[11]Whether the Tartars were "the savage tribes" to whom Purna, one of the sixty, was sent, may admit of question, but it is certain that long before the Christian era the whole country north of the Himalayas was thoroughly Buddhist, and the unwearied missionaries of that great faith had penetrated so far west that they met Alexander's army and boldly told him that war was wrong; and they had penetrated east to the confines of China.
[12]The large gatherings of the Buddhist brotherhoods everywhere spoken of in the writings can only be accounted for on the supposition, which is more than a supposition, that they came to him in the rainy season, when they could do but little in their missions; and the substantial unity of the Buddhist faith can only be accounted for on the supposition that his instructions were constantly renewed at these gatherings and their errors corrected.
BOOK VIII.
Northward the noble Purna took his way
Till India's fields and plains were lost to view,
Then through the rugged foot-hills upward climbed,
And up a gorge by rocky ramparts walled,
Through which a mighty torrent thundered down,
Their treacherous way along the torrent's brink,
Or up the giddy cliffs where one false step
Would plunge them headlong in the raging stream,
Passing from cliff to cliff, their bridge of ropes
Swung high above the dashing, roaring waves.
At length they cross the frozen mountain-pass,
O'er wastes of snow by furious tempests swept,
And cross a desert where no bird or beast
Is ever seen, and where their way is marked
By bleaching bones strewn thick along their track.[1]
Some perished by the way, and some turned back,
While some of his companions persevered,
Cheered on by Purna's never-flagging zeal,
And by the master's words from Purna's lips,
Until they reached the outmost wandering tribes
Of that great race that he had come to save.
With joy received, these wandering tribes their guides—
For love makes friends where selfishness breeds strife—
They soon are led to where their kindred dwell.
They saw the vanity of chasing wealth
Through hunger, danger, desolation, death.
They felt a power sustaining Purna's steps—
A power unseen yet ever hovering near—
They saw the truth of Buddha's burning words
That selfishness and greed drag down the soul,
While love can nerve the feeblest arm with strength,
And asked that Purna take them as his aids.
But ere brave Purna reached his journey's end,
Near many hamlets, many Indian towns,
The moon, high risen to mark the noon of night,
Through many sacred fig-tree's rustling leaves[2]
Sent trembling rays with trembling shadows mixed
Upon a noble youth in orange robes,
His alms-bowl by his side, stretched out in sleep,
Dreaming, perchance, of some Benares maid,
Perchance of home and joys so lately left.
Meanwhile the master with his little band
Toward Rajagriha backward wends his way,
Some village tree their nightly resting—place,
Until they reached the grove that skirts the base
Of that bold mountain called the vulture-peak,
Through which the lotus-covered Phalgu glides,
O'erarched with trees festooned with trailing vines,
While little streams leap down from rock to rock,
Cooling the verdant slopes and fragrant glades,
And vines and shrubs and trees of varied bloom
Loaded the air with odors rich and sweet,
And where that sacred fig-tree spread its shade
Above the mound that held the gathered dust
Of those sage Brahmans who had sought to aid
The young prince struggling for a clearer light,
And where that banyan-tree for ages grew,
So long the home of those five noble youths,
Now sundered far, some tree when night may fall
Their resting-place, their robe and bowl their all,
Their only food chance gathered day by day,
Preaching the common brotherhood of man,
Teaching the law of universal love,
Bearing the light to those in darkness sunk,
Lending a helping hand to those in need,
Teaching the strong that gentleness is great.
And through this grove where many noble souls
Were seeking higher life and clearer light,
He took his well-known way, and reached his cave
Just as the day was fading into night,
And myriad stars spangled the azure vault,
And myriad lamps that through the darkness shone
Revealed the city that the night had veiled,
Where soon their weary limbs were laid to rest;
But through the silent hour preceding day,
Before the jungle-cock announced the dawn,
All roused from sleep in meditation sat.
But when the sun had set the east aglow,
And roused the birds to sing their matin-song's,
And roused the lowing herds to call their mates,
And roused a sleeping world to daily toil,
Their matins chanted, their ablutions made,
With bowl and staff in hand they took their way
Down to the city for their daily alms.
But earlier steps had brushed their dewy path.
From out the shepherd's cottage loving eyes
Had recognized the master's stately form,
And love-winged steps had borne the joyful news
That he, the poor man's advocate and friend,
The sweet-voiced messenger of peace and love,
The prince become a beggar for their sake,
So long expected, now at last returns.
From door to door the joyful tidings spread,
And old and young from every cottage came.
The merchant left his wares without a guard;
The housewife left her pitcher at the well;
The loom was idle and the anvil still;
The money-changer told his coins alone,
While all the multitude went forth to meet
Their servant-master and their beggar-prince.
Some brought the garden's choicest treasures forth,
Some gathered lotuses from Phalgu's stream,
Some climbed the trees to pluck their varied bloom,
While children gathered every wayside flower
To strew his way—their lover, savior, guide.
King Bimbasara from his watch-tower saw
The wild commotion and the moving throng,
And sent swift messengers to learn the cause.
With winged feet through vacant streets they flew,
And through the gates and out an avenue
Where aged trees that grew on either side,
Their giant branches interlocked above,
Made nature's gothic arch and densest shade,
While gentle breezes, soft as if they came
From devas' hovering wings, rustle the leaves
And strew the way with showers of falling bloom,
As if they, voiceless, felt the common joy.
And there they found the city's multitudes,
Not as in tumult, armed with clubs and staves,
And every weapon ready to their hands,
But stretching far on either side the way,
Their flower-filled hands in humble reverence joined,
The only sound a murmur, "There he comes!"
While every eye was turned in loving gaze
Upon a little band in yellow robes
Who now drew near from out the sacred grove.
The master passed with calm, majestic grace,
Stately and tall, one arm and shoulder bare,
With head close shorn and bare unsandaled feet,
His noble brow, the wonder of his age,
Not clothed in terror like Olympic Jove's—
For love, not anger, beamed from out those eyes,
Changing from clearest blue to softest black,
That seem to show unfathomed depths within,
With tears of holy pity glittering now
For those poor souls come forth to honor him,
All sheep without a shepherd groping on.
The messengers with reverence let him pass,
Then hastened back to tell the waiting king
That he who dwelt so long upon the hill,
The prince who stopped the bloody sacrifice,
With other holy rishis had returned,
Whom all received with reverence and joy.
The king with keenest pleasure heard their words.
That noble form, that calm, majestic face,
Had never faded from his memory.
His words of wisdom, words of tender love,
Had often stayed his hands when raised to strike,
Had often put a bridle on his tongue
When harsh and bitter words leaped to his lips,
And checked those cruel acts of sudden wrath
That stain the annals of the greatest kings,
Until the people to each other said:
"How mild and gentle our good king has grown!"
And when he heard this prince had now returned,
In flower-embroidered purple robes arrayed,
With all the pomp and circumstance of state,
Followed by those who ever wait on power,
He issued forth and climbed the rugged hill
Until he reached the cave where Buddha sat,
Calm and majestic as the rounded moon
That moves serene along its heavenly path.
Greeting each other with such royal grace
As fits a prince greeting a brother prince,
The king inquired why he had left his home?
Why he, a Chakravartin's only son,
Had left his palace for a lonely cave,
Wore coarsest cloth instead of royal robes,
And for a scepter bore a begging-bowl?
"Youth," said the king, "with full and bounding pulse,
Youth is the time for boon companionship,
The time for pleasure, when all pleasures please;
Manhood, the time for gaining wealth and power;
But as the years creep on, the step infirm,
The arm grown feeble and the hair turned gray,
'Tis time to mortify the five desires,
To give religion what of life is left,
And look to heaven when earth begins to pall.
I would not use my power to hold you here,
But offer half my kingdom for your aid
To govern well and use my power aright."
The prince with gentle earnestness replied:
"O king, illustrious and world-renowned!
Your noble offer through all coming time
Shall be remembered. Men will praise an act
By likening it to Bimbasara's gift.
You offer me the half of your domain.
I in return beseech you share with me
Better than wealth, better than kingly power,
The peace and joy that follows lusts subdued.
Wait not on age—for age brings feebleness—
But this great battle needs our utmost strength.
If you will come, then welcome to our cave;
If not, may wisdom all your actions guide.
Ruling your empire in all righteousness,
Preserve your country and protect her sons.
Sadly I leave you, great and gracious king,
But my work calls—a world that waits for light.
In yonder sacred grove three brothers dwell—
Kasyapa, Gada, Nadi, they are called;
Three chosen vessels for the perfect law,
Three chosen lamps to light a groping world,
Who worship now the gross material fire
Which burns and wastes but fails to purify.
I go to tell them of Nirvana's Sun,
Perennial source of that undying flame,
The fire of love, consuming lust and hate
As forest fires devour the crackling thorns,
Until the soul is purified from sin,
And sorrow, birth and death are left behind."
He found Kasyapa as the setting sun
Was sinking low behind the western hills,
And somber shadows darkened Phalgu's vale,
And asked a place to pass the gathering night.
"Here is a grotto, cooled by trickling streams
And overhanging shades, fit place for sleep,"
Kasyapa said, "that I would gladly give;
But some fierce Naga nightly haunts the spot
Whose poisoned breath no man can breathe and live."
"Fear not for me," the Buddha answered him,
"For I this night will make my dwelling there."
"Do as you will," Kasyapa doubtful said,
"But much I fear some dire catastrophe."
Now mighty Mara, spirit of the air,
The prince of darkness, roaming through the earth
Had found this grotto in the sacred grove,
And as a Naga there kept nightly watch
For those who sought deliverance from his power,
Who, when the master calmly took his seat,
Belched forth a flood of poison, foul and black,
And with hot, burning vapors filled the cave.
But Buddha sat unmoved, serene and calm
As Brahma sits amid the kalpa fires
That burn the worlds but cannot harm his heaven.
While Mara, knowing Buddha, fled amazed
And left the Naga coiled in Buddha's bowl.[3]
Kasyapa, terrified, beheld the flames,
And when the first faint rays of dawn appeared
With all his fearful followers sought the cave,
And found the master not consumed to dust,
But full of peace, aglow with perfect love.
Kasyapa, full of wonder, joyful said:
"I, though a master, have no power like this
To conquer groveling lusts and evil beasts."
Then Buddha taught the source of real power,
The power of love to fortify the soul,
Until Kasyapa gathered all his stores,
His sacred vessels, sacrificial robes,
And cast them in the Phalgu passing near.
His brothers saw them floating down the stream,
And winged with fear made haste to learn the cause.
They too the master saw, and heard his words,
And all convinced received the perfect law,
And with their followers joined the Buddha's band.