The Light of Asia Part 9

Lo! ye shall read it in the Sacred Books How, being met in that glad pleasaunce-place-- A garden in old days with hanging walks, Fountains, and tanks, and rose-banked terraces Girdled by gay pavilions and the sweep Of stately palace-fronts--the Master sate Eminent, worshipped, all the earnest throng Catching the opening of his lips to learn That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild; Whereto four hundred crores of living souls Witness this day. Upon the King's right hand He sate, and round were ranged the Sakya Lords Ananda, Devadatta--all the Court.

Behind stood Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs Of the calm brethren in the yellow garb, A goodly company. Between his knees Rahula smiled with wondering childish eyes Bent on the awful face, while at his feet Sate sweet Yasodhara, her heartaches gone, Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed On fleeting sense, that life which knows no age, That blessed last of deaths when Death is dead, His victory and hers. Wherefore she laid Her hand upon his hands, folding around Her silver shoulder-cloth his yellow robe, Nearest in all the world to him whose words The Three Worlds waited for. I cannot tell A small part of the splendid lore which broke From Buddha's lips: I am a late-come scribe Who love the Master and his love of men, And tell this legend, knowing he was wise, But have not wit to speak beyond the books; And time hath blurred their script and ancient sense, Which once was new and mighty, moving all.

A little of that large discourse I know Which Buddha spake on the soft Indian eve.

Also I know it writ that they who heard Were more--lakhs more--crores more--than could be seen, For all the Devas and the Dead thronged there, Till Heaven was emptied to the seventh zone And uttermost dark h.e.l.ls opened their bars; Also the daylight lingered past its time In rose-leaf radiance on the watching peaks, So that it seemed night listened in the glens, And noon upon the mountains; yea! they write, The evening stood between them like some maid Celestial, love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds Her braided hair; the studded stars the pearls And diamonds of her coronal; the moon Her forehead jewel, and the deepening dark Her woven garments. 'T was her close-held breath Which came in scented sighs across the lawns While our Lord taught, and, while he taught, who heard-- Though he were stranger in the land, or slave, High caste or low, come of the Aryan blood, Or Mlech or Jungle-dweller--seemed to hear What tongue his fellows talked. Nay, outside those Who crowded by the river, great and small, The birds and beasts and creeping things--'t is writ-- Had sense of Buddha's vast embracing love And took the promise of his piteous speech; So that their lives--prisoned in shape of ape, Tiger, or deer, s.h.a.gged bear, jackal, or wolf, Foul-feeding kite, pearled dove, or peac.o.c.k gemmed, Squat toad, or speckled serpent, lizard, bat, Yea, or of fish fanning the river waves-- Touched meekly at the skirts of brotherhood With man who hath less innocence than these; And in mute gladness knew their bondage broke Whilst Buddha spake these things before the King:

Om, Amitaya! measure not with words Th' Immeasurable; nor sink the string of thought Into the Fathomless. Who asks doth err, Who answers, errs. Say nought!

The Books teach Darkness was, at first of all, And Brahm, sole meditating in that Night; Look not for Brahm and the Beginning there!

Nor him, nor any light

Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes, Or any searcher know by mortal mind, Veil after veil will lift--but there must be Veil upon veil behind.

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,

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

Into the seas. These, steaming to the Sun, Give the lost wavelets back in cloudy fleece To trickle down the hills, and glide again; Having no pause or peace.

This is enough to know, the phantasms are; The Heavens, Earths, Worlds, and changes changing them A mighty whirling wheel of strife and stress Which none can stay or stem.

Pray not! the Darkness will not brighten!

Ask Nought from the Silence, for it cannot speak!

Vex not your mournful minds with pious pains!

Ah! Brothers, Sisters! seek

Nought from the helpless G.o.ds by gift and hymn, Nor bribe with blood, nor feed with fruit and cakes; Within yourselves deliverance must be sought; Each man his prison makes.

Each hath such lordship as the loftiest ones; Nay, for with Powers above, around, below, As with all flesh and whatsoever lives, Act maketh joy and woe.

What hath been bringeth what shall be, and is, Worse--better--last for first and first for last; The Angels in the Heavens of Gladness reap Fruits of a holy past.

The devils in the underworlds wear out Deeds that were wicked in an age gone by.

Nothing endures: fair virtues waste with time, Foul sins grow purged thereby.

Who toiled a slave may come anew a Prince For gentle worthiness and merit won; Who ruled a King may wander earth in rags For things done and undone.

Higher than Indra's ye may lift your lot, And sink it lower than the worm or gnat; The end of many myriad lives is this, The end of myriads that.

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!

If ye lay bound upon the wheel of change, And no way were of breaking from the chain, The Heart of boundless Being is a curse, The Soul of Things fell Pain.

Ye are not bound! the Soul of Things is sweet, The Heart of Being is celestial rest; Stronger than woe is will: that which was Good Doth pa.s.s to Better--Best.

I, Buddh, who wept with all my brothers' tears, Whose heart was broken by a whole world's woe, Laugh and am glad, for there is Liberty Ho! ye who suffer! know

Ye suffer from yourselves. None else compels None other holds you that ye live and die, And whirl upon the wheel, and hug and kiss Its spokes of agony,

Its tire of tears, its nave of nothingness.

Behold, I show you Truth! Lower than h.e.l.l, Higher than heaven, outside the utmost stars, Farther than Brahm doth dwell,

Before beginning, and without an end, As s.p.a.ce eternal and as surety sure, Is fixed a Power divine which moves to good, Only its laws endure.

This is its touch upon the blossomed rose, The fashion of its hand shaped lotus-leaves; In dark soil and the silence of the seeds The robe of Spring it weaves;

That is its painting on the glorious clouds, And these its emeralds on the peac.o.c.k's train; It hath its stations in the stars; Its slaves in lightning, wind, and rain.

Out of the dark it wrought the heart of man, Out of dull sh.e.l.ls the pheasant's pencilled neck; Ever at toil, it brings to loveliness All ancient wrath and wreck.

The grey eggs in the golden sun-bird's nest Its treasures are, the bees' six-sided cell Its honey-pot; the ant wots of its ways, The white doves know them well.

It spreadeth forth for flight the eagle's wings What time she beareth home her prey; it sends The she-wolf to her cubs; for unloved things It findeth food and friends.

It is not marred nor stayed in any use, All liketh it; the sweet white milk it brings To mothers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s; it brings the white drops, too, Wherewith the young snake stings.

The ordered music of the marching orbs It makes in viewless canopy of sky; In deep abyss of earth it hides up gold, Sards, sapphires, lazuli.

Ever and ever bringing secrets forth, It sitteth in the green of forest-glades Nursing strange seedlings at the cedar's root, Devising leaves, blooms, blades.

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.

It maketh and unmaketh, mending all; What it hath wrought is better than hath been; Slow grows the splendid pattern that it plans Its wistful hands between.

This is its work upon the things ye see, The unseen things are more; men's hearts and minds, The thoughts of peoples and their ways and wills, Those, too, the great Law binds.

Unseen it helpeth ye with faithful hands, Unheard it speaketh stronger than the storm.

Pity and Love are man's because long stress Moulded blind ma.s.s to form.

It will not be contemned of any one; Who thwarts it loses, and who serves it gains; The hidden good it pays with peace and bliss, The hidden ill with pains.

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

It knows not wrath nor pardon; utter-true Its measures mete, its faultless balance weighs; Times are as nought, tomorrow it will judge, Or after many days.

By this the slayer's knife did stab himself; The unjust judge hath lost his own defender; The false tongue dooms its lie; the creeping thief And spoiler rob, to render.

Such is the Law which moves to righteousness, Which none at last can turn aside or stay; The heart of it is Love, the end of it Is Peace and Consummation sweet. Obey!

The Books say well, my Brothers! each man's life The outcome of his former living is; The bygone wrongs bring forth sorrows and woes The bygone right breeds bliss.

That which ye sow ye reap. See yonder fields The sesamum was sesamum, the corn Was corn. The Silence and the Darkness knew!

So is a man's fate born.

He cometh, reaper of the things he sowed, Sesamum, corn, so much cast in past birth; And so much weed and poison-stuff, which mar Him and the aching earth.

If he shall labour rightly, rooting these, And planting wholesome seedlings where they grew, Fruitful and fair and clean the ground shall be, And rich the harvest due.

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;