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 noble 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.
A year has passed, and of this growing band
Sixty are rooted, grounded in the faith,
Willing to do whate'er the master bids,
Ready to go where'er the master sends,
Eager to join returning pilgrim-bands
And bear the truth to India's farthest bounds.
With joy the master saw their burning zeal,
So free from selfishness, so full of love,
And thought of all those blindly groping souls
To whom these messengers would bear the light.
"Go," said the master, "each a different way.
Go teach the common brotherhood of man.
Preach Dharma, preach the law of perfect love,
One law for high and low, for rich and poor.
Teach all to shun the cudgel and the sword,
And treat with kindness every living thing.
Teach them to shun all theft and craft and greed,
All bitter thoughts, and false and slanderous speech
That severs friends and stirs up strife and hate.
Revere your own, revile no brother's faith.
The light you see is from Nirvana's Sun,
Whose rising splendors promise perfect day.
The feeble rays that light your brother's path
Are from the selfsame Sun, by falsehoods hid,
The lingering shadows of the passing night.
Chide none with ignorance, but teach the truth
Gently, as mothers guide their infants' steps,
Lest your rude manners drive them from the way
That leads to purity and peace and rest—
As some rude swain in some sequestered vale,
Who thinks the visual line that girts him round
The world's extreme, would meet with sturdy blows
One rudely charging him with ignorance,
Yet gently led to some commanding height,
Whence he could see the Himalayan peaks,
The rolling hills and India's spreading plains,
With joyful wonder views the glorious scene.
Pause not to break the idols of the past.
Be guides and leaders, not iconoclasts.
Their broken idols shock their worshipers,
But led to light they soon forgotten lie."
One of their number, young and strong and brave,
A merchant ere he took the yellow robe,
Had crossed the frozen Himalayan heights
And found a race, alien in tongue and blood,
Gentle as children in their daily lives,
Untaught as children in all sacred things,
Living in wagons, wandering o'er the steppes,
To-day all shepherds, tending countless flocks,
To-morrow warriors, cruel as the grave,
Building huge monuments of human heads—
Fearless, resistless, with the cyclone's speed
Leaving destruction in their bloody track,
Who drove the Aryan from his native plains
To seek a home in Europe's trackless wastes.
He yearned to seek these children of the wilds,
And teach them peace and gentleness and love.[11]
"But, Purna," said the master, "they are fierce.
How will you meet their cruelty and wrath?"
Purna replied, "With gentleness and love."
"But," said the master, "they may beat and wound."
"And I will give them thanks to spare my life."
"But with slow tortures they may even kill."
"I with my latest breath will bless their names,
So soon to free me from this prison-house
And send me joyful to the other shore."
"Then," said the master, "Purna, it is well.
Armed with such patience, seek these savage tribes.
Thyself delivered, free from karma's chains
These souls enslaved; thyself consoled, console
These restless children of the desert wastes;
Thyself this peaceful haven having reached,
Guide these poor wanderers to the other shore."
With many counsels, many words of cheer,
He on their mission sent his brethren forth,
Armed with a prophet's zeal, a brother's love,
A martyr's courage, and the Christian's hope
That when life's duties end, its trials end,
And higher life awaits those faithful found.
The days pass on; and now the rising sun
Looks down on bands of pilgrims homeward bound,
Some moving north, some south, some east, some west,
Toward every part of India's vast expanse,
One clothed in orange robes with every band
To guide their kindred on the upward road.
But Purna joined the merchants he had led,
Not moved by thirst for gain, but love for man,
To seek the Tartar on his native steppes.
Meanwhile the master with diminished band
Crossing the Ganges, backward wends his way
Toward Rajagriha, and the vulture-peak
Where he had spent so many weary years,
Whither he bade the brothers gather in[12]
When summer's rains should bring the time for rest.
[1]Varanassi is an old name of Benares.