Preface to this Edition

I found this short and memorable poem retelling the Buddha story in an obscure Volume in Honour of B.C. Law that was published by the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute in Poona, India in 1946.

I applied for copyright release from the Institute but had no reply. If anyone is claiming copyright on the work and doesn't want it published here please let me know and I will take it down immediately.

Ms. Albers was the author of numerous books and articles on both Buddhist and Hindu subjects. Amongst her other works I have found: Buddhist tales for children; Ancient tales of Hindustan; Ram-Sita, the Ramayana in verse; Yogmaya and other dramatic poems; and an article on Vaisakha.

I have made some very small corrections to the printed edition, mainly by way of punctuation which wasn't always clear, and one or two spellings mistakes. I also added a chapter title no 8: The Awakening as it seemed to be needed, and added in chapter numbering.

Ms. Albers used a mixture of Sanskrit and Pali spellings with no clear line between them, I have therefore left them as they stand in the original.

Ānandajoti Bhikkhu

January, 2011

1: Kapilavastu

A sylvan summer night, the pine trees swayed

Their emerald arms gently in sighing cadence

Mellow, diaphanous, the moonlit air

Now waved its element in gentle breezes

Laden with mingled perfumes, wafted sweet

By jasmin, lilac, rose and violet.

And on the garden and the palace walls

A silver moonlit peace guarded the slumber;

And rested the fair queen in royal hall

On silken cushions, white, lavender scented,

White silver moonlight played upon her bed,

Virgin and holy, and into her dreaming

A mystic ray of rosy vision stole:

A starlit elephant, shining in glory,

Thrice trumpeted and vanished in her heart.

Then came an untold peace upon her being

And an all hallowed bliss filled all the air.

Sweetly soft, whispering voices holy anthems

Foretold the coming of a great event.

And knew the Queen she was a chosen mother

A glorious being would descend to earth.

2: Lumbinī

A garden, where in silver melody

Soft spirit voices whispered amid branches,

Laden with bloom of lavender and pearl,

Where lithe gazelles brouzed upon emerald grasses

And violet bordered brooklets joined their lay,

With carols of soft-throated plumed musicians

While humming birds with topaz wing outspread

Whirled love-charmed round a honey laden lotus.

All, all was peace and spirit harmony.

Here neath a tree, which bore a lightsome burden

Of chrysophrase and lilac-rose-hued love,

There stood a lady, graceful, tall and slender.

The lovelight of her soulful midnight eyes

Outshone in splendour all that garden-beauty,

Held all the mystery of suns and stars.

And the fond branches, deep in worship bending

Formed over her a shading canopy.

And on her form, in mellifluous showers

Rained fragrant bloom of lilac and of rose,

While neath her feet gold waves of flowers burgeoned.

And stood the Queen erect in majesty;

Nor felt a pang or pain that holy moment.

Thus came He forth, Buddha, the holy child.

But could the world not hold her; her life's mission

Being fulfilled, upon the seventh day

That marked the advent of the Heaven hero

Queen Māyā closed her eyes to earthly scenes.

The infant Prince received the name, Siddhārtha,

His mother's sister took Him in her care.

Upon the child's form were the signs of Lordship

Which marked Him Master over men and gods.

And wondrous things foretold divining sages:

He would leave home and wander lonely forth

To find the path that leads unto salvation

For men and gods and for all living kind.

Which hearing, King Śuddhodana, the father

Felt sore at heart, sought to outgo stern fate.

Gave orders that before the Prince be uttered,

As he grew up, no single word of woe.

He should not know that in the world is sorrow.

For him was but the happiness of life,

Built gorgeous palaces and pleasure gardens

Where the young Prince should spend His childhood's days.

3: Childhood

Then grew the child from babe to sunny boyhood,

Full ripe in mind, and mastered He the lore

Of books and scroll, and all that wise instructors

Could place before Him, and it soon was found

The teachers were the pupils of their pupil.

Yet was He ever meek and courteous

But was it seen that with advancing years

He courted loneliness and silent places

And once while sitting thus in fond dream state

In still repose in sylvan garden bower,

He did, behold on high a fleecy cloud

Swift moving and of scintillating whiteness:

A flock of noble swans on northward flight

Steered towards Himalayan height; their snowy plumage,

The lovenotes that they sent through the still air,

The slender grace of their soft swaying movement,

All these touched deeply the young boy's full soul

And looked he long upon that scene of beauty.

When lo, from that white cloud of winged love

A still form dropped, its pure snow stained with crimson.

Then stirred deep anguish young Siddhārtha's heart.

He took the bird, loosened the deadly arrow

And stemmed the crimson flood with skilful hand.

But now appeared his kinsman, Devadatta,

With haughty mien and speaking angry words,

‘Give me the bird: the prey goes to the hunter,

My arrow brought the swan unto the ground.’

But spake Siddhārtha gently, ‘Nay, my cousin.

You killed, but I restored his gasping breath.

Greater than death is life, and he who giveth

Life to a dying form does better deed

Than does the black hand of the wanton slayer.’

Then nursed the bird back unto health and strength

Till it could join its tribe in the free ether.

4: The Bride

Śuddhodana, remembering prophecies

Liked not the brooding mind of young Siddhārtha,

And on advice of the State Ministers

Arranged for the young Prince His early nuptials.

Then went the royal mandate through the land:

The youthful maidens of the Princely houses

Were told to come to Śuddhodana's Court;

And they appeared, a glorious procession:

The golden dew of budding maidenhood

The rosy buds of young life's glowing spring time.

Each was to get a present from the Prince.

And robed in garments bright and irridescent,

That vied with rose beauty of each face,

They passed the Throne shyly their lashes lifting

And then moved on, blushing with timid smile,

Till came the last flower of that golden garland,

The fairest of the Princely maidens all,

Yaśodharā, a spring of laughing water,

Not timid she, but frankly stepped she forth.

The deep look of her eye, her very presence

Awakened memories in Siddhārtha's mind

Of a great love in long forgotten ages,

And each saw in the other's soul revealed

Its own pure higher self, its greater being.

And was Yaśodharā the chosen bride.

But in those days, when princes wooed a maiden

They had to win the prize by feat of arms.

Then were the heralds sent through all the kingdom

And came the young Knights for the tournament.

But none surpassed the Prince in manly vigour,

In courage and in military skill.

And now the bridal of unequalled splendour,

And then fond home days in the palace walls.

In time a child was born, a son, Rāhula.

The good king's father-heart at last felt peace.

‘My son has found His own, His heart is happy.’

He knew not the great soul of his own son.

5: The Four Signs

Siddhārtha felt anew His life's great mission,

Expressed a wish to see the world outside,

Then were the roads made bright by royal mandate,

Garlands and waving flags welcomed the Prince.

But in celestial hall the gods held counsel,

And well disguised appeared upon the road

An aged man feeble and palsy stricken

He cried in agony, held trembling hand,

Pleading for alms to still his gnawing hunger,

Scarce could he speak, his voice was choked by cough.

Then driving on beneath the swaying garlands,

They saw beside the road a writhing form

In pain and agony, weeping and groaning.

‘Help’, cried he feebly, ‘help me, Oh good Prince,

Or I shall die ere dawns another morning.’

Shuddered the Prince at the woe-stricken sights,

And ever more felt all the world's deep sorrow

And asked He sadly of His charioteer,

‘When ills and weakness can hold out no longer,

What follows then?’ ‘Then follows death, my Lord.

The final which awaits all living beings.

`And what is death? I never heard that word.’

But soon He saw, a group of weeping mourners,

Lamenting and bemoaning bitter fate,

Came down the country road in slow procession.

And at their head walked four, with solemn step

Bearing a cot decked with a snow-white cover.

‘And who lies there so still that sheet beneath?’

‘That is a corpse, my Lord, stiff, cold and lifeless,

An empty shell from which the soul has fled.’

A ghastly flame, that gleamed by the near river

Soon told the tale: the end, the end of all.

The Lord looked at the gruesome scene and questioned,

‘Is there no way then out of all this woe?’

‘Ah, no my Lord, from this there is no rescue.’

Then driving home, they met upon the road,

One, calm and stately, peace upon his features.

‘And Channa, who is this,’ thus asked the Prince

‘Upon whose face rests such a deep contentment?’

‘That is a monk, who did forsake the world,

And found his peace within the realm of silence.’

Then knew the Prince of men His time was ripe.

The great world called Him and He could not linger.

6: The Farewell

And as He went to leave parental halls,

His strong heart felt its manly pulses throbbing.

Then hushed and solemnly with noiseless step

He walked the long porphyry pillared passage

That led into a hallowed sanctuary,

Well sentinelled by gold-edged samite curtains.

And pushing with light hand the folds aside

He gazed upon that star-blessed scene before Him.

Here lay the Pearl, that His heart's inmost core

Had cherished through unnumbered passing ages,

A love that bore the test of centuries.

And He beheld again, with inward vision

Fond golden days of long forgotten lives.

So calm she lay, her waving hair half hiding

The mystic, occult beauty of her face.

And resting on her heaving, ivory bosom,

Clasped in the lily softness of her arms,

His only child, eye-lids in slumber drooping.

And heaved the pulses of His manly heart.

But heard His soul beneath this fond love-vision

A low voiced whining, weeping, burning sobs,

Saw wringing hands and ghastly, gore-stained faces

Curses and tears upon the soughing wind:

The bleeding soul-cry of all vast creation.

Then burned His heart in anguish and He went,

Kingdom and power and wealth and love forsaking.

And tarried He no more, but with firm step

Took the bleak roadway of the homeless wanderer.

7: Buddha Gayā

Now onward wandering from place to place

Met many sā dhus, each holding a doctrine.

Among these were five pious mendicants,

In a sequestered grove near Uruvelā.

Their lives were pure, but their austerities

Extreme and stringent beyond human reason.

Here stayed the Lord sometime, but soon He found

Not here could He accomplish His life's mission,

And grew His frame so weak that in the end

He fainted, lay exhausted by the wayside.

A herdsman came that way, driving his flock.

He saw that noble form all prostrate lying.

Then from the teeming udder of a ewe,

He pressed into His mouth its milky substance,

And lo, the Lord revived and opened His eyes.

Still felt He weak and neath the sylvan verdure

The cooling foliage of a shading tree

He found a seat. Here deep in meditation

Sujātā saw Him, pious herdsman's wife,

Unto whose mother-heart the gods had granted

The longed for precious gift of a son-child.

She sought a holy man, to whom to offer

A gift prepared by her own pious hand:

A bowl of milk-rice, served in golden basin.

She saw the Lord in glory neath that tree,

Thought Him a god and prostrating in worship,

She placed the bowl of milk-rice at His feet.

The Lord partook and felt His body stronger.

8: The Awakening

And now comes the great moment of His life!

Behold ye suns and moons the Śākyamuni:

The time has come, He sits beneath the tree.

Behold the tree, laden with glowing clusters

Of vivid bloom, brilliant in soft-tinged rose,

Veiled in a lustrous chrysophrase, and blending

Its hue and fragrance with young spring's full lite.

Bend the green branches down in fond obeisance.

A hallowed murmur runs from star to star,

And stand the gods hushed in mute expectation,

While through the land of downfall and black sin

Strange whispers pass of hope and coming freedom,

And undulating waves of occult force

Flow through all throbbing hearts from brute to human.

Now Māra, seeing, comes with his mad hosts

On the winged wind of an unbridled fury,

And opens all the flood-gates of his hate.

But fire and curses, all hell's gruesome torrents

Cannot subdue the Prince of gods and men.

The victory shines on His imperious features

And from the wellspring His valiant heart

An unquenched fire of love and peace is flaming.

All Māra's hosts of lurid screaming ghouls

Cannot do harm e'en to his spotless garment.

Now turns in tenfold wrath the evil one,

‘You have not made the five great gifts Siddhārtha,

My teeming hosts bear witness unto me.

Speak now you, Śākya-prince, who is your witness?’

Then rose ten million voices from the soil,

And spake the mighty earth in roaring thunder,

‘We bear Thee witness, dauntless Śākya-prince.’

Now fled all hell's wild hosts in dread confusion.

The morning dawns, the victory is won.

And oh, the glory of that love-charmed morning

O'er all creation hung the silver veil

Of a great dream, where rosy beacons glimmered

Inviting to a world of mellow rest,

Where pain is put to sleep pearl oases,

The wind filled sails of all unquenched desire

Are furled. The craft playing on waveless ocean

Will find its harbour on a starlit shore,

That tranquil land of dew-kissed lustrous silence,

The morning isle of a perennial dawn.

9: The Deer Park

Now in the fulness of His Buddhahood

He walked the road that led unto Benares

Where the five comrades of His former days

Were keeping rest. Seeing His form approaching,

They whispering spake, ‘Behold He has come back!

But we will not now greet Him as Preceptor.’

But when they saw His soul's full majesty,

Upon His noble brow wisdom's bright splendour,

Those deep eyes with unfathomed glory filled,

They bowed their heads in reverent obeisance,

And fell in adoration at His feet.

And here, near Kāshī, in the sylvan deer park

He set in motion the great ‘Wheel of Law’,

That Wheel that sent its beacon through the ages

And left its golden stamp on many lands.

The pebbly desert bears eternal witness,

The sages of the South and northern Lakes

Live by the Law, tell morbid world-tired seekers

Of an effulgent Life that cannot die.

Calmly He sat, His hand elate in blessing.

Drawn by the magic of those towering words,

The flaming devas from supernal regions,

The groaning dwellers of the lampless pit,

And all the speechless dwellers of the forest

Assembled at that grove in harmony,

Joining the five, all listening in mute rapture,

The sylvan harpstring of this rhythmic speech

The mellifluent notes of silver cadence

That from the wellspring of His diamond soul

Gave hope to man and beast and sobbing spirits

And sent its echo over worlds in space.

That was the night of a world stirring rapture

That filled the heaving air with cosmic force,

A spring from which flowed forth an eightfold river,

Which waters still a thirsty world today.

10: Kuśinārā

Near Kuśinārā in sequestered grove

Four Sāl trees stand, their crowns in rhythm swaying,

A mystic murmur passes through the air.

The young twigs weep and sigh their rosy blossoms,

The melancholy crowns wave doleful dirge,

Mingled with the soft sobbing of the leaves,

The falling tears of foliage laden branches,

The sighing lutestrings of the soughing wind

Adding a sad refrain in soulful cadence.

Nature is stirred unto its inmost core.

The heaving earth, the waves of distant oceans

Call forth mysterious voices from the deep,

And unknown mysteries rise from dark caverns;

Strange occult forces, unknown all to man,

Join in one mighty world encircling anthem,

And blend their voices in a requiem,

While o'er the earth the pall of death is hanging.

But is the ground a carpet of gold bloom

That fall from vivid height in gorgeous showers,

Laden with scent of lavender and myrrh;

And fragrance wafted from celestial gardens

Send waves of light in a transcendent stream.

The air is kindled with love-blazing beauty.

The gods are sending from their unseen realms

A glorious welcome to a world-tired pilgrim,

Who soon will travel through their sunny land,

Into Vastness of unconquered Silence.

And under these four sāl trees stands a couch,

Around which stand in pale and stricken anguish

A multitude, who turn their tear-stained eyes

Upon that couch in poignant adoration.

There in serene, unstricken majesty,

Solemn and calm the conqueror is resting.

Halos of glory from His body shine,

Still speaks His voice, the love-notes gently flowing

In mellifluent cadence, golden stream,

Bidding farewell in those fond, tender accents

That, ah, so oft have made their hearts rejoice.

But now, on every word hang silver teardrops.

‘Weep not for me, my friends, the Law, the Doctrine

That I have given you, shall be your guide,

Be steadfast on the path that I have shown you,

And be ye each a lamp unto himself.

I now go to my final home, Nirvāna,

The weary pathway in Saṁsāra's round

My searching aching feet no more shall wander,

And you awaits the same great Destiny.’

Then came the moment of majestic stillness,

Hushed was the hour, His great heart beat no more.

The conqueror had gone to His Dominions,

That land of bliss beyond all time and space,

Where only love and unchecked thought can follow,

Where change and weeping sorrow are no more,

Where in perennial cosmic silence shrouded

Eternal life rests in transcendent bliss.

Now quaked the earth, the rivers swelled in torrents,

And mystic forces filled the atmosphere.

Down from supernal heights rained flaming garlands

In golden showers on that holy bier.

Now they who mourned turned to their last-love-duty

With weeping hearts and bitter burning tears.

But spake the voice within, that roused to action!

‘Forward, go carry on the flaming torch,

O'er land and seas shall flow the fiery banner,

The world shall know the Lovelight of the Law.’

And thus the Wheel of the great Law is rolling

And will roll on as long as time does last.

* * * Further Reading * * *

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