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Sorrowful dwelt the King Suddhodana

All those long years among the Sakya Lords

Lacking the speech and presence of his Son;

Sorrowful sate the sweet Yasodhara

All those long years, knowing no joy of life,

Widowed of him her living Liege and Prince.

And ever, on the news of some recluse

Seen far away by pasturing camel-men

Or traders threading devious paths for gain,

Messengers from the King had gone and come

Bringing account of many a holy sage

Lonely and lost to home; but nought of him

The crown of white Kapilavastu's line,

The glory of her monarch and his hope,

The heart's content of sweet Yasodhara,

Far-wandered now, forgetful, changed, or dead.

But on a day in the Wasanta-time,

When silver sprays swing on the mango-trees

And all the earth is clad with garb of spring,

The Princess sate by that bright garden-stream

Whose gliding glass, bordered with lotus-cups,

Mirrored so often in the bliss gone by

Their clinging hands and meeting lips. Her lids

Were wan with tears, her tender cheeks had thinned;

Her lips' delicious curves were drawn with grief

The lustrous glory of her hair was hid—

Close-bound as widows use; no ornament

She wore, nor any jewel clasped the cloth—

Coarse, and of mourning-white—crossed on her breast.

Slow moved and painfully those small fine feet

Which had the roe's gait and the rose-leaf's fall

In old years at the loving voice of him.

Her eyes, those lamps of love,—which were as if

Sunlight should shine from out the deepest dark,

Illumining Night's peace with Daytime's glow—

Unlighted now, and roving aimlessly,

Scarce marked the clustering signs of coming Spring

So the silk lashes drooped over their orbs.

In one hand was a girdle thick with pearls,

Siddartha's—treasured since that night he fled.

(Ah, bitter Night! mother of weeping days!

When was fond Love so pitiless to love

Save that this scorned to limit love by life?)

The other led her little son, a boy

Divinely fair, the pledge Siddartha left—

Named Rahula—now seven years old, who tripped

Gladsome beside his mother, light of heart

To see the spring-blooms burgeon o'er the world.

So while they lingered by the lotus-pools

And, lightly laughing, Rahula flung rice

To feed the blue and purple fish, and she

With sad eyes watched the swiftly-flying cranes,

Sighing, "O creatures of the wandering wing,

If ye shall light where my dear Lord is hid,

Say that Yasodhara lives nigh to death

For one word of his mouth, one touch of him."—

So, as they played and sighed, mother and child,

Came some among the damsels of the Court

Saying: "Great Princess! there have entered in

At the south gate merchants of Hastinpur

Tripusha called and Bhalluk, men of worth,

Long traveled from the loud sea's edge, who bring

Marvellous lovely webs pictured with gold,

Waved blades of gilded steel, wrought bowls in brass,

Cut ivories, spice, simples, and unknown birds

Treasures of far-off peoples; but they bring

That which doth beggar these, for He is seen!

Thy Lord,—our Lord,—the hope of all the land

Siddartha! they have seen him face to face

Yea, and have worshipped him with knees and brows,

And offered offerings; for he is become

All which was shown, a teacher of the wise,

World-honoured, holy, wonderful; a Buddh

Who doth deliver men and save all flesh

By sweetest speech and pity vast as Heaven

And, lo! he journeyeth hither, these do say."

Then—while the glad blood bounded in her veins

As Gunga leaps when first the mountain snows

Melt at her springs—uprose Yasodhara

And clapped her palms, and laughed, with brimming tears

Beading her lashes. "Oh! call quick," she cried,

"These merchants to my purdah, for mine ears

Thirst like parched throats to drink their blessed news.

Go bring them in,—but if their tale be true,

Say I will fill their girdles with much gold,

With gems that kings shall envy; come ye too,

My girls, for ye shall have guerdon of this

If there be gifts to speak my grateful heart."

So went those merchants to the Pleasure House,

Full softly pacing through its golden ways

With naked feet, amid the peering maids,

Much wondering at the glories of the Court.

Whom, when they came without the purdah's folds,

A voice, tender and eager, filled and charmed

With trembling music, saying: "Ye are come

From far, fair Sirs! and ye have seen my Lord—

Yea, worshipped—for he is become a Buddh,

World-honoured, holy, and delivers men,

And journeyeth hither. Speak! for, if this be,

Friends are ye of my House, welcome and dear."

Then answer made Tripusha: "We have seen

That sacred Master, Princess! we have bowed

Before his feet; for who was lost a Prince

Is found a greater than the King of kings.

Under the Bodhi-tree by Phalgu's bank

That which shall save the world hath late been wrought

By him—the Friend of all, the Prince of all—

Thine most, High Lady! from whose tears men win

The comfort of this Word the Master speaks.

Lo! he is well, as one beyond all ills,

Uplifted as a god from earthly woes,

Shining with risen Truth, golden and clear.

Moreover as he entereth town by town,

Preaching those noble ways which lead to peace,

The hearts of men follow his path as leaves

Troop to wind or sheep draw after one

Who knows the pastures. We ourselves have heard

By Gaya in the green Tchirnika grove

Those wondrous lips and done them reverence.

He cometh hither ere the first rains fall."

Thus spake he, and Yasodhara, for joy,

Scarce mastered breath to answer: "Be it well

Now and at all times with ye, worthy friends,

Who bring good tidings; but of this great thing

Wist ye how it befell?"

Then Bhalluk told

Such as the people of the valleys knew

Of that dread night of conflict, when the air

Darkened with fiendish shadows, and the earth

Quaked, and the waters swelled with Mara's wrath.

Also how gloriously that morning broke

Radiant with rising hopes for man, and how

The Lord was found rejoicing 'neath his Tree.

But many days the burden of release—

To be escaped beyond all storms of doubt,

Safe on Truth's shore—lay, spake he, on that heart

A golden load; for how shall men—Buddh mused—

Who love their sins and cleave to cheats of sense,

And drink of error from a thousand springs—

Having no mind to see, nor strength to break

The fleshly snare which binds them—how should such

Receive the Twelve Nidanas and the Law

Redeeming all, yet strange to profit by,

As the caged bird oft shuns its open door?

So had we missed the helpful victory

If, in this earth without a refuge, Buddh

Winning the way had deemed it all too hard

For mortal feet, and passed, none following him.

Yet pondered the compassion of our Lord,

But in that hour there rang a voice as sharp

As cry of travail, so as if the earth

Moaned in birth-throe "Nasyami aham bhu

Nasyati loka! Surely I Am Lost,

I And My Creatures:" then a pause, and next

A pleading sigh borne on the western wind,

"Sruyatam dharma, Bhagwat!" Oh, Supreme

Let Thy Great Law Be Uttered! Whereupon

The Master cast his vision forth on flesh,

Saw who should hear and who must wait to hear,

As the keen Sun gilding the lotus-lakes

Seeth which buds will open to his beams

And which are not yet risen from their roots;

Then spake, divinely smiling, "Yea, I preach!

Whoso will listen let him learn the Law."

Afterwards passed he, said they, by the hills

Unto Benares, where he taught the Five,

Showing how birth and death should be destroyed,

And how man hath no fate except past deeds,

No Hell but what he makes, no Heaven too high

For those to reach whose passions sleep subdued.

This was the fifteenth day of Vaishya

Mid-afternoon and that night was full moon.

But, of the Rishis, first Kaundinya

Owned the Four Truths and entered on the Paths;

And after him Bhadraka, Asvajit, Bassav, Mahanama; also there

Within the Deer-park, at the feet of Buddh,

Yasad the Prince with nobles fifty-four

Hearing the blessed word our Master spake

Worshipped and followed; for there sprang up peace

And knowledge of a new time come for men

In all who heard, as spring the flowers and grass

When water sparkles through a sandy plain.

These sixty—said they—did our Lord send forth,

Made perfect in restraint and passion-free,

To teach the Way; but the World-honoured turned

South from the Deer-park and Isipatan

To Yashti and King Bimbasara's realm,

Where many days he taught; and after these

King Bimbasara and his folk believed,

Learning the law of love and ordered life.

Also he gave the Master, of free gift—

Pouring forth water on the hands of Buddh—

The Bamboo-Garden, named Weluvana,

Wherein are streams and caves and lovely glades;

And the King set a stone there, carved with this:

"Ye dharma hetuppabhawa

Yesan hetun Tathagato;

Aha yesan cha yo nirodho

Ewan wadi Maha samano.

"What life's course and cause sustain

These Tathagato made plain;

What delivers from life's woe

That our Lord hath made us know."

And, in that Garden—said they—there was held

A high Assembly, where the Teacher spake

Wisdom and power, winning all souls which heard,

So that nine hundred took the yellow robe—

Such as the Master wears,—and spread his Law;

And this the gatha was wherewith he closed:

Sabba papassa akaranan;

Kusalassa upasampada;

Sa chitta pariyodapanan;

Etan Budhanusasanan.

"Evil swells the debts to pay,

Good delivers and acquits;

Shun evil, follow good; hold sway

Over thyself. This is the Way."

Whom, when they ended, speaking so of him,

With gifts, and thanks which made the jewels dull,

The Princess recompensed. "But by what road

Wendeth my Lord?" she asked: the merchants said,

"Yojans threescore stretch from the city-walls

To Rajagriha, whence the easy path

Passeth by Sona hither and the hills.

Our oxen, treading eight slow koss a day,

Came in one moon."

Then the King hearing word,

Sent nobles of the Court—well-mounted lords—

Nine separate messengers, each embassy

Bidden to say: "The King Suddhodana—

Nearer the pyre by seven long years of lack,

Wherethrough he hath not ceased to seek for thee—

Prays of his son to come unto his own,

The Throne and people of this longing Realm,

Lest he shall die and see thy face no more."

Also nine horsemen sent Yasodhara

Bidden to say, "The Princess of thy House—

Rahula's mother—craves to see thy face

As the night-blowing moon-flower's swelling heart

Pines for the moon, as pale asoka-buds

Wait for a woman's foot: if thou hast found

More than was lost, she prays her part in this,

Rahula's part, but most of all thyself."

So sped the Sakya Lords, but it befell

That each one, with the message in his mouth,

Entered the Bamboo-Garden in that hour

When Buddha taught his Law; and—hearing—each

Forgot to speak, lost thought of King and quest,

Of the sad Princess even; only gazed

Eye-rapt upon the Master; only hung

Heart-caught upon the speech, compassionate,

Commanding, perfect, pure, enlightening all,

Poured from those sacred lips. Look! like a bee

Winged for the hive, who sees the mogras spread

And scents their utter sweetness on the air,

If he be honey-filled, it matters not;

If night be nigh, or rain, he will not heed;

Needs must he light on those delicious blooms

And drain their nectar; so these messengers

One with another, hearing Buddha's words,

Let go the purpose of their speed, and mixed,

Heedless of all, amid the Master's train.

Wherefore the King bade that Udayi go—

Chiefest in all the Court, and faithfullest,

Siddartha's playmate in the happier days—

Who, as he drew anear the garden, plucked

Blown tufts of tree-wool from the grove and sealed

The entrance of his hearing; thus he came

Safe through the lofty peril of the place

And told the message of the King, and hers.

Then meekly bowed his head and spake our Lord

Before the people: "Surely I shall go!

It is my duty as it was my will;

Let no man miss to render reverence

To those who lend him life, whereby come means

To live and die no more, but safe attain

Blissful Nirvana, if ye keep the Law,

Purging past wrongs and adding nought thereto,

Complete in love and lovely charities.

Let the King know and let the Princess hear

I take the way forthwith." This told, the folk

Of white Kapilavastu and its fields

Made ready for the entrance of their Prince.

At the south gate a bright pavilion rose

With flower-wreathed pillars and the walls of silk

Wrought on their red and green with woven gold.

Also the roads were laid with scented boughs

Of neem and mango, and full mussuks shed

Sandal and jasmine on the dust, and flags

Fluttered; and on the day when he should come

It was ordained how many elephants—

With silver howdahs and their tusks gold-tipped—

Should wait beyond the ford, and where the drums

Should boom "Siddartha cometh!" where the lords

Should light and worship, and the dancing-girls

Where they should strew their flowers with dance and song

So that the steed he rode might tramp knee-deep

In rose and balsam, and the ways be fair;

While the town rang with music and high joy.

This was ordained and all men's ears were pricked

Dawn after dawn to catch the first drum's beat

Announcing, "Now he cometh!"

But it fell Eager to be before—Yasodhara

Rode in her litter to the city-walls

Where soared the bright pavilion. All around

A beauteous garden smiled—Nigrodha named—

Shaded with bel-trees and the green-plumed dates,

New-trimmed and gay with winding walks and banks

Of fruits and flowers; for the southern road

Skirted its lawns, on this hand leaf and bloom,

On that the suburb-huts where base-borns dwelt

Outside the gates, a patient folk and poor,

Whose touch for Kshatriya and priest of Brahm

Were sore defilement. Yet those, too, were quick

With expectation, rising ere the dawn

To peer along the road, to climb the trees

At far-off trumpet of some elephant,

Or stir of temple-drum; and when none came,

Busied with lowly chores to please the Prince;

Sweeping their door-stones, setting forth their flags,

Stringing the fruited fig-leaves into chains,

New furbishing the Lingam, decking new

Yesterday's faded arc of boughs, but aye

Questioning wayfarers if any noise

Be on the road of great Siddartha. These

The Princess marked with lovely languid eyes,

Watching, as they, the southward plain and bent

Like them to listen if the passers gave

News of the path. So fell it she beheld

One slow approaching with his head close shorn,

A yellow cloth over his shoulder cast,

Girt as the hermits are, and in his hand

An earthen bowl, shaped melonwise, the which

Meekly at each hut-door he held a space,

Taking the granted dole with gentle thanks

And all as gently passing where none gave.

Two followed him wearing the yellow robe,

But he who bore the bowl so lordly seemed,

So reverend, and with such a passage moved,

With so commanding presence filled the air,

With such sweet eyes of holiness smote all,

That as they reached him alms the givers gazed

Awestruck upon his face, and some bent down

In worship, and some ran to fetch fresh gifts,

Grieved to be poor; till slowly, group by group,

Children and men and women drew behind

Into his steps, whispering with covered lips,

"Who is he? who? when looked a Rishi thus?"

But as he came with quiet footfall on

Nigh the pavilion, lo! the silken door

Lifted, and, all unveiled, Yasodhara

Stood in his path crying, "Siddartha! Lord!"

With wide eyes streaming and with close-clasped hands,

Then sobbing fell upon his feet, and lay.

Afterwards, when this weeping lady passed

Into the Noble Paths, and one had prayed

Answer from Buddha wherefore-being vowed

Quit of all mortal passion and the touch,

Flower-soft and conquering, of a woman's hands—

He suffered such embrace, the Master said

"The greater beareth with the lesser love

So it may raise it unto easier heights.

Take heed that no man, being 'soaped from bonds,

Vexeth bound souls with boasts of liberty.

Free are ye rather that your freedom spread

By patient winning and sweet wisdom's skill.

Three eras of long toil bring Bodhisats—

Who will be guides and help this darkling world—

Unto deliverance, and the first is named

Of deep 'Resolve,' the second of 'Attempt,'

The third of 'Nomination.' Lo! I lived

In era of Resolve, desiring good,

Searching for wisdom, but mine eyes were sealed.

Count the grey seeds on yonder castor-clump—

So many rains it is since I was Ram,

A merchant of the coast which looketh south

To Lanka and the hiding-place of pearls.

Also in that far time Yasodhara

Dwelt with me in our village by the sea,

Tender as now, and Lukshmi was her name.

And I remember how I journeyed thence

Seeking our gain, for poor the household was

And lowly. Not the less with wistful tears

She prayed me that I should not part, nor tempt

Perils by land and water. 'How could love

Leave what it loved?' she wailed; yet, venturing, I

Passed to the Straits, and after storm and toil

And deadly strife with creatures of the deep,

And woes beneath the midnight and the noon,

Searching the wave I won therefrom a pearl

Moonlike and glorious, such as kings might buy

Emptying their treasury. Then came I glad

Unto mine hills, but over all that land

Famine spread sore; ill was I stead to live

In journey home, and hardly reached my door—

Aching for food—with that white wealth of the sea

Tied in my girdle. Yet no food was there;

And on the threshold she for whom I toiled—

More than myself—lay with her speechless lips

Nigh unto death for one small gift of grain.

Then cried I, 'If there be who hath of grain,

Here is a kingdom's ransom for one life

Give Lukshmi bread and take my moonlight pearl.'

Whereat one brought the last of all his hoard,

Millet—three seers—and clutched the beauteous thing.

But Lukshmi lived and sighed with gathered life,

'Lo! thou didst love indeed!' I spent my pearl

Well in that life to comfort heart and mind

Else quite uncomforted; but these pure pearls,

My last large gain, won from a deeper wave—

The Twelve Nidanas and the Law of Good—

Cannot be spent, nor dimmed, and most fulfil

Their perfect beauty being freeliest given.

For like as is to Meru yonder hill

Heaped by the little ants, and like as dew

Dropped in the footmark of a bounding roe

Unto the shoreless seas, so was that gift

Unto my present giving; and so love—

Vaster in being free from toils of sense—

Was wisest stooping to the weaker heart;

And so the feet of sweet Yasodhara

Passed into peace and bliss, being softly led."

But when the King heard how Siddartha came

Shorn, with the mendicant's sad-coloured cloth,

And stretching out a bowl to gather orts

From base-borns' leavings, wrathful sorrow drove

Love from his heart. Thrice on the ground he spat,

Plucked at his silvered beard, and strode straight forth

Lackeyed by trembling lords. Frowning he clomb

Upon his war-horse, drove the spurs, and dashed,

Angered, through wondering streets and lanes of folk.

Scarce finding breath to say, "The King! bow down!"

Ere the loud cavalcade had clattered by:

Which—at the turning by the Temple-wall

Where the south gate was seen—encountered full

A mighty crowd; to every edge of it

Poured fast more people, till the roads were lost,

Blotted by that huge company which thronged

And grew, close following him whose look serene

Met the old King's. Nor lived the father's wrath

Longer than while the gentle eyes of Buddh

Lingered in worship on his troubled brows,

Then downcast sank, with his true knee, to earth

In proud humility. So dear it seemed

To see the Prince, to know him whole, to mark

That glory greater than of earthly state

Crowning his head, that majesty which brought

All men, so awed and silent, in his steps.

Nathless the King broke forth: "Ends it in this,

That great Siddartha steals into his realm,

Wrapped in a clout, shorn, sandalled, craving food

Of low-borns, he whose life was as a god's,

My son! heir of this spacious power, and heir

Of Kings who did but clap their palms to have

What earth could give or eager service bring?

Thou should'st have come apparelled in thy rank,

With shining spears and tramp of horse and foot.

Lo! all my soldiers camped upon the road,

And all my city waited at the gates;

Where hast thou sojourned through these evil years

Whilst thy crowned father mourned? and she, too, there

Lived as the widows use, foregoing joys;

Never once hearing sound of song or string,

Nor wearing once the festal robe, till now

When in her cloth of gold she welcomes home

A beggar spouse in yellow remnants clad.

Son! why is this?"

"My father!" came reply,

"It is the custom of my race."

"Thy race,"

Answered the King "counteth a hundred thrones

From Maha Sammat, but no deed like this."

"Not of a mortal line," the Master said,

"I spake, but of descent invisible,

The Buddhas who have been and who shall be:

Of these am I, and what they did I do,

And this which now befalls so fell before,

That at his gate a King in warrior-mail

Should meet his son, a Prince in hermit-weeds;

And that, by love and self-control, being more

Than mightiest Kings in all their puissance,

The appointed Helper of the Worlds should bow—

As now do I—and with all lowly love

Proffer, where it is owed for tender debts,

The first-fruits of the treasure he hath brought;

Which now I proffer."

Then the King amazed

Inquired "What treasure?" and the Teacher took

Meekly the royal palm, and while they paced

Through worshipping streets—the Princess and the King

On either side—he told the things which make

For peace and pureness, those Four noble Truths

Which hold all wisdom as shores shut the seas,

Those Eight right Rules whereby who will may walk—

Monarch or slave—upon the perfect Path

That hath its Stages Four and Precepts Eight,

Whereby whoso will live—mighty or mean

Wise or unlearned, man, woman, young or old

Shall soon or late break from the wheels of life,

Attaining blest Nirvana. So they came

Into the Palace-porch, Suddhodana

With brows unknit drinking the mighty words,

And in his own hand carrying Buddha's bowl,

Whilst a new light brightened the lovely eyes

Of sweet Yasodhara and sunned her tears;

And that night entered they the Way of Peace.