 Book 8 of THE DAWN AND THE DAY Northward the noble porna took his way till India's fields and plains were lost to view. Then through the rugged foothills upward climbed an up-a-gorge by rocky ramparts walled through which a mighty torrent thundered down. Their treacherous way along the torrent's brink, or up the giddy cliffs where one false step would plunge them headlong in the raging stream. From cliff to cliff their bridge of rope swung high above the dashing roaring waves. At length they crossed the frozen mountain pass, or wastes of snow by furious tempest swept, and crossed a desert where no bird or beast is ever seen, and where their way is marked by bleaching bones strewn thick along their track. Some perished by the way, and some turned back, while some of his companions persevered, cheered on by porna's never-flagging zeal, and by the master's words from porna's lips until they reached the outmost wandering tribes of that great race that he had come to save. With joy received these wandering tribes their guides, for love makes friends where selfishness breeds strife. They soon are led to where their kindred dwell. They saw the vanity of chasing wealth through hunger, danger, desolation, death. They felt a power sustaining porna's steps, a power unseen yet ever hovering near. They saw the truth of Buddha's burning words, that selfishness and greed dragged down the soul. The love can nerve the feeblest arm with strength, and ask that porna take them as his aides. But ere brave porna reached his journey's end, near many hamlets, many Indian towns, the moon high risen to mark the noon of night, through many sacred fig trees rustling leaves, sent trembling rays with trembling shadows mixed upon a noble youth in orange robes, his alms bold by his side, stretched out in sleep, dreaming per chance of some venaris made, per chance of home and joys so lately left. Meanwhile, the master with his little band, toward Rajagriha backward whence his way. Some village tree their nightly resting place, until they reached the grove that skirts the base of that bold mountain called the Vulture Peak, through which the lotus-covered falgu glides, or arched with trees festooned with trailing vines, while little streams leap down from rock to rock, cooling the verdant slopes and fragrant glades, and vines and shrubs and trees of varied bloom, loaded the air with odours rich and sweet, and where that sacred fig tree spread its shade above the mound that held the gathered dust of those sage-bramans who had sought to aid the young prince struggling for a clear light, and where that banyan tree for ages grew, so long the home of those five noble youths, now sundered far, some tree when night might fall, their resting place, their robe and bowl their all, their only food chance gathered day by day, preaching the common brotherhood of man, teaching the law of universal love, bearing the light to those in darkness sunk, lending a helping hand to those in need, teaching the strong that gentleness is great, and through this grove where many noble souls were seeking higher life and clearer light, he took his well-known way and reached his cave just as the day was fading into night, and myriad stars spangled the azure vault and myriad lamps that through the darkness shone revealed the city that the night had veiled, where soon their weary limbs were laid to rest, but through the silent hour preceding day, before the jungle cock announced the dawn, all roused from sleep and meditation sat, but when the sun had set the easter glow and roused the birds to sing their matten songs and roused the lowing herds to call their mates and roused a sleeping world to daily toil, their matten chanted, their ablutions made, with bowl and staff in hand they took their way down to the city for their daily alms, but earlier steps had brushed their dewy path from out the shepherd's cottage loving eyes had recognized the master's stately form, and love-winged steps had borne the joyful news that he, the poor man's advocate and friend, the sweet-voiced messenger of peace and love, the prince become a beggar for their sake, so long expected now at last returns, from door to door the joyful tidings spread, and old and young from every cottage came the merchant left his wares without a guard, the housewife left her picture at the well, the loom was idle and the anvil still, the money-changer told his coins alone, while all the multitude went forth to meet their servant-master and their beggar-prince. Some brought the garden's choices treasurer's forth, some gathered lotuses from Fogu's stream, some climbed the trees to pluck their varied bloom, while children gathered every wayside flower to strew his way, their lover's saviour guide. King Vimbasara from his watchtower saw the wild commotion and the moving throng, and sent swift messengers to learn the cause, with winged feet through vacant streets they flew, and through the gates and out an avenue, where aged trees that grew on either side, their giant branches interlocked above, made nature's gothic arch and densest shade, while gentle breezes soft as if they came, from Devas's hovering wings rustled the leaves and strew the way with showers of falling bloom, as if they, voiceless, felt the common joy, and there they found the city's multitudes, not as entummeled, armed with clubs and staves, and every weapon ready to their hands, but stretching far on either side the way, their flower-filled hands and humble reverence joined. The only sound of murmur, there he comes, while every eye was turned in loving gaze upon a little band in yellow robes, who now drew near from out the sacred grove, the master passed with calm majestic grace, stately and tall, one arm and shoulder bare, with head close shorn and bare on sandaled feet, his noble brow the wonder of his age, not clothed in terror like Olympic joves, for love, not anger beamed out from those eyes, changing from clearest blue to softest black, that seemed to show unfathomed depths within, with tears of holy pity glittering now, for those poor souls come forth to honor him, all sheep without a shepherd groping on. The messengers with reverence let him pass, then hastened back to tell the waiting king that he, who long dwelt so long upon the hill, the prince who stopped the bloody sacrifice, with other holy rishis had returned, whom all received with reverence and joy, the king with keenest pleasure heard their words, that noble form that calm majestic face had never faded from his memory, his words of wisdom, words of tender love, had often stayed his hands when raised to strike, had often put a bridle on his tongue, when harsh and bitter words leapt to his lips, and checked those cruel acts of sudden wrath that stain the annals of the greatest kings, until the people to each other said, how mild and gentle our good king has grown! And when he heard this prince had now returned, in flower embroidered purple robes arrayed, with all the pomp and circumstance of state, followed by those who ever weighed on power, he issued forth and climbed the rugged hill, until he reached the cave where Buddha sat, calm and majestic as the rounded moon that moves serene along its heavenly path, greeting each other with such royal grace, as fits a prince greeting a brother-prince. The king inquired why he had left his home. Why he, a Shakravarti's only son, had left his palace for a lonely cave, wore courses cloth instead of royal robes, and wore a sceptre or begging-bowl. Youth, said the king, with full and bounding pulse, youth is the time for boon companionship, the time for pleasure when all pleasures please, manhood the time for gaining wealth and power, but as the years crept on, the step and firm, the arm-grown feeble and the hair turned gray, to his time to mortify the five desires, to give religion what of life is left, and look to heaven when earth begins to pall. I would not use my power to hold you here, but offer half my kingdom for your aid, to govern well and use my power aright. The prince with gentle earnestness replied, O king, illustrious and world-renowned, noble offer through all coming time shall be remembered. Men will praise and act by likening it to Bimbisara's gift. You offer me the half of your domain. I, in return, beseech you share with me better than wealth, better than kingly power, the peace and joy that follows lust subdued. Wait not on age, for age brings feebleness, but this great battle needs our utmost strength. If you will come, then welcome to our cave. If not, may wisdom all your actions guide, ruling your empire in all righteousness, preserve your country and protect her sons. Sadly I leave you great and gracious king, but my work calls a world that waits for light, in yonder sacred grove three brothers dwell. Kasyapa, Gada, Nadi, they are called, three chosen vessels for the perfect law, three chosen lamps to light a groping world, who worship now the gross material fire, which burns and wastes, but fails to purify. I go to tell them of Nirvana's son, perennial source of that undying flame, the fire of love consuming lust and hate, as forest fires devour the crackling thorns, until the soul is purified from sin, and sorrow, birth and death are left behind. He found Kasyapa, as the setting sun was sinking low behind the western hills, and somber shadows darken Falgu's veil, and asked a place to pass the gathering night. Here is a grotto, cooled by trickling streams and overhanging shades. Fit place for sleep, Kasyapa said. Then I would gladly give, but some fierce Naga nightly haunts the spot, whose poison breath no man can breathe and live. Fear not for me, the Buddha answered him, for I this night will make my dwelling there. Do as you will, Kasyapa doubtful said, but much I fear some dire catastrophe. Now Mighty Mara, spirit of the air, the prince of darkness, roaming through the earth, had found this grotto in the sacred grove, and as a Naga there kept nightly watch. For those who sought deliverance from his power, who, when the master calmly took his seat, belched forth a flood of poison, foul and black, and with hot burning vapours, filled the cave, but Buddha sat unmoved, serene and calm, as Brahma sits amid the Kalpa fires that burn the worlds but cannot harm his heaven, while Mara, knowing Buddha, fled amazed and left the Naga coiled in Buddha's bowl. Kasyapa terrified beheld the flames, and when the first faint rays of dawn appeared, with all his fearful followers sought the cave, and found the master not consumed to dust, but full of peace, aglow with perfect love. Kasyapa, full of wonder, joyful, said, I, though a master have no power like this, to conquer groveling lusts and evil beasts. Then Buddha taught him the source of real power, the power of love to fortify the soul. Until Kasyapa gathered all his stores, his sacred vessels, sacrificial robes, and cast them in the fogu, passing near. His brothers saw them floating down the stream, and winged with fear, made haste to learn the cause. They too the master saw and heard his words, and all convinced received the perfect law, and with their followers joined the Buddha's band. The days pass on and in the bamboo grove, a great Vihara, as by magic rose, built by the king for Buddha's growing band, a spacious hall where all might hear his words, and little cells where each might take his rest, a school and rest house through the summer rains. But soon the monsoons from distant seas bring gathering clouds to veil the brazen sky, while nimble lightnings dart their blinding flames, and rolling thunders shake the trembling hills. And heavens downpourings drench the thirsty earth, the master's seed time, when the people rest. For now the sixty from their distant fields have gathered in to trim their lamps afresh, and learn new wisdom from their master's steps. All but brave Purna on the tartar steps, where summer is the fittest time for toil, when India's rains force India's sons to rest. The new Vihara and the bamboo grove King Bimbisara to the master gave, where day by day he taught his growing school, while rills, grown torrents leap from rock to rock, and Falgu's swollen stream sweeps down the veil. That Saraputra, after called the great, had seen these new-come youths in yellow robes, passing from street to street to ask for alms, receiving corsage food with gentle thanks, had seen them meet the poor and sick and old with kindly words and ever-helpful hands, had seen them passing to the bamboo grove, joyful as bridegrooms soon to meet their brides. He, Vashbhan Asfajit, met one day, whom he had known beneath the banyan tree. Two of the five who first received the law, now clothed in yellow, bearing begging bowls, and asked their doctrine who their master was, that they seemed joyful, while within the grove, all seemed so solemn, self-absorbed and sad. They bade him come and hear the master's words, and when their bowls were filled, he followed them, and heard the living truth from Buddha's lips, and said, The son of wisdom has arisen, what further need of our poor flickering lamps? And with Mughalan joined the master's band. Now five strangers from the Tartar steps, strangers in form and features, language, dress, guided by one as strange in dress as they, weary and foot sore, passed within the gates of Rajagriha, while the setting sun was still concealed behind the vulture peak, a laughing stalk to all the idle crowd, whom noisy children followed through the streets, as thoughtless children follow what is strange, until they met the master, asking alms, who with raised hand and gentle mild rebuke, hushed into silence all their noisy mirth. These are our brothers, Buddha mildly said, weary and worn they come from distant lands, and ask for kindness, not for mirth and jeers. They knew at once that calm, majestic face, that voice as sweet as brahmas, and those eyes beaming with tender, all-embracing love, of which, while seated round their argle fires in their black tents, brave Purnah loved to tell, and bowed in worship at their master's feet. He bade them rise, and learned from whence they came, and led them joyful to the bamboo grove, where some brought water from the nearest stream to bathe their festered feet and weary limbs, while some brought food and others yellow robes, fitter for India's heat than skins and furs, all welcoming their newfound friends, who came from distant lands, or desert wastes and snows, to see the master hear the perfect law, and bring the message Noble Purnah sent. The months pass on, the monsoons cease to blow, the thunders cease to roll, the rains to pour, the earth refreshed as clothed with living green, and flowers burst forth where all was parched and bare, and busy toils succeeds long days of rest, the time for mission work has come, the brethren now to many hundreds grown, where ever the master thought at best were sent, the strongest and bravest volunteered to answer Purnah's earnest call for help, and clothed in fitting robes, for piercing cold they scale the mountains, past the desert wastes, they guide familiar with their terrors grown, while some return to their expectant flocks, and some are sent to kindred lately left, and some to strangers dwelling near or far, all bearing messages of peace and love, until but few in yellow robes remain, and single footfalls echo through that hall, where large assemblies heard the master's words, a few are left, not yet confirmed in faith, and those five brothers from the distant north remain to learn the sacred tongue and lore, while Saraputra and Kasiapa stay to aid the master in his special work. From far Kusala rich Sudhata came, friend of the destitute and orphans called, in houses rich and rich in lands and gold, but richer far and kind and gracious acts, who stopped in Rajatriha with a friend, but when he learned a Buddha dwelt so near, and heard the gracious doctrine he proclaimed, that very night he sought the bamboo grove, while roofs and towers were silvered by the moon, and silent streets and deepest shadows lay, and bamboo plumes seemed waving silver sprays, and on the ground the trembling shadows played, humble in might but great and gracious deeds, of earnest purpose but of simple heart, the master saw in him a vessel fit for righteousness and bade him stay and learn, his rules of grace that bring nirvana's rest, and first of all the gracious master said, this restless nature in this selfish world is all a fantasy and empty show, its life is lust, its end is pain and death, waste not your time in speculations deep, of whence and why, one thing we surely know, each living thing must have a living cause, and mind from mind and not from matter springs, while love, much like an endless golden chain, binds all in one, is love in every link, up from the sparrow's nest, the mother's heart, through all the heavens to Brahma's boundless love, and lusts resisted, daily duties done, unite our lives so that unbroken chain which draws us up to heaven's eternal rest, and through the night they earnestly communed until Suddata saw the living truth, in rising splendor like the morning sun, and doubts and errors all are swept away, as gathering clouds are swept by autumn's winds, bowing in reverence, Suddata said, I know the Buddha never seeks repose, but gladly toils to give others rest, oh that my people now in darkness sunk, might see the light and hear the master's words, I dwell in King Pasenit's distant realm, a king renowned, a country fair and rich, and yearned to build a great vahara there. The master, knowing well Suddata's heart, and his unselfish charity, replied, some give an hope of greater gifts returned, some give to gain a name for charity, some give to gain the rest and joy of heaven, some to escape the woes and pains of hell. Such giving is but selfishness and greed. He who gives without a selfish thought, has entered on the noble eightfold path, is purified from anger and v. hate. The bonds of pain and sorrow are unloosed, the way to rest and final rescue found. Let your hands do what your kind heart desires. Between this answer he departs with joy, and Buddha with him Saraputra sent. Arriving home he sought a pleasant spot, and found the garden of Pasenit's son, and sought the prince, seeking to buy the ground. But he refused to sell, yet said and jest, cover the grove with gold the ground is yours. Fourth with Suddata spread his yellow coin. But Gata said, caught by his thoughtless chest, spread not your gold, I will not sell the ground. Not sell the ground? Suddata sharply said, Why then said you fill it with yellow gold? And both contending sought a magistrate. But Gata, knowing well his earnestness, asked why he sought the ground, and when he learned he said, Keep half your gold, the land is yours. But mine the trees, and jointly we will build a great vahara for the Buddha's use. The work begun was pressed both night and day, lofty it rose, in just proportions built. Fit for the palace of a mighty king. The people saw this great vahara rise, a stately palace for a foreign prince, and said in wonder What strange thing is this? Our king to welcome thus a foreign king To new-made palaces, and not with war and bloody spears and hands To new-made graves, as was his father's want and time's gone by? Yet all went forth to meet this coming prince, and see a foreign monarch's royal pomp. But heard no trumpeting of elephants, nor marshal music, nor the nay of steeds, but saw instead a little band drawn near in yellow robes, with dust and travel-stained, but love that like a holy halo crowned, that dusty leader's calm, majestic brow, hushed into silence every rising sneer. And when Sudata met this weary band, and to the prince's garden led their way, they followed on, their hands in reverence joined, to where the stately new vahara rose, empowered in giant trees of every kind, that India's climate grows, while winding streams along their flowery banks now quiet flow, now leap from rocks, now spread in shining pools, with lotuses and lilies overspread. While plain fountains, with their falling spray, spread grateful coolness and a blaze of bloom, from myriad opening flowers perfumes the air, and myriad birds that sought this peaceful spot, burst forth in every sweet and varied song, that India's fields and groves and gardens know. And there Sudata bowed on bended knee, and from a golden water-pitcher poured the sign and ceiling of their gift of love, of this vahara, the Gatavana, called. A school and rest-house for the Buddha's use, and for the brotherhood throughout the world, Buddha received it with the fervent prayer that it might give the kingdom lasting peace. Unlike Sudata's self, Sudata's king believed religion but a calmly cloak, to hide besetting sins from public view, and sought the master in his new retreat, to talk religion and to act apart, and greetings ended said in a solemn voice. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, but my poor kingdom now is doubly blessed, in one whose teachings purify the soul and give the highest and the humblest rest. As all are cleansed, who bathe in rupti's stream. But Buddha saw through all this outer show, his real purposes and inner life, the love of pleasure blighting high resolve, the love of money, root of every ill, that sends its poison-fibers through the soul and saps its life and wastes its vital strength. The Tathagata only shows the way to purity and rest, the master said. There is a way to darkness out of light. There is a way to light from deepest gloom. They only gain the goal who keep the way. Marsh words and evil deeds to sorrow lead, as sure as shadows on their substance wait. For as we sow, so also shall we reap, boast not over much of kingly dignity. A king most needs a kind and loving heart, to love his subjects as an only son, to aid, not injure, comfort, not oppress. Their help, protector, father, friend, and guide, such kings shall live beloved and die renowned, whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest. The king convicted heard his solemn words, that like an arrow pierced his inmost life. To him religion ceased to be a show of chance and incense, empty forms and creeds, but stood a living presence in his way, to check his blind and headlong downward course, and lead him to the noble eightfold path, that day by day, and step by step, shall lead to purity and peace and heavenly rest. Capola Vastu's king, Sudodhana, his step-grown feeble, snowy white his hair, by cares oppressed and sick with hope deferred, for eight long years had waited for his son. But sweet Yasodara in widow's weeds, her love by sorrow only purified, as fire refines the gold by dross debased. Though tender memories bring unbidden tears, wasted no time in morbid selfish grief, but sought in care for others her own cure. Both son and daughter to the aged king. She aids with counsels, soothes with tender care. Father and mother to her little son. She lavishes on him a double love, and oft on Mercy's missions going forth, shunning the pomp and show of royal state, leading Rahula, prattling by her side. The people saw her pass with swelling hearts, as if an angel clothed in human form. And now strange rumors reach the public ear, by homebound pilgrims from Benares brought, and merchantmen from Rajagriha come, that there a holy Rishi had appeared, whom all believed a very living Buddha. While kings and peoples followed after him, these rumors reached the sweet Yasodara, and stirred these musings in her watchful heart. Stately and tall they say this Rishi is, gentle to old and young, too rich and poor, and filled with love for every living thing. But who's so gentle, stately, tall and grand as my Siddhartha? Who's so full of love? And he has found the light Siddhartha sought. It must be he, my own, my best beloved, and surely he will hither come, and bring to his poor people, now in darkness sunk, that living light he left his home to seek. As the same sun that makes the cedars grow, and sends their vital force through giant oaks, cloths, fields with green and dex the wayside flower, and crowns the autumn with its golden fruits. So that same love which swept through Buddha's soul, and drove him from his home to seek and save, warmed into brighter glow each lesser love, of home and people, father, wife, and child. And often through those long and troubled years he felt a burning longing to return. And now when summer rains had ceased to fall, and his disciples were again sent forth, both love and duty, with united voice, bade him revisit his beloved home. And Saraputra and Kasyapa joined the master wending on his homeward way, while light-winged rumor bore Yasodara this joyful news. The holy Rishi comes. Out the southern gate, a garden lay, Lumbini called, by plain fountains cooled, with shaded walks winding by banks of flowers, whose mingled odors loat each passing breeze, Thither Yasodara was want to go, for there her lord and dearest love was born. And there they passed full many happy days. The southern road skirted this garden's wall, and while on the other side were suburb huts, where toiling poor folk in the base-born dwell, and near this wall a bright pavilion rose, whence she could see each passer by the way. One morning after days of patient watch she saw approach along this dusty road three seeming pilgrims clothed in yellow robes, presenting at each humble door their bowls, for such poor food as these poor folk could give. As they drew near, a growing multitude from every cottage swelled, followed their steps, gazing with all upon the leader's face, while each to his companion wondering said, Who ever saw a Rishi such as this, who calls us brothers whom the brahmin scorn? But sweet Yasodara, with love's quick sight, knew him she waited for, and forth she rushed, crying, Siddhartha, oh my love, my lord! And prostrate in the dust she clasped his feet. He gently raised and pressed her to his heart, in one most tender, loving, long embrace. By that embrace her every heart ace cured. She calmly said, Give me a humble part in your great work, for though my hands are weak my heart is strong, and my weak hands can bear the cooling cup to fever's burning lips. My mother's heart has more than room enough for many outcasts and many helpless waves, and there in presence of that base-born throng, who gazed with tears and wonder on the scene, and in a higher presence, who can doubt, he made her first of that great sisterhood, since through the ages known in every land, who gently raised the dying soldier's head, where cruel war is mangling human limbs, who smoothed the pillow, bathed the burning brow, of sick and helpless strangers taken in, whose tender care has made the orphans home, for those poor waves who know no mother's love, then toward the palace they together went, to their Rahula and the aged king, while streets were lined in doors and windows filled with eager gazers that the prince returned, in coarsest robes with closely shaven head, returned a Buddha, who went forth the prince. Through all these troubled, weary waiting years, the king still hoped to see his own son return, in royal state, with kings for waiting men, to rule a willing world as a king of kings, but now that son enters his palace gates, in coarsest beggar garb, his oms bowl filled with sutra's sleevings for his daily food. The king with mingled grief and anger said, Is this the end of all our cherished hopes? The answer to such lofty prophecies, to see the air of many mighty kings, enter his kingdom like a beggar tramp? This is the return for all the patient love of sweet Yasodara, and this the way to teach his duty to your royal son? The prince with reverence kissed his father's hand, bent loving eyes upon his troubled brow, that banished all his bitterness and said, How hard it is to give up cherished hopes, I know full well. I know a father's love, your love for me, I for Rahula feel. And who can better know that deepest love, whose tendrils round my very heartstrings twine, but crores of millions with an equal love, fathers and mothers, children, husbands, wives, in doubt and darkness, groping blindly on, cry out for help? Not lack of love for you, or my Rahula, or Yasodara, but love for them drove me to leave my home. The greatest kingdoms are like oceans foam. A moment wide upon the crested wave, the longest life is but a passing dream, whose changing scenes but fill a moment's space. But these poor souls shall live in joy or woe, while nations rise and fall and kalpas pass, and this proud city crumbles to decay, till antiquarians search its site in vain, and beasts shall burrow where this place stands. Not for the pleasures of a passing day, like shadows flitting air you point their place. Not for the transient glories of a king, now clothed in scarlet but tomorrow dust, can I forget those loving, living souls, groping and darkness vainly asking for help? And then he showed the noble eightfold path from life's low levels to Nirvana's heights, while king and people on the master gazed, whose face beaming with pure, unselfish love, transfigured seemed, and many noble youth, and chief Ananda, the beloved called, forsook their gay companions in the round of youthful sports, and joined the master's band. And as he spoke, crores more, than mortals saw gathered to hear, and king Sudodhana and sweet Yasodara entered the path.