Chapter 9
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 'soaped 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 Yasodhara 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 Nidanas 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 Yasodhara Passed into peace and bliss, being softly led."
But when the King heard how Siddartha came Shorn, with the mendicant's sad-coloured 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 Siddartha 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 father 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 Sammat, 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, Suddhodana 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 Yasodhara and sunned her tears; And that night entered they the Way of Peace.
Book The Eighth
A broad mead spreads by swift Kohana'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 Himala 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 Suddhodana, 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 Sakya 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 Yasodhara, 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. 'T was 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--'t is 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, tomorrow 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 labour 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 travelers 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 reedseeds 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: