The Light of Asia | Page 3

mounts?By the Asankya, which is the tale?Of all the drops that in ten thousand years?Would fall on all the worlds by daily rain;?Thence unto Maha Kalpas, by the which?The Gods compute their future and their past."
"'Tis good," the Sage rejoined, "Most noble Prince,?If these thou know'st, needs it that I should teach?The mensuration of the lineal?"?Humbly the boy replied, "Acharya!"?"Be pleased to hear me. Paramanus ten?A parasukshma make; ten of those build?The trasarene, and seven trasarenes?One mote's-length floating in the beam, seven motes?The whisker-point of mouse, and ten of these?One likhya; likhyas ten a yuka, ten?Yukas a heart of barley, which is held?Seven times a wasp-waist; so unto the grain?Of mung and mustard and the barley-corn,?Whereof ten give the finger joint, twelve joints?The span, wherefrom we reach the cubit, staff,?Bow-length, lance-length; while twenty lengths of lance?Mete what is named a 'breath,' which is to say?Such space as man may stride with lungs once filled,?Whereof a gow is forty, four times that?A yojana; and, Master! if it please,?I shall recite how many sun-motes lie?From end to end within a yojana."?Thereat, with instant skill, the little Prince?Pronounced the total of the atoms true.?But Viswamitra heard it on his face?Prostrate before the boy; "For thou," he cried,?"Art Teacher of thy teachers--thou, not I,?Art Guru. Oh, I worship thee, sweet Prince!?That comest to my school only to show?Thou knowest all without the books, and know'st?Fair reverence besides."
Which reverence?Lord Buddha kept to all his schoolmasters,?Albeit beyond their learning taught; in speech?Right gentle, yet so wise; princely of mien,?Yet softly-mannered; modest, deferent,?And tender-hearted, though of fearless blood;?No bolder horseman in the youthful band?E'er rode in gay chase of the shy gazelles;?No keener driver of the chariot?In mimic contest scoured the Palace-courts;?Yet in mid-play the boy would ofttimes pause,?Letting the deer pass free; would ofttimes yield?His half-won race because the labouring steeds?Fetched painful breath; or if his princely mates?Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream?Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the years?Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord,?Even as a great tree grows from two soft leaves?To spread its shade afar; but hardly yet?Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or tears,?Save as strange names for things not felt by kings,?Nor ever to be felt. But it befell?In the Royal garden on a day of spring,?A flock of wild swans passed, voyaging north?To their nest-places on Himala's breast.?Calling in love-notes down their snowy line?The bright birds flew, by fond love piloted;?And Devadatta, cousin of the Prince,?Pointed his bow, and loosed a wilful shaft?Which found the wide wing of the foremost swan?Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road,?So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed,?Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes.?Which seeing, Prince Siddartha took the bird?Tenderly up, rested it in his lap?Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits?And, soothing with a touch the wild thing's fright,?Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,?Caressed it into peace with light kind palms?As soft as plantain-leaves an hour unrolled;?And while the left hand held, the right hand drew?The cruel steel forth from the wound and laid?Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart.?Yet all so little knew the boy of pain?That curiously into his wrist he pressed?The arrow's barb, and winced to feel it sting,?And turned with tears to soothe his bird again.
Then some one came who said, "My Prince hath shot?A swan, which fell among the roses here,?He bids me pray you send it. Will you send?"?"Nay," quoth Siddartha, "if the bird were dead?To send it to the slayer might be well,?But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed?The god-like speed which throbbed in this white wing."?And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing,?Living or dead, is his who fetched it down;?'T was no man's in the clouds, but fall'n 't is mine,?Give me my prize, fair Cousin." Then our Lord?Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth cheek?And gravely spake, "Say no! the bird is mine,?The first of myriad things which shall be mine?By right of mercy and love's lordliness.?For now I know, by what within me stirs,?That I shall teach compassion unto men?And be a speechless world's interpreter,?Abating this accursed flood of woe,?Not man's alone; but, if the Prince disputes,?Let him submit this matter to the wise?And we will wait their word." So was it done;?In full divan the business had debate,?And many thought this thing and many that,?Till there arose an unknown priest who said,?"If life be aught, the saviour of a life?Owns more the living thing than be can own?Who sought to slay--the slayer spoils and wastes,?The cherisher sustains, give him the bird:"?Which judgment all found just; but when the King?Sought out the sage for honour, he was gone;?And some one saw a hooded snake glide forth,--?The gods come ofttimes thus! So our Lord Buddh?Began his works of mercy.
Yet not more?Knew he as