Sorrowful dwelt the King Suddhodana
All those long years among the Sakya Lords
Lacking the speech and presence of his Son; Sorrowful sate the sweet Yasodhara All those long years, knowing no joy of life, Widowed of him her living Liege and Prince. And ever, on the news of some recluse Seen far away by pasturing camel-men Or traders threading devious paths for gain, Messengers from the King had gone and come Bringing account of many a holy sage Lonely and lost to home; but nought of him The crown of white Kapilavastu's line, The glory of her monarch and his hope, The heart's content of sweet Yasodhara, Far-wandered now, forgetful, changed, or dead.
But on a day in the Wasanta-time, When silver sprays swing on the mango-trees And all the earth is clad with garb of spring, The Princess sate by that bright garden-stream Whose gliding glass, bordered with lotus-cups, Mirrored so often in the bliss gone by Their clinging hands and meeting lips. Her lids Were wan with tears, her tender cheeks had thinned; Her lips' delicious curves were drawn with grief The lustrous glory of her hair was hid-- Close-bound as widows use; no ornament She wore, nor any jewel clasped the cloth-- Coarse, and of mourning-white--crossed on her breast. Slow moved and painfully those small fine feet Which had the roe's gait and the rose-leaf's fall In old years at the loving voice of him. Her eyes, those lamps of love,--which were as if Sunlight should shine from out the deepest dark, Illumining Night's peace with Daytime's glow-- Unlighted now, and roving aimlessly, Scarce marked the clustering signs of coming Spring So the silk lashes drooped over their orbs. In one hand was a girdle thick with pearls, Siddartha's--treasured since that night he fled. (Ah, bitter Night! mother of weeping days! When was fond Love so pitiless to love Save that this scorned to limit love by life?) The other led her little son, a boy Divinely fair, the pledge Siddartha left-- Named Rahula--now seven years old, who tripped Gladsome beside his mother, light of heart To see the spring-blooms burgeon o'er the world.
So while they lingered by the lotus-pools
And, lightly laughing, Rahula flung rice
To feed the blue and purple fish, and she
With sad eyes watched the swiftly-flying cranes, Sighing, "O creatures of the wandering wing, If ye shall light where my dear Lord is hid, Say that Yasodhara lives nigh to death For one word of his mouth, one touch of him."-- So, as they played and sighed, mother and child, Came some among the damsels of the Court Saying: "Great Princess! there have entered in At the south gate merchants of Hastinpur Tripusha called and Bhalluk, men of worth, Long traveled from the loud sea's edge, who bring Marvellous lovely webs pictured with gold, Waved blades of gilded steel, wrought bowls in brass, Cut ivories, spice, simples, and unknown birds Treasures of far-off peoples; but they bring That which doth beggar these, for He is seen! Thy Lord,--our Lord,--the hope of all the land Siddartha! they have seen him face to face Yea, and have worshipped him with knees and brows, And offered offerings; for he is become All which was shown, a teacher of the wise, World-honoured, holy, wonderful; a Buddh Who doth deliver men and save all flesh By sweetest speech and pity vast as Heaven And, lo! he journeyeth hither, these do say."
Then--while the glad blood bounded in her veins
As Gunga leaps when first the mountain snows
Melt at her springs--uprose Yasodhara
And clapped her palms, and laughed, with brimming tears
Beading her lashes. "Oh! call quick," she cried, "These merchants to my purdah, for mine ears Thirst like parched throats to drink their blessed news. Go bring them in,--but if their tale be true, Say I will fill their girdles with much gold, With gems that kings shall envy; come ye too, My girls, for ye shall have guerdon of this If there be gifts to speak my grateful heart."
So went those merchants to the Pleasure House, Full softly pacing through its golden ways With naked feet, amid the peering maids, Much wondering at the glories of the Court. Whom, when they came without the purdah's folds, A voice, tender and eager, filled and charmed With trembling music, saying: "Ye are come From far, fair Sirs! and ye have seen my Lord-- Yea, worshipped--for he is become a Buddh, World-honoured, holy, and delivers men, And journeyeth hither. Speak! for, if this be, Friends are ye of my House, welcome and dear."