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  THE LIGHT OF ASIA

  THE GREAT RENUNCIATION

  * * *

  EDWIN ARNOLD

  *

  The Light of Asia

  The Great Renunciation

  First published in 1879

  ISBN 978-1-62011-327-1

  Duke Classics

  © 2012 Duke Classics and its licensors. All rights reserved.

  While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in this edition, Duke Classics does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. Duke Classics does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book.

  Contents

  *

  Book The First

  Book The Second

  Book The Third

  Book The Fourth

  Book the Fifth

  Book The Sixth

  Book The Seventh

  Book The Eighth

  *

  This volume is dutifully inscribed to the Sovereign, Grand Master, and Companions of The Most Exalted Order of the Star of India by The Author.

  Book The First

  *

  The Scripture of the Saviour of the World,

  Lord Buddha—Prince Siddartha styled on earth

  In Earth and Heavens and Hells Incomparable,

  All-honoured, Wisest, Best, most Pitiful;

  The Teacher of Nirvana and the Law.

  Then came he to be born again for men.

  Below the highest sphere four Regents sit

  Who rule our world, and under them are zones

  Nearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead

  Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again;

  And on Lord Buddha, waiting in that sky,

  Came for our sakes the five sure signs of birth

  So that the Devas knew the signs, and said

  "Buddha will go again to help the World."

  "Yea!" spake He, "now I go to help the World.

  This last of many times; for birth and death

  End hence for me and those who learn my Law.

  I will go down among the Sakyas,

  Under the southward snows of Himalay,

  Where pious people live and a just King."

  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."

  In this wise was the holy Buddha born.

  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.

  But King Suddhodana wist not of this;

  The portents troubled, till his dream-readers

  Augured a Prince of earthly dominance,

  A Chakravartin, such as rise to rule

  Once in each thousand years; seven gifts he has

  The Chakra-ratna, disc divine; the gem;

  The horse, the Aswa-ratna, that proud steed

  Which tramps the clouds; a snow-white elephant,

  The Hasti-ratna, born to bear his King;

  The crafty Minister, the General

  Unconquered, and the wife of peerless grace,

  The Istri-ratna, lovelier than the Dawn.

  For which gifts looking with this wondrous boy,

  The King gave order that his town should keep

  High festival; therefore the ways were swept,

  Rose-odours sprinkled in the street, the trees

  Were hung with lamps and flags, while merry crowds

  Gaped on the sword-players and posturers,

  The jugglers, charmers, swingers, rope-walkers,

  The nautch-girls in their spangled skirts and bells

  That chime light laughter round their restless feet;

  The masquers wrapped in skins of bear and deer.

  The tiger-tamers, wrestlers, quail-fighters,

  Beaters of drum and twanglers of the wire,

  Who made the people happy by command.

  Moreover from afar came merchant-men,

  Bringing, on tidings of this birth, rich gifts

  In golden trays; goat-shawls, and nard and jade,

  Turkises, "evening-sky" tint, woven webs—

  So fine twelve folds hide not a modest face—

  Waist-cloths sewn thick with pearls, and sandalwood;

  Homage from tribute cities; so they called

  Their Prince Svarthasiddh, "All-Prospering,"

&
nbsp; Briefer, Siddartha.

  'Mongst the strangers came

  A grey-haired saint, Asita, one whose ears,

  Long closed to earthly things, caught heavenly sounds,

  And heard at prayer beneath his peepul-tree

  The Devas singing songs at Buddha's birth.

  Wondrous in lore he was by age and fasts;

  Him, drawing nigh, seeming so reverend,

  The King saluted, and Queen Maya made

  To lay her babe before such holy feet;

  But when he saw the Prince the old man cried

  "Ah, Queen, not so!" and thereupon he touched

  Eight times the dust, laid his waste visage there,

  Saying, "O Babe! I worship! Thou art He!

  I see the rosy light, the foot-sole marks,

  The soft curled tendril of the Swastika,

  The sacred primal signs thirty and two,

  The eighty lesser tokens. Thou art Buddh,

  And thou wilt preach the Law and save all flesh

  Who learn the Law, though I shall never hear,

  Dying too soon, who lately longed to die;

  Howbeit I have seen Thee. Know, O King!

  This is that Blossom on our human tree

  Which opens once in many myriad years—

  But opened, fills the world with Wisdom's scent

  And Love's dropped honey; from thy royal root

  A Heavenly Lotus springs: Ah, happy House!

  Yet not all-happy, for a sword must pierce

  Thy bowels for this boy—whilst thou, sweet Queen!

  Dear to all gods and men for this great birth,

  Henceforth art grown too sacred for more woe,

  And life is woe, therefore in seven days

  Painless thou shalt attain the close of pain."

  Which fell: for on the seventh evening

  Queen Maya smiling slept, and waked no more,

  Passing content to Trayastrinshas-Heaven,

  Where countless Devas worship her and wait

  Attendant on that radiant Motherhead.

  But for the Babe they found a foster-nurse,

  Princess Mahaprajapati—her breast

  Nourished with noble milk the lips of

  Him Whose lips comfort the Worlds.

  When th' eighth year passed

  The careful King bethought to teach his son

  All that a Prince should learn, for still he shunned

  The too vast presage of those miracles,

  The glories and the sufferings of a Buddh.

  So, in full council of his Ministers,

  "Who is the wisest man, great sirs," he asked,

  "To teach my Prince that which a Prince should know?"

  Whereto gave answer each with instant voice

  "King! Viswamitra is the wisest one,

  The farthest-seen in Scriptures, and the best

  In learning, and the manual arts, and all."

  Thus Viswamitra came and heard commands;

  And, on a day found fortunate, the Prince

  Took up his slate of ox-red sandal-wood,

  All-beautified by gems around the rim,

  And sprinkled smooth with dust of emery,

  These took he, and his writing-stick, and stood

  With eyes bent down before the Sage, who said,

  "Child, write this Scripture, speaking slow the verse

  'Gayatri' named, which only High-born hear:—

  "Om, tatsaviturvarenyam

  Bhargo devasya dhimahi

  Dhiyo yo na prachodayat."

  "Acharya, I write," meekly replied

  The Prince, and quickly on the dust he drew—

  Not in one script, but many characters

  The sacred verse; Nagri and Dakshin, Ni,

  Mangal, Parusha, Yava, Tirthi, Uk,

  Darad, Sikhyani, Mana, Madhyachar,

  The pictured writings and the speech of signs,

  Tokens of cave-men and the sea-peoples,

  Of those who worship snakes beneath the earth,

  And those who flame adore and the sun's orb,

  The Magians and the dwellers on the mounds;

  Of all the nations all strange scripts he traced

  One after other with his writing-stick.

  Reading the master's verse in every tongue;

  And Viswamitra said, "It is enough,

  Let us to numbers.

  "After me repeat

  Your numeration till we reach the Lakh,

  One, two, three, four, to ten, and then by tens

  To hundreds, thousands." After him the child

  Named digits, decads, centuries; nor paused,

  The round Lakh reached, but softly murmured on

  "Then comes the koti, nahut, ninnahut,

  Khamba, viskhamba, abab, attata,

  To kumuds, gundhikas, and utpalas,

  By pundarikas unto padumas,

  Which last is how you count the utmost grains

  Of Hastagiri ground to finest dust;

  But beyond that a numeration is,

  The Katha, used to count the stars of night;

  The Koti-Katha, for the ocean drops;

  Ingga, the calculus of circulars;

  Sarvanikchepa, by the which you deal

  With all the sands of Gunga, till we come

  To Antah-Kalpas, where the unit is

  The sands of ten crore Gungas. If one seeks

  More comprehensive scale, th' arithmic mounts

  By the Asankya, which is the tale

  Of all the drops that in ten thousand years

  Would fall on all the worlds by daily rain;

  Thence unto Maha Kalpas, by the which

  The Gods compute their future and their past."

  "'Tis good," the Sage rejoined, "Most noble Prince,

  If these thou know'st, needs it that I should teach

  The mensuration of the lineal?"

  Humbly the boy replied, "Acharya!"

  "Be pleased to hear me. Paramanus ten

  A parasukshma make; ten of those build

  The trasarene, and seven trasarenes

  One mote's-length floating in the beam, seven motes

  The whisker-point of mouse, and ten of these

  One likhya; likhyas ten a yuka, ten

  Yukas a heart of barley, which is held

  Seven times a wasp-waist; so unto the grain

  Of mung and mustard and the barley-corn,

  Whereof ten give the finger joint, twelve joints

  The span, wherefrom we reach the cubit, staff,

  Bow-length, lance-length; while twenty lengths of lance

  Mete what is named a 'breath,' which is to say

  Such space as man may stride with lungs once filled,

  Whereof a gow is forty, four times that

  A yojana; and, Master! if it please,

  I shall recite how many sun-motes lie

  From end to end within a yojana."

  Thereat, with instant skill, the little Prince

  Pronounced the total of the atoms true.

  But Viswamitra heard it on his face

  Prostrate before the boy; "For thou," he cried,

  "Art Teacher of thy teachers—thou, not I,

  Art Guru. Oh, I worship thee, sweet Prince!

  That comest to my school only to show

  Thou knowest all without the books, and know'st

  Fair reverence besides."

  Which reverence

  Lord Buddha kept to all his schoolmasters,

  Albeit beyond their learning taught; in speech

  Right gentle, yet so wise; princely of mien,

  Yet softly-mannered; modest, deferent,

  And tender-hearted, though of fearless blood;

  No bolder horseman in the youthful band

  E'er rode in gay chase of the shy gazelles;

  No keener driver of the chariot

  In mimic contest scoured the Palace-courts;

  Yet in mid-play the boy would of
ttimes pause,

  Letting the deer pass free; would ofttimes yield

  His half-won race because the labouring steeds

  Fetched painful breath; or if his princely mates

  Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream

  Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the years

  Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord,

  Even as a great tree grows from two soft leaves

  To spread its shade afar; but hardly yet

  Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or tears,

  Save as strange names for things not felt by kings,

  Nor ever to be felt. But it befell

  In the Royal garden on a day of spring,

  A flock of wild swans passed, voyaging north

  To their nest-places on Himala's breast.

  Calling in love-notes down their snowy line

  The bright birds flew, by fond love piloted;

  And Devadatta, cousin of the Prince,

  Pointed his bow, and loosed a wilful shaft

  Which found the wide wing of the foremost swan

  Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road,

  So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed,

  Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes.

  Which seeing, Prince Siddartha took the bird

  Tenderly up, rested it in his lap

  Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits

  And, soothing with a touch the wild thing's fright,

  Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,

  Caressed it into peace with light kind palms

  As soft as plantain-leaves an hour unrolled;

  And while the left hand held, the right hand drew

  The cruel steel forth from the wound and laid

  Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart.

  Yet all so little knew the boy of pain

  That curiously into his wrist he pressed

  The arrow's barb, and winced to feel it sting,

  And turned with tears to soothe his bird again.

  Then some one came who said, "My Prince hath shot

  A swan, which fell among the roses here,

  He bids me pray you send it. Will you send?"

  "Nay," quoth Siddartha, "if the bird were dead

  To send it to the slayer might be well,

  But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed

  The god-like speed which throbbed in this white wing."

  And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing,

  Living or dead, is his who fetched it down;

  'T was no man's in the clouds, but fall'n 't is mine,

  Give me my prize, fair Cousin." Then our Lord

  Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth cheek

  And gravely spake, "Say no! the bird is mine,