Chapter 7

Alone on his great mission going forth, Down Phalgu's valley he retraced his steps, Down past the seat where subtle Mara sat, And past the fountain where the siren sang, And past the city, through the fruitful fields And gardens he had traversed day by day For six long years, led by a strong desire To show his Brahman teachers his new light. But ah! the change a little time had wrought! A new-made stupa held their gathered dust, While they had gone where all see eye to eye, The darkness vanished and the river crossed.

Then turning sadly from this hallowed spot-- Hallowed by strivings for a higher life More than by dust this little mound contained-- He sought beneath the spreading banyan-tree His five companions, whom he lately left Sad at his own departure from the way The sacred Vedas and the fathers taught. They too had gone, to Varanassi[1] gone, High seat and centre of all sacred lore.

The day was well-nigh spent; his cave was near, Where he had spent so many weary years, And as he thither turned and upward climbed, The shepherd's little child who watched the flock His love had rescued from the bloody knife, Upon a rock that rose above his path Saw him pass by, and ran with eagerness To bear the news. Joy filled that humble home. They owed him all. The best they had they brought, And offered it with loving gratitude. The master ate, and as he ate he taught These simple souls the great, the living truth That love is more than costly sacrifice; That daily duties done are highest praise; That when life's duties end its sorrows end, And higher joys await the pure in heart. Their eager souls drank in his living words As those who thirst drink in the living spring. Then reverently they kissed his garment's hem, And home returned, while he lay down to sleep. And sweetly as a babe the master slept-- No doubts, no darkness, and no troubled dreams. When rosy dawn next lit the eastern sky, And morning's grateful coolness filled the air, The master rose and his ablutions made. With bowl and staff in hand he took his way Toward Varanassi, hoping there to find The five toward whom his earnest spirit yearned.

Ten days have passed, and now the rising sun. That hangs above the distant mountain-peaks Is mirrored back by countless rippling waves That dance upon the Ganges' yellow stream, Swollen by rains and melted mountain-snows, And glorifies the thousand sacred fanes[2] With gilded pinnacles and spires and domes That rise in beauty on its farther bank, While busy multitudes glide up and down With lightly dipping oars and swelling sails. And pilgrims countless as those shining waves, From far and near, from mountain, hill and plain, With dust and travel-stained, foot-sore, heart-sick, Here came to bathe within the sacred stream, Here came to die upon its sacred banks, Seeking to wash the stains of guilt away, Seeking to lay their galling burdens down. Scoff not at these poor heavy-laden souls! Blindly they seek, but that all-seeing Eye That sees the tiny sparrow when it falls, Is watching them, His angels hover near. Who knows what visions meet their dying gaze? Who knows what joys await those troubled hearts?

The ancient writings say that having naught To pay the ferryman, the churl refused To ferry him across the swollen stream, When he was raised and wafted through the air. What matter whether that all-powerful Love Which moves the worlds, and bears with all our sins, Sent him a chariot and steeds of fire, Or moved the heart of some poor fisherman To bear him over for a brother's sake? All power is His, and men can never thwart His all-embracing purposes of love. Now past the stream and near the sacred grove The deer-park called, the five saw him approach. But grieved at his departure from the way The ancient sages taught, said with themselves They would not rise or do him reverence. But as he nearer came, the tender love, The holy calm that shone upon his face, Made them at once forget their firm resolve. They rose together, doing reverence, And bringing water washed his way-soiled feet, Gave him a mat, and said as with one voice: "Master Gautama, welcome to our grove. Here rest your weary limbs and share our shade. Have you escaped from karma's fatal chains And gained clear vision--found the living light?"

"Call me not master. Profitless to you Six years have passed," the Buddha answered them, "In doubt and darkness groping blindly on. But now at last the day has surely dawned. These eyes have seen Nirvana's sacred Sun, And found the noble eightfold path that mounts From life's low levels, mounts from death's dark shades To changeless day, to never-ending rest." Then with the prophet's newly kindled zeal, Zeal for the truth his opened eyes had seen, Zeal for the friends whose struggles he had shared, Softened by sympathy and tender love, He taught how selfishness was primal cause Of every ill to which frail flesh is heir, The poisoned fountain whence all sorrows flow, The loathsome worm that coils about the root And kills the germ of every springing joy, The subtle foe that sows by night the tares That quickly springing choke the goodly seed Which left to grow would fill the daily life With balmy fragrance and with precious fruit. He showed that selfishness was life's sole bane And love its great and sovereign antidote. He showed how selfishness would change the child From laughing innocence to greedy youth And heartless manhood, cold and cruel age, Which past the vale and stript of all disguise Shrinks from the good, and eager slinks away And seeks those dismal regions of the lost His opened eyes with sinking heart had seen. Then showed how love its guardian angel paints Upon the cooing infant's smiling face, Grows into gentle youth, and manhood rich In works of helpfulness and brotherhood, And ripens into mellow, sweet old age, Childhood returned with all its gentleness, Whose funeral-pile but lights the upward way To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen, Those ever-widening mansions of delight.

Enwrapt the teacher taught the living truth; Enwrapt the hearers heard his living words; The night unheeded winged its rapid flight, The morning found their souls from darkness free.

Six yellow robes Benares daily saw, Six wooden alms-bowls held for daily food, Six meeting sneers with smiles and hate with love, Six watchers by the pilgrim's dying bed, Six noble souls united in the work Of giving light and hope and help to all.

A rich and noble youth, an only son, Had seen Gautama passing through the streets, A holy calm upon his noble face, Had heard him tell the pilgrims by the stream, Gasping for breath and breathing out their lives, Of higher life and joys that never end; And wearied, sated by the daily round Of pleasure, luxury and empty show That waste his days but fail to satisfy, Yet fearing his companions' gibes and sneers, He sought the master in the sacred grove When the full moon was mirrored in the stream, The sleeping city silvered by its light; And there he lingered, drinking in his words, Till night was passed and day was well-nigh spent.

The father, anxious for his absent son, Had sought him through the night from street to street In every haunt that youthful folly seeks, And now despairing sought the sacred grove-- Perhaps by chance, perhaps led by the light That guides the pigeon to her distant home-- And found him there. He too the Buddha heard, And finding light, and filled with joy, he said: "Illustrious master, you have found the way. You place the upturned chalice on its base. You fill with light the sayings dark of old. You open blinded eyes to see the truth."

At length they thought of those poor hearts at home, Mother and sister, watching through the night-- Waiting and watching through the livelong day, Startled at every step, at every sound, Startled at every bier that came in view In that great city of the stranger dead, That city where the living come to die-- And home returned when evening's rose and gold Had faded from the sky, and myriad lamps Danced on the sacred stream, and moon and stars Hung quivering in its dark and silent depths. But day by day returned, eager to hear More of that truth that sweetens daily life, Yet reaches upward to eternal day.

A marriage-feast,[3] three festivals in one, Stirs to its depths Benares' social life. A gorgeous sunset ushers in the night, Sunset and city mirrored in the stream. Broad marble steps upon the river-bank Lead to a garden where a blaze of bloom, A hedge of rose-trees, forms the outer wall; An aged banyan-tree,[4] whose hundred trunks Sustain a vaulted roof of living green Which scarce a ray of noonday's sun can pierce, The garden's vestibule and outer court; While trees of every varied leaf and bloom Shade many winding walks, where fountains fall With liquid cadence into shining pools. Above, beyond, the stately palace stands, Inviting in, calling to peace and rest, As if a soul dwelt in its marble form.

The darkness thickens, when a flood of light Fills every recess, lighting every nook; The garden hedge a wall of mellow light, A line of lamps along the river's bank, With lamps in every tree and lining every walk, While lamps thick set surround each shining pool, Weaving with rainbow tints the falling spray. And now the palace through the darkness shines. A thing of beauty traced with lines of light.[5]

The guests arrive in light and graceful boats, In gay gondolas such as Venice used, With richest carpets, richest canopies, And over walks with rose-leaves carpeted Pass to the palace, whose wide open gates Display within Benares' rank and wealth, Proud Brahman lords and stately Brahman dames And Brahman youth and beauty, all were there, Of Aryan blood but bronzed by India's sun, Not dressed like us, as very fashion-plates, But clothed in flowing robes of softest wool And finest silk, a harmony of shades, Sparkling with gems, ablaze with precious stones.[6] Three noble couples greet their gathering guests: An aged Brahman and his aged wife, For fifty years united in the bonds Of wedded love, no harsh, unloving word For all those happy years, their only fear That death would break the bonds that bound their souls; And next their eldest born, who sought his son, And drank deep wisdom from the Buddha's lips, And by his side that mother we have seen Outwatch the night, whose sweet and earnest face By five and twenty years of wedded love, By five and twenty years of busy cares-- The cares of home, with all its daily joys-- Had gained that look of holy motherhood[7] That millions worship on their bended knees As highest emblem of eternal love; And last that sister whose untiring love Watched by her mother through the weary hours, Her fair young face all trust and happiness, Before her, rainbow-tinted hopes and joys, Life's dark and cold and cruel side concealed, And by her side a noble Brahman youth, Who saw in her his every hope fulfilled.

But where is now that erring, wandering son, The pride of all these loyal, loving hearts, Heir to this wealth and hope of this proud house?

Seven clothed in coarsest yellow robes draw near With heads close shorn and bare, unsandaled feet, Alms-bowl on shoulder slung and staff in hand, But moving with that gentle stateliness That birth and blood, not wealth and effort, give, All in the strength of manhood's early prime, All heirs to wealth rejected, cast aside, But all united in the holy cause Of giving light and hope and help to all, While earnest greetings from the evening's hosts Show they are welcome and expected guests.

Startled, the stately Brahmans turn aside. "The heir has lost his reason," whispered they, "And joined that wandering prince who late appeared Among the yogis in the sacred grove, Who thinks he sees the truth by inner sight, Who fain would teach the wise, and claims to know More than the fathers and the Vedas teach." But as he nearer came, his stately form, His noble presence and his earnest face, Beaming with gentleness and holy love, Hushed into silence every rising sneer.

One of their number, wise in sacred lore, Profoundly learned, in all the Vedas versed, With courtly grace saluting Buddha, said: "Our Brahman masters teach that many ways Lead up to Brahma Loca, Brahma's rest, As many roads from many distant lands All meet before Benares' sacred shrines. They say that he who learns the Vedas' hymns, Performs the rites and prays the many prayers That all the sages of the past have taught, In Brahma's self shall be absorbed at last-- As all the streams from mountain, hill and plain, That swell proud Gunga's broad and sacred stream, At last shall mingle with the ocean's waves, They say that Brahmans are a holy caste, Of whiter skin and higher, purer blood, From Brahma sprung, and Brahma's only heirs, While you proclaim, if rumor speaks the truth, That only one hard road to Brahma leads, That every caste is pure, of common blood, That all are brothers, all from Brahma sprung."

But Buddha, full of gentleness, replied: "Ye call on Dyaus Pittar, Brahma, God,[8] One God and Father, called by many names, One God and Father, seen in many forms, Seen in the tempest, mingling sea and sky, The blinding sand-storm, changing day to night, In gentle showers refreshing thirsty fields, Seen in the sun whose rising wakes the world, Whose setting calls a weary world to rest, Seen in the deep o'erarching azure vault, By day a sea of light, shining by night With countless suns of countless worlds unseen, Making us seem so little, God so great. Ye say that Brahma dwells in purest light; Ye say that Brahma's self is perfect love; Ye pray to Brahma under many names To give you Brahma Loca's perfect rest.[9] Your prayers are vain unless your hearts are clean. For how can darkness dwell with perfect light? And how can hatred dwell with perfect love? The slandering tongue, that stirs up strife and hate, The grasping hand, that takes but never gives, The lying lips, the cold and cruel heart, Whence bitterness and wars and murders spring, Can ne'er by prayers to Brahma Loca climb.[10] The pure in heart alone with Brahma dwell. Ye say that Brahmans are a holy caste, From Brahma sprung and Brahma's only heirs; But yet in Bactria, whence our fathers came, And where their brothers and our kindred dwell, No Brahman ever wore the sacred cord. Has mighty Brahma there no son, no heir? The Brahman mother suffers all the pangs Kshatriyas, Sudras or the Vassas feel. The Brahman's body, when the soul has fled, A putrid mass, defiles the earth and air, Vile as the Sudras or the lowest beasts. The Brahman murderer, libertine or thief Ye say will be reborn in lowest beast, While some poor Sudra, full of gentleness And pity, charity and trust and love, May rise to Brahma Loca's perfect rest, Why boast of caste, that seems so little worth To raise the soul or ward off human ill? Why pray for what we do not strive to gain? Like merchants on the swollen Ganges' bank Praying the farther shore to come to them, Taking no steps, seeking no means, to cross. Far better strive to cast out greed and hate. Live not for self, but live for others' good. Indulge no bitter speech, no bitter thoughts. Help those in need; give freely what we have. Kill not, steal not, and ever speak the truth. Indulge no lust; taste not the maddening bowl That deadens sense and stirs all base desires; And live in charity and gentle peace, Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate. This is the way to Brahma Loca's rest. And ye who may, come, follow after me. Leave wealth and home and all the joys of life, That we may aid a sad and suffering world In sin and sorrow groping blindly on, Becoming poor that others may be rich, Wanderers ourselves to lead the wanderers home. And ye who stay, ever remember this: That hearth is Brahma's altar where love reigns, That house is Brahma's temple where love dwells, Ye ask, my aged friends, if death can break The bonds that bind your souls in wedded love. Fear not; death has no power to conquer love. Go hand in hand till death shall claim his own, Then hand in hand ascend Nirvana's heights, There, hand in hand, heart beating close to heart, Enter that life whose joys shall never end, Perennial youth succeeding palsied age, Mansions of bliss for this poor house of clay, Labors of love instead of toil and tears."

He spoke, and many to each other said: "Why hear this babbler rail at sacred things-- Our caste, our faith, our prayers and sacred hymns?" And strode away in proud and sovereign scorn; While some with gladness heard his solemn words, All soon forgotten in the giddy whirl Of daily business, daily joys and cares. But some drank in his words with eager ears, And asked him many questions, lingering long, And often sought him in the sacred grove To hear his burning words of living truth. And day by day some noble Brahman youth Forsook his wealth, forsook his home and friends, And took the yellow robe and begging-bowl To ask for alms where all had given him place, Meeting with gentleness the rabble's gibes, Meeting with smiles the Brahman's haughty scorn. Thus, day by day, this school of prophets grew, Beneath the banyan's columned, vaulted shade, All earnest learners at the master's feet, Until the city's busy, bustling throng Had come to recognize the yellow robe, The poor to know its wearer as a friend, The sick and suffering as a comforter, While to the dying pilgrim's glazing eyes He seemed a messenger from higher worlds Come down to raise his sinking spirit up And guide his trembling steps to realms of rest.

A year has passed, and of this growing band Sixty are rooted, grounded in the faith, Willing to do whate'er the master bids, Ready to go where'er the master sends, Eager to join returning pilgrim-bands And bear the truth to India's farthest bounds.

With joy the master saw their burning zeal, So free from selfishness, so full of love, And thought of all those blindly groping souls To whom these messengers would bear the light.

"Go," said the master, "each a different way. Go teach the common brotherhood of man. Preach Dharma, preach the law of perfect love, One law for high and low, for rich and poor. Teach all to shun the cudgel and the sword, And treat with kindness every living thing. Teach them to shun all theft and craft and greed, All bitter thoughts, and false and slanderous speech That severs friends and stirs up strife and hate. Revere your own, revile no brother's faith. The light you see is from Nirvana's Sun, Whose rising splendors promise perfect day. The feeble rays that light your brother's path Are from the selfsame Sun, by falsehoods hid, The lingering shadows of the passing night. Chide none with ignorance, but teach the truth Gently, as mothers guide their infants' steps, Lest your rude manners drive them from the way That leads to purity and peace and rest-- As some rude swain in some sequestered vale, Who thinks the visual line that girts him round The world's extreme, would meet with sturdy blows One rudely charging him with ignorance, Yet gently led to some commanding height, Whence he could see the Himalayan peaks, The rolling hills and India's spreading plains, With joyful wonder views the glorious scene. Pause not to break the idols of the past. Be guides and leaders, not iconoclasts. Their broken idols shock their worshipers, But led to light they soon forgotten lie."

One of their number, young and strong and brave, A merchant ere he took the yellow robe, Had crossed the frozen Himalayan heights And found a race, alien in tongue and blood, Gentle as children in their daily lives, Untaught as children in all sacred things, Living in wagons, wandering o'er the steppes, To-day all shepherds, tending countless flocks, To-morrow warriors, cruel as the grave, Building huge monuments of human heads-- Fearless, resistless, with the cyclone's speed Leaving destruction in their bloody track, Who drove the Aryan from his native plains To seek a home in Europe's trackless wastes. He yearned to seek these children of the wilds, And teach them peace and gentleness and love.[11] "But, Purna," said the master, "they are fierce. How will you meet their cruelty and wrath?" Purna replied, "With gentleness and love." "But," said the master, "they may beat and wound." "And I will give them thanks to spare my life." "But with slow tortures they may even kill." "I with my latest breath will bless their names, So soon to free me from this prison-house And send me joyful to the other shore." "Then," said the master, "Purna, it is well. Armed with such patience, seek these savage tribes. Thyself delivered, free from karma's chains These souls enslaved; thyself consoled, console These restless children of the desert wastes; Thyself this peaceful haven having reached, Guide these poor wanderers to the other shore."

With many counsels, many words of cheer, He on their mission sent his brethren forth, Armed with a prophet's zeal, a brother's love, A martyr's courage, and the Christian's hope That when life's duties end, its trials end, And higher life awaits those faithful found.

The days pass on; and now the rising sun Looks down on bands of pilgrims homeward bound, Some moving north, some south, some east, some west, Toward every part of India's vast expanse, One clothed in orange robes with every band To guide their kindred on the upward road.

But Purna joined the merchants he had led, Not moved by thirst for gain, but love for man, To seek the Tartar on his native steppes.

Meanwhile the master with diminished band Crossing the Ganges, backward wends his way Toward Rajagriha, and the vulture-peak Where he had spent so many weary years, Whither he bade the brothers gather in[12] When summer's rains should bring the time for rest.

[1]Varanassi is an old name of Benares.

[2]It can be no exaggeration to put the number of sacred edifices that burst upon Buddha's view as he first saw the holy city, at 1,000, as Phillips Brooks puts the present number of such edifices in Benares at 5,000.

[3]In this marriage-feast three well-known incidents in the life of Buddha and his teaching's on the three occasions are united.

[4]For the best description of the banyan-tree, see Lady Dufferin's account of the old tree at their out-of-town place in "Our Viceroyal Life in India," and "Two Years in Ceylon," by C.F. Gordon Cumming.

[5]Those who saw the illuminations at Chicago during the World's fair, with lines of incandescent electric lights, can get a good idea of the great illuminations in India with innumerable oil lamps, and those who did not should read Lady Dufferin's charming description of them in "Our Viceroyal Life in India."

[6]Lady Dufferin says that the viceroy never wearied, in his admiration of the graceful flowing robes of the East as contrasted with our stiff, fashion-plate male attire.

[7]"The good Lord could not be everywhere and therefore made mothers."--Jewish saying from the Talmud.

[8]Max Mueller calls attention to the remarkable fact that Dyaus Pittar, the highest name of deity among the ancient Hindoos, is the exact equivalent of Zeus Pater among the Greeks, Jupiter among the Romans, and of "Our Father who art in the heavens" in the divinely taught and holiest prayer of our own religion.

[9]How any one can think that Buddha did not believe in a Supreme Being in the face and light of the wonderful Sutra, or sermon of which, the text is but a condensation or abstract, is to me unaccountable. It is equally strange that any one should suppose he regarded Nirvana, which is but another name for Brahma Loca, as meaning annihilation.

To be sure he used the method afterwards adopted by Socrates, and now known as the Socratic method, of appealing to the unquestioned belief of the Brahmans themselves as the foundation of his argument in support of that fundamental truth of all religions, that the pure in heart alone can see God. But to suppose that he was using arguments to convince them that he did not believe himself, is a libel on one whose absolute truthfulness and sincerity admit of no question.

[10]"He prayeth best who loveth best Both man and bird and beast." --Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

[11]Whether the Tartars were "the savage tribes" to whom Purna, one of the sixty, was sent, may admit of question, but it is certain that long before the Christian era the whole country north of the Himalayas was thoroughly Buddhist, and the unwearied missionaries of that great faith had penetrated so far west that they met Alexander's army and boldly told him that war was wrong; and they had penetrated east to the confines of China.

[12]The large gatherings of the Buddhist brotherhoods everywhere spoken of in the writings can only be accounted for on the supposition, which is more than a supposition, that they came to him in the rainy season, when they could do but little in their missions; and the substantial unity of the Buddhist faith can only be accounted for on the supposition that his instructions were constantly renewed at these gatherings and their errors corrected.