  The company still together though the hour is late, Krishna, at the request of Publius, after a breathing-spell enjoyed by all under the open sky, tells the story of the death of Buddha. A warning recited by him as having proceeded from the dying Buddha's lips against all speech on the part of his disciples with womankind, prompts Krishna to turn, with apology in his manner, in a kind of appeal to Paul, who, answering, gives the contrasted teaching of Christianity on this topic. At the conclusion of Krishna's recital, Publius makes a few characteristic observations suggested by it, and the company, having first agreed to assemble on some favorable day at dawn to hear from Mary the story of the resurrection of Jesus, disperse. KRISHNA. Slowly the solemn of late afternoon Settled into the somber of twilight: It was a pensive company that there Sat nursing each his thought as if alone. Then Julius, out of muse and memory, Spoke, without harming the suspense of awe That held all as pavilioned round with God: "Yea, I remember to have heard it said, In fact it was a story of the camp Among us soldiers in Jerusalem, That the centurion who stood by and watched The doings of that day and Jesus' death, Said, when he saw that having so cried out He yielded up the ghost, 'Surely he was The Son of God!'" "The death was wonderful," Said Publius, "not like that of any man." He spoke with reverence far from insincere, And yet a note of shallow in his tone This, Krishna with a fine discernment felt When Publius turned to him, and made demand: "And now, O Krishna, tell us thou of him, Thy master Buddha, how he met his death. But first, O friends my guests," he added then, With volatile quick turn, "let us all forth Into the open underneath the sky And shake the languor of our sitting off. The night is fine, no wind, and weather mild; A half hour's freedom out of doors to breathe The fresh air, and with motion loose our limbs And make our blood brisk, will be nigh as good As a night's sleep for health to body and mind." Host and symposiarch, Publius clapped his hands, And to the servants promptly answering said: "Lamps, and more braziers brim with glowing coals; Also refection, cakes and wine, good store." Therewith the company dispersed at will, Wandering in groups or singly as each chose. When, after a brief interval, they all Were under roof once more, refreshed with change, Publius said: "The evening yet is long, With an untouched to-morrow if need be To borrow from and piece the measure out. Eat ye and drink at leisure and at ease; Meanwhile, and not to overtask our friend Here who likewise shall share his equal chance With us of what may stay hunger and thirst, Let us content our nobler appetite With viand brought us out of utmost Ind." The Roman hugged himself with a pleased sense That he had turned his genial phrases right. The Indian for his part, not voluble By nature, would have wished to hold his peace; For Mary's tale had wrought upon him so That he was lost in thought and absentness. Loth rallied out of mute to use of speech, He felt the bonds of courtesy and said: "O Publius, would thou hadst rather been content To leave this Hebrew story uncompared. I have no means to parallel it so As need were I should do for right effect; Since neither was I present to behold, Nor lives there record by eyewitness made." As these words wavering from the Indian fell, The dimness of the lamplight in the room, Clouded with fumy issue from the flame, Seemed to become a symbol of that dark, That doubtful, that uncertain, which he thus Shadowed his tale withal—strange contrast felt To the eyewitness truth and lifelikeness Of Mary's story by full daylight told. But Krishna heartened himself to firmly say: "Howbeit there is tradition that we trust. This holds the voyage was peaceful toward the end, The voyage of Buddha through the last of life; Not without pain, but peaceful as was fit For voyage slow tending to the port of peace. There was no persecution of the Buddh; Or he had long outlived it ere his death. He died among old friends who loved him well, Soothing him toward nirvÂna with all heed Of healing words spoken to him or heard From him, and nothing lacked to stay his steps, As he declined gently, with neither haste To go hence nor desire to linger here, Down the slow slope that slides into the sea Of utter, utter void and nothingness. "It was a kindly office rendered him By a fast friend, Kunda his name, that brought, He far from meaning it, the master's end. Kunda prepared his master's food, a dish Of swine's flesh dried, with savory messes dressed. Our lord waxed weary with walking, for he was old; Full fifty years long since his wasted youth (Wasted his youth had been on fleshly lusts), He had gone the beggar's ways from door to door While he taught men how to escape from life; Weary thus, Buddha rested in a grove Of mangoes; his disciples, a great band, Accompanying. Kunda's was the grove, and he Sat by the master's side, and with his ears Drank in deep draughts of wisdom from those lips. Then he besought the master to partake, The master with his disciples to partake, Refreshment on the morrow at his house; By silence Buddha signified assent. "So at the hour boar's flesh was offered him; And he did not refuse it for himself, But bade his host give other food to them, His brethren; sweet rice was their share, and cakes. 'For other none, save such as I myself,' The BlessÉd One to Kunda listening said, 'Were able to receive this nourishment, The boar's flesh, and convert it to right use. So what remains thereof when I have done, Bury it under ground and eat it not.' So spoke lord Buddha and partook the meat. But he was seized straightway with colic pangs That griped him sore; long time be sought in vain For ease to his distress; but he was calm And fully self-possessed amid it all, Uttering no complaint. Relieved at last A little, he to his attendant said— Ânanda that one was, the Venerable— 'On now to KusinÂr I will go.' "But going, he fell weary with the way And rested underneath a tree. 'I thirst,' To Ânanda he said; 'fetch me to drink.' But Ânanda replied: 'This stream, behold, Is turbid, roiled with many passing wheels: Yon other river is a pleasant stream, With banks that make it easy of access.' A second time, repeating the same words. And yet a second time too Ânanda Repeated that the nearer stream was foul, And the one farther on approachable And clear. A third time Buddha said, 'I thirst,' And a third time repeated those same words. Then Ânanda no longer made demur, But took a bowl and to the streamlet went. The water that had just been roiled with wheels Was flowing limpid, bright, and sweet. He thought, 'How wonderful, how marvellous, the power, The might, of the TathÂgata!' But he, The BlessÉd One, received the bowl and drank. (TathÂgata we call our Buddha, so Honoring him as one who holds himself Filially faithful to ancestral ways.) "To KusinÂr faring forward still The Buddha sowed instructions all the way. But that which he in his forethoughtful care Said for the solacing of Kunda's mind, Should Kunda peradventure afterward Hear some one say to him, 'O Kunda, that Having partaken his last meal with thee'— What Buddha said forefending blame like that, Was memorable. He Ânanda thus taught: 'Tell Kunda: That was good to thee, and gain, That the TathÂgata then died when he Had his last meal as guest of thine partaken. There is no offering of alms in food Of greater profit unto him who gives Than when one offers a TathÂgata Food that once eaten by him he departs With that complete departure wherein naught Of all that late he was is left to be. "One admonition our lord Buddha gave In those last times with him, which let me pray From some of you pardon that I report; New lessons I have learned of womanhood, Sharing these feasts of converse with you all. Now Ânanda inquired of Buddha this: 'How, master, shall we deal with womankind?' 'O Ânanda,' the master made reply, 'Refrain from seeing them.' But Ânanda Said: 'If by chance we see them at some time?' The BlessÉd One made answer. Ânanda Once more: 'O master, if they speak to us?' 'Bestir your senses to keep well awake,' The Buddha said in final warning word." The Indian paused hereon, his eyes down dropt, A noble gentle shame confusing him. He would have added (what, not added, Paul Felt in his manner of reticence implied) Tardy acknowledgment of fault his own That he at first had spurned the thought proposed To him of learning aught from Mary's lips; Acknowledgment condign, with suit to be Judged gently since his master so had taught— All this he would have said in words outright, But sense of other duty kept him dumb; Besides that he was conscious in his mind Of being by Paul already understood. Publius as master of the feast perceived Blindly that here a rally of some sort Was needed for the rescue of the cheer Just trembling on the balance to be lost. Was his resource better than ready wit. For, with a quick dependent instinct, he Turned him to Paul unconsciously confessed Ascendent wheresoever he might be, And Paul, thus silently appealed to, spoke: "Such thought of woman is not from the Lord; The Lord our God made woman one with man. Equal? Nay, equal not. Inferior? Nay, Nor equal nor inferior; as too not Superior; rather, part of him, as he Of her, they twain together one, and whole Neither without the other. He is head, Not lord and master to rule over her, As she not slave, not servant, to be ruled; She, of her will unforced, subject to him Through joyful choice of reverence and of love, And he, with equal mutual reverent love, Honoring her and cherishing as himself." "So is it with you," said Krishna, "as I have seen With wonder, and admired; almost convinced That ye herein are better taught than I. If I perchance in anything have failed Pardon ye it to me; and hold besides That haply my lord Buddha had himself Judged otherwise herein, with other types To judge from of what womankind may be." "Yea," Paul said, "he but judged from what he saw; Not knowing he, as our Lord Jesus knew, What God from the beginning and before Established as the order of His world, And looked upon it and pronounced it good. But also what your Buddha judged amiss Became a force creating what he saw; For teaching and believing, subtle powers, Are plastic to conform us to themselves. What ye believe of woman, teaching her To know that ye believe it of her, yea, Making her half believe it of herself, This she hereby, even in her own despite, Tends to become; if it unworthy be, Then all the issuing stream of humankind, Fouled at the fountain thus, flows forth corrupt And ever more corrupt—the stream turned back And adding to the feculence of that. "The ruin has no remedy but one. The Lord Christ by a woman came to us, And opened a new fountain for our race, Pure, more than pure, for purifying too. Life drawn from Him, life fed from Him, life lived In Him and for Him, that alone is pure, And endless because boundless; blessÉd; joy, And peace, and power, and triumph evermore. His life may all through faith in Him partake, Faith which unites us vitally to Him. Christ is the founder of a race redeemed, Redeemed from sin, and death, and every ill. In Him believing, we rejoice with joy Unspeakable and full of glory, now Already though before the time in hope. Belief in misery makes miserable. We do not need to be defeated so; Thanks be to God Most High who giveth us The victory through Jesus Christ our Lord! "Would that thy Buddha groping in his dark, Nobly as seems, with that maimed nobleness Without a Savior known, ah, would that he Had known a Savior such as Christ the Lord! "Yet let us hear, O Publius, if so please Thee and so please Krishna likewise, the rest Concerning Buddha's death. We shall at least, Sorrowing with wholesome sorrow for his case, Learn from such high example how far short The highest human and the best, unhelped, Must fall of helping helpless humankind." The tone of just authority in Paul, Felt to be not assertion of himself But fealty to his Lord effacing self, Was mixed so with a suasive gentleness In manner and even a certain deference To other as that other's right from him, All without harm or loss allowed to truth, That Krishna was both charmed and overawed While discomposed not, and he thus went on: "Ânanda was concerned to know what dues Of honor should be paid to the remains Of the TathÂgata when he was gone. But Buddha said: 'Ye must not wrong yourselves Others will honor these. Be zealous ye, I pray you, on your own behalf. Devote Yourselves to your own profit. Earnest be And eager and intent for your own good.' Yet Buddha taught that the TathÂgata Was to be honored after his decease By rites of reverence to his remains Like those accorded to a king of kings, "Now Ânanda the Venerable was weighed To heaviness with sorrow at the thought: 'Alas, I still am but a learner, much To me remains of labor, ere I reach NirvÂna; and my master, he so kind, Is on the point to pass away from me.' So, leaned against the lintel of the door, Ânanda stood and thought and thinking wept. But Buddha sending called him to himself, And said: 'Enough, O Ânanda, weep not, Nor let thyself be troubled. Have I not Oft told thee that it deep inheres in things The nearest and the dearest unto us, That we must leave them, rend ourselves away, Ânanda, otherwise than thus? For know, Whatever thing is born, whatever comes Into existence, holds within itself The seed of dissolution and decay; Such being therefore needs must cease to be. Long time thou, Ânanda, to me hast been, By many offices of love, most near, Unchanging love and without measure large. Thrice say I this that thou mayst know it well: Long time thou, Ânanda, to me hast been, By many offices of love, most near, Unchanging love and without measure large. Long time thou, Ânanda, to me hast been By many offices of love, most near, Unchanging love and without measure large. Thou hast well done, O Ânanda. Faint not, Thou too shalt soon AnÂsava become'— Whereby our lord meant his disciple soon Should touch the wished-for goal himself was now Nigh touching, blest nirvÂna, last surcease Of all the ills that sum up human life. "At length lord Buddha said to Ânanda: And tell them the TathÂgata is here, Close on the point to pass forever away. Say: Leave no room to chide yourselves too late: Alas, and he in our own village died, He, the TathÂgata, and we then failed To come and visit him in his last hours.' So all the dwellers in KusinÂr Came and did honor to the BlessÉd One. "Then to the brethren of the order he Said: 'If in mind perchance to any of you Doubt or misgiving lurk concerning aught, The Buddh, the truth, the path, the way, inquire Freely before I pass, that afterward Ye have not to reproach yourselves that ye Being face to face with him failed to inquire.' With one accord, the brethren held their peace. The second and the third time those same words Did the TathÂgata to them address; But even the third time they were silent all. Then with much pitiful concern for them The Buddha said: 'It may be out of awe Of me, your master, ye keep silence thus. But all the brotherhood were silent still. Then Ânanda the Venerable spoke up And said: 'A wonder and a marvel, lord, I truly think there has not one of us A doubt or a misgiving in his mind As to the Buddh, the truth, the path, the way. The BlessÉd One made answer: 'Ânanda, Thou from the fulness of thy faith hast spoken; But the TathÂgata for certain knows Not one of these five hundred brethren all Doubt or misgiving has concerning aught, The Buddh, the truth, the path, the way. No one Of all but guarded is from future birth To suffering; your salvation is secure.' He added: 'Brethren, I exhort you, know, Decay inheres in whatsoever is, Of parts composed, since these may be dissolved. Inflame your zeal, make your salvation sure.' The last word that of the TathÂgata. "Yet did he not with that last word expire, But enter into a state ineffable. From stage to stage, four stages, he advanced, A fifth stage followed, one of vacancy Compact: all seeming substance, seeming form, Abolished to the mind, and naught but space, Pure space, empty and formless, colorless, Spun out to infinite on every side. The next degree abolished also space, Replacing that with reason infinite. But reason infinite then passed away, Dispersed into a sense of nothingness. Then sense of nothingness, that yielded too, And neither anything nor nothing was A presence in sensation to the soul. But beyond that he passed into a state Between unconsciousness and consciousness; Whence next he issued in a farther stage Wherein no trace of consciousness remained. Then of two venerables there watching, one Said to the other, 'The BlessÈd One is dead;' But, 'Nay,' that other made reply, 'not dead, Only beyond where thought or feeling is.' "Then by regress the BlessÉd One returned The way that he had traversed, stage by stage, That of deep meditation, he expired. "So our lord Buddha having all the depths Sounded unto their nethermost, and scaled Unto their topmost all the soaring heights, Of thought and being, like a weaver's shuttle To and fro passing, and found naught at all The substance and the basis of the world, Himself at last absorbed in the abyss Escaped existence and sank into peace." The lamps had burned to low, and some of them Had flickered to a fall, while Krishna spoke— Their fumy flames meanwhile blurring the air To dimness deepened with the deepening night. The stillness of the room was audible, Accented by the murmurous monotone Of Krishna's muffled, bland, and inward voice. The strange, far-off, unreal, unthinkable Last things he told involved the laboring mind Too, in a sense confused of cloud and dark. When he ceased speaking, with that word pronounced, "Peace," like a hollow sphere of sound, no core, NirvÂna softly would engulf them all . But one was there to whom such spell was naught. "'Peace,'" Publius said, reechoing the word, As pondering what the purport of it was, "'Peace,' I should think must be a euphemism, As the Greeks say when they avoid a name, The right name, for a thing to be avoided. There is no peace, unless there be some one To have the peace; but Buddha then was not, Had vanished like a breath breathed on the air, If of his end I have understood thee right." "Thou hast not misunderstood," said Krishna; "yet We shrink from saying of Buddha, 'He is not.' We sheathe the sense, and softly say instead, 'He has ceased to suffer,' 'He has touched the goal.' Himself he would not say, 'I shall not be;' But if he taught us true that life is woe, Then not to suffer, needs is not to live: Save not to live, salvation there is none." "Aye," Publius said, "I see, a euphemism; A needed euphemism, and well devised. For who, not weary of life through long defeat, Or else exhausted in the springs of joy Within himself through waste of youth and health In those excesses which bring on decay Before its season—who not broken so, Here and there one, not many in any time, Would to that bait proffered without disguise, Mere blank non-being, spring with appetite? And those, the few who did, would they await NirvÂna as the goal of long pursuit, Not snatch it instant with rash suicide? We Romans have a growing fashion of so Precipitately rushing on our end. I trow thou wouldst in vain strive to persuade Us Romans to spend tedious years and years In seeking not to live so as not to suffer; We should be too impatient far for that." "O Publius," Krishna said, "rash suicide Is no escape from life. Life has its snare Safe round thee still, and thou art born again Into another form, another state, Worse, and not better, than before. The Path, That only, leads thee to the utter end: So Buddha taught and so I have believed." The Indian ceased thus with the air of one Wavering where he had certain been before; And Publius felt that he for Krishna spoke, Scarce less than for himself, when he inquired: "Aye, aye, how know we that the 'Path,' to name Thus by thy word a thing to me unknown, How know we that the Path, even that, indeed Will lead one out of life to nothingness? If so be Buddha's doctrine holds, and life Slides on from form to form, from state to state, Unhindered by the fact of suicide, How know we that there ever comes an end? Consider, he himself, the teacher, may, Who knows?—this moment while we talk of him Be fleeting forward on the endless flight Fatal of that metempsychosis preached. What surety have we that it is not so? "And since so much we ask, let us ask more, O Krishna. How know we the master died After the manner that thou toldst us of? That Kunda's kindly hospitable meal Was followed by that sickness to his guest; That his guest bore it with sweet fortitude, The while, yet weakening slowly till he died— Thus much, I say, might be observed by those Who stood about the master so bestead; But who could tell that in his secret mind The dying Buddha accomplished all that strange Vicissitude and movement to and fro, Which thou in honey-flowing speech describedst, But which, pardon, I could not understand. Himself, the Buddha, uttered not one word Through all, made not a motion nor a sign. How, pray, did those disciples round him pierce The dark and silence of their master's mind, To know what passed therein?" "Ah," Krishna said, "The master had foretold those things would be To him, and they believed, and therefore knew." "Aye," Publius said, "they knew by faith, not proof; But we, we of the West, are fond of proof. Yet proof of Buddha's dying so as thou Describedst, proof likewise that he, so dying, Was cancelled quite from out the universe— Would, I can see, be no wise possible; We may believe them, but we cannot prove. Now if thy master had taught otherwise, Contrariwise indeed, that life, not death— Not death, but life victorious over death— Was the chief good, and that this good the chief Might be attained by us, and how attained, That were a doctrine would have cheered one more, And been besides more capable of proof. At least good proof of it might be conceived. Buddha, supposed extinguished utterly Out of the world, he being nowhere at all, Could not come hither back and testify, 'Behold me, I am non-existent now.' But one who taught the opposite, who taught That death was not the end of life, if he Himself, having died, could conquer death and live, Could living hither come and speak to us, And say, 'I told you I would rise again!' Why, Krishna, that were proof and 'Path' indeed, Aye, path as solid as a Roman road. "It seems from this our Hebrew lady's tale, Promised again and yet again that he Would rise the third day from the dead and live. I doubt not thou thyself, with all of us, Wouldst gladly farther hear from her at full |
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