The Light of Asia - Book the Sixth

The Light of Asia Home Page Book the Seventh

Thou, who wouldst see where dawned the light at last,
North-westwards from the “Thousand Gardens” go
By Gunga's valley till thy steps be set
On the green hills where those twin streamlets spring,
Nilājan and Mohāna; follow them,
Winding beneath broad bayed mahūa-trees, Bot.: Madhuca, of the sapodilla family⁰¹
'Mid thickets of the sansār and the bir, I have been unable to idendify these two⁰²
Till on the plain the shining sisters meet
In Phalgū's bed, flowing by rocky banks
To Gaya and the red Barabar hills. The Barabar hills, where there are many caves, are about 18 km north of Gāyā⁰³
Hard by that river spreads a thorny waste,
Uruwelaya named in ancient days, The quotable proper name is Uruvelā, Uruvelāya(ṁ) is the locative case. cf. the opening of Ud. 1.1: ekaṁ samayaṁ Bhagavā Uruvelāyaṁ viharati⁰⁴
With sandhills broken; on its verge a wood
Waves sea-green plumes and tassels 'thwart across⁰⁵ the sky,
With undergrowth wherethrough a still flood steals,
Dappled with lotus-blossoms, blue and white,
And peopled with quick fish and tortoises.
Near it the village of Senāni reared
Its roofs of grass, nestled amid the palms,
Peaceful with simple folk and pastoral toils.
There in the sylvan wooded⁰⁶ solitudes once more
Lord Buddha lived, musing the woes of men,
The ways of fate, the doctrines of the books,
The lessons of the creatures of the brake, overgrown fields⁰⁷
The secrets of the silence whence all come,
The secrets of the gloom whereto all go,
The life which lies between, like that arch flung
From cloud to cloud across the sky, which hath
Mists for its masonry and vapoury piers,
Melting to void again which was so fair
With sapphire hues, garnet, and chrysoprase.
Moon after moon our Lord sate in the wood,
So meditating these that he forgot
Ofttimes the hour of food, rising from thoughts
Prolonged beyond the sunrise and the noon,
To see his bowl unfilled, and eat perforce
Of wild fruit fallen from the boughs o'erhead,
Shaken to earth by chattering ape or plucked
By purple parakeet. Therefore his grace
Faded; his body, worn by stress of soul,
Lost day by day the marks, thirty and two,
Which testify the Buddha. Scarce that leaf,
Fluttering so dry and withered to his feet,
From off the sāl-branch, bore less likeliness
Of spring's soft greenery than he of him
Who was the princely flower of all his land.
And once at such a time the o'erwrought tired out⁰⁸ Prince
Fell to the earth in deadly swoon, all spent, exhausted⁰⁹
Even as one slain, who hath no longer breath
Nor any stir of blood; so wan pale¹⁰ he was,
So motionless. But there came by that way
A shepherd boy, who saw Siddārtha lie
With lids fast-closed, and lines of nameless pain
Fixed on his lips—the fiery noonday sun
Beating upon his head—who plucking boughs
From wild-rose apple trees, knitted them thick
Into a bower to shade the sacred face.
Also he poured upon the Master's lips
Drops of warm milk, pressed from his she-goat's bag i.e. breast¹¹
Lest, being low caste, he, by touching, wrong one v.l. Lest, being of low caste, he do wrong to one¹²
So high and holy seeming. But the books
Tell how the jambu-branches, Bot.: Syzygium samarangense; a tree which produces a small red globular fruit¹³ planted thus,
Shot with quick life, in wealth of leaf and flower,
And glowing fruitage interlaced and close,
So that the bower grew like a tent of silk
Pitched for a king at hunting, decked with studs
Of silver-work and bosses a large round ornament¹⁴ of red gold.
And the boy worshipped, deeming him some God;
But our Lord, gaining breath, arose and asked
Milk in the shepherd's lota. pot (Hindi)¹⁵ “Ah, my Lord,
I cannot give thee,” quoth the lad; “thou seest
I am a Sudra, The lowest of the 4 classes in Indian society, in Pāḷi: Brāhmaṇa, Khattiya, Vessa, Sudda¹⁶ and my touch defiles!”
Then the World-honoured spake, “Pity and need
Make all flesh kin. There is no caste in blood,
Which runneth of one hue, nor caste in tears,
Which trickle salt with all; neither comes man
To birth with tilka-mark stamped on the brow,
Nor sacred thread on neck. Who doth right deed
Is twice-born, and who doeth ill deeds vile. cf. Vasalasutta (Suttanipāta, 1:7) vs. 21: one is not an outcaste by birth, by birth one is not a brahmin; by deeds one becomes an outcaste, one becomes a brahmin by deeds¹⁷
Give me to drink, my brother; when I come
Unto my quest it shall be good for thee.”
Thereat the peasant's heart was glad, and gave.
And on another day there passed that road
A band of tinselled girls, the nautch-dancers
Of Indra's temple in the town, with those
Who made their music—one that beat a drum
Set round with peacock-feathers, one that blew
The piping bānsuli, Urdu-Hindi bansrī, a reed-pipe¹⁸ and one that twitched
A three-string sitar. Lightly tripped they down
From ledge to ledge and through the chequered paths
To some gay festival, the silver bells
Chiming soft peals about the small brown feet
Armlets and wrist-rings tattling answer shrill;
While he that bore the sitar thrummed and twanged
His threads of brass, and she beside him sang—

“Fair goes the dancing when the sitar's tuned;

Tune us the sitar neither low nor high,

And we will dance away the hearts of men.

The string o'erstretched breaks, and the music flies;

The string o'erslack is dumb, and music dies;

Tune us the sitar neither low nor high.” cf. Soṇasuttaṁ, AN 6.55¹⁹

So sang the nautch-girl dancer²⁰ to the pipe and wires,
Fluttering like some vain, painted butterfly
From glade to glade along the forest path,
Nor dreamed her light words echoed on the ear
Of him, that holy man, who sate so rapt
Under the fig-tree by the path. But Buddh
Lifted his great brow as the wantons lusty women²¹ passed,
And spake: “The foolish ofttimes teach the wise:
I strain too much this string of life, belike, perhaps²²
Meaning to make such music as shall save.
Mine eyes are dim now that they see the truth,
My strength is waned faded²³ now that my need is most;
Would that I had such help as man must have,
For I shall die, whose life was all men's hope.”
Now, by that river dwelt a landholder
Pious and rich, master of many herds,
A goodly chief, the friend of all the poor,
And from his house the village drew its name—
“Senāni.” Skt, Pāḷi: chief or commander²⁴ Pleasant and in peace he lived,
Having for wife Sujāta, Skt, Pāḷi: Well-born²⁵ loveliest
Of all the dark-eyed daughters of the plain;
Gentle and true, simple and kind was she,
Noble of mien, manner²⁶ with gracious speech to all
And gladsome joyful²⁷ looks—a pearl of womanhood—
Passing calm years of household happiness
Beside her lord in that still Indian home,
Save that no male child blessed their wedded love.
Wherefore, with many prayers she had besought
Lukshmi; Skt: Lakṣmī, the Goddess of Fortune²⁸ and many nights at full-moon gone
Round the great Lingam, phallic symbol of the Godhead²⁹ nine times nine, with gifts
Of rice and jasmine wreaths and sandal oil
Praying a boy; also Sujāta vowed—
If this should be—an offering of food
Unto the Wood-God, plenteous, delicate,
Set in a bowl of gold under his tree,
Such as the lips of Devs Lit.: bright-ones, gods³⁰ may taste and take.
And this had been: for there was born to her
A beauteous boy, now three months old, who lay
Between Sujāta's breasts, while she did pace
With grateful footsteps to the Wood-God's shrine,
One arm clasping her crimson sari women's dress or wrap (Hindi)³¹ close
To wrap the babe, that jewel of her joys,
The other lifted high in comely curve
To steady on her head the bowl and dish
Which held the dainty victuals Food, but here in the sense of offerings³² for the God.
But Radha, sent before to sweep the ground
And tie the scarlet threads around the tree,
Came eager, crying, “Ah, dear Mistress! look.
There is the Wood-God sitting in his place,
Revealed, with folded hands upon his knees.
See how the light shines round about his brow!
How mild and great he seems, with heavenly eyes,
Good fortune is it thus to meet the gods.”
So,—thinking him divine,—Sujāta drew
Tremblingly nigh, and kissed the earth and said,
With sweet face bent, “Would that the Holy One
Inhabiting this grove, Giver of good,
Merciful unto me his handmaiden,
Vouchsafing now his presence, might accept
These our poor gifts of snowy curds, fresh-made,
With milk as white as new-carved ivory!”
Therewith into the golden bowl she poured
The curds, and milk, and on the hands of Buddh
Dropped attar A fragrant oil made from rose-petals³³ from a crystal flask—distilled
Out of the hearts of roses; and he ate,
Speaking no word, while the glad mother stood
In reverence apart. But of that meal
So wondrous was the virtue that our Lord
Felt strength and life return as though the nights
Of watching and the days of fast had passed
In dream, as though the spirit with the flesh
Shared that fine meat and plumed its wings anew,
Like some delighted bird at sudden streams
Weary with flight o'er endless wastes of sand,
Which leaves the desert dust from neck and crest.
And more Sujāta worshipped, seeing our Lord
Grow fairer and his countenance more bright:
“Art thou indeed the God?” she lowly asked.
“And hath my gift found favour?”
But Buddh said,
“What is it thou dost bring me!”
“Holy One!”
Answered Sujāta, “from our droves herds³⁴ I took
Milk of a hundred mothers, newly-calved,
And with that milk I fed fifty white cows,
And with their milk twenty-and-five, and then
With theirs twelve more, and yet again with theirs
The six noblest and best of all our herds.
That yield I boiled with sandal and fine spice
In silver lotas, pots (Hindi)³⁵ adding rice, well grown
From chosen seed, set in new-broken ground,
So picked that every grain was like a pearl.
This did I of true heart, because I vowed
Under thy tree, if I should bear a boy
I would make offering for my joy, and now
I have my son, and all my life is bliss!”
Softly our Lord drew down the crimson fold,
And, laying on the little head those hands
Which help the worlds he said, “Long be thy bliss!
And lightly fall on him the load of life!
For thou hast helped v.l. helpen³⁶ me who am no God,
But one thy Brother; heretofore a Prince
And now a wanderer, seeking night and day
These six hard years that light which somewhere shines
To lighten all men's darkness, if they knew!
And I shall find the light; yea, now it dawned
Glorious and helpful, when my weak flesh failed
Which this pure food, fair Sister, hath restored,
Drawn manifold through lives to quicken life
As life itself passes by many births
To happier heights and purging off of sins.
Yet dost thou truly find it sweet enough
Only to live? Can life and love suffice?”
Answered Sujāta, “Worshipful! my heart
Is little, and a little rain will fill
The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.
It is enough for me to feel life's sun
Shine in my Lord's grace and my baby's smile,
Making the loving summer of our home.
Pleasant my days pass filled with household cares
From sunrise when I wake to praise the gods,
And give forth grain, and trim the tulsi-plant, basil³⁷
And set my handmaids to their tasks, till noon,
When my Lord lays his head upon my lap
Lulled by soft songs and wavings of the fan;
And so to supper-time at quiet eve,
When by his side I stand and serve the cakes.
Then the stars light their silver lamps for sleep,
After the temple and the talk with friends.
How should I not be happy, blest so much,
And bearing him this boy whose tiny hand
Shall lead his soul to Swarga, Heaven³⁸ if it need?
For holy books teach when a man shall plant
Trees for the travellers’ shade, and dig a well
For the folks’ comfort, and beget a son,
It shall be good for such after their death;
And what the books say that I humbly take,
Being not wiser than those great of old
Who spake with gods, and knew the hymns and charms,
And all the ways of virtue and of peace.
Also I think that good must come of good
And ill of evil—surely—unto all—
In every place and time—seeing sweet fruit
Groweth from wholesome roots, and bitter things
From poison-stocks; yea, seeing, too, how spite
Breeds hate, and kindness friends, and patience peace
Even while we live; and when 'tis willed we die
Shall there not be as good a ‘Then’ as Now’?
Haply Perhaps, archaic³⁹ much better! since one grain of rice
Shoots a green feather gemmed adorned with⁴⁰ with fifty pearls,
And all the starry champak's A small tree bearing creamy white flowers⁴¹ white and gold
Lurks in those little, naked grey spring-buds.
Ah, Sir! I know there might be woes to bear
Would lay fond Patience with her face in dust;
If this my babe pass first I think my heart
Would break—almost I hope my heart would break!
That I might clasp him dead and wait my Lord—
In whatsoever world holds faithful wives—
Duteous, attending till this hour should come.
But if Death called Senāni, I should mount
The pile and lay that dear head in my lap,
My daily way, rejoicing when the torch
Lit the quick flame and rolled the choking smoke.
For it is written if an Indian wife
Die so, her love shall give her husband's soul
For every hair upon her head a crore
Of years in Swarga. Heaven⁴² Therefore fear I not;
And therefore, Holy Sir! my life is glad,
Nowise forgetting yet those other lives
Painful and poor, wicked and miserable,
Whereon the gods grant pity! But for me,
What good I see humbly I seek to do,
And live obedient to the law, in trust
That what will come, and must come, shall come well.”
Then spake our Lord, “Thou teachest them who teach,
Wiser than wisdom in thy simple lore.
Be thou content to know not, knowing thus
Thy way of right and duty: grow, thou flower
With thy sweet kind in peaceful shade—the light
Of Truth's high noon is not for tender leaves
Which must spread broad in other suns, and lift
In later lives a crowned head to the sky.
Thou who hast worshipped me, I worship thee!
Excellent heart! learned unknowingly,
As the dove is which flieth home by love.
In thee is seen why there is hope for man
And where we hold the wheel of life at will.
Peace go with thee, and comfort all thy days!
As thou accomplishest, may I achieve!
He whom thou thoughtest God bids thee wish this.”
“Mayest thou achieve!” she said, with earnest eyes
Bent on her babe; who reached its tender hands
To Buddh—knowing, belike, perhaps⁴³ as children know,
More than we deem, and reverencing our Lord;
But he arose—made strong with that pure meat food, archaic⁴⁴—
And bent his footsteps where a great Tree grew,
The Bodhi-tree Called the Tree of Wisdom just below⁴⁵ (thenceforward in all years
Never to fade, and ever to be kept
In homage of the world), beneath whose leaves
It was ordained the Truth should come to Buddh:
Which now the Master knew; wherefore he went
With measured pace, steadfast, majestical,
Unto the Tree of Wisdom. Oh, ye Worlds!
Rejoice! our Lord wended unto the Tree
Whom—as he passed into its ample shade,
Cloistered with columned drooping stems, and roofed
With vaults of glistering green—the conscious earth
Worshipped with waving grass and sudden flush
Of flowers about his feet. The forest-boughs
Bent down to shade him; from the river sighed
Cool wafts of wind laden with lotus-scents
Breathed by the water-gods. Large wondering eyes
Of woodland creatures—panther, boar, and deer—
At peace that eve, gazed on his face benign
From cave and thicket. From its cold cleft hollow⁴⁶ wound
The mottled deadly snake, dancing its hood
In honour of our Lord; bright butterflies
Fluttered their vans, wings, poetic⁴⁷ azure and green and gold,
To be his fan-bearers; the fierce kite dropped
Its prey and screamed; the striped palm-squirrel raced
From stem to stem to see; the weaver-bird
Chirped from her swinging nest; the lizard ran;
The koil koel, the Indian Cuckoo (Hindi)⁴⁸ sang her hymn; the doves flocked round:
Even the creeping things were 'ware = aware⁴⁹ and glad.
Voices of earth and air joined in one song.
Which unto ears that hear said, “Lord and Friend!
Lover and Saviour! Thou who hast subdued
Angers and prides, desires and fears and doubts,
Thou that for each and all hast given thyself,
Pass to the Tree! The sad world blesseth thee
Who art the Buddh that shall assuage relieve⁵⁰ her woes.
Pass, Hailed and Honoured! strive thy last for us,
King and high Conqueror! thine hour is come;
This is the Night the ages waited for!”
Then fell the night, even as our Master sat
Under that Tree. But he who is the Prince
Of Darkness, Mara—knowing this was Buddh
Who should deliver men, and now the hour
When he should find the Truth and save the worlds—
Gave unto all his evil powers command.
Wherefore there trooped from every deepest pit
The fiends who war with Wisdom and the Light,
Arati, Trishna, Raga, Skt: Arati, Tṛṣṇā, Ragā; known as Māra's daughters (cf. Sn 835), the names mean: Dislike, Craving, and Passion (Pāḷi: Arati, Taṇhā, Ragā)⁵¹ and their crew
Of passions, horrors, ignorances, lusts,
The brood of gloom and dread; all hating Buddh,
Seeking to shake his mind; nor knoweth one,
Not even the wisest, how those fiends of Hell
Battled that night to keep the Truth from Buddh:
Sometimes with terrors of the tempest, blasts
Of demon-armies clouding all the wind
With thunder, and with blinding lightning flung
In jagged javelins of purple wrath
From splitting skies; sometimes with wiles and words
Fair-sounding, 'mid hushed leaves and softened airs
From shapes of witching beauty; wanton songs,
Whispers of love; sometimes with royal allures
Of proffered rule; sometimes with mocking doubts,
Making truth vain. But whether these befell
Without and visible, or whether Buddh
Strove with fell fierce, deadly⁵² spirits in his inmost heart,
Judge ye:—I write what ancient books have writ.
The ten chief Sins came—Mara's mighty ones,
Angels of evil—Attavāda first,
The Sin of Self, who in the Universe
As in a mirror sees her fond face shown,
And, crying “I,” would have the world say “I”,
And all things perish so if she endure.
“If thou be'st Buddh,” Paraphrase: “If you are Buddha”⁵³ she said, “let others grope
Lightless; it is enough that thou art Thou
Changelessly; rise and take the bliss of gods
Who change not, heed not, strive not.” But Buddh spake,
“The right in thee is base, the wrong a curse;
Cheat such as love themselves.” Then came wan pale, sickly⁵⁴ Doubt,
He that denies—the mocking Sin—and this
Hissed in the Master's ear, “All things are shows,
And vain the knowledge of their vanity;
Thou dost but chase the shadow of thyself;
Rise and go hence, there is no better way
Than patient scorn, nor any help for man,
Nor any staying of his whirling wheel.”
But quoth our Lord, “Thou hast no part with me,
False Visikitcha, Sanskrit: vicikitsā; Pāḷi: vicikicchā⁵⁵ subtlest of man's foes.”
And third came she who gives dark creeds their power,
Silabbat-paramāsa, Pāḷi: silabbataparāmāsa; attachment to precepts and practices⁵⁶ sorceress,
Draped fair in many lands as lowly Faith,
But ever juggling souls with rites and prayers;
The keeper of those keys which lock up Hells
And open Heavens. “Wilt thou dare,” she said,
“Put by our sacred books, dethrone our gods,
Unpeople all the temples, shaking down
That law which feeds the priests and props the realms?”
But Buddha answered, “What thou bidd'st me keep
Is form which passes, but the free Truth stands;
Get thee unto thy darkness.” Next there drew
Gallantly nigh near⁵⁷ a braver Tempter, he,
Kama, Skt, Pāḷi: Kāma, sense-pleasure or desire, here personified⁵⁸ the King of passions, who hath sway
Over the gods themselves, Lord of all loves,
Ruler of Pleasure's realm. Laughing he came
Unto the tree, bearing his bow of gold
Wreathed with red blooms, and arrows of desire
Pointed with five-tongued delicate flame, which stings
The heart it smites sharper than poisoned barb
And round him came into that lonely place
Bands of bright shapes with heavenly eyes and lips
Singing in lovely words the praise of Love
To music of invisible sweet chords,
So witching, = bewitching, enticing, archaic⁵⁹ that it seemed the night stood still
To hear them, and the listening stars and moon
Paused in their orbits while these hymned to Buddh
Of lost delights, and how a mortal man
Findeth nought dearer in the Three wide worlds
Than are the yielded loving fragrant breasts
Of Beauty and the rosy breast-blossoms,
Love's rubies; nay, and toucheth nought more high
Than is that dulcet sweet⁶⁰ harmony of form
Seen in the lines and charms of loveliness,
Unspeakable, yet speaking, soul to soul,
Owned by the bounding blood, worshipped by will
Which leaps to seize it, knowing this is best,
This the true heaven where mortals are like gods,
Makers and Masters, this the gift of gifts
Ever renewed and worth a thousand woes-

For who hath grieved when soft arms shut him safe,

And all life melted to a happy sigh,

And all the world was given in one warm kiss?

So sang they with soft float of beckoning hands,

Eyes lighted with love-flames, alluring smiles;

In wanton v.l. dainty⁶¹ dance their supple sides and limbs

Revealing and concealing like burst buds

Which tell their colour, but hide yet their hearts.

Never so matchless grace delighted eye

As troop by troop these midnight-dancers swept

Nearer the Tree, each daintier than the last,

Murmuring, “O great Siddārtha! I am thine,

Taste of my mouth and see if youth is sweet.”

Also, when nothing moved our Master's mind,

Lo! Kama waved his magic bow, and lo!

The band of dancers opened, and a shape,

Fairest and stateliest of the throng, came forth

Wearing the guise of sweet Yasōdhara.

Tender the passion of those dark eyes seemed

Brimming with tears; yearning those outspread arms

Opened towards him; musical that moan

Wherewith the beauteous shadow named his name,

Sighing, “My Prince! I die for lack of thee

What heaven hast thou found like that we knew

By bright Rohini A river near to Kapilavatthu, the Bodhisatta's home town⁶² in the Pleasure house,

Where all these weary years I weep for thee?

Return, Siddārtha! ah! return. But touch

My lips again, but let me to thy breast

Once, and these fruitless dreams will end! Ah, look!

Am I not she thou lovedst?” But Buddh said,

“For that sweet sake of her thou playest thus,

Fair and false Shadow! is thy playing vain;

I curse thee not who wear'st a form so dear,

Yet as thou art, so are all earthly shows.

Melt to thy void again!” Thereat, a cry

Thrilled through the grove, and all that comely rout defeated troops⁶³

Faded with flickering wafts of flame, and trail

Of vaporous robes.

Next, under darkening skies

And noise of rising storm, came fiercer Sins,

The rearmost of the Ten; Patigha—Hate—

With serpents coiled about her waist, which suck

Poisonous milk from both her hanging dugs, breasts⁶⁴

And with her curses mix their angry hiss.

Little wrought she upon that Holy One

Who with his calm eyes dumbed her bitter lips

And made her black snakes writhe to hide their fangs.

Then followed Ruparaga Skt, Pāḷi: rūparāga, passion for form⁶⁵—Lust of days—

That sensual Sin which out of greed for life

Forgets to live; and next him Lust of Fame,

Nobler Aruparaga, Skt, Pāḷi: arūparāga, passion for the formless. Arnold evidently didn't properly understand these terms⁶⁶ she whose spell

Beguiles the wise, mother of daring deeds,

Battles and toils. And haughty Mano This is quoted incorrectly by Arnold, mano = mind; māna = pride, conceit⁶⁷ came,

The Fiend of Pride; and smooth Self-Righteousness,

Uddhachcha; Pāḷi: uddhacca (Skt: auddhatya), restlessness, excitement⁶⁸ and—with many a hideous band

Of vile and formless things, which crept and flapped

Toad-like and bat-like—Ignorance, the Dam Mother⁶⁹

Of Fear and Wrong, Avidya, Pāḷi: Avijjā⁷⁰ hideous hag,

Whose footsteps left the midnight darker, while

The rooted mountains shook, the wild winds howled,

The broken clouds shed from their caverns streams

Of levin-lighted rain; Rain light by lightning, archaic⁷¹ stars shot from heaven,

The solid earth shuddered as if one laid

Flame to her gaping wounds; the torn black air

Was full of whistling wings, of screams and yells,

Of evil faces peering, of vast fronts Demeanour or bearing⁷²

Terrible and majestic, Lords of Hell

Who from a thousand Limbos Intermediate states⁷³ led their troops,

To tempt the Master.

But Buddh heeded not,

Sitting serene, with perfect virtue walled

As is a stronghold by its gates and ramps;

Also the Sacred Tree—the Bodhi-tree—

Amid that tumult stirred not, but each leaf

Glistened as still as when on moonlit eves

No zephyr A mild gentle wind or breeze, poetic⁷⁴ spills the gathering v.l. glittering⁷⁵ gems Drops, poetic⁷⁶ of dew;

For all this clamour raged outside the shade

Spread by those cloistered stems:

In the third watch,—

The earth being still, the hellish legions fled,

A soft air breathing from the sinking moon—

Our Lord attained Sammā-sambuddh, Skt, Pāḷi: Sammāsambuddha, the word is used incorrectly here; he means to say he attained Sambodhi, perfect Awakening, and became a Sammāsambuddha, one who is perfectly Awake⁷⁷ he saw

By light which shines beyond our mortal ken,

The line of all his lives in all the worlds;

Far back, and farther back, and farthest yet,

Five hundred lives and fifty. This is the number of stories there are in the Pāḷi Jātaka collection, but in the Pāḷi discourses (e.g. MN 36), it is said that the Buddha remembered aeons of lives, together with their details⁷⁸ Even as one

At rest upon a mountain-summit, marks

His path wind up by precipice and crag,

Past thick-set woods shrunk to a patch; through bogs

Glittering false-green; down hollows where he toiled

Breathless; on dizzy ridges where his feet

Had well nigh slipped; beyond the sunny lawns,

The cataract Waterfall⁷⁹ and the cavern and the pool,

Backward to those dim flats wherefrom he sprang

To reach the blue; thus Buddha did behold

Life's upward steps long-linked, from levels low

Where breath is base, to higher slopes and higher

Whereon the ten great Virtues Skt: Pāramitā (Pāḷi: Pāramī), perfections: giving, virtue, reununciation, wisdom, energy, patience, truth, resolution, friendliness, equanimity⁸⁰ wait to lead

The climber skyward. Also, Buddha saw

How new life reaps what the old life did sow;

How where its march breaks off its march begins;

Holding the gain and answering for the loss;

And how in each life good begets more good,

Evil fresh evil; Death but casting up

Debit or credit, whereupon th’ account

In merits or demerits stamps itself

By sure arithmic Arithmetic, archaic⁸¹—where no little drops—

Certain and just, on some new-springing life

Wherein are packed and scored past thoughts and deeds,

Strivings and triumphs, memories and marks

Of lives foregone:

And in the middle watch

Our Lord attained Abhidjna Pāḷi: abhiññā, deep knowledge⁸²—insight vast

Ranging beyond this sphere to spheres unnamed,

System on system, countless worlds and suns

Moving in splendid measures, band by band

Linked in division, one yet separate,

The silver islands of a sapphire sea

Shoreless, unfathomed, undiminished, stirred

With waves which roll in restless tides of change.

He saw those Lords of Light who hold their worlds

By bonds invisible, how they themselves

Circle obedient round mightier orbs Celestial bodies, poetic⁸³

Which serve profounder splendours, star to star

Flashing the ceaseless radiance of life

From centres ever shifting unto cirques Cirles, rings, poetic⁸⁴

Knowing no uttermost. These he beheld

With unsealed vision, and of all those worlds,

Cycle on epicycle, all their tale

Of Kalpas, Mahakalpas Aeons and great aeons⁸⁵—terms of time

Which no man grasps, yea, though he knew to count

The drops in Gunga The river Ganges⁸⁶ from her springs to the sea,

Measureless unto speech—whereby these wax

And wane; whereby each of this heavenly host

Fulfils its shining life, and darkling growing dark⁸⁷ dies.

Sakwal by Sakwal, Pāḷi: Cakkavāla, a world-system, or universe⁸⁸ depths and heights he passed

Transported through the blue infinitudes,

Marking—behind all modes, above all spheres,

Beyond the burning impulse of each orb Celestial bodies, poetic⁸⁹—

That fixed decree at silent works which wills

Evolve the dark to light, the dead to life,

To fulness void, to form the yet unformed,

Good unto better, better unto best,

By worldless edict; having none to bid,

None to forbid; for this is past all gods,

Immutable, unspeakable, supreme;

A Power which builds, unbuilds and builds again,

Ruling all things accordant to in accordance with⁹⁰ the rule

Of virtue, which is beauty, truth, and use. custom, tradition⁹¹

So that all things do well which serve the Power,

And ill which hinder; nay, the worm does well

Obedient to its kind; the hawk does well

Which carries bleeding quarries to its young;

The dewdrop and the star shine sisterly,

Globing Lit: (both) becoming spherical; it means that the nature of both a dewdrop and a star is the same in the way of shape⁹² together in the common work;

And man who lives to die, dies to live well

So if he guide his ways by blamelessness

And earnest will to hinder not but help

All things both great and small which suffer life.

These did our Lord see in the middle watch.

But when the fourth watch came In the Pāḷi sources the night (any night) is divided into three watches (yāma) only. In the 1st watch the Buddha attained pubbenivāsañāṇa, knowledge of past lives; in the 2nd dibbacakkhu, the divine eye, which gives vision of the arising and passing away of beings according to past actions and their results (kammavipāka); in the 3rd he gained āsavakkhayañāṇa, knowledge of the destruction of the pollutants, which is equivalent to the last one here⁹³ the secret came

Of Sorrow, which with evil mars the law,

As damp and dross hold back the goldsmith's fire.

Then was the Dukha-Satya Pāḷi: Dukkhasacca, Sanskrit: Duḥkhasatya, the Truth of Suffering or the unsatisfactory nature of existence⁹⁴ opened him

First of the “Noble Truths”; how Sorrow is

Shadow to life, moving where life doth move;

Not to be laid aside until one lays

Living aside, with all its changing states,

Birth, growth, decay, love, hatred, pleasure, pain,

Being and doing. How that none strips off

These sad delights and pleasant griefs who lacks

Knowledge to know them snares; but he who knows

Avidya—Delusion—sets those snares,

Loves life no longer but ensures escape. What follows is part of the conditional origination (paṭiccasamuppāda) formula⁹⁵

The eyes of such a one are wide, he sees

Delusion breeds Sankhāra, Volitions, not necessarily perverse as here, but including good intentions⁹⁶ Tendency

Perverse; Tendency Energy—Vidnnān Pāḷi: Viññāṇa, consciousness⁹⁷

Whereby comes Nāmarūpa, Name and form, or mind and body⁹⁸ local Form

And Name and Bodiment, = Embodiment⁹⁹ bringing the man

With senses naked to the sensible,

A helpless mirror of all shows which pass

Across his heart; and so Vedanā grows—

‘Sense-life’—false in gladness, v.l. false in its gladness; which is one syllable too long¹⁰⁰ fell fallen, depressed¹⁰¹ in sadness,

But sad or glad, the Mother of Desire,

Trishna, Pāḷi: taṇhā, craving¹⁰² that thirst which makes the living drink

Deeper and deeper of the false salt waves

Whereon they float pleasures, ambitions, wealth,

Praise, fame, or domination, conquest, love;

Rich meats foods, archaic¹⁰³ and robes, and fair abodes, and pride

Of ancient lines, and lust of days, and strife

To live, and sins that flow from strife, some sweet,

Some bitter. Thus Life's thirst quenches itself

With draughts which double thirst, but who is wise

Tears from his soul this Trishna, feeds his sense

No longer on false shows, files disciplines, archaic¹⁰⁴ his firm mind

To seek not, strive not, wrong not; bearing meek

All ills which flow from foregone wrongfulness,

And so constraining passions that they die

Famished; till all the sum of ended life—

The Karma Pāḷi: Kamma¹⁰⁵—all that total of a soul

Which is the things it did, the thoughts it had,

The ‘Self’ it wove—with woof of viewless time,

Crossed on the warp invisible of acts—

The outcome of him on the Universe,

Grows pure and sinless; either never more

Needing to find a body and a place,

Or so informing what fresh frame it takes

In new existence that the new toils prove

Lighter and lighter not to be at all,

Thus “finishing the Path;” free from Earth's cheats

Released from all the skandhas aggregates (of mind and body)¹⁰⁶ of the flesh; This line is missing in some editions¹⁰⁷

Broken from ties—from Upādānas attachment, grasping¹⁰⁸—saved

From whirling on the wheel; aroused and sane

As is a man wakened from hateful dreams.

Until—greater than Kings, than Gods more glad!—

The aching craze to live ends, and life glides—

Lifeless—to nameless quiet, nameless joy,

Blessed Nirvāna sinless, stirless rest—

That change which never changes!

Lo! the Dawn

Sprang with Buddh's victory! lo! in the East

Flamed the first fires of beauteous day, poured forth

Through fleeting folds of Night's black drapery.

High in the widening blue the herald-star Venus¹⁰⁹

Faded to paler silver as there shot

Brighter and brightest bars of rosy gleam

Across the grey. v.l. Brighter and brighter bars of rosy gleam Across the sky¹¹⁰ Far off the shadowy hills

Saw the great Sun, before the world was 'ware, = aware¹¹¹

And donned their crowns of crimson; flower by flower

Felt the warm breath of Morn and 'gan = began¹¹² unfold

Their tender lids. Over the spangled glittering¹¹³ grass

Swept the swift footsteps of the lovely Light,

Turning the tears of Night to joyous gems,

Decking the earth with radiance, broidering embroidering¹¹⁴

The sinking storm-clouds with a golden fringe,

Gilding the feathers of the palms, which waved

Glad salutation; darting beams of gold

Into the glades; touching with magic wand

The stream to rippled ruby; in the brake overgrown fields¹¹⁵

Finding the mild eyes of the antelopes

And saying “It is day!” in nestled sleep

Touching the small heads under many a wing

And whispering, “Children, praise the light of day!”

Whereat there piped anthems of all the birds,

The koil's Hindi: koel, the Indian cuckoo¹¹⁶ fluted song, the bulbul's hymn,

The “morning, morning” of the painted thrush,

The twitter of the sun-birds starting forth

To find the honey ere the bees be out,

The grey crow's caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes

Of the green hammersmith, the myna's chirp,

The never-finished love-talk of the doves:

Yea! and so holy was the influence

Of that high Dawn which came with victory

That, far and near, in homes of men there spread

An unknown peace. The slayer hid his knife;

The robber laid his plunder back; the shroff money-lender, archaic¹¹⁷

Counted full tale of coins; all evil hearts

Grew gentle, kind hearts gentler, as the balm

Of that divinest Daybreak lightened Earth.

Kings at fierce war called truce; the sick men leaped

Laughing from beds of pain; the dying smiled

As though they knew that happy Morn was sprung

From fountains farther than the utmost East;

And o'er the heart of sad Yasōdhara,

Sitting forlorn at Prince Siddārtha's bed

Came sudden bliss, as if love should not fail

Nor such vast sorrow miss to end in joy.

So glad the World was—though it wist knew¹¹⁸ not why—

That over desolate waste went swooning songs

Of mirth, the voice of bodiless Prets and Bhuts Pāḷi: Peta, Bhūta, the Departed Ones, and Ghostly Beings¹¹⁹

Foreseeing Buddh; and Devas Lit.: bright-ones, gods¹²⁰ in the air

Cried, “It is finished, finished!” and the priests

Stood with the wondering people in the streets

Watching those golden splendours flood the sky,

And saying “There hath happed happened¹²¹ some mighty thing.”

Also in Ran Forest¹²² and Jungle grew that day

Friendship amongst the creatures; spotted deer

Browsed fearless where the tigress fed her cubs,

And cheetahs lapped the pool beside the bucks; deer¹²³

Under the eagle's rock the brown hares scoured

While his fierce beak but preened cleaned. v.l. presented; which is two syllables too long¹²⁴ an idle wing:

The snake sunned all his jewels in the beam

With deadly fangs in sheath; the shrike a bird of prey¹²⁵ let pass

The nestling-finch; the emerald halcyons Evidently a type of bird, but I cannot identify it further¹²⁶

Sate dreaming while the fishes played beneath,

Nor hawked the merops, bee-eaters¹²⁷ though the butterflies—

Crimson and blue and amber—flitted thick

Around his perch; the Spirit of our Lord

Lay potent upon man and bird and beast,

Even while he mused under that Bodhi-tree,

Glorified with the Conquest gained for all,

And lightened by a Light greater than Day's.

Then he arose—radiant, rejoicing, strong—

Beneath the Tree, and lifting high his voice

Spake this, in hearing of all Windows and Worlds:—

Anékajátisangsārang

Sandháwissang anibhisang

Gahakárakangawesanto

Dukkhájátipunappunang.

Gahakarakadithsi;

Punagehang nakāhasi;

Sabhátephásukhábhaggá,

Gahaktangawisang khitang;

Wisangháragatang chittang;

Tanhánangkhayamajhagá. Dhammapada 153-154. in standard transliteration:
anekajātisaṁsāraṁ sandhāvissaṁ anibbisaṁ,
gahakārakaṁ gavesanto: dukkhā jāti punappunaṁ.
gahakāraka diṭṭhosi! puna gehaṁ na kāhasi:
sabbā te phāsukā bhaggā, gahakūṭaṁ visaṅkhitaṁ,
visaṅkhāragataṁ cittaṁ, taṇhānaṁ khayam-ajjhagā¹²⁸

Many a house of life

Hath held me—seeking ever him who wrought

These prisons of the senses, sorrow-fraught;

Sore was my ceaseless v.l. cheerless¹²⁹ strife!

But now,

Thou builder of this tabernacle—thou!

I know thee! Never shalt thou build again

These walls of pain,

Nor raise the roof-tree of deceits, nor lay

Fresh rafters on the clay;

Broken thy house is, and the ridge-pole split!

Delusion fashioned it!

Safe pass i thence—deliverance to obtain.

The Light of Asia Home Page Book the Seventh

last updated: August 2008