And he:
“For the noble, a noble bait. And there is a girl, daughter of the great Suprabuddha, young and lovely as the Maiden of the Dawn when she stands, rose-fingered, smiling upon the mountain peaks, and this maiden is pure in health and person, constant and faithful, cheerful evening and morning, one to establish the palace in purity and quiet, full of dignity and grace. Among her companions she moves as the queen-swan leading the flotilla, with stately neck, yet bowed in humility. For a King of all the earth this is a fitting consort. I have made diligent inquiry. Her name is Yashodara.”
And the Maharaja replied with joy:
“In this Yashodara may be our deliverance! Send in haste, but with dignity, to Suprabuddha her father, and call a gathering at which the bridegroom-to-be shall show his strength with bow and sword and horse against all rivals, after the manner of the free choice of our women.”
And the old man bowed and went away, smiling, but with a sore doubt at his heart—for he also recalled the words and portents of the Prince’s birth and dreaded the anger of awful Gods if any should let their purpose.
Thus on a certain day the lists were set, and the Sakya lords were challenged by the noble Siddhartha to archery, to sword-play and to riding, that the maiden, Yashodara, might know she chose no craven to be her husband. And all the people crowded to see, some wagering on the success of this lord and some on that, but all, on whomsoever they wagered, hoping that the son of the good Maharaja might win honour and the bride. Yet most believed that the victor would be Devadatta, cousin of Siddhartha, a young prince proud and obstinate and amorous and very skilful in feats of arms.
It was in the golden silence of very early morning when the people crowded to the maidan where all should be done, for the heat of the later day forbade it then. So still was it that not a frond of the palms stirred nor even a bamboo leaf lifted on the air, and the dew lay bright as silver upon grass and flower. So still that the voice of Rohini, full-throated from the melting snows, would have filled the quiet but for the myriad shufflings of bare feet through the dust and the tinkle of litter bells as the hidden beauty and her companions were borne to the place of meeting. For her face should not be seen until she made her choice.
And all the way was strewn ankle-deep with flowers, as though the Spirits of the Air had rained them with both hands upon the glad earth, and from their bruised beauty was shed such sweetness on the dew that the fragrance rose like incense to greet the lovely ones on their way.
But when the rival lords rode on to the maidan in splendour of armour jewelled and inlaid with gold and swords that flashed like lightning from the rifts of cloudy mountains, and horses that seemed to spurn the ground with their hoofs and desire to ride the air like the very coursers of the sun, then the joy of the people so grew that they clapped their hands and shouted lustily, for of all things the noble fair-skinned Northern peoples love a good man and a good horse, and only next to these a beautiful woman. And of the last the most beautiful as yet was hidden. So they shouted until their voices were like the noise of a great wind and the echoes returned them from far-off heights and woods.
And Devadatta rode a horse so black that in the night he seemed a part of it, but Siddhartha’s horse was white, proud and great and gentle, and his name shall not be forgotten while the round world holds, for he was Kantaka—and of him more hereafter. And when the maiden, looking between the curtains of her palanquin so that none might know she looked, saw the young Sakya lord, her heart left her bosom and fled into his, settling there like a bird nestling with feet and wings, for there was none like him—none. With calm he sat his horse, awaiting the moment, and young he was and slender and like an image of pure gold, and his eyes were blue and dark after the manner of his people, and his lips and cheek shaped by a great graver. He carried his head as a stag in the spring season, and for all his slenderness was he tense and eager as a bow in the hand of the Brahma King with the arrow laid on the string. And so he waited, and his eyes never sought the palanquin where was hidden the Pearl of Victory. And to her sick heart she said: