The Dawn and the Day Part 10

Ten days have pa.s.sed, and now the rising sun.

That hangs above the distant mountain-peaks Is mirrored back by countless rippling waves That dance upon the Ganges' yellow stream, Swollen by rains and melted mountain-snows, And glorifies the thousand sacred fanes[2]

With gilded pinnacles and spires and domes That rise in beauty on its farther bank, While busy mult.i.tudes glide up and down With lightly dipping oars and swelling sails.

And pilgrims countless as those s.h.i.+ning waves, From far and near, from mountain, hill and plain, With dust and travel-stained, foot-sore, heart-sick, Here came to bathe within the sacred stream, Here came to die upon its sacred banks, Seeking to wash the stains of guilt away, Seeking to lay their galling burdens down.

Scoff not at these poor heavy-laden souls!

Blindly they seek, but that all-seeing Eye That sees the tiny sparrow when it falls, Is watching them, His angels hover near.

Who knows what visions meet their dying gaze?

Who knows what joys await those troubled hearts?

The ancient writings say that having naught To pay the ferryman, the churl refused To ferry him across the swollen stream, When he was raised and wafted through the air.

What matter whether that all-powerful Love Which moves the worlds, and bears with all our sins, Sent him a chariot and steeds of fire, Or moved the heart of some poor fisherman To bear him over for a brother's sake?

All power is His, and men can never thwart His all-embracing purposes of love.

Now past the stream and near the sacred grove The deer-park called, the five saw him approach.

But grieved at his departure from the way The ancient sages taught, said with themselves They would not rise or do him reverence.

But as he nearer came, the tender love, The holy calm that shone upon his face, Made them at once forget their firm resolve.

They rose together, doing reverence, And bringing water washed his way-soiled feet, Gave him a mat, and said as with one voice: "Master Gautama, welcome to our grove.

Here rest your weary limbs and share our shade.

Have you escaped from karma's fatal chains And gained clear vision--found the living light?"

"Call me not master. Profitless to you Six years have pa.s.sed," the Buddha answered them, "In doubt and darkness groping blindly on.

But now at last the day has surely dawned.

These eyes have seen Nirvana's sacred Sun, And found the n.o.ble eightfold path that mounts From life's low levels, mounts from death's dark shades To changeless day, to never-ending rest."

Then with the prophet's newly kindled zeal, Zeal for the truth his opened eyes had seen, Zeal for the friends whose struggles he had shared, Softened by sympathy and tender love, He taught how selfishness was primal cause Of every ill to which frail flesh is heir, The poisoned fountain whence all sorrows flow, The loathsome worm that coils about the root And kills the germ of every springing joy, The subtle foe that sows by night the tares That quickly springing choke the goodly seed Which left to grow would fill the daily life With balmy fragrance and with precious fruit.

He showed that selfishness was life's sole bane And love its great and sovereign antidote.

He showed how selfishness would change the child From laughing innocence to greedy youth And heartless manhood, cold and cruel age, Which past the vale and stript of all disguise Shrinks from the good, and eager slinks away And seeks those dismal regions of the lost His opened eyes with sinking heart had seen.

Then showed how love its guardian angel paints Upon the cooing infant's smiling face, Grows into gentle youth, and manhood rich In works of helpfulness and brotherhood, And ripens into mellow, sweet old age, Childhood returned with all its gentleness, Whose funeral-pile but lights the upward way To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen, Those ever-widening mansions of delight.

Enwrapt the teacher taught the living truth; Enwrapt the hearers heard his living words; The night unheeded winged its rapid flight, The morning found their souls from darkness free.

Six yellow robes Benares daily saw, Six wooden alms-bowls held for daily food, Six meeting sneers with smiles and hate with love, Six watchers by the pilgrim's dying bed, Six n.o.ble souls united in the work Of giving light and hope and help to all.

A rich and n.o.ble youth, an only son, Had seen Gautama pa.s.sing through the streets, A holy calm upon his n.o.ble face, Had heard him tell the pilgrims by the stream, Gasping for breath and breathing out their lives, Of higher life and joys that never end; And wearied, sated by the daily round Of pleasure, luxury and empty show That waste his days but fail to satisfy, Yet fearing his companions' gibes and sneers, He sought the master in the sacred grove When the full moon was mirrored in the stream, The sleeping city silvered by its light; And there he lingered, drinking in his words, Till night was pa.s.sed and day was well-nigh spent.

The father, anxious for his absent son, Had sought him through the night from street to street In every haunt that youthful folly seeks, And now despairing sought the sacred grove-- Perhaps by chance, perhaps led by the light That guides the pigeon to her distant home-- And found him there. He too the Buddha heard, And finding light, and filled with joy, he said: "Ill.u.s.trious master, you have found the way.

You place the upturned chalice on its base.

You fill with light the sayings dark of old.

You open blinded eyes to see the truth."

At length they thought of those poor hearts at home, Mother and sister, watching through the night-- Waiting and watching through the livelong day, Startled at every step, at every sound, Startled at every bier that came in view In that great city of the stranger dead, That city where the living come to die-- And home returned when evening's rose and gold Had faded from the sky, and myriad lamps Danced on the sacred stream, and moon and stars Hung quivering in its dark and silent depths.

But day by day returned, eager to hear More of that truth that sweetens daily life, Yet reaches upward to eternal day.

A marriage-feast,[3] three festivals in one, Stirs to its depths Benares' social life.

A gorgeous sunset ushers in the night, Sunset and city mirrored in the stream.

Broad marble steps upon the river-bank Lead to a garden where a blaze of bloom, A hedge of rose-trees, forms the outer wall; An aged banyan-tree,[4] whose hundred trunks Sustain a vaulted roof of living green Which scarce a ray of noonday's sun can pierce, The garden's vestibule and outer court; While trees of every varied leaf and bloom Shade many winding walks, where fountains fall With liquid cadence into s.h.i.+ning pools.

Above, beyond, the stately palace stands, Inviting in, calling to peace and rest, As if a soul dwelt in its marble form.

The darkness thickens, when a flood of light Fills every recess, lighting every nook; The garden hedge a wall of mellow light, A line of lamps along the river's bank, With lamps in every tree and lining every walk, While lamps thick set surround each s.h.i.+ning pool, Weaving with rainbow tints the falling spray.

And now the palace through the darkness s.h.i.+nes.

A thing of beauty traced with lines of light.[5]

The guests arrive in light and graceful boats, In gay gondolas such as Venice used, With richest carpets, richest canopies, And over walks with rose-leaves carpeted Pa.s.s to the palace, whose wide open gates Display within Benares' rank and wealth, Proud Brahman lords and stately Brahman dames And Brahman youth and beauty, all were there, Of Aryan blood but bronzed by India's sun, Not dressed like us, as very fas.h.i.+on-plates, But clothed in flowing robes of softest wool And finest silk, a harmony of shades, Sparkling with gems, ablaze with precious stones.[6]

Three n.o.ble couples greet their gathering guests: An aged Brahman and his aged wife, For fifty years united in the bonds Of wedded love, no harsh, unloving word For all those happy years, their only fear That death would break the bonds that bound their souls; And next their eldest born, who sought his son, And drank deep wisdom from the Buddha's lips, And by his side that mother we have seen Out.w.a.tch the night, whose sweet and earnest face By five and twenty years of wedded love, By five and twenty years of busy cares-- The cares of home, with all its daily joys-- Had gained that look of holy motherhood[7]

That millions wors.h.i.+p on their bended knees As highest emblem of eternal love; And last that sister whose untiring love Watched by her mother through the weary hours, Her fair young face all trust and happiness, Before her, rainbow-tinted hopes and joys, Life's dark and cold and cruel side concealed, And by her side a n.o.ble Brahman youth, Who saw in her his every hope fulfilled.

But where is now that erring, wandering son, The pride of all these loyal, loving hearts, Heir to this wealth and hope of this proud house?

Seven clothed in coa.r.s.est yellow robes draw near With heads close shorn and bare, unsandaled feet, Alms-bowl on shoulder slung and staff in hand, But moving with that gentle stateliness That birth and blood, not wealth and effort, give, All in the strength of manhood's early prime, All heirs to wealth rejected, cast aside, But all united in the holy cause Of giving light and hope and help to all, While earnest greetings from the evening's hosts Show they are welcome and expected guests.

Startled, the stately Brahmans turn aside.

"The heir has lost his reason," whispered they, "And joined that wandering prince who late appeared Among the yogis in the sacred grove, Who thinks he sees the truth by inner sight, Who fain would teach the wise, and claims to know More than the fathers and the Vedas teach."

But as he nearer came, his stately form, His n.o.ble presence and his earnest face, Beaming with gentleness and holy love, Hushed into silence every rising sneer.

One of their number, wise in sacred lore, Profoundly learned, in all the Vedas versed, With courtly grace saluting Buddha, said: "Our Brahman masters teach that many ways Lead up to Brahma Loca, Brahma's rest, As many roads from many distant lands All meet before Benares' sacred shrines.

They say that he who learns the Vedas' hymns, Performs the rites and prays the many prayers That all the sages of the past have taught, In Brahma's self shall be absorbed at last-- As all the streams from mountain, hill and plain, That swell proud Gunga's broad and sacred stream, At last shall mingle with the ocean's waves, They say that Brahmans are a holy caste, Of whiter skin and higher, purer blood, From Brahma sprung, and Brahma's only heirs, While you proclaim, if rumor speaks the truth, That only one hard road to Brahma leads, That every caste is pure, of common blood, That all are brothers, all from Brahma sprung."

But Buddha, full of gentleness, replied: "Ye call on Dyaus Pittar, Brahma, G.o.d,[8]

One G.o.d and Father, called by many names, One G.o.d and Father, seen in many forms, Seen in the tempest, mingling sea and sky, The blinding sand-storm, changing day to night, In gentle showers refres.h.i.+ng thirsty fields, Seen in the sun whose rising wakes the world, Whose setting calls a weary world to rest, Seen in the deep o'erarching azure vault, By day a sea of light, s.h.i.+ning by night With countless suns of countless worlds unseen, Making us seem so little, G.o.d so great.

Ye say that Brahma dwells in purest light; Ye say that Brahma's self is perfect love; Ye pray to Brahma under many names To give you Brahma Loca's perfect rest.[9]

Your prayers are vain unless your hearts are clean.

For how can darkness dwell with perfect light?

And how can hatred dwell with perfect love?

The slandering tongue, that stirs up strife and hate, The grasping hand, that takes but never gives, The lying lips, the cold and cruel heart, Whence bitterness and wars and murders spring, Can ne'er by prayers to Brahma Loca climb.[10]

The pure in heart alone with Brahma dwell.

Ye say that Brahmans are a holy caste, From Brahma sprung and Brahma's only heirs; But yet in Bactria, whence our fathers came, And where their brothers and our kindred dwell, No Brahman ever wore the sacred cord.

Has mighty Brahma there no son, no heir?

The Brahman mother suffers all the pangs Kshatriyas, Sudras or the Va.s.sas feel.

The Brahman's body, when the soul has fled, A putrid ma.s.s, defiles the earth and air, Vile as the Sudras or the lowest beasts.

The Brahman murderer, libertine or thief Ye say will be reborn in lowest beast, While some poor Sudra, full of gentleness And pity, charity and trust and love, May rise to Brahma Loca's perfect rest, Why boast of caste, that seems so little worth To raise the soul or ward off human ill?

Why pray for what we do not strive to gain?

Like merchants on the swollen Ganges' bank Praying the farther sh.o.r.e to come to them, Taking no steps, seeking no means, to cross.

Far better strive to cast out greed and hate.

Live not for self, but live for others' good.

Indulge no bitter speech, no bitter thoughts.

Help those in need; give freely what we have.

Kill not, steal not, and ever speak the truth.

Indulge no l.u.s.t; taste not the maddening bowl That deadens sense and stirs all base desires; And live in charity and gentle peace, Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate.

This is the way to Brahma Loca's rest.

And ye who may, come, follow after me.

Leave wealth and home and all the joys of life, That we may aid a sad and suffering world In sin and sorrow groping blindly on, Becoming poor that others may be rich, Wanderers ourselves to lead the wanderers home.

And ye who stay, ever remember this: That hearth is Brahma's altar where love reigns, That house is Brahma's temple where love dwells, Ye ask, my aged friends, if death can break The bonds that bind your souls in wedded love.

Fear not; death has no power to conquer love.

Go hand in hand till death shall claim his own, Then hand in hand ascend Nirvana's heights, There, hand in hand, heart beating close to heart, Enter that life whose joys shall never end, Perennial youth succeeding palsied age, Mansions of bliss for this poor house of clay, Labors of love instead of toil and tears."

He spoke, and many to each other said: "Why hear this babbler rail at sacred things-- Our caste, our faith, our prayers and sacred hymns?"

And strode away in proud and sovereign scorn; While some with gladness heard his solemn words, All soon forgotten in the giddy whirl Of daily business, daily joys and cares.

But some drank in his words with eager ears, And asked him many questions, lingering long, And often sought him in the sacred grove To hear his burning words of living truth.

And day by day some n.o.ble Brahman youth Forsook his wealth, forsook his home and friends, And took the yellow robe and begging-bowl To ask for alms where all had given him place, Meeting with gentleness the rabble's gibes, Meeting with smiles the Brahman's haughty scorn.

Thus, day by day, this school of prophets grew, Beneath the banyan's columned, vaulted shade, All earnest learners at the master's feet, Until the city's busy, bustling throng Had come to recognize the yellow robe, The poor to know its wearer as a friend, The sick and suffering as a comforter, While to the dying pilgrim's glazing eyes He seemed a messenger from higher worlds Come down to raise his sinking spirit up And guide his trembling steps to realms of rest.