, arose and asked
Milk in the
shepherd's lota. "Ah, my Lord,
I cannot give
thee," quoth the lad; "thou seest
I am a Sudra,
and my touch defiles!"
Then the
World-honored spake: "Pity and need
Make all flesh
kin. There is no caste in blood,
Which runneth
of one hue, nor caste in tears,
Which trickle
salt with all; neither comes man
To birth with
tilka-mark stamped on the brow,
Nor sacred
thread on neck. Who doth right deeds
Is twice-born,
and who doeth ill deeds vile.
Give me to
drink, my brother; when I come
Unto my quest
it shall be good for thee."
Thereat the
peasant's heart was glad, and gave.
And on another
day there passed that road
A band of
tinselled girls, the nautch-dancers
Of Indra's
temple in the town, with those
Who made their
music -- one that beat a drum
Set round with peacock-feathers,
one that blew
The piping
bánsuli, and one that twitched
A three-string
sitar. Lightly tripped they down
From ledge to
ledge and through the chequered paths
To some gay
festival, the silver bells
Chiming soft
peals about the small brown feet,
Armlets and
wrist-rings tattling answer shrill;
While he that
bore the sitar thrummed and twanged
His threads of
brass, and she beside him sang --
"Fair goes the dancing when the sitar's
tuned;
Tune us the sitar neither low nor high,
And we will dance away the hearts of men.
The string overstretched breaks, and the
music flies
The string o'erslack is dumb, and music dies;
Tune us the sitar neither low nor high."
So sang the
nautch-girl to the pipe and wires,
Fluttering like
some vain, painted butterfly
From glade to
glade along the forest path,
Nor dreamed her
light words echoed on the ear
Of him, that
holy man, who sate so rapt
Under the
fig-tree by the path. But Buddh
Lifted his
great brow as the wantons passed,
And spake:
"The foolish ofttimes teach the wise
I strain too
much this string of life, belike,
Meaning to make
such music as shall save.
Mine eyes are
dim now that they see the truth,
My strength is
waned now that my need is most;
Would that I
had such help as man must have,
For I shall
die, whose life was all men's hope."
Now, by that
river dwelt a landholder
Pious and rich,
master of many herds,
A goodly chief,
the friend of all the poor;
And from his
house the village drew its name --
"Senáni."
Pleasant and in peace he lived,
Having for wife
Sujâta, loveliest
Of all the
dark-eyed daughters of the plain;
Gentle and
true, simple and kind was she,
Noble of mien,
with gracious speech to all
And gladsome
looks -- a pearl of womanhood --
Passing calm
years of household happiness
Beside her lord
in that still Indian home,
Save that no
male child blessed their wedded love.
Wherefore with
many prayers she had besought
Lukshmi; and
many nights at full-moon gone
Round the great
Lingam, nine times nine, with gifts
Of rice and
jasmine wreaths and sandal oil,
Praying a boy;
also Sujâta vowed --
If this should
be -- an offering of food
Unto the
Wood-God, plenteous, delicate,
Set in a bowl
of gold under his tree,
Such as the
lips of Devs may taste and take.
And this had
been: for there was born to her
A beauteous
boy, now three months old, who lay
Between
Sujâta's breasts, while she did pace
With grateful
foot-steps to the Wood-God's shrine,
One arm
clasping her crimson sari close
To wrap the
babe, that jewel of her joys,
The other lifted
high in comely curve
To steady on
her head the bowl and dish
Which held the
dainty victuals for the God.
But Radha, sent
before to sweep the ground
And tie the
scarlet threads around the tree,
Came eager,
crying, "Ah, dear Mistress! look!
There is the
Wood-God sitting in his place,
Revealed, with
folded hands upon his knees.
See how the
light shines round about his brow!
How mild and
great he seems, with heavenly eyes!
Good fortune is
it thus to meet the gods."
So, -- thinking
him divine, -- Sujâta drew
Tremblingly
nigh, and kissed the earth and said,
With sweet face
bent "Would that the Holy One
Inhabiting this
grove, Giver of good,
Merciful unto
me his handmaiden,
Vouchsafing now
his presence, might accept
These our poor
gifts of snowy curds, fresh-made,
With milk as
white as new-carved ivory!"
Therewith into
the golden bowl she poured
The curds and
milk, and on the hands of Buddh
Dropped attar
from a crystal flask -- distilled
Out of the
hearts of roses: and he ate,
Speaking no
word, while the glad mother stood
In reverence
apart. But of that meal
So wondrous was
the virtue that our Lord
Felt strength
and life return as though the nights
Of watching and
the days of fast had passed
In dream, as
though the spirit with the flesh
Shared that fine
meat and plumed its wings anew,
Like some
delighted bird at sudden streams
Weary with
flight o'er endless wastes of sand,
Which laves the
desert dust from neck and crest.
And more Sujâta
worshipped, seeing our Lord
Grow fairer and
his countenance more bright:
"Art thou
indeed the God?" she lowly asked,
And hath my
gift found favor?
But Buddh said,
"What is
it thou dost bring me?"
"Holy
one!"
Answered
Sujâta, "from our droves I took
Milk of a
hundred mothers, newly-calved,
And with that
milk I fed fifty white cows,
And with their
milk twenty-and-five, and then
With theirs
twelve more, and yet again with theirs
The six noblest
and best of all our herds.
That yield I
boiled with sandal and fine spice
In silver
lotas, adding rice, well grown
From chosen seed,
set in new-broken ground,
So picked that
every grain was like a pearl.
This did I of
true heart, because I vowed
Under thy tree,
if I should bear a boy
I would make
offering for my joy, and now
I have my son
and all my life is bliss!"
Softly our Lord
drew down the crimson fold,
And, laying on
the little head those hands
Which help the
worlds, he said, "Long be thy bliss
And lightly
fall on him the load of life!
For thou hast
holpen me who am no God,
But one, thy
Brother; heretofore a Prince
And now a wanderer,
seeking night and day
These six hard
years that light which somewhere shines
To lighten all
men's darkness, if they knew!
And I shall
find the light; yea, now it dawned
Glorious and
helpful, when my weak flesh failed
Which this pure
food, fair Sister, hath restored,
Drawn manifold
through lives to quicken life
As life itself
passes by many births
To happier
heights and purging off of sins.
Yet dost thou
truly find it sweet enough
Only to live?
Can life and love suffice?"
Answered
Sujâta, "Worshipful! my heart
Is little, and
a little rain will fill
The lily's cup
which hardly moists the field.
It is enough
for me to feel life's sun
Shine in my
Lord's grace and my baby's smile,
Making the
loving summer of our home.
Pleasant my
days pass filled with household cares
From sunrise
when I wake to praise the gods,
And give forth
grain, and trim the tulsi-plant,
And set my
handmaids to their tasks, till noon,
When my Lord
lays his head upon my lap
Lulled by soft
songs and wavings of the fan;
And so to
supper-time at quiet eve,
When by his
side I stand and serve the cakes.
Then the stars
light their silver lamps for sleep,
After the
temple and the talk with friends.
How should I
not be happy, blest so much,
And bearing him
this boy whose tiny hand
Shall lead his
soul to Swerga, if it need?
For holy books
teach when a man shall plant
Trees for the
travellers' shade, and dig a well
For the folks'
comfort, and beget a son,
It shall be
good for such after their death;
And what the
books say that I humbly take,
Being not wiser
than those great of old
Who spake with
gods, and knew the hymns and charms,
And all the
ways of virtue and of peace.
Also I think
that good must come of good
And ill of evil
-- surely -- unto all --
In every place
and time -- seeing sweet fruit
Groweth from
wholesome roots, and bitter things
From
poison-stocks; yea, seeing too, how spite
Breeds hate,
and kindness friends, and patience peace
Even while we
live; and when 'tis willed we die
Shall there not
be as good a 'Then' as 'Now'?
Haply much
better! since one grain of rice
Shoots a green
feather gemmed with fifty pearls,
And all the
starry champak's white and gold
Lurks in those
little, naked, grey spring-buds.
Ah, Sir! I know
there might be woes to bear
Would lay fond
Patience with her face in dust;
If this my babe
pass first I think my heart
Would break --
almost I hope my heart would break!
That I might
clasp him dead and wait my Lord --
In whatsoever
world holds faithful wives --
Duteous,
attending till his hour should come.
But if Death
called Senáni, I should mount
The pile and
lay that dear head in my lap,
My daily way,
rejoicing when the torch
Lit the quick
flame and rolled the choking smoke.
For it is
written if an Indian wife
Die so, her
love shall give her husband's soul
For every hair
upon her head a crore
Of years in
Swerga. Therefore fear I not.
And therefore,
Holy Sir! my life is glad,
Nowise
forgetting yet those other lives
Painful and
poor, wicked and miserable,
Whereon the
gods grant pity! but for me,
What good I see
humbly I seek to do,
And live
obedient to the law, in trust
That what will
come, and must come, shall come well."
Then spake our
Lord, "Thou teachest them who teach,
Wiser than
wisdom in thy simple lore.
Be thou content
to know not, knowing thus
Thy way of
right and duty: grow, thou flower!
With thy sweet
kind in peaceful shade -- the light
Of Truth's high
noon is not for tender leaves
Which must
spread broad in other suns and lift
In later lives
a crowned head to the sky.
Thou who hast
worshipped me, I worship thee
Excellent
heart! learnéd unknowingly.
As the dove is
which flieth home by love.
In thee is seen
why there is hope for man
And where we
hold the wheel of life at will.
Peace go with
thee, and comfort all thy days
As thou accomplishest,
may I achieve!
He whom thou
thoughtest God bids thee wish this."
"May'st
thou achieve," she said, with earnest eyes
Bent on her
babe, who reached its tender hands
To Buddh --
knowing, belike, as children know,
More than we
deem, and reverencing our Lord;
But he arose --
made strong with that pure meat --
And bent his
footsteps where a great Tree grew,
The Bôdhi-tree
(thenceforward in all years
Never to fade,
and ever to be kept
In homage of
the world), beneath whose leaves
It was ordained
that Truth should come to Buddh:
Which now the
Master knew; wherefore he went
With measured
pace, steadfast, majestical,
Unto the Tree
of Wisdom. Oh, ye Worlds!
Rejoice! our
Lord wended unto the Tree!
Whom -- as he
passed into its ample shade,
Cloistered with
columned dropping stems, and roofed
With vaults of
glistening green -- the conscious earth
Worshipped with
waving grass and sudden flush
Of flowers
about his feet. The forest-boughs
Bent down to
shade him; from the river sighed
Cool wafts of
wind laden with lotus-scents
Breathed by the
water-gods. Large wondering eyes
Of woodland
creatures -- panther, boar, and deer --
At peace that
eve, gazed on his face benign
From cave and
thicket. From its cold cleft wound
The mottled
deadly snake, dancing its hood
In honor of our
Lord; bright butterflies
Fluttered their
vans, azure and green and gold,
To be his
fan-bearers; the fierce kite dropped
Its prey and
screamed; the striped palm-squirrel raced
From stem to
stem to see; the weaver-bird
Chirped from
her swinging nest; the lizard ran;
The koďl sang
her hymn; the doves flocked round;
Even the
creeping things were 'ware and glad.
Voices of earth
and air joined in one song,
Which unto ears
that hear said, "Lord and Friend
Lover and
Saviour! Thou who hast subdued
Angers and
prides, desires and fears and doubts,
Thou that for
each and all hast given thyself,
Pass to the
Tree! The sad world blesseth thee
Who art the
Buddh that shall assuage her woes.
Pass, Hailed
and Honored! strive thy last for us,
King and high
Conqueror! thine hour is come;
This is the
Night the ages waited for!"
Then fell the
night even as our Master sate
Under that
Tree. But he who is the Prince
Of Darkness,
Mara -- knowing this was Buddh
Who should
deliver men, and now the hour
When he should
find the Truth and save the worlds --
Gave unto all
his evil powers command.
Wherefore there
trooped from every deepest pit
The fiends who
war with Wisdom and the Light,
Arati, Trishna,
Raga, and their crew
Of passions,
horrors, ignorances, lusts,
The brood of
gloom and dread; all hating Buddh,
Seeking to
shake his mind; nor knoweth one,
Not even the
wisest, how those fiends of Hell
Battled that
night to keep the Truth from Buddh:
Sometimes with
terrors of the tempest, blasts
Of demon-armies
clouding all the wind,
With thunder,
and with blinding lightning flung
In jagged
javelins of purple wrath
From splitting
skies; sometimes with wiles and words
Fair-sounding,
'mid hushed leaves and softened airs
From shapes of
witching beauty; wanton songs,
Whispers of
love; sometimes with royal allures
Of proffered
rule; sometimes with mocking doubts.
Making truth
vain. But whether these befell
Without and
visible, or whether Buddh
Strove with
fell spirits in his inmost heart,
Judge ye: -- I
write what ancient books have writ.
The ten chief
Sins came -- Mara's mighty ones,
Angels of evil
-- Attavâda first,
The Sin of
Self, who in the Universe
As in a mirror
sees her fond face shown,
And crying
"I" would have the world say "I,"
And all things
perish so if she endure.
"If thou be'st
Buddh," she said, "let others grope
Lightless; it
is enough that thou art Thou
Changelessly;
rise and take the bliss of gods
Who change not,
heed not, strive not." But Buddh spake
"The right
in thee is base, the wrong a curse;
Cheat such as love
themselves." Then came wan Doubt
He that denies
-- the mocking Sin -- and this
Hissed in the
Master's ear, "All things are shows,
And vain the
knowledge of their vanity;
Thou dost but
chase the shadow of thyself;
Rise and go
hence, there is no better way
Than patient
scorn, nor any help for man,
Nor any staying
of his whirling wheel."
But quoth our
Lord, "Thou hast no part with me,
False
Visikitcha, subtlest of man's foes."
And third came
she who gives dark creeds their power,
Sîlabbat-paramâsa,
sorceress,
Draped fair in
many lands as lowly Faith,
But ever
juggling souls with rites and prayers;
The keeper of
those keys which lock up Hells
And open
Heavens. "Wilt thou dare," she said,
Put by our
sacred books, dethrone our gods,
Unpeople all
the temples, shaking down
That law which
feeds the priests and props the realms?
But Buddha
answered, "What thou bidd'st me keep
Is form which
passes, but the free Truth stands;
Get thee unto
thy darkness." Next there drew
Gallantly nigh
a braver Tempter, he,
Kama, the King
of passions, who hath sway
Over the gods
themselves, Lord of all loves,
Ruler of
Pleasure's realm. Laughing he came
Unto the Tree,
bearing his bow of gold
Wreathed with
red blooms, and arrows of desire
Pointed with
five-tongued delicate flame which stings
The heart it
smites sharper than poisoned barb:
And round him
came into that lonely place
Bands of bright
shapes with heavenly eyes and lips
Singing in
lovely words the praise of Love
To music of
invisible sweet chords,
So witching, that
it seemed the night stood still
To hear them,
and the listening stars and moon
Paused in their
orbits while these hymned to Buddh
Of lost
delights, and how a mortal man
Findeth nought
dearer in the three wide worlds
Than are the
yielded loving fragrant breasts
Of Beauty and
the rosy breast-blossoms,
Love's rubies;
nay, and toucheth nought more high
Than is that
dulcet harmony of form
Seen in the
fines and charms of loveliness
Unspeakable,
yet speaking, soul to soul,
Owned by the
bounding blood, worshipped by will
Which leaps to
seize it, knowing this is best,
This the true
heaven where mortals are like gods,
Makers and
Masters, this the gift of gifts
Ever renewed
and worth a thousand woes.
For who hath
grieved when soft arms shut him safe,
And all life melted
to a happy sigh,
And all the
world was given in one warm kiss?
So sang they
with soft float of beckoning hands,
Eyes lighted
with love-flames, alluring smiles;
In dainty dance
their supple sides and limbs
Revealing and
concealing like burst buds
Which tell
their color, but hide yet their hearts.
Never so
matchless grace delighted eye
As troop by
troop these midnight-dancers swept
Nearer the
Tree, each daintier than the last,
Murmuring
"O great Siddârtha! I am thine,
Taste of my
mouth and see if youth is sweet!"
Also, when
nothing moved our Master's mind,
Lo! Kama waved
his magic bow, and lo!
The band of
dancers opened, and a shape
Fairest and
stateliest of the throng came forth
Wearing the
guise of sweet Yasôdhara.
Tender the
passion of those dark eyes seemed
Brimming with
tears; yearning those outspread arms
Opened towards
him; musical that moan
Wherewith the
beauteous shadow named his name,
Sighing
"My Prince! I die for lack of thee
What heaven
hast thou found like that we knew
By bright
Rohini in the Pleasure-house,
Where all these
weary years I weep for thee?
Return,
Siddârtha! ah! return. But touch
My lips again,
but let me to thy breast
Once, and these
fruitless dreams will end! Ah, look!
Am I not she
thou lovedst?" But Buddh said,
"For that
sweet sake of her thou playest thus
Fair and false
Shadow! is thy playing vain;
I curse thee
not who wear'st a form so dear,
Yet as thou art
so are all earthly shows.
Melt to thy
void again!" Thereat a cry
Thrilled
through the grove, and all that comely rout
Faded with
flickering wafts of flame, and trail
Of vaporous
robes.
Next under
darkening skies
And noise of
rising storm came fiercer Sins,
The rearmost of
the Ten; Patigha -- Hate --
With serpents
coiled about her waist, which suck
Poisonous milk from
both her hanging dugs,
And with her
curses mix their angry hiss.
Little wrought
she upon that Holy One
Who with his
calm eyes dumbed her bitter lips
And made her
black snakes writhe to hide their fangs.
Then followed
Ruparaga -- Lust of days --
That sensual
Sin which out of greed for life
Forgets to
live; and next him Lust of Fame,
Nobler
Aruparaga, she whose spell
Beguiles the
wise, mother of daring deeds,
Battles and
toils. And haughty Mano came,
The Fiend of
Pride; and smooth Self-Righteousness,
Uddhachcha; and
-- with many a hideous band
Of vile and
formless things, which crept and flapped
Toad-like and
bat-like -- Ignorance, the Dam
Of Fear and
Wrong, Avidya, hideous hag,
Whose footsteps
left the midnight darker, while
The rooted
mountains shook, the wild winds howled,
The broken
clouds shed from their caverns streams
Of
levin-lighted rain; stars shot from heaven,
The solid earth
shuddered as if one laid
Flame to her
gaping wounds; the torn black air
Was full of
whistling wings, of screams and yells,
Of evil faces
peering, of vast fronts
Terrible and
majestic, Lords of Hell
Who from a
thousand Limbos led their troops
To tempt the
Master.
But Buddh
heeded not,
Sitting serene,
with perfect virtue walled
As is a
stronghold by its gates and ramps;
Also the Sacred
Tree -- the Bôdhi-tree --
Amid that
tumult stirred not, but each leaf
Glistened as
still as when on moonlit eves
No zephyr
spills the glittering gems of dew;
For all this
clamor raged outside the shade
Spread by those
cloistered stems:
In the third
watch,
The earth being
still, the hellish legions fled,
A soft air
breathing from the sinking moon,
Our Lord
attained Sammâ-sambuddh; he saw
By light which
shines beyond our mortal ken
The line of all
his lives in all the worlds,
Far back and
farther back and farthest yet,
Five hundred
lives and fifty. Even as one,
At rest upon a
mountain-summit, marks
His path wind
up by precipice and crag,
Past thick-set
woods shrunk to a patch; through bogs,
Glittering
false-green; down hollows where he toiled
Breathless; on
dizzy ridges where his feet
Had well-nigh
slipped; beyond the sunny lawns,
The cataract
and the cavern and the pool,
Backward to
those dim flats wherefrom he sprang
To reach the
blue; thus Buddha did behold
Life's upward steps
long-linked, from levels low
Where breath is
base, to higher slopes and higher
Whereon the ten
great Virtues wait to lead
The climber
skyward. Also, Buddha saw
How new life
reaps what the old life did sow:
How where its
march breaks off its march begins;
Holding the
gain and answering for the loss;
And how in each
life good begets more good,
Evil fresh
evil; Death but casting up
Debit or
credit, whereupon th' account
In merits or
demerits stamps itself
By sure
arithmic -- where no tittle drops --
Certain and
just, on some new-springing life
Wherein are
packed and scored past thoughts and deeds,
Strivings and
triumphs, memories and marks
Of lives
foregone:
And in the
middle watch
Our Lord
attained Abhidjna -- insight vast
Ranging beyond
this sphere to spheres unnamed,
System on
system, countless worlds and suns
Moving in
splendid measures, band by band
Linked in
division, one yet separate,
The silver
islands of a sapphire sea
Shoreless
unfathomed, undiminished, stirred
With waves
which roll in restless tides of change.
He saw those
Lords of Light who hold their worlds
By bonds
invisible, how they themselves
Circle obedient
round mightier orbs
Which serve
profounder splendors, star to star
Flashing the
ceaseless radiance of life
From centres ever
shifting unto cirques
Knowing no
uttermost. These he beheld
With unsealed
vision, and of all those worlds,
Cycle on
epicycle, all their tale
Of Kalpas,
Mahakalpas -- terms of time
Which no man
grasps, yea, though he knew to count
The drops in
Gunga from her springs to the sea,
Measureless
unto speech -- whereby these wax
And wane;
whereby each of this heavenly host
Fulfils its
shining life and darkling dies.
Sakwal by
Sakwal, depths and heights he passed
Transported
through the blue infinitudes,
Marking --
behind all modes, above all spheres,
Beyond the
burning impulse of each orb --
That fixed
decree at silent work which wills
Evolve the dark
to light, the dead to life,
To fulness
void, to form the yet unformed,
Good unto
better, better unto best,
By wordless
edict; having none to bid,
None to forbid;
for this is past all gods
Immutable,
unspeakable, supreme,
A Power which
builds, unbuilds, and builds again,
Ruling all
things accordant to the rule
Of virtue,
which is beauty, truth, and use.
So that all things
do well which serve the Power,
And ill which
hinder; nay, the worm does well
Obedient to its
kind; the hawk does well
Which carries
bleeding quarries to its young;
The dewdrop and
the star shine sisterly,
Globing
together in the common work;
And man who
lives to die, dies to live well
So if he guide
his ways by blamelessness
And earnest
will to hinder not but help
All things both
great and small which suffer life.
These did our
Lord see in the middle watch.
But when the
fourth watch came the secret came
Of Sorrow,
which with evil mars the law,
As damp and
dross hold back the goldsmith's fire.
Then was the
Dukha-satya opened him
First of the
"Noble Truths;" how Sorrow is
Shadow to life,
moving where life doth move;
Not to be laid
aside until one lays
Living aside,
with all its changing states,
Birth, growth,
decay, love, hatred, pleasure, pain
Being and
doing. How that none strips off
These sad
delights and pleasant griefs who lacks
Knowledge to
know them snares; but he who knows
Avidya --
Delusion -- sets those snares,
Loves life no
longer but ensues escape.
The eyes of
such a one are wide, he sees
Delusion breeds
Sankhâra, Tendency
Perverse:
Tendency Energy -- Vidnnân --
Whereby comes
Namarűpa, local form
And name and
bodiment, bringing the man
With senses
naked to the sensible,
A helpless
mirror of all shows which pass
Across his
heart; and so Vedanâ grows --
'Sense-life' --
false in its gladness, fell in sadness,
But sad or
glad, the Mother of Desire,
Trishna, that thirst
which makes the living drink
Deeper and
deeper of the false salt waves
Whereon they
float, pleasures, ambitions, wealth,
Praise, fame,
or domination, conquest, love;
Rich meats and
robes, and fair abodes, and pride
Of ancient
lines, and lust of days, and strife
To live, and
sins that flow from strife, some sweet,
Some bitter.
Thus Life's thirst quenches itself
With draughts
which double thirst, but who is wise
Tears from his
soul this Trishna, feeds his sense
No longer on
false shows, files his firm mind
To seek not,
strive not, wrong not; bearing meek
All ills which
flow from foregone wrongfulness,
And so
constraining passions that they die
Famished; till
all the sum of ended life --
The Karma --
all that total of a soul
Which is the
things it did, the thoughts it had,
The 'Self' it
wove -- with woof of viewless time,
Crossed on the
warp invisible of acts --
The outcome of
him on the Universe,
Grows pure and
sinless; either never more
Needing to find
a body and a place,
Or so informing
what fresh frame it takes
In new
existence that the new toils prove
Lighter and
lighter not to be at all,
Thus
"finishing the Path;" free from Earth's cheats;
Broken from
ties -- from Upâdânas -- saved
From whirling
on the wheel; aroused and sane
As is a man wakened
from hateful dreams.
Until --
greater than Kings, than Gods more glad! --
The aching
craze to live ends, and life glides --
Lifeless -- to
nameless quiet, nameless joy,
Blessed NIRVANA
-- sinless, stirless rest --
That change
which never changes!
Lo! the Dawn
Sprang with
Buddh's Victory! lo! in the East
Flamed the
first fires of beauteous day, poured forth
Through
fleeting folds of Night's black drapery.
High in the
widening blue the herald-star
Faded to paler
silver as there shot
Brighter and
brightest bars of rosy gleam
Across the
grey. Far off the shadowy hills
Saw the great
Sun, before the world was 'ware,
And donned
their crowns of crimson; flower by flower
Felt the warm
breath of Mom and 'gan unfold
Their tender
lids. Over the spangled grass
Swept the swift
footsteps of the lovely Light,
Turning the
tears of Night to joyous gems,
Decking the
earth with radiance 'broidering.
The sinking
storm-clouds with a golden fringe,
Gilding the
feathers of the palms, which waved
Glad
salutation; darting beams of gold
Into the
glades; touching with magic wand
The stream to
rippled ruby; in the brake
Finding the
mild eyes of the antelopes
And saying
"it is day;" in nested sleep
Touching the
small heads under many a wing
And whispering,
"Children, praise the light of day!"
Whereat there
piped anthems of all the birds,
The Köil's
fluted song, the Bulbul's hymn,
The
"morning, morning" of the painted thrush,
The twitter of
the sunbirds starting forth
To find the
honey ere the bees be out
The grey crow's
caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes
Of the green
hammersmith, the myna's chirp,
The never
finished love-talk of the doves:
Yea! and so
holy was the influence
Of that high
Dawn which came with victory
That, far and
near, in homes of men there spread
An unknown
peace. The slayer hid his knife;
The robber laid
his plunder back; the shroff
Counted full
tale of coins; all evil hearts
Grew gentle,
kind hearts gentler, as the balm
Of that
divinest Daybreak lightened Earth.
Kings at fierce
war called truce; the sick men leaped
Laughing from
beds of pain; the dying smiled
As though they
knew that happy Morn was sprung
From fountains
farther than the utmost East;
And o'er the
heart of sad Yasôdhara,
Sitting forlorn
at Prince Siddârtha's bed,
Came sudden bliss,
as if love should not fail
Nor such vast
sorrow miss to end in joy.
So glad the
World was -- though it wist not why
That over
desolate wastes went swooning songs
Of mirth, the
voice of bodiless Prets and Bhuts
Foreseeing
Buddh; and Devas in the air
Cried "It
is finished, finished!" and the priests
Stood with the
wondering people in the streets
Watching those
golden splendors flood the sky
And saying
"There hath happed some mighty thing."
Also in Ran and
Jungle grew that day
Friendship
amongst the creatures; spotted deer
Browsed
fearless where the tigress fed her cubs,
And cheetahs
lapped the pool beside the bucks;
Under the
eagle's rock the brown hares scoured
While his
fierce beak but preened an idle wing;
The snake
sunned all his jewels in the beam
With deadly
fangs in sheath; the shrike let pass
The
nestling-finch; the emerald halcyons
Sate dreaming
while the fishes played beneath,
Nor hawked the
merops, though the butterflies --
Crimson and
blue and amber -- flitted thick
Around his
perch; the Spirit of our Lord
Lay potent upon
man and bird and beast,
Even while he
mused under that Bôdhi-tree,
Glorified with
the Conquest gained for all
And lightened
by a Light greater than Day's.
Then he arose
-- radiant, rejoicing, strong --
Beneath the
Tree, and lifting high his voice
Spake this, in
hearing of all Times and Worlds: --
Anékajátisangsârang
Sandhdwissang anibhisang
Gahakárakangawesanto
Dukkhájátipunappunang.
Gahakárakadithósi;
Punagehang nakáhasi;
Sabhátephásukhábhaggá,
Gahakútangwisang khitang;
Wisangkháragatang chittang;
Janhánangkhayamajhagá.
MANY A HOUSE OF
LIFE
HATH HELD ME --
SEEKING EVER HIM WHO WROUGHT
THESE PRISONS
OF THE SENSES, SORROW-FRAUGHT;
SORE WAS MY
CEASELESS STRife!
BUT NOW,
THOU BUILDER OF
THIS TABERNACLE -- THOU!
I KNOW THEE!
NEVER SHALT THOU BUILD AGAIN
THESE WALLS OF
PAIN,
NOR RAISE THE
ROOF-TREE OF DECEITS, NOR LAY
FRESH RAFTERS
ON THE CLAY;
BROKEN THY
HOUSE IS, AND THE RIDGE-POLE SPLIT!
DELUSION
FASHIONED IT!
SAFE PASS I
THENCE -- DELIVERANCE TO OBTAIN.
Book the
Seventh.
Sorrowful dwelt
the King Suddhôdana
All those long
years among the Sâkya Lords
Lacking the
speech and presence of his Son;
Sorrowful sate
the sweet Yasôdhara
All those long
years, knowing no joy of life,
Widowed of him her
living Liege and Prince
And ever, on
the news of some recluse
Seen far away
by pasturing camel-men
Or traders
threading devious paths for gain,
Messengers from
the King had gone and come
Bringing
account of many a holy sage
Lonely and lost
to home; but nought of him
The crown of
white Kapilavastu's line,
The glory of
her monarch and his hope,
The heart's
content of sweet Yasôdhara,
Far-wandered
now, forgetful, changed, or dead.
But on a day in
the Wasanta-time,
When silver
sprays swing on the mango-trees
And all the
earth is clad with garb of spring,
The Princess
sate by that bright garden-stream
Whose gliding
glass, bordered with lotus-cups,
Mirrored so
often in the bliss gone by
Their clinging
hands and meeting lips. Her lids
Were wan with
tears, her tender cheeks had thinned
Her lips'
delicious curves were drawn with grief;
The lustrous
glory of her hair was hid --
Close-bound as
widows use; no ornament
She wore, nor
any jewel clasped the cloth --
Coarse, and of
mourning-white -- crossed on her breast.
Slow moved and
painfully those small fine feet
Which had the
roe's gait and the rose-leaf's fall
In old years at
the loving voice of him.
Her eyes, those
lamps of love, -- which were as if
Sunlight should
shine from out the deepest dark,
Illumining Night's
peace with Daytime's glow
Unlighted now,
and roving aimlessly,
Scarce marked
the clustering signs of coming Spring
So the silk
lashes drooped over their orbs.
In one hand was
a girdle thick with pearls,
Siddârtha's --
treasured since that night he fled --
(Ah, bitter
Night! mother of weeping days
When was fond
Love so pitiless to love
Save that this
scorned to limit love by life?)
The other led
her little son, a boy
Divinely fair,
the pledge Siddârtha left --
Named Rahula --
now seven years old, who tripped
Gladsome beside
his mother, light of heart
To see the
spring-blooms burgeon o'er the world.
So while they
lingered by the lotus-pools
And, lightly
laughing, Rahula flung rice
To feed the
blue and purple fish; and she
With sad eyes
watched the swiftly-flying cranes,
Sighing,
"Oh! creatures of the wandering wing,
If I ye shall
light where my dear Lord is hid,
Say that
Yasôdhara lives nigh to death
For one word of
his mouth, one touch of him!"
So, as they
played and sighed -- mother and child --
Came some among
the damsels of the Court
Saying,
"Great Princess! there have entered in
At the south
gate merchants of Hastinpűr
Tripusha called
and Bhalluk, men of worth,
Long travelled
from the loud sea's edge, who bring
Marvellous lovely
webs pictured with gold,
Waved blades of
gilded steel, wrought bowls in brass,
Cut ivories,
spice, simples, and unknown birds,
Treasures of
far-off peoples; but they bring
That which doth
beggar these, for He is seen
Thy Lord, --
our Lord, -- the hope of all the land
Siddârtha! they
have seen him face to face,
Yea, and have
worshipped him with knees and brows,
And offered
offerings; for he is become
All which was
shown, a teacher of the wise,
World-honored,
holy, wonderful; a Buddh
Who doth
deliver men and save all flesh
By sweetest
speech and pity vast as Heaven:
And, lo! he
journeyeth hither these do say."
Then -- while
the glad blood bounded in her veins
As Gunga leaps
when first the mountain snows
Melt at her
springs -- uprose Yasôdhara
And clapped her
palms, and laughed, with brimming tears
Beading her
lashes. "Oh! call quick," she cried,
"These
merchants to my purdah, for mine ears
Thirst like
parched throats to drink their blessed news.
Go bring them
in, -- but if their tale be true,
Say I will fill
their girdles with much gold,
With gems that
Kings shall envy: come ye too,
My girls, for
ye shall have guerdon of this
If there be
gifts to speak my grateful heart."
So went those
merchants to the Pleasure-House,
Full softly pacing
through its golden ways
With naked
feet, amid the peering maids,
Much wondering
at the glories of the Court.
Whom, when they
came without the purdah's folds,
A voice, tender
and eager, filled and charmed
With trembling
music, saying, "Ye are come
From far, fair
Sirs! and ye have seen my Lord
Yea, worshipped
-- for he is become a Buddh,
World-honored,
holy, and delivers men,
And journeyeth
hither. Speak! for, if this be,
Friends are ye
of my House, welcome and dear."
Then answer
made Tripusha, "We have seen
That sacred
Master, Princess! we have bowed
Before his
feet; for who was lost a Prince
Is found a
greater than the King of kings.
Under the
Bôdhi-tree by Phalgú's bank
That which
shall save the world hath late been wrought
By him -- the
Friend of all, the Prince of all --
Thine most,
High Lady! from whose tears men win
The comfort of
this Word the Master speaks.
Lo! he is well,
as one beyond all ills,
Uplifted as a
god from earthly woes,
Shining with
risen Truth, golden and clear.
Moreover as he
entereth town by town,
Preaching those
noble ways which lead to peace,
The hearts of
men follow his path as leaves
Troop to wind
or sheep draw after one
Who knows the
pastures. We ourselves have heard
By Gaya in the
green Tchîrnika grove
Those wondrous lips
and done them reverence:
He cometh
hither ere the first rains fall."
Thus spake he,
and Yasôdhara, for joy,
Scarce mastered
breath to answer, "Be it well
Now and at all
times with ye, worthy friends!
Who bring good
tidings; but of this great thing
Wist ye how it
befell?"
Then Bhalluk
told
Such as the
people of the valleys knew
Of that dread
night of conflict, when the air
Darkened with
fiendish shadows, and the earth
Quaked, and the
waters swelled with Mara's wrath.
Also how
gloriously that morning broke
Radiant with
rising hopes for man, and how
The Lord was
found rejoicing 'neath his Tree.
But many days
the burden of release --
To be escaped
beyond all storms of doubt,
Safe on Truth's
shore -- lay, spake he, on that heart
A golden load;
for how shall men -- Buddh mused --
Who love their
sins and cleave to cheats of sense,
And drink of
error from a thousand springs --
Having no mind
to see, nor strength to break
The fleshly
snare which binds them -- how should such
Receive the
Twelve Nidânas and the Law
Redeeming all,
yet strange to profit by,
As the caged
bird oft shuns its opened door?
So had we
missed the helpful victory
If, in this
earth without a refuge, Buddh
Winning the
way, had deemed it all too hard
For mortal feet,
and passed, none following him.
Yet pondered
the compassion of our Lord,
But in that
hour there rang a voice as sharp
As cry of
travail, so as if the earth
Moaned in
birth-throe "Nasyami aham bhű
Nasyati
lóka!" SURELY I AM LOST,
I AND MY
CREATURES: then a pause, and next
A pleading sigh
borne on the western wind,
"Sruyatâm
dharma, Bhagwat!" OH, SUPREME!
LET THY GREAT
LAW BE UTTERED! Whereupon
The Master cast
his vision forth on flesh,
Saw who should
hear and who must wait to hear,
As the keen Sun
gilding the lotus-lakes
Seeth which
buds will open to his beams
And which are
not yet risen from their roots
Then spake,
divinely smiling, "Yea! I preach!
Whoso will
listen let him learn the Law."
Afterwards
passed he, said they, by the hills
Unto Benares,
where he taught the Five,
Showing how
birth and death should be destroyed,
And how man
hath no fate except past deeds,
No Hell but
what he makes, no Heaven too high
For those to
reach whose passions sleep subdued.
This was the
fifteenth day of Vaishya
Mid-afternoon
and that night was full moon.
But, of the
Rishis, first Kaundinya
Owned the Four
Truths and entered on the Paths;
And after him
Bhadraka, Asvajit,
Basava,
Mahanâma; also there
Within the
Deer-park, at the feet of Buddh,
Yasad the Prince
with nobles fifty-four
Hearing the
blessed word our Master spake
Worshipped and
followed; for there sprang up peace
And knowledge
of a new time come for men
In all who
heard, as spring the flowers and grass
When water
sparkles through a sandy plain.
These sixty --
said they -- did our Lord send forth,
Made perfect in
restraint and passion-free,
To teach the
Way; but the World-honored turned
South from the
Deer-park and Isipatan
To Yashti and
King Bimbasâra's realm,
Where many days
he taught; and after these
King Bimbasâra
and his folk believed,
Learning the
law of love and ordered life.
Also he gave
the Master, of free gift, --
Pouring forth
water on the hands of Buddh
The
Bamboo-Garden, named Wéluvana,
Wherein are
streams and caves and lovely glades;
And the King
set a stone there, carved with this:
Yé dharma hetuppabhawá
Yesan hétun Tathágató;
Aha yesan cha yo nirodhó
Ewan wadi Maha samano.
"What life's course and cause sustain
These Tathâgato made plain;
What delivers from life's woe
That
our Lord hath made us know."
And, in that
Garden -- said they -- there was held
A high
Assembly, where the Teacher spake
Wisdom and
power, winning all souls which heard,
So that nine
hundred took the yellow robe --
Such as the
Master wears, -- and spread his Law
And this the
gáthá was wherewith he closed:
Sabba pápassa akaranan;
Kusalassa upasampadá;
Sa chitta pariyodapanan
Etan Budhánusásanan.
"Evil swells the debts to pay,
Good delivers and acquits;
Shun evil, follow good; hold sway
Over thyself. This is the Way."
Whom, when they
ended, speaking so of him,
With gifts, and
thanks which made the jewels dull,
The Princess
recompensed. "But by what road
Wendeth my
Lord?" she asked: the merchants said,
"Yôjans
threescore stretch from the city-walls
To Rajagriha,
whence the easy path
Passeth by Sona
hither and the hills.
Our oxen,
treading eight slow koss a day,
Came in one
moon."
Then the King
hearing word,
Sent nobles of
the Court -- well-mounted lords --
Nine separate
messengers, each embassy
Bidden to say,
"The King Suddhôdana --
Nearer the pyre
by seven long years of lack,
Wherethrough he
hath not ceased to seek for thee
Prays of his
son to come unto his own,
The Throne and
people of this longing Realm,
Lest he shall die
and see thy face no more."
Also nine
horsemen sent Yasôdhara
Bidden to say,
"The Princess of thy House --
Rahula's mother
-- craves to see thy face
As the
night-blowing moon-flower's swelling heart
Pines for the
moon, as pale asôka-buds
Wait for a woman's
foot: if thou hast found
More than was
lost, she prays her part in this,
Rahula's part,
but most of all thyself."
So sped the
Sâkya Lords, but it befell
That each one,
with the message in his mouth,
Entered the
Bamboo-Garden in that hour
When Buddha taught
his Law; and -- hearing -- each
Forgot to
speak, lost thought of King and quest,
Of the sad
Princess even; only gazed
Eye-rapt upon
the Master; only hung
Heart-caught
upon the speech, compassionate,
Commanding,
perfect, pure, enlightening all,
Poured from
those sacred lips. Look! like a bee
Winged for the
hive, who sees the môgras spread
And scents
their utter sweetness on the air,
If he be
honey-filled, it matters not;
If night be
nigh, or rain, he will not heed;
Needs must he
light on those delicious blooms
And drain their
nectar; so these messengers
One with
another, hearing Buddha's words,
Let go the
purpose of their speed, and mixed,
Heedless of
all, amid the Master's train.
Wherefore the
King bade that Udayi go --
Chiefest in all
the Court, and faithfullest,
Siddârtha's
playmate in the happier days --
Who, as he drew
anear the garden, plucked
Blown tufts of
tree-wool from the grove and sealed
The entrance of
his hearing; thus he came
Safe through
the lofty peril of the place
And told the
message of the King, and her's.
Then meekly
bowed his head and spake our Lord
Before the
people, "Surely I shall go!
It is my duty
as it was my will;
Let no man miss
to render reverence
To those who
lend him life, whereby come means
To live and die
no more, but safe attain
Blissful
Nirvana, if ye keep the Law,
Purging past
wrongs and adding nought thereto,
Complete in
love and lovely charities.
Let the King
know and let the Princess hear
I take the way
forthwith." This told, the folk
Of white
Kapilavastu and its fields
Made ready for
the entrance of their Prince.
At the south
gate a bright pavilion rose
With
flower-wreathed pillars and the walls of silk
Wrought on
their red and green with woven gold.
Also the roads
were laid with scented boughs
Of neem and
mango, and full mussuks shed
Sandal and
jasmine on the dust, and flags
Fluttered; and
on the day when he should come
It was ordained
how many elephants --
With silver
howdahs and their tusks gold-tipped
Should wait beyond
the ford, and where the drums
Should boom
"Siddârtha cometh" where the lords
Should light
and worship, and the dancing-girls
Where they
should strew their flowers with dance and son,
So that the
steed he rode might tramp knee-deep
In rose and
balsam, and the ways be fair;
While the town
rang with music and high joy.
This was
ordained, and all men's ears were pricked
Dawn after dawn
to catch the first drum's beat
Announcing,
"Now he cometh!"
But it fell --
Eager to be
before -- Yasôdhara
Rode in her litter
to the city-walls
Where soared
the bright pavilion. All around
A beauteous
garden smiled -- Nigrôdha named
Shaded with
bel-trees and the green-plumed dates,
New-trimmed and
gay with winding walks and banks
Of fruits and
flowers; for the southern road
Skirted its
lawns, on this hand leaf and bloom,
On that the
suburb-huts where base-borns dwelt
Outside the
gates, a patient folk and poor,
Whose touch for
Kshatriya and priest of Brahm
Were sore
defilement. Yet those, too, were quick
With
expectation, rising ere the dawn
To peer along
the road, to climb the trees
At far-off
trumpet of some elephant,
Or stir of
temple-drum; and when none came,
Busied with
lowly chares to please the Prince;
Sweeping their
door-stones, setting forth their flags,
Stringing the
fluted fig-leaves into chains,
New furbishing
the Lingam, decking new
Yesterday's
faded arch of boughs, but aye
Questioning
wayfarers if any noise
Be on the road
of great Siddârtha. These
The Princess
marked with lovely languid eyes,
Watching, as
they, the southward plain, and bent
Like them to
listen if the passers gave
News of the
path. So fell it she beheld
One slow
approaching with his head close shorn,
A yellow cloth
over his shoulder cast,
Girt as the
hermits are, and in his hand
An earthen
bowl, shaped melonwise, the which
Meekly at each
hut-door he held a space,
Taking the
granted dole with gentle thanks
And all as
gently passing where none gave.
Two followed
him wearing the yellow robe,
But he who bore
the bowl so lordly seemed,
So reverend,
and with such a passage moved,
With so
commanding presence filled the air,
With such sweet
eyes of holiness smote all,
That, as they
reached him alms the givers gazed
Awestruck upon
his face, and some bent down
In worship, and
some ran to fetch fresh gifts
Grieved to be
poor; till slowly, group by group,
Children and
men and women drew behind
Into his steps,
whispering with covered lips,
"Who is
he? who? when looked a Rishi thus?"
But as he came
with quiet footfall on
Nigh the
pavilion, lo! the silken door
Lifted, and,
all unveiled, Yasôdhara
Stood in his
path crying, "Siddârtha! Lord!"
With wide eyes
streaming and with close-clasped hands,
Then sobbing
fell upon his feet, and lay.
Afterwards,
when this weeping lady passed
Into the Noble
Paths, and one had prayed
Answer from
Buddha wherefore -- being vowed
Quit of all
mortal passion and the touch,
Flower-soft and
conquering, of a woman's hands --
He suffered
such embrace, the Master said:
"The
greater beareth with the lesser love
So it may raise
it unto easier heights.
Take heed that
no man, being 'scaped from bonds,
Vexeth bound
souls with boasts of liberty.
Free are ye
rather that your freedom spread
By patient
winning and sweet wisdom's skill.
Three eras of
long toil bring Bodhisats
Who will be
guides and help this darkling world
Unto
deliverance, and the first is named
Of deep
'Resolve,' the second of 'Attempt,'
The third of
'Nomination.' Lo! I lived
In era of
Resolve, desiring good,
Searching for
wisdom, but mine eyes were sealed.
Count the grey
seeds on yonder castor-clump,
So many rains
it is since I was Ram,
A merchant of
the coast which looketh south
To Lanka and
the hiding-place of pearls.
Also in that
far time Yasôdhara
Dwelt with me
in our village by the sea,
Tender as now,
and Lukshmi was her name.
And I remember
how I journeyed thence
Seeking our
gain, for poor the household was
And lowly. Not
the less with wistful tears
She prayed me
that I should not part, nor tempt
Perils by land
and water. 'How could love
Leave what it
loved?' she wailed; yet, venturing, I
Passed to the
Straits, and after storm and toil
And deadly
strife with creatures of the deep,
And woes
beneath the midnight and the noon,
Searching the
wave I won therefrom a pearl
Moonlike and
glorious, such as Kings might buy
Emptying their
treasury. Then came I glad
Unto mine
hills, but over all that land
Famine spread
sore; ill was I stead to live
In journey
home, and hardly reached my door
Aching for food
-- with that white wealth of the sea
Tied in my
girdle. Yet no food was there;
And on the
threshold she for whom I toiled --
More than
myself -- lay with her speechless lips
Nigh unto death
for one small gift of grain
Then cried I,
'If there be who hath of grain,
Here is a
kingdom's ransom for one life:
Give Lukshmi
bread and take my moonlight pearl.'
Whereat one
brought the last of all his hoard,
Millet -- three
seers -- and clutched the beauteous thing.
But Lukshmi
lived and sighed with gathered life,
'Lo! thou didst
love indeed!' I spent my pearl
Well in that life
to comfort heart and mind
Else quite
uncomforted, but these pure pearls,
My last large
gain, won from a deeper wave --
The Twelve
Nidânas and the Law of Good --
Cannot be
spent, nor dimmed, and most fulfil
Their perfect
beauty being freeliest given.
For like as is
to Meru yonder hill
Heaped by the
little ants, and like as dew
Dropped in the
footmark of a bounding roe
Unto the
shoreless seas, so was that gift
Unto my present
giving; and so love --
Vaster in being
free from toils of sense --
Was wisest stooping
to the weaker heart;
And so the feet
of sweet Yasôdhara
Passed into
peace and bliss, being softly led."
But when the
King heard how Siddârtha came
Shorn, with the
mendicant's sad-colored cloth,
And stretching
out a bowl to gather orts
From base-borns'
leavings, wrathful sorrow drove
Love from his
heart. Thrice on the ground he spat,
Plucked at his
silvered beard, and strode straight forth
Lackeyed by
trembling lords. Frowning he clomb
Upon his
war-horse, drove the spurs, and dashed,
Angered, through
wondering streets and lanes of folk,
Scarce finding
breath to say, "The King! bow down!"
Ere the loud
cavalcade had clattered by:
Which -- at the
turning by the Temple-wall
Where the south
gate was seen -- encountered full
A mighty crowd;
to every edge of it
Poured fast
more people, till the roads were lost,
Blotted by that
huge company which thronged
And grew, close
following him whose look serene
Met the old
King's. Nor lived the father's wrath
Longer than
while the gentle eyes of Buddh
Lingered in
worship on his troubled brows,
Then downcast
sank, with his true knee, to earth
In proud
humility. So dear it seemed
To see the
Prince, to know him whole, to mark
That glory
greater than of earthly state
Crowning his
head, that majesty which brought
All men, so
awed and silent, in his steps.
Nathless the
King broke forth, "Ends it in this
That great
Siddârtha steals into his realm,
Wrapped in a
clout, shorn, sandalled, craving food
Of low-borns,
he whose life was as a God's?
My son! heir of
this spacious power, and heir
Of Kings who
did but clap their palms to have
What earth
could give or eager service bring?
Thou should'st
have come apparelled in thy rank,
With shining
spears and tramp of horse and foot.
Lo! all my
soldiers camped upon the road,
And all my city
waited at the gates;
Where hast thou
sojourned through these evil years
Whilst thy
crowned fattier mourned? and she, too, there
Lived as the
widows use, foregoing joys;
Never once
hearing sound of song or string.
Nor wearing once
the festal robe, till now
When in her
cloth of gold she welcomes home
A beggar spouse
in yellow remnants clad.
Son! why is
this?"
"My
Father!" came reply,
"It is the
custom of my race."
"Thy
race,"
Answered the
King "counteth a hundred thrones
From Maha
Sammât, but no deed like this."
"Not of a
mortal line," the Master said,
"I spake,
but of descent invisible,
The Buddhas who
have been and who shall be:
Of these am I,
and what they did I do,
And this which
now befalls so fell before
That at his
gate a King in warrior-mail
Should meet his
son, a Prince in hermit-weeds
And that, by
love and self-control, being more
Than mightiest
Kings in all their puissance,
The appointed
Helper of the Worlds should bow --
As now do I --
and with all lowly love
Proffer, where
it is owed for tender debts,
The
first-fruits of the treasure he hath brought
Which now I
proffer."
Then the King
amazed
Inquired
"What treasure?" and the Teacher took
Meekly the
royal palm, and while they paced
Through
worshipping streets -- the Princess and the King
On either side
-- he told the things which make
For peace and
pureness, those Four noble Truths
Which hold all
wisdom as shores shut the seas,
Those eight
right Rules whereby who will may walk --
Monarch or
slave -- upon the perfect Path
That hath its
Stages Four and Precepts Eight,
Whereby whoso
will live -- mighty or mean
Wise or
unlearned, man, woman, young or old
Shall soon or
late break from the wheels of life
Attaining blest
Nirvana. So they came
Into the
Palace-porch, Suddhôdana
With brows
unknit drinking the mighty words,
And in his own
hand carrying Buddha's bowl,
Whilst a new
light brightened the lovely eyes
Of sweet
Yasôdhara and sunned her tears;
And that night
entered they the Way of Peace.
Book the
Eighth.
A broad mead spreads
by swift Kohâna's bank
At Nagara; five
days shall bring a man
In ox-wain
thither from Benares' shrines
Eastward and
northward journeying. The horns
Of white Himâla
look upon the place,
Which all the
year is glad with blooms and girt
By groves made
green from that bright streamlet's wave.
Soft are its
slopes and cool its fragrant shades,
And holy all
the spirit of the spot
Unto this time:
the breath of eve comes hushed
Over the
tangled thickets, and high heaps
Of carved red stones
cloven by root and stem
Of creeping
fig, and clad with waving veil
Of leaf and
grass. The still snake glistens forth
From crumbled
work of lac and cedar-beams
To coil his
folds there on deep-graven slabs;
The lizard
dwells and darts o'er painted floors
Where Kings
have paced; the grey fox litters safe
Under the
broken thrones; only the peaks,
And stream, and
sloping lawns, and gentle air
Abide
unchanged. All else, like all fair shows
Of life, are
fled -- for this is where it stood,
The city of
Suddhôdana, the hill
Whereon, upon
an eve of gold and blue
At sinking sun
Lord Buddha set himself
To teach the
Law in hearing of his own.
Lo! ye shall
read it in the Sacred Books
How, being met
in that glad pleasaunce-place --
A garden in old
days with hanging walks,
Fountains, and
tanks, and rose-banked terraces
Girdled by gay
pavilions and the sweep
Of stately
palace-fronts -- the Master sate
Eminent,
worshipped, all the earnest throng
Catching the
opening of his lips to learn
That wisdom
which hath made our Asia mild;
Whereto four
hundred crores of living souls
Witness this
day. Upon the King's right hand
He sate, and
round were ranged the Sâkya Lords
Ananda,
Devadatta -- all the Court.
Behind stood
Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs
Of the calm brethren
in the yellow garb,
A goodly
company. Between his knees
Rahula smiled
with wondering childish eyes
Bent on the
awful face, while at his feet
Sate sweet
Yasôdhara, her heartaches gone,
Foreseeing that
fair love which doth not feed
On fleeting
sense, that life which knows no age,
That blessed
last of deaths when Death is dead,
His victory and
hers. Wherefore she laid
Her hand upon
his hands, folding around
Her silver
shoulder-cloth his yellow robe,
Nearest in all
the world to him whose words
The Three
Worlds waited for. I cannot tell
A small part of
the splendid lore which broke
From Buddha's
lips: I am a late-come scribe
Who love the
Master and his love of men,
And tell this
legend, knowing he was wise,
But have not
wit to speak beyond the books
And time hath
blurred their script and ancient sense,
Which once was
new and mighty, moving all.
A little of
that large discourse I know
Which Buddha
spake on the soft Indian eve.
Also I know it
writ that they who heard
Were more --
lakhs more -- crores more -- than could be seen,
For all the
Devas and the Dead thronged there,
Till Heaven was
emptied to the seventh zone
And uttermost
dark Hells opened their bars
Also the
daylight lingered past its time
In rose-leaf
radiance on the watching peaks,
So that it seemed
Night listened in the glens
And Noon upon
the mountains; yea! they write,
The evening
stood between them like some maid
Celestial,
love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds
Her braided
hair; the studded stars the pearls
And diamonds of
her coronal; the moon
Her
forehead-jewel, and the deepening dark
Her woven
garments. 'Twas her close-held breath
Which came in
scented sighs across the lawns
While our Lord
taught, and, while he taught, who heard --
Though he were
stranger in the land, or slave,
High caste or
low, come of the Aryan blood,
Or Mlech or
Jungle-dweller -- seemed to hear
What tongue his
fellows talked. Nay, outside those
Who crowded by
the river, great and small,
The birds and
beasts and creeping things -- 'tis writ --
Had sense of
Buddha's vast embracing love
And took the
promise of his piteous speech;
So that their
lives -- prisoned in shape of ape,
Tiger, or deer,
shagged bear, jackal, or wolf,
Foul-feeding
kite, pearled dove, or peacock gemmed.
Squat toad, or
speckled serpent, lizard, bat;
Yea, or of fish
fanning the river-waves --
Touched meekly
at the skirts of brotherhood
With man who
hath less innocence than these;
And in mute
gladness knew their bondage broke
Whilst Buddha
spake these things before the King: --
Om, AMITAYA! measure not with words
Th'
Immeasurable: nor sink the string of thought
Into the
Fathomless. Who asks doth err,
Who answers,
errs. Say nought!
The Books teach
Darkness was, at first of all,
And Brahm, sole
meditating in that Night:
Look not for
Brahm and the Beginning there!
Nor him, nor
any light
Shall any gazer
see with mortal eyes,
Or any searcher
know by mortal mind,
Veil after veil
will lift -- but there must be
Veil upon veil
behind.
Stars sweep and
question not. This is enough
That life and
death and joy and woe abide;
And cause and
sequence, and the course of time,
And Being's
ceaseless tide,
Which,
ever-changing, runs, linked like a river
By ripples
following ripples, fast or slow --
The same yet
not the same -- from far-off fountain
To where its
waters flow
Into the seas.
These, steaming to the Sun,
Give the lost
wavelets back in cloudy fleece
To trickle down
the hills, and glide again;
Having no pause
or peace.
This is enough
to know, the phantasms are;
The Heavens,
Earths, Worlds, and changes changing them
A mighty
whirling wheel of strife and stress
Which none can
stay or stem.
Pray not! the
Darkness will not brighten! Ask
Nought from the
Silence, for it cannot speak!
Vex not your
mournful minds with pious pains!
Ah! Brothers, Sisters!
seek
Nought from the
helpless gods by gift and hymn,
Nor bribe with
blood, nor feed with fruit and cakes;
Within
yourselves deliverance must be sought;
Each man his
prison makes.
Each hath such
lordship as the loftiest ones;
Nay, for with
Powers above, around, below,
As with all
flesh and whatsoever lives,
Act maketh joy
and woe.
What hath been
bringeth what shall be, and is,
Worse -- better
-- last for first and first for last;
The Angels in
the Heavens of Gladness reap
Fruits of a
holy past.
The devils in
the underworlds wear out
Deeds that were
wicked in an age gone by.
Nothing
endures: fair virtues waste with time,
Foul sins grow
purged thereby.
Who toiled a
slave may come anew a Prince
For gentle
worthiness and merit won;
Who ruled a
King may wander earth in rags
For things done
and undone.
Higher than
Indra's ye may lift your lot,
And sink it
lower than the worm or gnat;
The end of many
myriad lives is this,
The end of
myriads that.
Only, while
turns this wheel invisible,
No pause, no peace,
no staying-place can be;
Who mounts will
fall, who falls may mount; the spokes
Go round
unceasingly!
* * * *
If ye lay bound
upon the wheel of change,
And no way were
of breaking from the chain,
The Heart of
boundless Being is a curse,
The Soul of Things
fell Pain.
Ye are not
bound! the Soul of Things is sweet,
The Heart of
Being is celestial rest;
Stronger than
woe is will: that which was Good
Doth pass to
Better -- Best.
I, Buddh, who
wept with all my brothers' tears,
Whose heart was
broken by a whole world's woe,
Laugh and am
glad, for there is Liberty!
Ho! ye who
suffer! know
Ye suffer from
yourselves. None else compels,
None other
holds you that ye live and die,
And whirl upon
the wheel, and hug and kiss
Its spokes of
agony,
Its tire of
tears, its nave of nothingness.
Behold, I show
you Truth! Lower than hell,
Higher than
heaven, outside the utmost stars,
Farther than
Brahm doth dwell,
Before
beginning, and without an end,
As space
eternal and as surety sure,
Is fixed a
Power divine which moves to good,
Only its laws
endure.
This is its
touch upon the blossomed rose,
The fashion of
its hand shaped lotus-leaves;
In dark soil
and the silence of the seeds
The robe of
Spring it weaves;
That is its
painting on the glorious clouds,
And these its emeralds
on the peacock's train;
It hath its
stations in the stars; its slaves
In lightning,
wind, and rain.
Out of the dark
it wrought the heart of man,
Out of dull
shells the pheasant's pencilled neck;
Ever at toil,
it brings to loveliness
All ancient wrath
and wreck.
The grey eggs
in the golden sun-bird's nest
Its treasures
are, the bees' six-sided cell
Its honey-pot;
the ant wots of its ways,
The white doves
know them well.
It spreadeth
forth for flight the eagle's wings
What time she
beareth home her prey; it sends
The she-wolf to
her cubs; for unloved things
It findeth food
and friends.
It is not
marred nor stayed in any use,
All liketh it;
the sweet white milk it brings
To mothers'
breasts; it brings the white drops, too,
Wherewith the
young snake stings.
The ordered
music of the marching orbs
It makes in
viewless canopy of sky;
In deep abyss
of earth it hides up gold,
Sards,
sapphires, lazuli.
Ever and ever
bringing secrets forth,
It sitteth in
the green of forest-glades
Nursing strange
seedlings at the cedar's root,
Devising
leaves, blooms, blades.
It slayeth and
it saveth, nowise moved
Except unto the
working out of doom;
Its threads are
Love and Life; and Death and Pain
The shuttles of
its loom.
It maketh and
unmaketh, mending all;
What it hath
wrought is better than hath been;
Slow grows the
splendid pattern that it plans
Its wistful
hands between.
This is its
work upon the things ye see,
The unseen
things are more; men's hearts and minds,
The thoughts of
peoples and their ways and wills,
Those, too, the
great Law binds.
Unseen it
helpeth ye with faithful hands,
Unheard it
speaketh stronger than the storm.
Pity and Love
are man's because long stress
Moulded blind
mass to form.
It will not be
contemned of any one;
Who thwarts it
loses, and who serves it gains;
The hidden good
it pays with peace and bliss,
The hidden ill
with pains.
It seeth
everywhere and marketh all:
Do right -- it
recompenseth! do one wrong --
The equal
retribution must be made,
Though DHARMA
tarry long.
It knows not wrath
nor pardon; utter-true
Its measures
mete, its faultless balance weighs;
Times are as
nought, to-morrow it will judge,
Or after many
days.
By this the
slayer's knife did stab himself;
The unjust
judge hath lost his own defender;
The false tongue
dooms its lie; the creeping thief
And spoiler
rob, to render.
Such is the Law
which moves to righteousness,
Which none at
last can turn aside or stay;
The heart of it
is Love, the end of it
Is Peace and
Consummation sweet. Obey!
* * * *
The Books say
well, my Brothers! each man's life
The outcome of
his former living is;
The bygone
wrongs bring forth sorrows and woes
The bygone
right breeds bliss.
That which ye
sow ye reap. See yonder fields!
The sesamum was
sesamum, the corn
Was corn. The
Silence and the Darkness knew!
So is a man's
fate born.
He cometh,
reaper of the things he sowed,
Sesamum, corn,
so much cast in past birth;
And so much
weed and poison-stuff, which mar
Him and the
aching earth.
If he shall
labor rightly, rooting these,
And planting
wholesome seedlings where they grew,
Fruitful and
fair and clean the ground shall be,
And rich the
harvest due.
If he who
liveth, learning whence woe springs,
Endureth
patiently, striving to pay
His utmost debt
for ancient evils done
In Love and Truth
alway;
If making none
to lack, he throughly purge
The lie and
lust of self forth from his blood;
Suffering all
meekly, rendering for offence
Nothing but
grace and good:
If he shall day
by day dwell merciful,
Holy and just
and kind and true; and rend
Desire from
where it clings with bleeding roots,
Till love of
life have end:
He -- dying --
leaveth as the sum of him
A life-count
closed, whose ills are dead and quit,
Whose good is
quick and mighty, far and near,
So that fruits
follow it.
No need hath such
to live as ye name life;
That which
began in him when he began
Is finished: he
hath wrought the purpose through
Of what did
make him Man.
Never shall
yearnings torture him, nor sins
Stain him, nor
ache of earthly joys and woes
Invade his safe
eternal peace; nor deaths
And lives
recur. He goes
Unto NIRVANA.
He is one with Life
Yet lives not.
He is blest, ceasing to be.
OM, MANI PADME,
OM! the Dewdrop slips
Into the
shining sea!
* * * *
This is the
doctrine of the KARMA. Learn!
Only when all the
dross of sin is quit,
Only when life
dies like a white flame spent
Death dies
along with it.
Say not "I
am," "I was," or "I shall be,"
Think not ye
pass from house to house of flesh
Like travellers
who remember and forget,
Ill-lodged or
well-lodged. Fresh
Issues upon the
Universe that sum
Which is the
lattermost of lives. It makes
Its habitation
as the worm spins silk
And dwells
therein. It takes
Function and
substance as the snake's egg hatched
Takes scale and
fang; as feathered reed-seeds fly
O'er rock and
loam and sand, until they find
Their marsh and
multiply.
Also it issues
forth to help or hurt.
When Death the
bitter murderer doth smite,
Red roams the
unpurged fragment of him, driven
On wings of
plague and blight.
But when the
mild and just die, sweet airs breathe;
The world grows
richer, as if desert-stream
Should sink
away to sparkle up again
Purer, with
broader gleam.
So merit won
winneth the happier age
Which by
demerit halteth short of end;
Yet must this
Law of Love reign King of all
Before the
Kalpas end.
What lets? --
Brothers! the Darkness lets! which breeds
Ignorance,
mazed whereby ye take these shows
For true, and
thirst to have, and, having, cling
To lusts which
work you woes.
Ye that will
tread the Middle Road, whose course
Bright Reason traces
and soft Quiet smoothes;
Ye who will
take the high Nirvana-way
List the Four
Noble Truths.
The First Truth
is of Sorrow. Be not mocked!
Life which ye
prize is long-drawn agony:
Only its pains
abide; its pleasures are
As birds which
light and fly.
Ache of the
birth, ache of the helpless days,
Ache of hot
youth and ache of manhood's prime;
Ache of the
chill grey years and choking death,
These fill your
piteous time.
Sweet is fond
Love, but funeral-flames must kiss
The breasts
which pillow and the lips which cling;
Gallant is
warlike Might, but vultures pick
The joints of
chief and King.
Beauteous is
Earth, but all its forest-broods
Plot mutual
slaughter, hungering to live;
Of sapphire are
the skies, but when men cry
Famished, no
drops they give.
Ask of the
sick, the mourners, ask of him
Who tottereth
on his staff, lone and forlorn,
"Liketh
thee life?" -- these say the babe is wise
That weepeth,
being born.
The Second
Truth is Sorrow's Cause. What grief
Springs of
itself and springs not of Desire?
Senses and
things perceived mingle and light
Passion's quick
spark of fire:
So flameth
Trishna, lust and thirst of things.
Eager ye cleave
to shadows, dote on dreams;
A false Self in
the midst ye plant, and make
A world around
which seems;
Blind to the
height beyond, deaf to the sound
Of sweet airs
breathed from far past Indra's sky;
Dumb to the
summons of the true life kept
For him who
false puts by.
So grow the
strifes and lusts which make earth's war,
So grieve poor
cheated hearts and flow salt tears;
So wax the
passions, envies, angers, hates;
So years chase
blood-stained years
With wild red
feet. So, where the grain should grow,
Spreads the
birân-weed with its evil root
And poisonous
blossoms; hardly good seeds find
Soil where to
fall and shoot;
And drugged
with poisonous drink the soul departs,
And fierce with
thirst to drink Karma returns;
Sense-struck
again the sodden self begins,
And new deceits
it earns.
The Third is
Sorrow's Ceasing. This is peace
To conquer love
of self and lust of life,
To tear deep-rooted
passion from the breast,
To still the
inward strife;
For love to
clasp Eternal Beauty close;
For glory to be
Lord of self, for pleasure
To live beyond
the gods; for countless wealth
To lay up
lasting treasure
Of perfect
service rendered, duties done
In charity,
soft speech, and stainless days:
These riches
shall not fade away in life,
Nor any death
dispraise.
Then Sorrow
ends, for Life and Death have ceased;
How should
lamps flicker when their oil is spent?
The old sad
count is clear, the new is clean;
Thus hath a man
content.
* * * *
The Fourth
Truth is The Way. It openeth wide,
Plain for all
feet to tread, easy and near,
The Noble
Eightfold Path; it goeth straight
To peace and
refuge. Hear!
Manifold tracks
lead to yon sister-peaks
Around whose
snows the gilded clouds are curled;
By steep or
gentle slopes the climber comes
Where breaks
that other world.
Strong limbs
may dare the rugged road which storms,
Soaring and
perilous, the mountain's breast;
The weak must
wind from slower ledge to ledge
With many a
place of rest.
So is the
Eightfold Path which brings to peace;
By lower or by
upper heights it goes.
The firm soul
hastes, the feeble tarries. All
Will reach the
sunlit snows.
The First good
Level is Right Doctrine. Walk
In fear of
Dharma, shunning all offence;
In heed of
Karma, which doth make man's fate;
In lordship
over sense.
The Second is
Right Purpose. Have good-will
To all that
lives, letting unkindness die
And greed and
wrath; so that your lives be made
Like soft airs
passing by.
The Third is Right
Discourse. Govern the lips
As they were
palace-doors, the King within;
Tranquil and
fair and courteous be all words
Which from that
presence win.
The Fourth is
Right Behavior. Let each act
Assoil a fault
or help a merit grow:
Like threads of
silver seen through crystal beads
Let love
through good deeds show.
Four higher
roadways be. Only those feet
May tread them
which have done with earthly things;
Right Purity,
Right Thought, Right Loneliness,
Right Rapture.
Spread no wings
For sunward
flight, thou soul with unplumed vans!
Sweet is the
lower air and safe, and known
The homely
levels: only strong ones leave
The nest each
makes his own.
Dear is the
love, I know, of Wife and Child;
Pleasant the
friends and pastimes of your years;
Fruitful of
good Life's gentle charities;
False, though
firm-set, its fears.
Live -- ye who
must -- such lives as live on these
Make golden
stair-ways of your weakness; rise
By daily
sojourn with those phantasies
To lovelier
verities.
So shall ye pass
to clearer heights and find
Easier ascents
and lighter loads of sins,
And larger will
to burst the bonds of sense,
Entering the
Path. Who wins
To such
commencement hath the First Stage touched;
He knows the
Noble Truths, the Eightfold Road;
By few or many
steps such shall attain
NIRVANA's blest
abode.
Who standeth at
the Second Stage, made free
From doubts,
delusions, and the inward strife,
Lord of all
lusts, quit of the priests and books,
Shall live but
one more life.
Yet onward lies
the Third Stage: purged and pure
Hath grown the
stately spirit here, hath risen
To love all
living things in perfect peace.
His life at
end, life's prison
Is broken. Nay,
there are who surely pass
Living and
visible to utmost goal
By Fourth Stage
of the Holy ones -- the Buddhs --
And they of
stainless soul.
Lo! like fierce
foes slain by some warrior,
Ten sins along
these Stages lie in dust,
The Love of
Self, False Faith, and Doubt are three,
Two more,
Hatred and Lust.
Who of these
Five is conqueror hath trod
Three stages out
of Four: yet there abide
The Love of
Life on earth, Desire for Heaven,
Self-Praise,
Error, and Pride.
As one who
stands on yonder snowy horn
Having nought
o'er him but the boundless blue,
So, these sins
being slain, the man is come
NIRVANA'S verge
unto.
Him the Gods
envy from their lower seats;
Him the Three
Worlds in ruin should not shake;
All life is
lived for him, all deaths are dead;
Karma will no
more make
New houses.
Seeking nothing, he gains all;
Foregoing self,
the Universe grows "I":
If any teach
NIRVANA is to cease,
Say unto such
they lie.
If any teach
NIRVANA is to live,
Say unto such
they err; not knowing this,
Nor what light
shines beyond their broken lamps,
Nor lifeless,
timeless bliss.
Enter the Path!
There is no grief like Hate!
No pains like
passions, no deceit like sense!
Enter the Path
far hath he gone whose foot
Treads down one
fond offence.
Enter the Path!
There spring the healing streams
Quenching all
thirst! there bloom th' immortal flowers
Carpeting all
the way with joy! there throng
Swiftest and
sweetest hours!
* * * *
More is the
treasure of the Law than gems;
Sweeter than
comb its sweetness; its delights
Delightful past
compare. Thereby to live
Hear the Five
Rules aright: --
Kill not -- for
Pity's sake -- and lest ye slay
The meanest
thing upon its upward way.
Give freely and
receive, but take from none
By greed, or
force or fraud, what is his own.
Bear not false
witness, slander not, nor lie;
Truth is the
speech of inward purity.
Shun drugs and
drinks which work the wit abuse;
Clear minds,
clean bodies, need no Soma juice.
Touch not thy
neighbor's wife, neither commit
Sins of the
flesh unlawful and unfit.
________________
These words the
Master spake of duties due
To father,
mother, children, fellows, friends;
Teaching how such
as may not swiftly break
The clinging
chains of sense -- whose feet are weak
To tread the
higher road -- should order so
This life of
flesh that all their hither days
Pass blameless
in discharge of charities
And first true
footfalls in the Eightfold Path;
Living pure,
reverent, patient, pitiful,
Loving all
things which live even as themselves;
Because what
falls for ill is fruit of ill
Wrought in the
past, and what falls well of good;
And that by
howsomuch the householder
Purgeth himself
of self and helps the world,
By so much
happier comes he to next stage,
In so much
bettered being. This he spake,
As also long
before, when our Lord walked
By Rajagriha in
the bamboo-grove:
For on a dawn
he walked there and beheld
The householder
Singala, newly bathed,
Bowing himself
with bare head to the earth,
To Heaven, and
all four quarters; while he threw
Rice, red and
white, from both hands. "Wherefore thus
Bowest thou,
Brother?" said the Lord; and he,
"It is the
way, Great Sir! our fathers taught
At every dawn,
before the toil begins,
To hold off
evil from the sky above
And earth
beneath, and all the winds which blow."
Then the
World-honored spake: "Scatter not rice,
But offer
loving thoughts and acts to all.
To parents as
the East where rises light;
To teachers as
the South whence rich gifts come;
To wife and
children as the West where gleam
Colors of love
and calm, and all days end;
To friends and
kinsmen and all men as North;
To humblest
living things beneath, to Saints
And Angels and
the blessed Dead above:
So shall all
evil be shut off, and so
The six main
quarters will be safely kept."
But to his own,
them of the yellow robe --
They who, as
wakened eagles, soar with scorn
From life's low
vale, and wing towards the Sun --
To these he
taught the Ten Observances
The Dasa-Sîl,
and how a mendicant
Must know the
Three Doors and the Triple Thoughts;
The Sixfold
States of Mind; the Fivefold Powers;
The Eight High
Gates of Purity; the Modes
Of
Understanding; Iddhi; Upekshâ
The Five Great
Meditations, which are food
Sweeter than
Amrit for the holy soul;
The Jhâna's and
the Three Chief Refuges.
Also he taught
his own how they should dwell;
How live, free
from the snares of love and wealth;
What eat and
drink and carry -- three plain cloths, --
Yellow, of
stitched stuff, worn with shoulder bare --
A girdle,
almsbowl, strainer. Thus he laid
The great
foundations of our Sangha well,
That noble
Order of the Yellow Robe
Which to this
day standeth to help the World.
So all that
night he spake, teaching the Law:
And on no eyes
fell sleep -- for they who heard
Rejoiced with
tireless joy. Also the King,
When this was
finished, rose upon his throne
And with bared
feet bowed low before his Son
Kissing his
hem; and said, "Take me, O Son!
Lowest and
least of all thy Company."
And sweet
Yasôdhara, all happy now, --
Cried
"Give to Rahula -- thou Blessed One!
The Treasure of
the Kingdom of thy Word
For his
inheritance." Thus passed these Three
Into the Path
* * * *
Here endeth
what I write
Who love the
Master for his love of us.
A little
knowing, little have I told
Touching the
Teacher and the Ways of Peace.
Forty-five
rains thereafter showed he those
In many lands
and many tongues and gave
Our Asia light,
that still is beautiful,
Conquering the
world with spirit of strong grace:
All which is
written in the holy Books,
And where he
passed and what proud Emperors
Carved his
sweet words upon the rocks and caves:
And how -- in
fulness of the times -- it fell
The Buddha
died, the great Tathâgato,
Even as a man
'mongst men, fulfilling all:
And how a
thousand thousand crores since then
Have trod the
Path which leads whither he went
Unto NIRVANA
where the Silence lives.
* * * *
AH! BLESSED
LORD! OH, HIGH DELIVERER!
FORGIVE THIS
FEEBLE SCRIPT, WHICH DOTH THEE WRONG.
MEASURING WITH
LITTLE WIT THY LOFTY LOVE.
AH! LOVER!
BROTHER! GUIDE! LAMP OF THE LAW!
I TAKE MY
REFUGE IN THY NAME AND THEE!
I TAKE MY
REFUGE IN THY LAW OF GOOD!
I TAKE MY
REFUGE IN THY ORDER! OM!
THE DEW IS ON
THE LOTUS! -- RISE GREAT SUN!
AND LIFT MY
LEAF AND MIX ME WITH THE WAVE.
OM MANI PADME
HUM, THE SUNRISE COMES!
THE DEWDROP
SLIPS INTO THE SHINING SEA!
_______________________________________________
After Death in
Arabia.
By Edwin
Arnold.
He who died at
Azan sends
This to comfort
all his friends:
Faithful friends!
It lies, I know,
Pale and white
and cold as snow;
And ye say,
"Abdallah's dead!"
Weeping at the
feet and head,
I can see your
falling tears,
I can hear your
sighs and prayers;
Yet I smile and
whisper this, --
"I am not
the thing you kiss;
Cease your
tears, and let it lie;
It was mine, it
is not I."
Sweet friends!
What the women lave
For its last
bed of the grave,
Is but a hut
which I am quitting,
Is a garment no
more fitting,
Is a cage from
which, at last,
Like a hawk my
soul hath passed.
Love the
inmate, not the room, --
The wearer, not
the garb, -- the plume
Of the falcon,
not the bars
Which kept him
from those splendid stars.
Loving friends!
Be wise and dry
Straightway
every weeping eye,
What ye lift
upon the bier
Is not worth a
wistful tear.
'T is an empty
seashell, -- one
Out of which
the pearl is gone;
The shell is
broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the
all, the soul, is here.
'T is an
earthen jar, whose lid
Allah sealed,
the while it hid
That treasure
of his treasury,
A mind that
loved him; let it lie!
Let the shard
be earth's once more,
Since the gold
shines in his store!
Allah glorious!
Allah good!
Now thy world
is understood;
Now the long,
long wonder ends;
Yet ye weep, my
erring friends,
While the man
whom ye call dead,
In unspoken
bliss, instead,
Lives and loves
you; lost, 't is true,
By such light
as shines for you;
But in the
light ye cannot see
Of unfulfilled
felicity, --
In enlarging
paradise,
Lives a life
that never dies.
Farewell,
friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye,
too, shall dwell.
I am gone
before your face,
A moment's
time, a little space.
When ye come
where I have stepped
Ye will wonder
why ye wept;
Ye will know,
by wise love taught,
That here is
all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile, if
ye are fain, --
Sunshine still must
follow rain;
Only not at
death, -- for death,
Now I know, is
that first breath
Which our souls
draw when we enter
Life, which is
of all life centre.
Be ye certain
all seems love,
Viewed from
Allah's throne above;
Be ye stout of
heart, and come
Bravely onward
to your home!
La Allah illa
Allah! yea!
Thou love
divine! Thou love alway!
He that died at
Azan gave
This to those
who made his grave.
"She and
He."
By Edwin
Arnold.
"She is
dead!" they said to him; "come away;
Kiss her and
leave her, -- thy love is clay!"
They smoothed
her tresses of dark brown hair;
On her forehead
of stone they laid it fair;
Over her eyes
that gazed too much
They drew the
lids with a gentle touch;
With a tender
touch they closed up well
The sweet thin lips
that had secrets to tell;
About her brows
and beautiful face
They tied her
veil and her marriage lace,
And drew on her
white feet her white silk shoes --
Which were the
whitest no eye could choose --
And over her
bosom they crossed her hands.
"Come away!"
they said; "God understands."
And there was
silence, and nothing there
But silence,
and scents of eglantere,
And jasmine,
and roses, and rosemary;
And they said,
"As a lady should lie, lies she."
And they held
their breath till they left the room,
With a shudder,
to glance at its stillness and gloom.
But he who
loved her too well to dread
The sweet, the
stately, the beautiful dead,
He lit his lamp
and took the key
And turned it
-- alone again -- he and she.
He and she; but
she would not speak,
Though he
kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.
He and she; yet
she would not smile,
Though he
called her the name she loved erewhile.
He and she;
still she did not move
To any one
passionate whisper of love.
Then he said:
"Cold lips and breasts without breath,
Is there no
voice, no language of death?
"Dumb to
the ear and still to the sense,
But to heart
and to soul distinct, intense?
"See now;
I will listen with soul, not ear;
What was the
secret of dying, dear?
"Was it
the infinite wonder of all
That you ever
could let life's flower fall?
"Or was it
a greater marvel to feel
The perfect
calm o'er the agony steal?
"Was the
miracle greater to find how deep
Beyond all
dreams sank downward that sleep?
"Did life
roll back its records dear,
And show, as they
say it does, past things clear?
"And was
it the innermost heart of the bliss
To find out so,
what a wisdom love is?
"O perfect
dead! O dead most dear
I hold the
breath of my soul to hear!
"I listen
as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as to
heaven, and you do not tell.
"There
must be pleasure in dying, sweet,
To make you so
placid from head to feet!
"I would
tell you, darling, if I were dead,
And 'twere your
hot tears upon my brow shed, --
"I would
say, though the Angel of Death had laid
His sword on my
lips to keep it unsaid.
"You
should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes,
Which of all
deaths was the chiefest surprise,
"The very
strangest and suddenest thing
Of all the
surprises that dying must bring."
Ah, foolish
world; O most kind dead!
Though he told
me, who will believe it was said?
Who will
believe that he heard her say,
With the sweet,
soft voice, in the dear old way:
"The
utmost wonder is this, -- I hear
And see you,
and love you, and kiss you, dear;
"And am
your angel, who was your bride,
And know that,
though dead, I have never died."
_________________________________________
NOTICES OF
"THE LIGHT OF
Rev. Wm. H.
Channing,
[Extract from a Letter to a Friend in
"The Light
of Asia " is a poem in which the effort is made to bring before our modern
age, in the Western world, that sublime embodiment of the finest genius of the
Orient, in its prime, whom we call BUDDHA, in living form, and to sketch this
outline of his speculative and ethical systems in vivid pictorial
representation. And marvellously successful has the effort of the poet proved.
Those who are
most familiar with the semi-historical, semi-legendary biographies of Prince
Siddârtha Gautama, will be the most prompt to admit that never has the image of
the serene and heroic, saintly and gentle sage been more beautifully portrayed
than in this poem; and from infancy, through youth and manhood, to his new
birth in extreme age, his whole growth towards perfection is so glowingly
brought before the reader, that he feels as if lifted into personal communion
with this grand and lovely teacher of the "Way to Peace." Buddha
lives and moves and speaks again in these pages, as he lived and moved and
taught amid the sacred groves of
But one of the
chief charms of the poem is the singularly vital reality with which the very
scenery and climate, the people and the communities, the manners, dwellings,
and actual society of Hindostan, two thousand years or more ago, is made to
pass, as if in palingenesia, before and around us. The long-buried past is
reanimated at the poet's touch. And from the midst of the rush and turmoil of
our restless modern age we enter, behind a lifted veil, into the tranquil
stillness, calm dignity, and meditative quiet of the East, as if from sultry,
dusty, summer noon we could bathe our fevered brows, in the fresh, sweet, dewy
air of a spring morning. And the contrast rejuvenates our fagged and weary
powers delightfully.
One is the more
surprised, in reading this poem, to learn that the writer has created this
lovely work of art, not in the stilness of a country solitude, nor amid the
cloistered aisles of universities, but right in the throng and uproar of this
bustling metropolis. For the poet is one of the most indefatigable editors of
the daily press in London, and every morning, week in, week out, addresses the
largest circle of readers approached by any writer of "leaders" in
Great Britain, or probably in Christendom; for Edwin Arnold is editor-in-chief
of the Daily Telegraph, which has an average circulation of a quarter of a
million of copies, with probably four readers a copy. And certainly no editor
writes on a wider range of topics, political, social, scientific, &c.
That, amidst the responsibilities,
interruptions, anxieties, harassing cares, and ever-varying distractions of
such a life, a poet could evoke, in his few hours for quiet thought, an epic in
eight books, on one of the loftiest themes for spiritual contemplation, and one
of the purest ideal types of a heavenly human life known in history, is
certainly a surprising instance of concentrated power.
Within my
experience, or my acquaintance with literary efforts, no greater success of
this kind has been attained; for to my certain knowledge this book was only
conceived and begun last September, and has been perfected and published in one
of the most disturbed and trying periods that this nation has passed through
for this generation at least.
This effort,
indeed, has been a labor of love, and so a rest and refreshment to the poet;
for Edwin Arnold is an impassioned lover of India, and has for years been a
loving admirer of Buddha. So the poem wrote itself out of his memory and
imagination. Trained at Oxford, where he won honors as a classic, and gained
the Newdigate Prize for Poetry, after publishing a small volume of poems, Mr.
Arnold went in early life to Hindostan, where he was appointed as Principal of
the Deccan College at Poona. Here he resided for seven years, acquiring a
knowledge of the Sanscrit and other Indian languages, and translating the very
interesting "Book of Good Counsels," the "Hitopordesa,"
which has long been a valued text-book for Sanscrit scholars, as it is
accompanied with an interlinear text and vocabulary, &c. In India be became
the friend of Lord Dalhousie, John Lawrence (the saviour of the Punjaub,
afterward Lord Lawrence), and other leading statesmen; and was on the road to
preferment when he was compelled to leave his much-loved India by the death of
a child and the illness of his young wife. After his return, he wrote and
published, in two volumes, an important and instructive "History of Lord
Dalhousie's Administration," and printed another volume of poems, and a
translation of one of the books of Herodotus. Becoming then engaged as a sub-editor
in the Telegraph, where during our civil war he defended the cause of freedom
and confidently predicted the triumph of the Republic, he gradually rose to
higher influence, until, after the death of Thornton Hunt, he was advanced to
the responsible post of editor-in-chief, and has become greatly distinguished
as a writer of powerful "leaders." But amidst his incessant toil, he
has still found leisure for literary work, having translated a volume of the
poets of Greece, accompanied by biographical and critical notices, and an
exquisitely beautiful version of the "Indian Song of Songs," -- one
of the most characteristic productions of Hindoo literature. And now, at
length, he has found a fit sphere for his poetic genius in this representation
of Buddha, in which he has embodied his own highest ideals and aspirations.
In speaking
thus warmly, and enthusiastically even, of this poem, it is nowise my wish or
end to indorse Mr. Arnold's view of Buddha and his system; for, in several very
important and even essential points my estimate of Gautama differs very widely
from the poet's, both as to the character of the MAN, and the principles and
tendency of his philosophical and moral SYSTEM. But Goethe's prime rule of
criticism has long been my guide, -- "Before passing judgment on a book, a
work of art, a scheme of doctrine, or a person, first give yourself up to a
sympathetic appreciation of them." Now Mr. Arnold has conceived and
composed his poem as a HINDOO BUDDHIST. In that spirit let this beautiful book be
read, -- and then criticised.
DR. RIPLEY, in
the New York Tribune.
The fruits of
an earnest study of Oriental literature and of a personal
residence of
several years in India are embodied in this stately poetical
romance. From the
dim and shadowy legends of the princely founder of the great religion of the
East, scanty and uncertain as they prove to be under the hand of critical
research, Mr. Arnold has constructed a poem, which for affluence of
imagination, splendor of diction, and virile descriptive power, will not be
easily matched among the most remarkable productions in the literature of the
day. His starting-point is the historical importance of the Buddhist faith,
which has existed during twenty-four centuries, and now surpasses in the number
of its followers and the extent of its prevalence any other form of religious
belief. Not less than four hundred and seventy millions of our race live and
die in the tenets of Gautama. His spiritual dominions at the present time reach
from Nepaul and
Not a single
act or word is recorded "which mars the perfect purity and
tenderness of
this Indian teacher, who united the truest princely qualities with the
intellect of a sage and the passionate devotion of a martyr."
The author has
put his poem into the mouth of an Indian Buddhist, because the spirit of
Asiatic thought must be regarded from an Oriental point of view, in order to
gain a correct appreciation of its significance. After relating the
circumstances attending the birth of Prince Siddârtha (known as the founder of
a religion by the name of Buddha), the poet proceeds to describe his education
under the discipline provided by his wise and liberal father, who spared none
of the resources of an Oriental monarchy for the training and culture of the
youthful Prince. He early displayed a precocity of intellect and character,
which surpassed the highest skill of his teachers, and presaged a future of
marvellous import: --
Which reverence
Lord Buddha kept to all his schoolmasters,
Albeit beyond their learning taught; in
speech
Right gentle, yet so wise, princely of mien,
Yet softly-mannered; modest, deferent,
And tender-hearted, though of fearless blood;
No bolder horseman in the youthful band
E'er rode in gay chase of the shy gazelles
No keener driver of the chariot
In mimic contests scoured the Palace-courts;
Yet in mid-play the boy would oftfimes pause,
Letting the deer pass free; would ofttimes
yield
His half-won race because the laboring steeds
Fetched painful breath; or if his princely
mates
Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream
Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the
years
Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord,
Even as a great tree grows from two soft
leaves
To spread its shade afar; but hardly yet
Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or
tears,
Save as strange names for things not felt by
kings,
Nor ever to be felt.
The poet then
relates an instance illustrating the early development of the "quality of
mercy" in the bosom of the Prince. It happened one vernal day that a wild
swan was shot by an idle courtier as the flock flew near the palace, and the
wounded bird fell into the hands of Siddârtha. As he soothed the frightened,
fluttering bird with tender touch, and drew the arrow from its side, he pressed
the barb into his own wrist to make trial of the pain: --
Then some one came who said, "My Prince
hath shot
A swan, which fell among the roses here.
He bids me pray you send it. Will you send?
"Nay," quoth Siddârtha, "if
the bird were dead
To send it to the slayer might be well,
But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed
The god-like speed which throbbed in this
white wing."
And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing,
Living or dead, is his who fetched it down;
'T was no man's in the clouds, but fall'n 't
is mine,
Give me my prize, fair Cousin." Then our
Lord
Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth
cheek
And gravely spake, "Say no! the bird is
mine,
The first of myriad things which shall be
mine
By right of mercy and love's lordliness.
For now I know, by what within me stirs,
That I shall teach compassion unto men
And be a speechless world's interpreter,
Abating this accursed flood of woe,
Not man's alone, but if the Prince disputes,
Let him submit this matter to the wise
And we will wait their word." So was it
done;
In full divan the business had debate,
And many thought this thing and many that,
Till there arose an unknown priest who said,
"If life be aught, the saviour of a life
Owns more the living thing than he can own
Who sought to slay -- the slayer spoils and
wastes,
The cherisher sustains, give him the
bird";
Which judgment all found just; but when the
King
Sought out the sage for honor, he was gone;
And some one saw a hooded snake glide forth,
--
The gods come ofttimes thus! So our Lord
Buddh
Began his works of mercy.
His experience
of human suffering upon a visit with his father to different scenes in the
royal domain, is greatly enlarged by the suggestive spectacle, and a fresh
impulse is given to his already deep sympathy with the woes of his kind:
--
On another day, the King said, "Come,
Sweet son! and see the pleasaunce of the
Spring,
And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield
Its riches to the reaper; how my realm --
Which shall be thine when the pile flames for
me --
Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King's
chest filled.
Fair is the season with new leaves, bright
blooms,
Green grass, and cries of plough-time."
So they rode
Into a land of wells and gardens, where,
All up and down the rich red loam, the steers
Strained their strong shoulders in the
creaking yoke
Dragging the ploughs; the fat soil rose and
rolled
In smooth dark waves back from the plough;
who drove
Planted both feet upon the leaping share
To make the furrow deep; among the palms
The tinkle of the rippling water rang,
And where it ran the glad earth 'broidered it
With balsams and the spears of lemon-grass.
Elsewhere were sowers who went forth to sow
And all the jungle laughed with
nesting-songs,
And all the thickets rustled with small life
Of lizard, bee, beetle, and creeping things
Pleased at the Spring-time. In the
mango-sprays
The sun-birds flashed; alone at his green
forge
Toiled the loud coppersmith; bee-eaters
hawked
Chasing the purple butterflies; beneath,
Striped squirrels raced, the mynas perked and
picked,
The nine brown sisters chattered in the
thorn,
The pied fish-tiger hung above the pool,
The egrets stalked among the buffaloes,
The kites sailed circles in the golden air;
About the painted temple peacocks flew,
The blue doves cooed from every well, far off
The village drums beat for some
marriage-feast
All things spoke peace and plenty, and the
Prince
Saw and rejoiced. But, looking deep, he saw
The thorns which grow upon this rose of life
How the swart peasant sweated for his wage,
Toiling for leave to live; and how he urged
The great-eyed oxen through the flaming
hours,
Goading their velvet flanks: then marked he,
too,
How lizard fed on ant, and snake on him,
And kite on both; and how the fish-hawk
robbed
The fish-tiger of that which it had seized;
The shrike chasing the bulbul, which did
chase
The jewelled butterflies; till everywhere
Each slew a slayer and in turn was slain
Life living upon death. So the fair show
Veiled one vast, savage, grim conspiracy
Of mutual murder, from the worm to man,
Who himself kills his fellow; seeing which --
The hungry ploughman and his laboring kine,
Their dewlaps blistered with the bitter yoke,
The rage to live which makes all living
strife --
The Prince Siddârtha sighed. "Is
this," he said,
"That happy earth they brought me forth
to see?
How salt with sweat the peasant's bread! how
hard
The oxen's service! in the brake how fierce
The war of weak and strong! i' th' air what
plots!
No refuge e'en in water. Go aside
A space, and let me muse on what ye
show."
So saying, the good Lord Buddha seated him
Under a jambu-tree, with ankles crossed, --
As holy statues sit, -- and first began
To meditate this deep disease of life,
What its far source and whence its remedy.
So vast a pity filled him, such wide love
For living things, such passion to heal pain,
That by their stress his princely spirit
passed
To ecstasy, and, purged from mortal taint
Of sense and self, the boy attained thereat
Dhyana, first step of "the path."
Upon the
attainment of his eighteenth year by the Prince, three sumptuous palaces were built
by command of his father, surrounded with delicious blooming gardens,
diversified with sportive streams and odorous thickets, in which Siddârtha
strayed at will, with a new pleasure for every hour. The lad was happy, life
was rich, and his youthful blood moved quickly in his veins: --
Yet still came
The shadows of his meditation back,
As the lake's silver dulls with driving
clouds.
The heart of
the King was troubled at these signs, and he consulted his
ministers as to
the course to be pursued with the son, dearer to him than his heart's blood,
and destined to trample on the neck of all his enemies, in the sway of
universal dominion. A shrewd old fox among the counsellors recommended the
power of love as the cure for the waywardness of the boy: --
"Find him soft wives and pretty
playfellows,
Eyes that make heaven forget, and lips of
balm."
The King feared
lest the dainty boy should not find a wife to his mind, if permitted to range
the garden of Beauty at will, and accepted the advice of another counsellor
that a festival should be appointed in which the maids of the realm should
contend for the palm of youth and grace: --
"Let the Prince give the prizes to the
fair,
And, when the lovely victors pass his seat,
There shall be those who mark if one or two
Change the fixed sadness of his tender cheek;
So we may choose for Love with Love's own
eyes,
And cheat his Highness into happiness."
This thing seemed good; wherefore upon a day
The criers bade the young and beautiful
Pass to the palace, for 't was in command
To hold a court of pleasure, and the Prince
Would give the prizes, something rich for
all,
The richest for the fairest judged. So
flocked
Kapilavastu's mailens to the gate,
Each with her dark hair newly smoothed and
bound,
Eyelashes lustred with the soorma-stick,
Fresh-bathed and scented; all in shawls and
cloths
Of gayest; slender hands and feet new-stained
With crimson, and the tilka-spots stamped
bright.
Fair show it was of all those Indian girls
Slow-pacing past the throne with large black
eyes
Fixed on the ground, for when they saw the
Prince
More than the awe of Majesty made beat
Their fluttering hearts, he sate so
passionless,
Gentle but so beyond them. Each maid took
With down-dropped lids her gift, afraid to
gaze;
And if the people hailed some lovelier one,
Beyond her rivals worthy royal smiles,
She stood like a scared antelope to touch
The gracious hand, then fled to join her
mates
Trembling at favor, so divine he seemed,
So high and saint-like and above her world.
Thus filed they, one bright maid after
another,
The city's flowers, and all this beauteous
march
Was ending and the prizes spent, when last
Came young Yasôdhara, and they that stood
Nearest Siddârtha saw the princely boy
Start, as the radiant girl approached. A form
Of heavenly mould; a gait like Parvati's;
Eyes like a hind's in love-time, face so fair
Words cannot paint its spell; and she alone
Gazed full -- folding her palms across her
breasts --
On the boy's gaze, her stately neck unbent.
"Is there a gift for me?" she
asked, and smiled.
"The gifts are gone," the Prince
replied, "yet take
This for amends, dear sister, of whose grace
Our happy city boasts;" therewith he
loosed
The emerald necklet from his throat, and
clasped
Its green beads round her dark and silk-soft
waist;
And their eyes mixed, and from the look
sprang love.
The King
determined to send messengers to demand the maiden of her father in marriage for
his son; but it was the law of the country that, when any one asked a maid of a
noble house, he should make good his claim by martial and athletic arts against
all challengers. The father accordingly replied that his child was sought by
princes far and near, and if her lover could bend the bow, or wield the sword,
or back a horse better than they, it would be the best thing for all; but he
was afraid that such a cloistered youth would have no chance in so grave a
contest. But the Prince only laughed at this, and declared that he was ready to
meet all comers at their chosen games. The day at length came, and Siddârtha
won the prize at shooting with the bow, and cleaving trees with the sword, when
the turn came for the trial of horsemanship: --
Then brought they steeds,
High-mettled, nobly bred, and three times
scoured
Around the maidan, but white Kantaka
Left even the fleetest far behind -- so
swift,
That ere the foam fell from his mouth to
earth
Twenty spear-lengths he flew; but Nanda said,
"We too might win with such as Kantaka;
Bring an unbroken horse, and let men see
Who best can back him." So the syces
brought
A stallion dark as night, led by three
chains,
Fierce-eyed, with nostrils wide and tossing
mane,
Unshod, unsaddled, for no rider yet
Had crossed him. Three times each young Saky
Sprang to his mighty back, but the hot steed
Furiously reared, and flung them to the plain
In dust and shame; only Ardjuna held
His seat awhile, and, bidding loose the
chains,
Lashed the black flank, and shook the bit,
and held
The proud jaws fast with grasp of
master-hand,
So that in storms of wrath and rage and fear
The savage stallion circled once the plain
Half-tamed; but sudden turned with naked
teeth,
Gripped by the foot Ardjuna, tore him down,
And would have slain him, but the grooms ran
in
Fettering the maddened beast. Then all men
cried,
"Let not Siddârtha meddle with this
Bhut,
Whose liver is a tempest, and his blood
Red flame;" but the Prince said, "Let
go the chains,
Give me his forelock only," which he
held
With quiet grasp, and, speaking some low
word,
Laid his right palm across the stallion's
eyes,
And drew it gently down the angry face,
And all along the neck and panting flanks,
Till men astonished saw the night-black hors
Sink his fierce crest and stand subdued and
meek,
As though he knew our Lord and worshipped
him.
Nor stirred he while Siddârtha mounted then
Went soberly to touch of knee and rein
Before all eyes, so that the people said,
"Strive no more, for Siddârtha is the
best."
The maid was
thus given to the Prince, the marriage-feast was kept, the gifts bestowed on
holy men, the alms and temple-offerings made, and the garments of the bride and
bridegroom tied. The old gray father spoke to the Prince to be good to her
whose life was now to be only in him. The sweet Yasôhara was brought home, with
songs and trumpets, to the Prince's arms, and "Love was all in all":
--
Yet not to love
Alone trusted the King; love's prison-house
Stately and beautiful he bade them build,
So that in all the earth no marvel was
Like Vishramvan, the Prince's pleasure-place.
Midway in those wide palace-grounds there
rose
A verdant hill whose base Rohini bathed,
Murmuring adown from Himalay's broad feet,
To bear its tribute into Gunga's waves.
Southward a growth of tamarind-trees and sal,
Thick set with pale sky-colored ganthi
flowers,
Shut out the world, save if the city's hum
Came on the wind no harsher than when bees
Hum out of sight in thickets. Northwards
soared
The stainless ramps of huge Himala's wall,
Ranged in white ranks against the blue --
untrod,
Infinite, wonderful -- whose uplands vast,
And lifted universe of crest and crag,
Shoulder and shelf, green slope and icy horn,
Riven ravine, and splintered precipice
Led climbing thought higher and higher, until
It seemed to stand in heaven and speak with
gods.
Beneath the snows dark forests spread, sharplaced
With leaping cataracts and veiled with clouds
Lower grew rose-oaks and the great fir groves
Where echoed pheasant's call and panther's
cry
Clatter of wild sheep on the stones, and
scream
Of circling eagles: under these the plain
Gleamed like a praying-carpet at the foot
Of those divinest altars. Fronting this
The builders set the bright pavilion up,
Fair-planted on the terraced hill, with
towers
On either flank and pillared cloisters round.
Its beams were carved with stories of old
time --
Radha and Krishna and the sylvan girls --
Sita and Hanuman and Draupadi;
And on the middle porch God Ganesha,
With disc and hook -- to bring wisdom and
wealth --
Propitious sate, wreathing his sidelong
trunk.
By winding ways of garden and of court
The inner gate was reached, of marble
wrought,
White with pink veins; the lintel lazuli,
The threshold alabaster, and the doors
Sandal-wood, cut in pictured panelling;
Whereby to lofty halls and shadowy bowers
Passed the delighted foot, on stately stairs,
Through latticed galleries, 'neath painted
roofs
And clustering columns, where cool fountains
-- fringed
With lotus and nelumbo -- danced, and fish
Gleamed through their crystal, scarlet, gold,
and blue.
Great-eyed gazelles in sunny alcoves browsed
The blown red roses; birds of rainbow wing
Fluttered among the palms; doves, green and
gray,
Built their safe nests on gilded cornices;
Over the shining pavements peacocks drew
The splendors of their trains, sedately
watched
By milk-white herons and the small
house-owls.
The plum-necked parrots swung from fruit to
fruit
The yellow sunbirds whirred from bloom to
bloom,
The timid lizards on the lattice basked
Fearless, the squirrels ran to feed from
hand,
For all was peace: the shy black snake, that
gives
Fortune to households, sunned his sleepy
coils
Under the moon-flowers, where the musk-deer
played,
And brown-eyed monkeys chattered to the
crows.
And all this house of love was peopled fair
With sweet attendance, so that in each part
With lovely sights were gentle faces found,
Soft speech and willing service, each one
glad
To gladden, pleased at pleasure, proud to
obey
Till life glided beguiled, like a smooth
stream
Banked by perpetual flow'rs, Yasôdhara
Queen of the enchanting Court.
The interior of
the palace is described as the scene of Oriental luxury and delight, on which
the author lavishes all the resources of his art to present the strange
contrast between the effeminate indulgences of Siddârtha's youth and the
subsequent austere, lonely years of preparation in which he receives the holy anointing as a chosen prophet of
humanity: --
But innermost,
Beyond the richness of those hundred halls,
A secret chamber lurked, where skill had
spent
All lovely fantasies to lull the mind.
The entrance of it was a cloistered square --
Roofed by the sky, and in the midst a tank --
Of milky marble built, and laid with slabs
Of milk-white marble; bordered round the tank
And on the steps, and all along the frieze
With tender inlaid work of agate-stones.
Cool as to tread in summertime on snows
It was to loiter there; the sunbeams dropped
Their gold, and, passing into porch and
niche,
Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and dim,
As if the very Day paused and grew Eve
In love and silence at that bower's gate;
For there beyond the gate the chamber was,
Beautiful, sweet; a wonder of the world!
Soft light from perfumed lamps through
windows fell
Of nakre and stained stars of lucent film
On golden cloths outspread, and silken beds,
And heavy splendor of the purdah's fringe,
Lifted to take only the loveliest in.
Here, whether it was night or day none knew.
For always streamed that softened light, more
bright
Than sunrise, but as tender as the eve's;
And always breathed sweet airs, more
joy-giving
Than morning's, but as cool as
And night and day lutes sighed, and night and
day
Delicious foods were spread, and dewy fruits,
Sherbets new chilled with snows of Himalay,
And sweetmeats made of subtle daintiness,
With sweet tree-milk in its own ivory cup.
And night and day served there a chosen band
Of nautch girls cup-bearers, and cymballers,
Delicate, dark-browed ministers of love,
Who fanned the sleeping eyes of the happy
Prince,
And when he waked, led back his thoughts to
bliss
With music whispering through the blooms, and
charm
Of amorous songs and dreamy dances, linked
By chime of ankle-bells and wave of arms
And silver vina-strings; while essences
Of musk and champak and the blue haze spread
From burning spices soothed his soul again
To drowse by sweet Yasôdhara; and thus
Siddârtha lived forgetting.
But no
enchantment of earth's delights could stay the soaring spirit which
sought the
crown of renunciation, the sacrifice of self for the deliverance of the race.
The fated hour of consummation now struck. Standing by the couch of his
sleeping wife, Siddârtha announces his resolution: --
"I will depart," he spake;
"the hour is come!
Thy tender lips, dear sleeper, summon me
To that which saves the earth but sunders us;
And in the silence of yon sky I read
My fated message flashing. Unto this
Came I, and unto this all nights and days
Have led me; for I will not have that crown
Which may be mine: I lay aside those realms
Which wait the gleaming of my naked sword:
My chariot shall not roll with bloody wheels
From victory to victory, till earth --
Wears the red record of my name. I choose
To tread its paths with patient, stainless
feet,
Making its dust my bed, its loneliest wastes
My dwelling, and its meanest things my mates:
Clad in no prouder garb than outcasts wear,
Fed with no meats save what the charitable
Give of their will, sheltered by no more pomp
Than the dim cave lends or the jungle-bush.
This will I do because the woful cry
Of life and all flesh living cometh up
Into my ears, and all my soul is full
Of pity for the sickness of this world
Which I will heal, if healing may be found
By uttermost renouncing and strong strife.
For which of all the great and lesser Gods
Have power or pity? Who hath seen them --
who?
What have they wrought to help their
worshippers?
How hath it steaded man to pray, and pay
Tithes of the corn and oil, to chant the
charms,
To slay the shrieking sacrifice, to rear
The stately fane, to feed the priests, and
call
On Vishnu, Shiva, Surya, who save
None -- not the worthiest -- from the griefs
that teach
Those litanies of flattery and fear
Ascending day by day, like wasted smoke?
. . . . . .
If one, then, being great and fortunate,
Rich, dowered with health and ease, from
birth designed
To rule -- if he would rule -- a King of
kings;
If one, not tired with life's long day but
glad
I' the freshness of its morning, one not
cloyed
With love's delicious feasts, but hungry
still
If one not worn and wrinkled, sadly sage,
But joyous in the glory and the grace
That mix with evils here, and free to choose
Earth's loveliest at his will: one even as I,
Who ache not, lack not, grieve not, save with
griefs
Which are not mine, except as I am man; --
If such a one, having so much to give,
Gave all, laying it down for love of men,
And thenceforth spent himself to search for
truth,
Wringing the secret of deliverance forth,
Whether it lurk in hells or hide in heavens,
Or hover, unrevealed, nigh unto all:
Surely at last, far off, sometime, somewhere,
The veil would lift for his deep-searching
eyes,
The road would open for his painful feet,
That should be won for which he lost the
world,
And Death might find him conqueror of death.
This will I do, who have a realm to lose,
Because I love my realm, because my heart
Beats with each throb of all the hearts that
ache,
Known and unknown, these that are mine and
those
Which shall be mine, a thousand million more
Saved by this sacifice I offer now.
Oh, summoning stars! I come! Oh, mournful
earth!
For thee and thine I lay aside my youth,
My throne, my joys, my golden days, my
nights,
My happy palace -- and thine arms, sweet
Queen!
Harder to put aside than all the rest!
Yet thee, too, I shall save, saving this
earth;
And that which stirs within thy tender womb,
My child, the hidden blossom of our loves,
Whom if I wait to bless my mind will fail.
Wife! child! father! and people! ye must
share
A little while the anguish of this hour
That light may break and all flesh learn the
Law.
Now am I fixed, and now I will depart,
Never to come again till what I seek
Be found -- if fervent search and strife
avail."
We need cull no
further specimens from this rich Oriental flower-garden to show that Mr. Arnold
has presented the world with a poem equally striking for the novelty of its
conception, its vigor of execution, and the exquisite beauty of its descriptive
passages. The originality of its plan is fully sustained by its power of invention,
splendor of coloring, and force of illustration. Mr. Arnold's imaginative gifts
are combined with a singularly acute historical sense, and a rare perception of
the music of rhythmical harmonies and the curious significance of a felicitous
phrase. Nor is his poem to be regarded merely in the light of imagination or
history. It forms a grave ethical treatise, shadowing forth in the legendary
life of Siddârtha some of the deepest mysteries and loftiest experiences of the
human soul. The great doctrine of renunciation, so earnestly insisted on by
Goethe and Carlyle, is in fact the key-note of the poem, and the evolution of
character from an exclusive devotion
to self to a
tender charity for our kind, which is so lucidly set forth in the philosophy of
Herbert Spencer, is illustrated with all the charms of a fascinating narrative
and the enchantments of melodious verse. As an exposition of the religious
system of Buddha we reckon this poem as no more successful than the numerous
similar attempts in prose. We have no sufficient data for the solution of the problem. But as a magnificent
work of imagination, and a sublime appeal in the interests of the loftiest
human virtue, we tender it the sincerest welcome, and grasp the author by the
hand as a genuine prophet of the soul.
______________________
Cardiff
Theosophical Society in
Theosophy
House
206
Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24 -1DL
Find out
more about
Theosophy
with these links
The Cardiff Theosophical Society Website
The National Wales Theosophy Website
If you
run a Theosophy Group, please feel free
to use
any of the material on this site
Theosophy Cardiff’s Instant Guide
One liners and quick explanations
H P Blavatsky is
usually the only
Theosophist that
most people have ever
heard of. Let’s put
that right
The Voice of the Silence Website
An Independent Theosophical Republic
Links to Free Online Theosophy
Study Resources; Courses,
Writings,
The main criteria
for the inclusion of
links on this
site is that they have some
relationship
(however tenuous) to Theosophy
and are
lightweight, amusing or entertaining.
Topics include
Quantum Theory and Socks,
Dick Dastardly and Legendary Blues Singers.
A selection of
articles on Reincarnation
Provided in
response to the large
number of
enquiries we receive at
Cardiff
Theosophical Society on this subject
The Voice of the Silence Website
This is for everyone, you don’t have to live
in Wales to make good use of this Website
No
Aardvarks were harmed in the
The Spiritual Home of Urban Theosophy
The Earth Base for Evolutionary Theosophy
A B C D EFG H IJ KL M N OP QR S T UV WXYZ
Complete Theosophical Glossary in Plain Text Format
1.22MB
________________
Preface
Theosophy and the Masters General Principles
The Earth Chain Body and Astral Body Kama – Desire
Manas Of Reincarnation Reincarnation Continued
Karma Kama Loka
Devachan
Cycles
Arguments Supporting Reincarnation
Differentiation Of Species Missing Links
Psychic Laws, Forces, and Phenomena
Psychic Phenomena and Spiritualism
Quick Explanations
with Links to More Detailed Info
What is Theosophy ? Theosophy Defined (More Detail)
Three Fundamental Propositions Key Concepts of Theosophy
Cosmogenesis Anthropogenesis Root Races
Ascended Masters After Death States
The Seven Principles of Man Karma
Reincarnation Helena Petrovna Blavatsky
Colonel Henry Steel Olcott William Quan Judge
The Start of the Theosophical
Society
History of the Theosophical
Society
Theosophical Society Presidents
History of the Theosophical
Society in Wales
The Three Objectives of the
Theosophical Society
Explanation of the Theosophical
Society Emblem
The Theosophical Order of
Service (TOS)
Glossaries of Theosophical Terms
Index of
Searchable
Full Text
Versions of
Definitive
Theosophical
Works
H P Blavatsky’s Secret Doctrine
Isis Unveiled by H P Blavatsky
H P Blavatsky’s Esoteric Glossary
Mahatma Letters to A P Sinnett 1 - 25
A Modern Revival of Ancient Wisdom
(Selection of Articles by H P Blavatsky)
The Secret Doctrine – Volume 3
A compilation of H P Blavatsky’s
writings published after her death
Esoteric Christianity or the Lesser Mysteries
The Early Teachings of The Masters
A Collection of Fugitive Fragments
Fundamentals of the Esoteric Philosophy
Mystical,
Philosophical, Theosophical, Historical
and Scientific
Essays Selected from "The Theosophist"
Edited by George Robert Stow Mead
From Talks on the Path of Occultism - Vol. II
In the Twilight”
Series of Articles
The In the
Twilight” series appeared during
1898 in The
Theosophical Review and
from 1909-1913
in The Theosophist.
compiled from
information supplied by
her relatives
and friends and edited by A P Sinnett
Letters and
Talks on Theosophy and the Theosophical Life
Obras
Teosoficas En Espanol
Theosophische
Schriften Auf Deutsch
An Outstanding
Introduction to Theosophy
By a student of
Katherine Tingley
Elementary Theosophy Who is the Man? Body and Soul
Body, Soul and Spirit Reincarnation Karma
Try
these if you are looking for a local
Theosophy
Group or Centre
UK Listing of Theosophical Groups
Cardiff
Theosophical Society in Wales
206 Newport Road, Cardiff, Wales, UK. CF24 -1DL