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 Iudra. 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 gra.s.s; at its stretched throat the knife Pressed by a priest, who murmured: "This, dread G.o.ds, Of many yajnas cometh as the crown From Bimbasara: 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 n.o.ble for the strong.

Unto the dumb lips of his flock he lent Sad pleading words, showing how man, who prays For mercy to the G.o.ds, is merciless, Being as G.o.d 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 pa.s.sage of a soul be stayed.

Nor, spake he, shall one wash his spirit clean By blood; nor gladden G.o.ds, 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 pa.s.sed 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 Dalidd-- Drought withered all the land: the young rice died Ere it could hide a quail; in forest glades A fierce sun sucked the pools; gra.s.ses 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 pa.s.sed, A starving tigress. Hunger in her orbs Glared with green flame; her dry tongue lolled a 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 compa.s.sion of a Buddh, Our Lord bethought, "There is no other way To help this murdress of the woods but one.

By sunset these will die, having no meat: There is no living heart will pity her, b.l.o.o.d.y 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 G.o.ds.

And much King Bimbasara 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 Siddartha, of set mind "These things I had, most n.o.ble King, and left, Seeking the Truth; which still I seek, and shall; Not to be stayed though Sakra's palace ope'd Its doors of pearl and Devis 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 Bimbasara paced, Reverently bending to the Master's feet, And bade him speed. So pa.s.sed 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-- Alara, 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-Kand, which tells How Brahm is bodiless and actionless, Pa.s.sionless, calm, unqualified, unchanged, Pure life, pure thought, pure joy? Or how should man Its better than the Karmma-Kand, which shows How he may strip pa.s.sion and action off, Break from the bond of self, and so, unsphered, Be G.o.d, 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 Nilajan and Mohana; follow them, Winding beneath broad-leaved mahua-trees, 'Mid thickets of the sansar and the bir, Till on the plain the shining sisters meet In Phalgu's bed, flowing by rocky banks To Gaya and the red Barabar hills.

Hard by that river spreads a th.o.r.n.y waste, Uruwelaya named in ancient days, With sandhills broken; on its verge a wood Waves sea-green plumes and ta.s.sels '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 Senani reared Its roofs of gra.s.s, 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 vapoury 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 sal-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 Siddartha 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 G.o.d; But our Lord, gaining breath, arose and asked Milk in the shepherd's lots. "Ah, my Lord, I cannot give thee," quoth the lad; "thou seest I am a Sudra, and my touch defiles!"

Then the World-honoured 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 pa.s.sed 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 peac.o.c.k-feathers, one that blew The piping bansuli, 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 tw.a.n.ged His threads of bra.s.s, 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 o'erstretched 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 b.u.t.terfly 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 pa.s.sed, 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-- "Senani." Pleasant and in peace he lived, Having for wife Sujata, loveliest Of all the dark-eyed daughters of the plain; Gentle and true, simple and kind was she, n.o.ble of mien, with gracious speech to all And gladsome looks--a pearl of womanhood-- Pa.s.sing 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 Sujata vowed-- If this should be--an offering of food Unto the Wood-G.o.d, 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 Sujata's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, while she did pace With grateful footsteps to the Wood-G.o.d'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 G.o.d.

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-G.o.d 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 G.o.ds."

So,--thinking him divine,--Sujata drew Tremblingly nigh, and kissed the earth and said, With sweet face bent: "Would that the Holy One Inhabiting his 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 pa.s.sed 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 Sujata worshipped, seeing our Lord Grow fairer and his countenance more bright: "Art thou indeed the G.o.d?" she lowly asked, "And hath my gift found favour?"

But Buddh said, "What is it thou dost bring me?"

"Holy one!"

Answered Sujata, "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 n.o.blest 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 world, he said: "Long be thy bliss!

And lightly fall on him the load of life!

For thou hast holpen me who am no G.o.d, 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 pa.s.ses 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 Sujata: "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 pa.s.s filled with household cares From sunrise when I wake to praise the G.o.ds, 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 travelers' 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 G.o.ds, 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 't is 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 pa.s.s 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 Senani, 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 G.o.ds 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."