The Light of Asia

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 Suddhodana. "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 Tomorrow, 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."

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.

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

"Then all men live in fear?" "So live they, Prince!"

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.

A rich gift after him, the messengers 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.

In the third watch, The earth being still, the hellish legions fled, A soft air breathing from the sinking moon, Our Lord attained samma-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:

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-Sil, 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; Upeksha; The Five Great Meditations, which are food Sweeter than Amrit for the holy soul; The Jhana'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.

Siddartha 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!"

But thou that art to save, thine hour is nigh! The sad world waileth in its misery, The blind world stumbleth on its round of pain; Rise, Maya's child! wake! slumber not again!

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?

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 Siddartha'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.

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.

It seeth everywhere and marketh all Do right--it recompenseth! do one wrong-- The equal retribution must be made, Though DHARMA tarry long.

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 would my Lord?" the charioteer replied-- Slow-rising from his place beside the gate "To ride at night when all the ways are dark?"

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; 'T were 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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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;

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 some--for all things knew-- The conscious tree bent down its boughs to make A bower above 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 Mount Sumeru--they who write men's deeds 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 Nagas 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.

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 Siddartha's hand, And at the third kiss moaned: "Awake, my Lord! Give me the comfort of thy speech!" Then he-- "What is 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 toward 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, Coloured as none are coloured in our groves."

"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.'"

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.

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 Sankhara, Tendency Perverse: Tendency Energy--Vidnnan-- Whereby comes Namarupa, 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 Vendana 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, fills 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; Released from all the skandhas of the flesh; Broken from ties--from Upandanas--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!

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;

Answer made the sage "'T is 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 splendour past all thought."

Fondly Siddartha 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 tonight, 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! I 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!"

Touch not thy neighbour's wife, neither commit Sins of the flesh unlawful and unfit.

"Evil swells the debts to pay, Good delivers and acquits; Shun evil, follow good; hold sway Over thyself. This is the Way."

With wild red feet. So, where the grain should grow, Spreads the biran-weed with its evil root And poisonous blossoms; hardly good seeds find Soil where to fall and shoot;

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.

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,

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 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 twanged His threads of brass, and she beside him sang--

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 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 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 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 '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 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 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 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."

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," spake he to the herdsmen, "wherefore, friends, Drive ye the flocks adown under high noon, Since 't is at evening that men fold their sheep?"

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.

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.

But Now, Thou Builder of this Tabernacle--Thou! I Know Thee! Never Shalt Thou Build Again These Walls of Pain,

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.

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,

"Om, tatsaviturvarenyam Bhargo devasya dhimahi Dhiyo yo na prachodayat."

That night the wife of King Suddhodana, Maya the Queen, asleep beside her Lord, Dreamed a strange dream; dreamed that a star from heaven-- Splendid, six-rayed, in colour 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 't were 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."

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!

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 Siddartha 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.