The Light of Asia Part 2

I hear! I know! I come!" And she would ask, "What ails my Lord?" with large eyes terrorstruck; For at such times the pity in his look Was awful, and his visage like a G.o.d'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 Siddartha 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 s.h.i.+fting 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 waileth 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, pa.s.sing o'er the silver strings, To thee who know'st not yet of earthly things; So say we; mocking, as we pa.s.s away, These lovely shadows wherewith thou dost play.

Thereafter it befell he sate at eve Amid his beauteous Court, holding the hand Of sweet Yasodhara, 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, Yasodhara, 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 succour 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s, bright wife, Sore have I panted, at the sun's decline, To pa.s.s 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, maidans, jungle, koss on koss; And next King Bimbasara's realm, and then The vast flat world, with crores on crores of folk."

"Good," said Siddartha, "let the word be sent That Channa yoke my chariot--at noon Tomorrow 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 G.o.ds shone 'Mid shrines of leaves; so that the city seemed A capital of some enchanted land.

Also the criers pa.s.sed, with drum and gong, Proclaiming loudly, "Ho! all citizens, The King commands that there be seen today 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 Suddhodana 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. Siddartha 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 Sakya 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.ble 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, suntanned, 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 Tomorrow 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 Siddartha 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 'tomorrow 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 n.o.ble," 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 Yasodhara Live fourscore years, is this old age for her, Jalini, 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 Siddartha, 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 Yasodhara 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, Yasodhara!

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 pa.s.sion and thy grace, as black Night steals The rose-gleams from you 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 Suddhodana 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 das.h.i.+ng 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, s.h.i.+ning with blinding light, which four steeds drew, Snorting white smoke and champing fiery foam; And in the car the Prince Siddhartha 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 G.o.ds 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 Maharaj!

I hail this favoured House, whence shall arise A wider-reaching splendour 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 G.o.ds not less than men, And as the days pa.s.s kalpas pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sage 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 G.o.ds 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!