The days pass on, and in the bamboo-grove
A great vihara as by magic rose,
Built by the king for Buddha's growing band,
A spacious hall where all might hear his words,
And little cells where each might take his rest,
A school and rest-house through the summer rains.
But soon the monsoons from the distant seas
Bring gathering clouds to veil the brazen sky,
While nimble lightnings dart their blinding flames,
And rolling thunders shake the trembling hills,
And heaven's downpourings drench the thirsty earth—
The master's seed-time when the people rest.
For now the sixty from their distant fields
Have gathered in to trim their lamps afresh
And learn new wisdom from the master's lips—
All but brave Purna on the Tartar steppes
Where summer is the fittest time for toil,
When India's rains force India's sons to rest.
The new vihara and the bamboo-grove
King Bimbasara to the master gave,
Where day by day he taught his growing school,
While rills, grown torrents, leap from rock to rock,
And Phalgu's swollen stream sweeps down the vale.
That Saraputra after called the Great
Had seen these new-come youths in yellow robes
Passing from street to street to ask for alms,
Receiving coarsest food with gentle thanks—
Had seen them meet the poor and sick and old
With kindly words and ever-helpful hands—
Had seen them passing to the bamboo-grove
Joyful as bridegrooms soon to meet their brides.
He, Vashpa and Asvajit met one day,
Whom he had known beneath the banyan-tree,
Two of the five who first received the law,
Now clothed in yellow, bearing begging-bowls,
And asked their doctrine, who their master was,
That they seemed joyful, while within the grove
All seemed so solemn, self-absorbed and sad.
They bade him come and hear the master's words,
And when their bowls were filled, he followed them,
And heard the living truth from Buddha's lips,
And said: "The sun of wisdom has arisen.
What further need of our poor flickering lamps?"
And with Mugallan joined the master's band.
And now five strangers from the Tartar steppes,
Strangers in form and features, language, dress,
Guided by one as strange in dress as they,
Weary and foot-sore, passed within the gates
Of Rajagriha, while the rising sun
Was still concealed behind the vulture-peak,
A laughing-stock to all the idle crowd,
Whom noisy children followed through the streets
As thoughtless children follow what is strange,
Until they met the master asking alms,
Who with raised hand and gentle, mild rebuke
Hushed into silence all their noisy mirth.
"These are our brothers," Buddha mildly said.
"Weary and worn they come from distant lands,
And ask for kindness—not for mirth and jeers."
They knew at once that calm, majestic face,
That voice as sweet as Brahma's, and those eyes
Beaming with tender, all-embracing love,
Of which, while seated round their argol fires
In their black tents, brave Purna loved to tell,
And bowed in worship at the master's feet.
He bade them rise, and learned from whence they came,
And led them joyful to the bamboo-grove,
Where some brought water from the nearest stream
To bathe their festered feet and weary limbs,
While some brought food and others yellow robes—
Fitter for India's heat than skins and furs—
All welcoming their new-found friends who came
From distant lands, o'er desert wastes and snows,
To see the master, hear the perfect law,
And bring the message noble Purna sent.
The months pass on; the monsoons cease to blow,
The thunders cease to roll, the rains to pour;
The earth, refreshed, is clothed with living green,
And flowers burst forth where all was parched and bare,
And busy toil succeeds long days of rest.
The time for mission work has come.
The brethren, now to many hundreds grown,
Where'er the master thought it best were sent.
The strongest and the bravest volunteered
To answer Purna's earnest call for help,
And clothed in fitting robes for piercing cold
They scale the mountains, pass the desert wastes,
Their guide familiar with their terrors grown;
While some return to their expectant flocks,
And some are sent to kindred lately left,
And some to strangers dwelling near or far—
All bearing messages of peace and love—
Until but few in yellow robes remain,
And single footfalls echo through that hall
Where large assemblies heard the master's words.
A few are left, not yet confirmed in faith;
And those five brothers from the distant north
Remain to learn the sacred tongue and lore,
While Saraputra and Kasyapa stay
To aid the master in his special work.
From far Kosala, rich Sudata came,
Friend of the destitute and orphans called.
In houses rich, and rich in lands and gold,
But richer far in kind and gracious acts,
Who stopped in Rajagriha with a friend.
But when he learned a Buddha dwelt so near,
And heard the gracious doctrine he proclaimed,
That very night he sought the bamboo-grove,
While roofs and towers were silvered by the moon,
And silent streets in deepest shadows lay,
And bamboo-plumes seemed waving silver sprays,
And on the ground the trembling shadows played.
Humble in mind but great in gracious deeds,
Of earnest purpose but of simple heart,
The master saw in him a vessel fit
For righteousness, and bade him stay and learn
His rules of grace that bring Nirvana's rest.
And first of all the gracious master said:
"This restless nature and this selfish world
Is all a phantasy and empty show;
Its life is lust, its end is pain and death.
Waste not your time in speculations deep
Of whence and why. One thing we surely know:
Each living thing must have a living cause,
And mind from mind and not from matter springs;
While love, which like an endless golden chain.
Binds all in one, is love in every link,
Up from the sparrow's nest, the mother's heart,
Through all the heavens to Brahma's boundless love.
And lusts resisted, daily duties done,
Unite our lives to that unbroken chain
Which draws us up to heaven's eternal rest."
And through the night they earnestly communed,
Until Sudata saw the living truth
In rising splendor, like the morning sun,
And doubts and errors all are swept away
As gathering clouds are swept by autumn's winds.
Bowing in reverence, Sudata said:
"I know the Buddha never seeks repose,
But gladly toils to give to others rest.
O that my people, now in darkness sunk,
Might see the light and hear the master's words!
I dwell in King Pasenit's distant realm—
A king renowned, a country fair and rich—
And yearn to build a great vihara there."
The master, knowing well Sudata's heart
And his unselfish charity, replied:
"Some give in hope of greater gifts returned;
Some give to gain a name for charity;
Some give to gain the rest and joy of heaven,
Some to escape the woes and pains of hell.
Such giving is but selfishness and greed,
But he who gives without a selfish thought
Has entered on the noble eightfold path,
Is purified from anger, envy, hate.
The bonds of pain and sorrow are unloosed;
The way to rest and final rescue found.
Let your hands do what your kind heart desires."
Hearing this answer, he departs with joy,
And Buddha with him Saraputra sent.
Arriving home, he sought a pleasant spot,
And found the garden of Pasenit's son,
And sought the prince, seeking to buy the ground.
But he refused to sell, yet said in jest:
"Cover the grove with gold, the ground is yours."
Forthwith Sudata spread his yellow coin.
But Gata said, caught by his thoughtless jest:
"Spread not your gold—I will not sell the ground."
"Not sell the ground?" Sudata sharply said,
"Why then said you, 'Fill it with yellow gold'?"
And both contending sought a magistrate.
But Gata, knowing well his earnestness,
Asked why he sought the ground; and when he learned,
He said: "Keep half your gold; the land is yours,
But mine the trees, and jointly we will build
A great vihara for the Buddha's use."
The work begun was pressed both night and day;
Lofty it rose, in just proportions built,
Fit for the palace of a mighty king.
The people saw this great vihara rise,
A stately palace for a foreign prince,
And said in wonder: "What strange thing is this?
Our king to welcome thus a foreign king
To new-made palaces, and not with war
And bloody spears and hands to new-made graves,
As was his father's wont in times gone by?"
Yet all went forth to meet this coming prince,
And see a foreign monarch's royal pomp,
But heard no trumpeting of elephants,
Nor martial music, nor the neigh of steeds,
But saw instead a little band draw near
In yellow robes, with dust and travel-stained;
But love, that like a holy halo crowned
That dusty leader's calm, majestic brow,
Hushed into silence every rising sneer.
And when Sudata met this weary band,
And to the prince's garden led their way,
They followed on, their hands in reverence joined,
To where the stately new vihara rose,
Enbowered in giant trees of every kind
That India's climate grows, while winding streams
Along their flowery banks now quiet flow,
Now leap from rocks, now spread in shining pools
With lotuses and lilies overspread,
While playing fountains with their falling spray
Spread grateful coolness, and a blaze of bloom
From myriad opening flowers perfumes the air,
And myriad birds that sought this peaceful spot
Burst forth in every sweet and varied song
That India's fields and groves and gardens know.
And there Sudata bowed on bended knee,
And from a golden pitcher water poured,
The sign and sealing of their gift of love
Of this vihara, Gatavana called,
A school and rest-house for the Buddha's use,
And for the brotherhood throughout the world.
Buddha received it with the fervent prayer
That it might give the kingdom lasting peace.
Unlike Sudata's self, Sudata's king
Believed religion but a comely cloak
To hide besetting sins from public view,
And sought the master in his new retreat
To talk religion and to act a part,
And greetings ended, said in solemn wise:
"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown;
But my poor kingdom now is doubly blest
In one whose teachings purify the soul
And give the highest and the humblest rest,
As all are cleansed who bathe in Rapti's stream."
But Buddha saw through all this outer show
His real purposes and inner life:
The love of pleasure blighting high resolve,
The love of money, root of every ill,
That sends its poison fibers through the soul
And saps its life and wastes its vital strength.
"The Tathagata only shows the way
To purity and rest," the master said.
"There is a way to darkness out of light,
There is a way to light from deepest gloom.
They only gain the goal who keep the way.
Harsh words and evil deeds to sorrow lead
As sure as shadows on their substance wait.
For as we sow, so also shall we reap.
Boast not overmuch of kingly dignity.
A king most needs a kind and loving heart
To love his subjects as an only son,
To aid—not injure, comfort—not oppress,
Their help, protector, father, friend and guide.
Such kings shall live beloved and die renowned,
Whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest."
The king, convicted, heard his solemn words
That like an arrow pierced his inmost life.
To him religion ceased to be a show
Of chants and incense, empty forms and creeds,
But stood a living presence in his way
To check his blind and headlong downward course,
And lead him to the noble eightfold path,
That day by day and step by step shall lead
To purity and peace and heavenly rest.
Kapilavastu's king, Suddhodana,
His step grown feeble, snowy white his hair,
By cares oppressed and sick with hope deferred,
For eight long years had waited for his son.
But sweet Yasodhara, in widow's weeds,
Her love by sorrow only purified
As fire refines the gold by dross debased,
Though tender memories bring unbidden tears,
Wasted no time in morbid, selfish grief,
But sought in care for others her own cure.
Both son and daughter to the aged king,
She aids with counsels, soothes with tender care.
Father and mother to her little son,
She lavishes on him a double love.
And oft on mercy's missions going forth,
Shunning the pomp and show of royal state,
Leading Rahula, prattling by her side,
The people saw her pass with swelling hearts,
As if an angel clothed in human form.