The Light of Asia Page 3

  Thrilling the air, sang forth so clear and loud

  That feeble folk at home that day inquired

  "What is this sound?" and people answered them,

  "It is the sound of Sinhahanu's bow,

  Which the King's son has strung and goes to shoot;"

  Then fitting fair a shaft, he drew and loosed,

  And the keen arrow clove the sky, and drave

  Right through that farthest drum, nor stayed its flight,

  But skimmed the plain beyond, past reach of eye.

  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.

  Then brought they steeds,

  High-mettled, nobly-bred, and three times scoured

  Around the maidan, but white Kantaka

  Left even the fleetest far behind—so swift,

  That ere the foam fell from his mouth to earth

  Twenty spear-lengths he flew; but Nanda said,

  "We too might win with such as Kantaka;

  Bring an unbroken horse, and let men see

  Who best can back him." So the syces brought

  A stallion dark as night, led by three chains,

  Fierce-eyed, with nostrils wide and tossing mane,

  Unshod, unsaddled, for no rider yet

  Had crossed him. Three times each young Sakya

  Sprang to his mighty back, but the hot steed

  Furiously reared, and flung them to the plain

  In dust and shame; only Ardjuna held

  His seat awhile, and, bidding loose the chains,

  Lashed the black flank, and shook the bit, and held

  The proud jaws fast with grasp of master-hand,

  So that in storms of wrath and rage and fear

  The savage stallion circled once the plain

  Half-tamed; but sudden turned with naked teeth,

  Gripped by the foot Ardjuna, tore him down,

  And would have slain him, but the grooms ran in,

  Fettering the maddened beast. Then all men cried,

  "Let not Siddartha meddle with this Bhut,

  Whose liver is a tempest, and his blood

  Red flame;" but the Prince said, "Let go the chains,

  Give me his forelock only," which he held

  With quiet grasp, and, speaking some low word,

  Laid his right palm across the stallion's eyes,

  And drew it gently down the angry face,

  And all along the neck and panting flanks,

  Till men astonished saw the night-black horse

  Sink his fierce crest and stand subdued and meek,

  As though he knew our Lord and worshipped him.

  Nor stirred he while Siddartha mounted, then

  Went soberly to touch of knee and rein

  Before all eyes, so that the people said,

  "Strive no more, for Siddartha is the best."

  And all the suitors answered "He is best!"

  And Suprabuddha, father of the maid,

  Said, "It was in our hearts to find thee best,

  Being dearest, yet what magic taught thee more

  Of manhood 'mid thy rose-bowers and thy dreams

  Than war and chase and world's work bring to these?

  But wear, fair Prince, the treasure thou halt won."

  Then at a word the lovely Indian girl

  Rose from her place above the throng, and took

  A crown of mogra-flowers and lightly drew

  The veil of black and gold across her brow,

  Proud pacing past the youths, until she came

  To where Siddartha stood in grace divine,

  New lighted from the night-dark steed, which bent

  Its strong neck meekly underneath his arm.

  Before the Prince lowly she bowed, and bared

  Her face celestial beaming with glad love;

  Then on his neck she hung the fragrant wreath,

  And on his breast she laid her perfect head,

  And stooped to touch his feet with proud glad eyes,

  Saying, "Dear Prince, behold me, who am thine!"

  And all the throng rejoiced, seeing them pass

  Hand fast in hand, and heart beating with heart,

  The veil of black and gold drawn close again.

  Long after—when enlightenment was come—

  They prayed Lord Buddha touching all, and why

  She wore this black and gold, and stepped so proud.

  And the World-honoured answered, "Unto me

  This was unknown, albeit it seemed half known;

  For while the wheel of birth and death turns round,

  Past things and thoughts, and buried lives come back.

  I now remember, myriad rains ago,

  What time I roamed Himala's hanging woods,

  A tiger, with my striped and hungry kind;

  I, who am Buddh, couched in the kusa grass

  Gazing with green blinked eyes upon the herds

  Which pastured near and nearer to their death

  Round my day-lair; or underneath the stars

  I roamed for prey, savage, insatiable,

  Sniffing the paths for track of man and deer.

  Amid the beasts that were my fellows then,

  Met in deep jungle or by reedy jheel,

  A tigress, comeliest of the forest, set

  The males at war; her hide was lit with gold,

  Black-broidered like the veil Yasodhara

  Wore for me; hot the strife waged in that wood

  With tooth and claw, while underneath a neem

  The fair beast watched us bleed, thus fiercely wooed.

  And I remember, at the end she came

  Snarling past this and that torn forest-lord

  Which I had conquered, and with fawning jaws

  Licked my quick-heaving flank, and with me went

  Into the wild with proud steps, amorously.

  The wheel of birth and death turns low and high."

  Therefore the maid was given unto the Prince

  A willing spoil; and when the stars were good—

  Mesha, the Red Ram, being Lord of heaven—

  The marriage feast was kept, as Sakyas use,

  The golden gadi set, the carpet spread,

  The wedding garlands hung, the arm-threads tied,

  The sweet cake broke, the rice and attar thrown,

  The two straws floated on the reddened milk,

  Which, coming close, betokened "love till death;"

  The seven steps taken thrice around the fire,

  The gifts bestowed on holy men, the alms

  And temple offerings made, the mantras sung,

  The garments of the bride and bridegroom tied.

  Then the grey father spake: "Worshipful Prince,

  She that was ours henceforth is only thine;

  Be good to her, who hath her life in thee."

  Wherewith they brought home sweet Yasodhara,

  With songs and trumpets, to the Prince's arms,

  And love was all in all.

  Yet not to love

  Alone trusted the King; love's prison-house

  Stately and beautiful he bade them build,

  So that in all the earth no marvel was

  Like Vishramvan, the Prince's pleasure-place.

  Midway in those wide palace-grounds there rose

  A verdant hill whose base Rohini bathed,

  Murmuring adown from Himalay's broad feet,

  To
bear its tribute into Gunga's waves.

  Southward a growth of tamarind trees and sal,

  Thick set with pale sky-coloured ganthi flowers,

  Shut out the world, save if the city's hum

  Came on the wind no harsher than when bees

  Hum out of sight in thickets. Northward soared

  The stainless ramps of huge Hamala's wall,

  Ranged in white ranks against the blue-untrod

  Infinite, wonderful—whose uplands vast,

  And lifted universe of crest and crag,

  Shoulder and shelf, green slope and icy horn,

  Riven ravine, and splintered precipice

  Led climbing thought higher and higher, until

  It seemed to stand in heaven and speak with gods.

  Beneath the snows dark forests spread, sharp laced

  With leaping cataracts and veiled with clouds

  Lower grew rose-oaks and the great fir groves

  Where echoed pheasant's call and panther's cry

  Clatter of wild sheep on the stones, and scream

  Of circling eagles: under these the plain

  Gleamed like a praying-carpet at the foot

  Of those divinest altars. 'Fronting this

  The builders set the bright pavilion up,

  'Fair-planted on the terraced hill, with towers

  On either flank and pillared cloisters round.

  Its beams were carved with stories of old time—

  Radha and Krishna and the sylvan girls—

  Sita and Hanuman and Draupadi;

  And on the middle porch God Ganesha,

  With disc and hook—to bring wisdom and wealth—

  Propitious sate, wreathing his sidelong trunk.

  By winding ways of garden and of court

  The inner gate was reached, of marble wrought,

  White with pink veins; the lintel lazuli,

  The threshold alabaster, and the doors

  Sandalwood, cut in pictured panelling;

  Whereby to lofty halls and shadowy bowers

  Passed the delighted foot, on stately stairs,

  Through latticed galleries, 'neath painted roofs

  And clustering columns, where cool fountains—fringed

  With lotus and nelumbo—danced, and fish

  Gleamed through their crystal, scarlet, gold, and blue.

  Great-eyed gazelles in sunny alcoves browsed

  The blown red roses; birds of rainbow wing

  Fluttered among the palms; doves, green and grey,

  Built their safe nests on gilded cornices;

  Over the shining pavements peacocks drew

  The splendours of their trains, sedately watched

  By milk-white herons and the small house-owls.

  The plum-necked parrots swung from fruit to fruit;

  The yellow sunbirds whirred from bloom to bloom,

  The timid lizards on the lattice basked

  Fearless, the squirrels ran to feed from hand,

  For all was peace: the shy black snake, that gives

  Fortune to households, sunned his sleepy coils

  Under the moon-flowers, where the musk-deer played,

  And brown-eyed monkeys chattered to the crows.

  And all this house of love was peopled fair

  With sweet attendance, so that in each part

  With lovely sights were gentle faces found,

  Soft speech and willing service, each one glad

  To gladden, pleased at pleasure, proud to obey;

  Till life glided beguiled, like a smooth stream

  Banked by perpetual flowers, Yasodhara

  Queen of the enchanting Court.

  But innermost,

  Beyond the richness of those hundred halls,

  A secret chamber lurked, where skill had spent

  All lovely fantasies to lull the mind.

  The entrance of it was a cloistered square—

  Roofed by the sky, and in the midst a tank—

  Of milky marble built, and laid with slabs

  Of milk-white marble; bordered round the tank

  And on the steps, and all along the frieze

  With tender inlaid work of agate-stones.

  Cool as to tread in summer-time on snows

  It was to loiter there; the sunbeams dropped

  Their gold, and, passing into porch and niche,

  Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and dim,

  As if the very Day paused and grew Eve.

  In love and silence at that bower's gate;

  For there beyond the gate the chamber was,

  Beautiful, sweet; a wonder of the world!

  Soft light from perfumed lamps through windows fell

  Of nakre and stained stars of lucent film

  On golden cloths outspread, and silken beds,

  And heavy splendour of the purdah's fringe,

  Lifted to take only the loveliest in.

  Here, whether it was night or day none knew,

  For always streamed that softened light, more bright

  Than sunrise, but as tender as the eve's;

  And always breathed sweet airs, more joy-giving

  Than morning's, but as cool as midnight's breath;

  And night and day lutes sighed, and night and day

  Delicious foods were spread, and dewy fruits,

  Sherbets new chilled with snows of Himalay,

  And sweetmeats made of subtle daintiness,

  With sweet tree-milk in its own ivory cup.

  And night and day served there a chosen band

  Of nautch girls, cup-bearers, and cymballers,

  Delicate, dark-browed ministers of love,

  Who fanned the sleeping eyes of the happy Prince,

  And when he waked, led back his thoughts to bliss

  With music whispering through the blooms, and charm

  Of amorous songs and dreamy dances, linked

  By chime of ankle-bells and wave of arms

  And silver vina-strings; while essences

  Of musk and champak and the blue haze spread

  From burning spices soothed his soul again

  To drowse by sweet Yasodhara; and thus

  Siddartha lived forgetting.

  Furthermore,

  The King commanded that within those walls

  No mention should be made of death or age,

  Sorrow, or pain, or sickness. If one drooped

  In the lovely Court—her dark glance dim, her feet

  Faint in the dance—the guiltless criminal

  Passed forth an exile from that Paradise,

  Lest he should see and suffer at her woe.

  Bright-eyed intendants watched to execute

  Sentence on such as spake of the harsh world

  Without, where aches and plagues were, tears

  and fears,

  And wail of mourners, and grim fume of pyres.

  'T was treason if a thread of silver strayed

  In tress of singing-girl or nautch-dancer;

  And every dawn the dying rose was plucked,

  The dead leaves hid, all evil sights removed

  For said the King, "If he shall pass his youth

  Far from such things as move to wistfulness,

  And brooding on the empty eggs of thought,

  The shadow of this fate, too vast for man,

  May fade, belike, and I shall see him grow

  To that great stature of fair sovereignty

  When he shall rule all lands—if he will rule—

  The King of kings and glory of his time."

  Wherefore, around that pleasant prison house

  Where love was gaoler and delights its bars,

  But far removed from sight—the King bade build

  A massive wall, and in the wall a gate

  With brazen folding-doors, which but to roll

  Back on their hinges asked a hundred arms;

  Also the noise of that prodigious gate

  Opening was heard
full half a yojana.

  And inside this another gate he made,

  And yet within another—through the three

  Must one pass if he quit that pleasure-house.

  Three mighty gates there were, bolted and barred,

  And over each was set a faithful watch;

  And the King's order said, "Suffer no man

  To pass the gates, though he should be the Prince

  This on your lives—even though it be my son."

  Book The Third

  *

  In which calm home of happy life and love

  Ligged our Lord Buddha, knowing not of woe,

  Nor want, nor pain, nor plague, nor age, nor death,

  Save as when sleepers roam dim seas in dreams,

  And land awearied on the shores of day,

  Bringing strange merchandise from that black voyage.

  Thus ofttimes when he lay with gentle head

  Lulled on the dark breasts of Yasodhara,

  Her fond hands fanning slow his sleeping lids,

  He would start up and cry, "My world! Oh, world!

  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 god'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 shifting 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!