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 eyeballs ache;
When suddenly from out this empty void
A cloud, shining with golden light, was borne
By gentle winds, loaded with sweet perfumes,
Sweeter than spring-time on this earth can yield.
The cloud passed 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 snatch 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 shining 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 shine 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 shine,
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 multitudes so often met,
Now still as that dark valley of his dream.
He passed the lake, mirror of heaven's high vault,
Whose ruffled waters ripple on the shore,
Stirred by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks;
And heedless of his way passed 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.
Perforce he stopped; and, roused from revery,
Gazed on the dark and silent world below.
The moon had sunk from sight, the stars grew dim,
And densest darkness veiled the sleeping world,
When suddenly bright beams of rosy light
Shot up the east; the highest mountain-top
Glittered as if both land and sea had joined
Their richest jewels and most costly gems
To make its crown; from mountain-peak to peak
The brightness spread, and darkness slunk away,
Until between two giant mountain-tops
Glittered a wedge of gold; the hills were tinged,
And soon the sun flooded the world with light
As when the darkness heard that first command:
"Let there be light!" and light from chaos shone.
Raptured he gazed upon the glorious scene.
"And can it be," he said, "with floods of light
Filling the blue and boundless vault above,
Bathing in brightness mountain, hill and plain,
Sending its rays to ocean's hidden depths,
With light for bird and beast and creeping thing,
Light for all eyes, oceans of light to spare,
That man alone from outer darkness comes,
Gropes blindly on his brief and restless round,
And then in starless darkness disappears?
There must be light, fountains of living light,
For which my thirsty spirit pining pants
As pants the hunted hart for water-brooks—
Another sun, lighting a better world,
Where weary souls may find a welcome rest.
Gladly I'd climb yon giddy mountain-heights,
Or gladly take the morning's wings and fly
To earth's remotest bounds, if light were there,
Welcome to me the hermit's lonely cell,
And welcome dangers, labors, fastings, pains—
All would be welcome could I bring the light
To myriads now in hopeless darkness sunk.
Farewell to kingdom, comforts, home and friends!
All will I leave to seek this glorious light."
The die is cast, the victory is gained.
Though love of people, parent, wife and child,
Half selfish, half divine, may bid him pause,
A higher love, unselfish, all divine,
For them and every soul, bade him go forth
To seek for light, and seek till light be found.
Home he returned, now strong to say farewell.
Meanwhile the sweet Yasodhara still slept,
And dreamed she saw Siddartha's empty couch.
She dreamed she saw him flying far away,
And when she called to him he answered not,
But only stopped his ears and faster flew
Until he seemed a speck, and then was gone.
And then she heard a mighty voice cry out:
"The time has come—his glory shall appear!"
Waked by that voice, she found his empty couch,
Siddartha gone, and with him every joy;
But not all joy, for there Rahula lay,
With great wide-open eyes and cherub smile,
Watching the lights that flickered on the wall.
Caught in her arms she pressed him to her heart
To still its tumult and to ease its pain.
But now that step she knew so well is heard.
Siddartha comes, filled with unselfish love
Until his face beamed with celestial light
That like a holy halo crowned his head.
Gently he spoke: "My dearest and my best,
The time has come—the time when we must part.
Let not your heart be troubled—it is best."
This said, a tender kiss spoke to her heart,
In love's own language, of unchanging love.
When sweet Rahula stretched his little arms,
And cooing asked his share of tenderness,
Siddartha from her bosom took their boy,
And though sore troubled, both together smiled,
And with him playing, that sweet jargon spoke,
Which, though no lexicon contains its words,
Seems like the speech of angels, poorly learned,
For every sound and syllable and word
Was filled brimful of pure and perfect love.
At length grown calm, they tenderly communed
Of all their past, of all their hopes and fears;
And when the time of separation came,
His holy resolution gave her strength
To give the last embrace and say farewell.
And forth he rode,[2] mounted on Kantaka,
A prince, a loving father, husband, son,
To exile driven by all-embracing love.
What wonder, as the ancient writings say,
That nature to her inmost depths was stirred,
And as he passed the birds burst forth in song,
Fearless of hawk or kite that hovered near?
What wonder that the beasts of field and wood,
And all the jungle's savage denizens,
Gathered in groups and gamboled fearlessly,
Leopards with kids and wolves with skipping lambs?
For he who rode alone, bowed down and sad,
Taught millions, crores[3] of millions, yet unborn
To treat with kindness every living thing.
What wonder that the deepest hells were stirred?
What wonder that the heavens were filled with joy?
For he, bowed down with sorrow, going forth,
Shall come with joy and teach all men the way
From earth's sad turmoil to Nirvana's rest.
[1]In the "Light of Asia" the prince is made to leave his young wife before the birth of their son, saying: "Whom, if I wait to bless, my heart will fail,"—a piece of cowardice hardly consistent with my conception of that brave and self-denying character.
[2]In the "Light of Asia," the prince, after leaving his young wife, is made to pass through a somewhat extensive harem en deshabille, which is described with voluptuous minuteness. Although there are some things in later Buddhistic literature that seem to justify it, I can but regard the introduction of an institution so entirely alien to every age, form and degree of Aryan civilization and so inconsistent with the tender conjugal love which was the strongest tie to his beloved home, as a serious blot on that beautiful poem and as inconsistent with its whole theory, for no prophet ever came from a harem.
[3]A crore is ten millions.