The Dawn and the Day Part 5

Just then two stately Brahmans proudly pa.s.sed-- Pa.s.sed on the other side, gathering their robes To shun pollution from the common touch, And pa.s.sing said: "The prince with Sudras talks As friend to friend--but wisdom comes with years."

Silent and thoughtful then they homeward turned, The prince deep musing on the old man's words; "'The veil is lifted, and I seem to see A world of life and light and peace and rest.'

O if that veil would only lift for me The mystery of life would be explained."

As they pa.s.sed on through unfrequented streets, Seeking to shun the busy, thoughtless throng, Those other words like duty's bugle-call Still ringing in his ears: "Let your light s.h.i.+ne, That men no longer grope in dark despair"-- The old sad thoughts, long checked by pa.s.sing joys, Rolling and surging, swept his troubled soul-- As pent-up waters, having burst their dams, Sweep down the valleys and o'erwhelm the plains.

Just then an aged, angry voice cried out: "O help! they've stolen my jewels and my gold!"

And from a wretched hovel by the way An old man came, hated and shunned by all, Whose life was spent in h.o.a.rding unused gold, Grinding the poor, devouring widows' homes; Ill fed, ill clad, from eagerness to save, His sunken eyes glittering with rage and greed.

And when the prince enquired what troubled him: "Trouble enough," he said, "my sons have fled Because I would not waste in dainty fare And rich apparel all my life has saved, And taken all my jewels, all my gold.

Would that they both lay dead before my face!

O precious jewels! O beloved gold!"

The prince, helpless to soothe, hopeless to cure This rust and canker of the soul, pa.s.sed on, His heart with all-embracing pity filled.

"O deepening mystery of life!" he cried, "Why do such souls in human bodies dwell-- Fitter for ravening wolves or greedy swine!

Just at death's door cursing his flesh and blood For thievish greed inherited from him.

Is this old age, or swinish greed grown old?

O how unlike that other life just fled!

His youth's companions, wife and children, dead, Yet filled with love for all, by all beloved, With his whole heart yearning for others' good, With his last breath bewailing others' woes."

"My best beloved," said sweet Yasodhara, Her bright eyes filled with sympathetic tears, Her whole soul yearning for his inward peace, "Brood not too much on life's dark mystery-- Behind the darkest clouds the sun still s.h.i.+nes."

"But," said the prince, "the many blindly grope In sorrow, fear and ignorance profound, While their proud teachers, with their heads erect, Stalk boldly on, blind leaders of the blind.

Come care, come fasting, woe and pain for me, And even exile from my own sweet home, All would I welcome could I give them light."

"But would you leave your home, leave me, leave all, And even leave our unborn pledge of love, The living blending of our inmost souls, That now within me stirs to bid you pause?"

"Only for love of you and him and all!

O hard necessity! O bitter cup!

But would you have me like a coward shun The path of duty, though beset with thorns-- Thorns that must pierce your tender feet and mine?"

Piercing the question as the sharpest sword; Their love, their joys, tempted to say him nay.

But soon she conquered all and calmly said: "My love, my life, where duty plainly calls I bid you go, though my poor heart must bleed, And though my eyes weep bitter scalding tears."

Their hearts too full for words, too full for tears, Gently he pressed her hand and they pa.s.sed home; And in the presence of this dark unknown A deep and all-pervading tenderness Guides every act and tempers every tone-- As in the chamber of the sick and loved The step is light, the voice is soft and low.

But soon their days with varied duties filled, Their nights with sweet repose, glide smoothly on, Until this shadow seems to lift and fade-- As when the sun bursts through the pa.s.sing storm, Gilding the glittering raindrops as they fall, And paints the bow of hope on pa.s.sing clouds.

Yet still the old sad thoughts sometimes return, The burden of a duty unperformed, The earnest yearning for a clearer light.

The thought that hour by hour and day by day The helpless mult.i.tudes grope blindly on, Clouded his joys and often banished sleep.

One day in this sad mood he thought to see His people as they are in daily life, And not in holiday attire to meet their prince.

In merchant's dress, his charioteer his clerk, The prince and Channa pa.s.sed unknown, and saw The crowded streets alive with busy hum, Traders cross-legged, with their varied wares, The wordy war to cheapen or enhance, One rus.h.i.+ng on to clear the streets for wains With huge stone wheels, by slow strong oxen drawn; Palanquin-bearers droning out "Hu, hu, ho, ho,"

While keeping step and praising him they bear; The housewives from the fountain water bring In balanced water-jars, their black-eyed babes Athwart their hips, their busy tongues meanwhile Engaged in gossip of the little things That make the daily round of life to them; The skillful weaver at his clumsy loom; The miller at his millstones grinding meal; The armorer, linking his s.h.i.+rts of mail; The money-changer at his heartless trade; The gaping, eager crowd gathered to watch Snake-charmers, that can make their deadly charge Dance harmless to the drone of beaded gourds; Sword-players, keeping many knives in air; Jugglers, and those that dance on ropes swung high: And all this varied work and busy idleness As in a panorama pa.s.sing by.

While they were pa.s.sing through these varied scenes, The prince, whose ears were tuned to life's sad notes, Whose eyes were quick to catch its deepest shades, Found sorrow, pain and want, disease and death, Were woven in its very warp and woof.

A tiger, springing from a sheltering bush, Had s.n.a.t.c.hed a merchant's comrade from his side; A deadly cobra, hidden by the path, Had stung to death a widow's only son; A breath of jungle-wind a youth's blood chilled, Or filled a strong man's bones with piercing pain; A household widowed by a careless step; The quick cross-lightning from an angry cloud Struck down a bridegroom bringing home his bride-- All this and more he heard, and much he saw: A young man, stricken in life's early prime, Shuffled along, dragging one palsied limb, While one limp arm hung useless by his side; A dwarf sold little knickknacks by the way, His body scarcely in the human form, To which long arms and legs seemed loosely hung, His n.o.ble head thrust forward on his breast, Whose pale, sad face as plainly told as words That life had neither health nor hope for him; An old man tottering from a hovel came, Frail, haggard, palsied, leaning on a staff, Whose eyes, dull, glazed and meaningless, proclaim The body lingers when the mind has fled; One seized with sudden hot distemper of the blood, Writhing with anguish, by the wayside sunk.

The purple plague-spot on his pallid cheek, Cold drops of perspiration on his brow, With wildly rolling eyes and livid lips, Gasping for breath and feebly asking help-- But ere the prince could aid, death gave relief.

At length they pa.s.sed the city's outer gate And down a stream, now spread in s.h.i.+ning pools, Now leaping in cascades, now das.h.i.+ng on, A line of foam along its rocky bed, Bordered by giant trees with densest shade.

Here, day by day, the city bring their dead; Here, day by day, they build the funeral-piles; Here lamentations daily fill the air; Here hissing flames each day taste human flesh, And friendly watchmen guard the smoldering pile Till friends can cull the relics from the dust.

And here, just finished, rose a n.o.ble pile By stately Brahmans for a Brahman built Of fragrant woods, and drenched with fragrant oils, Loading the air with every sweet perfume That India's forests or her fields can yield; Above, a couch of sacred cusa-gra.s.s, On which no dreams disturb the sleeper's rest.

And now the sound of music reaches them, Far off at first, solemn and sad and slow, Rising and swelling as it nearer comes, Until a long procession comes in view.

Four Brahmans first, bearing in bowls the fire No more to burn on one deserted hearth, Then stately Brahmans on their shoulders bore A n.o.ble brother of their sacred caste, In manhood's bloom and early prime cut down.

Then Brahman youth, bearing a little child Half hid in flowers, and as in seeming sleep.

Then other Brahmans in a litter bore One young and fair, in early womanhood, Her youthful beauty joined with matron grace, In bridal dress adorned with costly gems-- The very face the prince had dreaming seen, The very child she carried in her arms.

Then many more, uncovered, four by four, The aged first, then those in manhood's prime, And then the young with many acolytes Chanting in unison their sacred hymns, Accompanied by many instruments, Both wind and string, in solemn symphony; And at respectful distance other castes, Afraid to touch a Brahman's sacred robes Or even mingle with his grief their tears.

And when they reached the fragrant funeral-pile, Weeping they placed their dead on their last couch, The child within its father's nerveless arms; And when all funeral rites had been performed, The widow circled thrice the funeral-pile, Distributing her gifts with lavish hand, Bidding her friends a long and last farewell-- Then stopped, and raised her tearless eyes and said: "Farewell, a long farewell, to life and friends!

Farewell! O earth and air and sacred sun!

Nanda, my lord, Udra, my child, I come!"

Then pale but calm, with fixed ecstatic gaze And steady steps she mounts the funeral-pile, Crying, "They beckon me! I come! I come!"

Then sunk as if the silver cord were loosed As still as death upon her silent dead.

Instant the flames from the four corners leaped, Mingling in one devouring, eager blaze.

No groan, no cry, only the crackling flames, The wailing notes of many instruments, And solemn chant by many voices raised, "Perfect is she who follows thus her lord."

O dark and cruel creeds, O perfect love, Fitter for heaven than this sad world of ours!

More than enough the prince had seen and heard.

Bowed by the grievous burdens others bore, Feeling for others' sorrows as his own, Tears of divinest pity filled his eyes And deep and all-embracing love his heart.

Home he returned, no more to find its rest.

But soon a light s.h.i.+nes in that troubled house-- A son is born to sweet Yasodhara.

Their eyes saw not, neither do ours, that sun Whose light is wisdom and whose heat is love, Sending through nature waves of living light, Giving its life to everything that lives, Which through the innocence of little ones As through wide-open windows sends his rays To light the darkest, warm the coldest heart.

Sweet infancy! life's solace and its rest, Driving away the loneliness of age, Wreathing in smiles the wrinkled brow of care, Nectar to joyful, balm to troubled hearts, Joyful once more is King Suddhodana; A placid joy beams from that mother's face; Joy lit the palace, flew from street to street, And from the city over hill and plain;

Joy filled the prince's agitated soul-- He felt a power, from whence he could not tell, Drawing away, he knew not where it led.

He knew the dreaded separation near, Yet half its pain and bitterness was pa.s.sed.

He need not leave his loved ones comfortless-- His loving people still would have their prince, The king in young Rahula have his son, And sweet Yasodhara, his very life, Would have that nearest, dearest comforter To soothe her cares and drive away her tears.[1]

But now strange dreams disturb the good old king-- Dreams starting him in terror from his sleep, Yet seeming prophecies of coming good.

He dreamed he saw the flag his fathers loved In tatters torn and trailing in the dust, But in its place another glorious flag, Whose silken folds seemed woven thick with gems That as it waved glittered with dazzling light.

He dreamed he saw proud emba.s.sies from far Bringing the crowns and scepters of the earth, Bowing in reverence before the prince, Humbly entreating him to be their king-- From whom he fled in haste as if in fear.

Then dreamed he saw his son in tattered robes Begging from Sudras for his daily bread.

Again, he dreamed he saw the ancient tower Where he in wors.h.i.+p had so often knelt, Rising and s.h.i.+ning clothed with living light, And on its top the prince, beaming with love, Scattering with lavish hand the richest gems On eager crowds that caught them as they fell.

But soon it vanished, and he saw a hill, Rugged and bleak, cliff crowned and bald and bare, And there he saw the prince, kneeling alone, Wasted with cruel fastings till his bones Clave to his skin, and in his sunken eyes With fitful flicker gleamed the lamp of life Until they closed, and on the ground he sank, As if in death or in a deadly swoon; And then the hill sank to a spreading plain, Stretching beyond the keenest vision's ken, Covered with mult.i.tudes as numberless As ocean's sands or autumn's forest leaves; And mounted on a giant elephant, White as the snows on Himalaya's peaks, The prince rode through their midst in royal state, And as he moved along he heard a shout, Rising and swelling, like the mighty voice Of many waters breaking on the sh.o.r.e: "All hail! great Chakravartin, king of kings!

Hail! king of righteousness! Hail! prince of peace!"

Strange dreams! Where is their birthplace--where their home?

Lighter than foam upon the crested wave, Fleeter than shadows of the pa.s.sing cloud, They are of such fantastic substance made That quick as thought they change their fickle forms-- Now grander than the waking vision views, Now stranger than the wildest fancy feigns, And now so grim and terrible they start The hardened conscience from its guilty sleep.

In troops they come, trooping they fly away, Waved into being by the magic wand Of some deep purpose of the inmost soul, Some hidden joy or sorrow, guilt or fear-- Or better, as the wise of old believed, Called into being by some heavenly guest To soothe, to warn, instruct or terrify.

Strange dreams by night and troubled thoughts by day Disturb the prince and banish quiet sleep.

He dreamed that darkness, visible and dense, Shrouded the heavens and brooded o'er the earth, Whose rayless, formless, vacant nothingness Curdled his blood and made his eyeb.a.l.l.s ache; When suddenly from out this empty void A cloud, s.h.i.+ning with golden light, was borne By gentle winds, loaded with sweet perfumes, Sweeter than spring-time on this earth can yield.

The cloud pa.s.sed just above him, and he saw Myriads of cherub faces looking down, Sweet as Rahula, freed from earthly stain; Such faces mortal brush could never paint-- Enraptured Raphael ne'er such faces saw.

But still the outer darkness hovered near, And ever and anon a bony hand Darts out to s.n.a.t.c.h some cherub face away.

Then dreamed he saw a broad and pleasant land, With cities, gardens, groves and fruitful fields, Where bee-fed flowers half hide the ripening fruits.

And spicy breezes stir the trembling leaves, And many birds make sweetest melody, But bordered by a valley black as night, That ever vomits from its sunless depths Great whirling clouds of suffocating smoke, Blacker than hide the burning Aetna's head, Blacker than over Lake Avernus hung; No bird could fly above its fatal fumes; Eagles, on tireless pinions upward borne, In widening circles rising toward the sun, Venturing too near its exhalations, fall, As sinks the plummet in the silent sea; And lions, springing on their antlered prey, Drop still and lifeless on its deadly brink; Only the jackal's dismal howl is heard To break its stillness and eternal sleep.

He was borne forward to the very verge Of this dark valley, by some power unseen.

A wind that pierced his marrow parts the clouds, And far within, below he saw a sight That stood his hair on end, beaded his brow With icy drops, and made his blood run cold; He saw a lofty throne, blacker than jet, But s.h.i.+ning with a strange and baleful light That made him shade his blinded, dazzled eyes, And seated on that throne a ghastly form That seemed a giant human skeleton, But yet in motion terrible and quick As lightning, killing ere the thunders roll; His fleshless skull had on a seeming crown, While from his sunken sockets glared his eyes Like coals of fire or eyes of basilisk, And from his bony hand each instant flew Unerring darts that flew to pierce and kill, Piercing the infant in its mother's arms, The mother when she feels her first-born's breath, Piercing the father in his happy home, Piercing the lover tasting love's first kiss, Piercing the vanquished when his banners fall, Piercing the victor 'mid triumphant shouts, Piercing the mighty monarch on his throne; While from a towering cypress growing near Every disease to which frail flesh is heir Like ravening vultures watch each arrow's flight, And quick as thought glide off on raven's wings To bring the wounded, writhing victim in-- As well-trained hunters mark their master's aim, Then fly to bring the wounded quarry home.

Meanwhile a stifling stench rose from below-- As from a battle-field where nations met And fiery ranks of living valor fought, Now food for vultures, moldering cold and low-- And bleaching bones were scattered everywhere.

Startled he wakes and rises from his couch.

The lamps s.h.i.+ne down with soft and mellow light.

The fair Yasodhara still lay in sleep, But not in quiet sleep. Her bosom heaved As if a sigh were seeking to escape; Her brows were knit as if in pain or fear, And tears were stealing from her close-shut lids.

But sweet Rahula slept, and sleeping smiled As if he too those cherub faces saw.

In haste alone he noiselessly stole forth To wander in the park, and cool his brow And calm his burdened, agitated soul.

The night had reached that hour preceding dawn When nature seems in solemn silence hushed, Awed by the glories of the coming day.

The moon hung low above the western plains; Unnumbered stars with double brightness s.h.i.+ne, And half-transparent mists the landscape veil, Through which the mountains in dim grandeur rise.

Silent, alone he crossed the maidan wide Where first he saw the sweet Yasodhara, Where joyful mult.i.tudes so often met, Now still as that dark valley of his dream.

He pa.s.sed the lake, mirror of heaven's high vault, Whose ruffled waters ripple on the sh.o.r.e, Stirred by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks; And heedless of his way pa.s.sed on and up, Through giant cedars and the lofty pines, Over a leafy carpet, velvet soft, While solemn voices from their branches sound, Strangely in unison with his sad soul; And on and up until he reached a spot Above the trees, above the mist-wrapped world, Where opening chasms yawned on every side.