The Pilgrim Kamanita

Front matter

THE PILGRIM KAMANITA A LEGENDARY ROMANCE By KARL GJELLERUP TRANSLATED BY JOHN E. LOGIE

LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN

Copyright U.S.A., 1911, by K. Gjellerup

Chapter 1

"This have I heard: That the time came when the earthly sojourn of the Lord Buddha should be ended, and journeying from place to plate in the land of Magadha, he came to Rajagriha."

Thus the Holy Buddhist Sutra of ancient India.

As the Master drew near to the City of the Five Hills, day was almost over, and the mildly beneficent rays of the evening sun lay along the green rice-fields and meadows of the far-reaching plain as if they were emanations from a divine hand extended in blessing. Here and there little billowy clouds—of purest gold dust as it seemed—rolled and crept along the ground, showing that men and oxen were plodding wearily homeward from their labour in the fields; and the lengthening shadows cast by isolated groups of trees were bordered by a halo, radiant with all the colours of the rainbow. Framed in a wreath of blossoming gardens, the embattled gateways, terraces, cupolas, and towers of the capital shone forth, delicately clear as in some fairy vision; and a long line of rocky eminences, rivalling in colour the topaz, the amethyst, and the opal, were resolved into an enamel of incomparable beauty.

Deeply moved, the Lord Buddha stayed his steps. Joy welled up within him, and his heart leaped forth to greet those familiar forms, bound up for him with so many memories: the Grey Horn, the Broad Vale, the Scer's Crag, the Vulture's Crest—"whose noble summit towers, roof-like, over all the rest"—and, above all, Vibhara, the Mountain of the Hot Springs, under whose shadow, in the cave beneath the Sattapanni tree, the homeless wanderer had found his first home, his first resting-place on the final journey from Sansara to Nirvana.

For when, in that bygone time, "being still in the flower of his life, his hair dark and glossy, in the unimpaired enjoyment of all that happy youth could afford and early manhood represent, unmoved by the wishes of his parents as by their tears and lamentations," he had left his royal father's house in the northern country of the Sakyas and turned his steps toward the valley of the Gunga, he had there, under the shadow of the lofty Vibhara, allowed himself his first lengthened stay, going every morning into Rajagriha to beg for food.

It was at that time also, and in that very cave, that Bimbisara, King of Magadha, had visited him, imploring, though in vain, that he should return to the home of his fathers, and to the life of the world, until at length the royal visitor, strangely moved by the words of the young ascetic, felt the first tremblings of the new faith that later made him a follower of the Buddha.

Since that day full fifty years had passed away, and in the interval he had changed not alone the course of his own life, but also that of the world. How vast the difference between that past, when he dwelt in yonder cave and sat beneath the Sattapanni tree, and the present! Then he was yet a seeker—one struggling for salvation. Terrible spiritual contests lay before him—year-long, self-inflicted mortifications, inhuman agonies, frightful as fruitless, the mere recital of which made the flesh of even the stoutest-hearted of his hearers creep; till at length, risen triumphant above all such self-torturing asceticism, through fervent meditation, he reached the light, and went forth from the conflict, consecrated to the salvation of all created beings, filled with a divine pity, a supreme and perfect Buddha. Those were the years in which his life resembled a changeful morning in the rainy season—dazzling sunshine alternating with deepest gloom, the while the monsoon piles cloud above cloud in towering masses, and the death-laden: thunderstorm comes growling nearer. But now his life was filled with the same calm, sunny peace that lay upon the evening landscape, a peace that seemed to grow ever deeper and clearer as the sun's disc dipped towards the horizon.

For him, too, sunset, the close of life's long day, was at hand. He had finished his work. The kingdom of truth had been established on sure foundations, and the doctrine of salvation proclaimed to all mankind; while many monks and nuns of blameless life and approved knowledge, and lay followers of both sexes, were now well fitted to guard his kingdom and to uphold and spread its doctrines.

And even as he stands there, there abides in his heart, as a result of the meditations of this day spent in solitary journeying, the inalienable knowledge: "For thee, the time cometh, and that soon, when thou shalt go hence and leave this world, from which thou hast redeemed thyself and all who come after thee, and shalt enter into the rest of Nirvana."

And looking over the land spread out before him, with a happy recognition, in which there lay, nevertheless, a deep note of sadness, he bade these loved objects farewell.

"Fair indeed art thou, Rajagriha, City of the Five Hills! Beautiful are thy environs, richly blessed thy fields, heart-gladdening thy wooded glades gleaming with waters, very pleasant thy clustering hills of rock! For the last time do I behold thy lovely borders from this, the fairest of all places whence thy children love to look upon thee. But once, and once only—on the day when I go hence and look back from the crest of yonder mountain-ridge—shall I see thee again, beloved valley of Rajagriha; then, nevermore!"

And still the Master stood, till at length only two structures, of all in the city before him, towered golden in the sunlight: one, the highest tower in the king's palace, whence Bimbisara had first espied him, when, a young and unknown ascetic, he passed that way, and, by his noble bearing, drew upon himself the notice of the Magadha king; the other, the domelike superstructure of the Indian temple, in which, in the years before his teaching had delivered mankind from bloody superstition, thousands upon thousands of innocent animals were yearly slaughtered in honour of the Deity. Finally, even the pinnacles of the towers slipped down into the rising sea of shadow and were lost to view, and only the cone of golden umbrellas which, rising one above another, crowned the dome of the temple yet glowed, suspended as it were in mid-air, a veritable symbol of the "royal city," flashing and sparkling as the red glow deepened against the dark-blue background of the lofty tree-tops. At this point the Master caught sight of the still somewhat distant goal of his journey. For the tree-tops he saw were those of the mango grove on the farther side of the town, the gift of his disciple Jivaka, the king's physician, in which a stately monastery provided the monks with quarters at once healthy and comfortable.

To this home of the Order, the Lord Buddha had sent the monks who accompanied him—about 200 in number—on before, under the leadership of his cousin and faithful companion Ananda, because he felt desirous of tasting the deep delight of a day's solitary pilgrimage. And he was aware that a band of young monks from the West, led by his great disciple the wise Sariputta, would arrive in the mango grove at sunset. In his vivid imagination, given to picturing events in all their details, he went over the scenes that would be enacted. He saw the new arrivals exchange friendly greetings with the brethren already there, saw them conducted by the latter to seats and night quarters, their cloaks and alms-bowls taken from them, and heard all this take place with much noise and loud shouting, as though fisher-folk were quarrelling over their spoils. He knew this to be no exaggeration; and to him, who loved silent meditation, and disliked clamour as does the solitary lion in the jungle, the thought of being involved, just at this moment, in such bustle, after the delicious restfulness of solitary travel and the blessed peace of the evening landscape, was doubly distressing.

So he determined, as he went on his way, that he would not go through the city to his mango grove, but would take up his abode for the night in any house in the nearest suburb in which he could find shelter.

Meantime the flaming gold of the western heavens had died down in burning orange tints, and these, in turn, had melted into a blaze of the fieriest scarlet. Round about him the green of the fields deepened and grew more and more luminous, as though the earth were an emerald lit up from within. But already a dreamy violet haze enveloped the horizon, while a weird purple flood—whether light or shadow, no one could say—rolled in from every side, rising and sinking, filling all space, dissolving fixed outlines and combining fragments, sweeping near objects bodily away and bringing nearer those that were distant, causing everything to undulate and waver in trembling uncertainty.

Startled by the footsteps of the solitary wanderer, a fruit-bat unhooked itself from the branch of a black sala tree, and, spreading its leathern wings, swept, with a shrill cry, away through the dusk, to pay a visit to the orchards of the rural suburb.

Thus, by the time the Master had reached the outskirts of Rajagriha, the day was far spent and night was at hand.

Chapter 2

It was the intention of the Master to stop at the first house he came to—in this instance a building whose blue walls shone out from between the trees of the surrounding garden. As he was about to approach the door, however, he became aware of a net hung upon a branch. And without a moment's hesitation the Lord Buddha strode past, abhorring the house of the fowler. Here, at the extreme outskirts of the town, the houses were scattered, in addition to which a conflagration had recently swept the place, so that some time elapsed before he came to another human habitation. It was the farmhouse of a well-to-do Brahman. The Master had hardly stepped within the gate, when he heard the loud screaming voices of the Brahman's two wives as they scolded and wrangled, all the while hurling invectives at one another. And the Blessed One turned him about, went out at the gateway, and strode farther on.

The pleasure garden of the rich Brahman extended for a considerable distance along the road. The Master was already conscious of fatigue, and his right foot, injured by a sharp stone, pained him as he paced along. In this condition he approached the next dwelling-house, which was visible from a great distance owing to a broad path of vivid light that streamed across the road from the latticework of the shutters and from the open door. Even had a blind man come that way, he could not have failed to notice this house, for wanton laughter, the clang of goblets, the clapping of hands, the beat of dancing feet, and the delightfully merry notes of the seven-stringed vina rose clearly upon the air. Leaning against the doorpost stood a handsome girl, robed in rich silk, and hung with jasmine garlands. Laughingly showing her teeth, red from chewing the betel-nut, she invited the wayfarer to stay: "Enter, O stranger. This is the House of Mirth." But the Blessed One went on his way, and as he did so he recalled his own words: "As weeping, in the Order of the Holy, shall singing be looked on; as madness, in the Order of the Holy, shall dancing be looked on; as childish, in the Order of the Holy, shall unseemly showing of teeth, shall laughter, be looked on. All-sufficing, for ye who in truth are enraptured, be the smile of the smiling eyes."

The neighbouring house was not far distant, but the noise of the carousers and vina-players penetrated thither, so the Lord Buddha went on to the next. Beside it two butcher's assistants were hard at work by the last glimmer of daylight, cutting up with sharp knives a cow they had just slaughtered. And the Master strode past the house of the butcher.

In front of the one following, stood many dishes and bowls freshly formed from clay, the fruit of a diligent day's labour. The potter's wheel stood under a tamarind tree, and the potter at that moment removed a dish from the wheel and bore it to where the others lay.

The Master approached the potter, greeted him courteously, and said: "If it be not inconvenient to, thee, O descendant of Bhaga, I shall spend this night in thy hall."

"It is not, O sir, inconvenient to me. But this moment, a pilgrim has arrived, tired from a long journey, and he has already taken up his quarters for the night. If it be agreeable to him, thou art welcome to stay, O sir, at thine own pleasure."

And the Master reflected: "Solitude is, it is true, the best of all companions. But this good pilgrim has arrived here late, just as I myself, tired from long wandering. And he has gone by the houses where men follow impure and bloody pursuits, past the house of wrangling and of odious strife, the house of clamour and of unworthy pleasure, and has not rested till he entered the house of the potter. In the company of such a man it is possible to spend the night."

So the Lord Buddha entered the outer hall, where he perceived a young man of noble lineaments sitting in a corner on a mat.

"If it be not disagreeable to thee, O pilgrim," said the Master to him, "I shall spend the night in this outer hall."

"Spacious, O brother, is the hall of the potter; stay then, O venerable sir, at thy pleasure."

Upon which the Master spread his mat close to one of the walls and sat down, his legs crossed, his body perfectly upright, sunk in holy meditation. And the Blessed One remained sitting during the first part of the night.

The young man also remained sitting during the first part of the night.

Seeing which, the Lord Buddha thought to himself: "I wonder whether this noble youth is a happy seeker after truth. How would it be if I should ask him?"

So he turned him to the young pilgrim—

"Wherefore, O pilgrim, hast thou become homeless?"

The young pilgrim answered—

"But few hours of the night are as yet gone. So that, if thou, venerable sir, wilt deign to give ear, I shall tell thee wherefore I have chosen the portion of the homeless."

The Blessed One gave assent by a friendly movement of his head, and the young pilgrim began his tale.

Chapter 3

My name is Kamanita. I was born in Ujjeni, a town lying far to the south, in the land of Avanti, among the mountains. My father was a merchant, and rich, though our family could lay claim to no special rank. He gave me a good education, and, when of age to assume the Sacrificial Cord, I was already possessed of most of the accomplishments which befit a young man of position, so that people generally believed I must have been educated in Takkasila. I could wrestle and fence with the best. My voice was melodious and well trained, and I was able to play the vina with considerable artistic skill: I could repeat all the poems of Bharata by heart; and many others also. With the mysteries of metre I was most intimately acquainted, and was myself able to write verses replete with feeling and ingenious thought. I could draw and paint so that few surpassed me, and my originality in the art of strewing flowers was universally lauded. I had attained to an unusual mastery in the colouring of crystals, and, furthermore, could tell at sight whence any jewel came. My parrots and parson-birds I trained so that none spoke as they. And to all these accomplishments I added a thorough command of the game of chess with its sixty-four squares, of the wand game, of archery, of ball games of every description, of riddles, and of flower games. So that it became, O stranger, a proverbial saying in Ujjeni: "Talented as the young Kamanita."

When I was twenty years old, my father one day sent for me, and spoke as follows:

"My son, thy education is now completed; it is time for thee to see something of the world and to begin thy merchant career. A suitable opportunity has just offered itself. Within the next few days our monarch sends an embassy to King Udena in Kosambi, which lies far to the north. There I have a friend named Panada, with whom I have at various times exchanged hospitalities. He has long told me that in Kosambi there is good business to be done in the products of our land, particularly in rock crystals and sandal powder, as also in artistic wicker-work and woven goods. I have always, however, shunned such a business journey, holding it to be an altogether too hazardous undertaking, on account of the many dangers of the road; but for any one going there and back in the train of the embassy there can be no danger whatsoever. So now, my son, we had better go to the warehouse and inspect the twelve wagons with their teams of oxen and the goods which I have decided on for thy journey. In exchange for the latter thou art to bring back muslin from Benares and carefully selected rice; and that will be the beginning, and I trust a splendid one, of thy business career. Then thou wilt have an opportunity of seeing foreign lands with natural characteristics other than thine own, and other customs, and wilt have daily intercourse with courtiers, men of the highest station and most refined manners, all of which I consider a great gain, for a merchant must be a man of the world."

I thanked my father with tears of joy, and a few days later bade farewell to my parents and home.

With what joyful anticipation did my heart beat as, at the head of my wagons, I passed out at the city gates, a member of this magnificent procession, and the wide world lay open before me! Each day of the journey was to me like a festival, and when the camp fires blazed up in the evenings to scare the panthers and tigers away, and I sat in the circle by the side of the ambassador, with men of years and rank, it seemed to me that I was altogether in fairyland.

Through the magnificent forest region of Vedisa and over the gently swelling heights of the Vindhya mountains we reached the vast northern plain, and there an entirely new world opened itself out before me, for I had hitherto never imagined that the earth was so flat and so huge.

It was about a month after our setting out that, one glorious evening, we saw, from a palm-covered eminence, two golden bands, which, disengaging themselves from the mists on the horizon, threaded the illimitable green beneath and gradually approached each other till they became united in one broad one.

A hand touched my shoulder.

It was the ambassador, who had approached me unperceived.

"Those, Kamanita, are the sacred Jumna and the divine Gunga whose waters unite before our eyes."

Involuntarily I raised my hands in adoration.

"Thou dost well to greet them in this way," my patron went on. "For if the Gunga comes from the home of the gods amid the snow-clad mountains of the North and flows as it were from the Abode of the Eternal, yet the Jumna, on the other hand, takes its rise in lands known to far-distant heroic days, and its floods have reflected the ruins of Hastinapura, 'the City of Elephants,' and washed the plain where the Pándavas and the Kauravas struggled for the mastery, where Karna raged in his tent, where Krishna himself guided the steeds of Arjuna—but of all that I need not remind thee, seeing that thou art thyself at home in the ancient heroic songs. Often have I stood on yonder projecting tongue of land when the blue waves of the Jumna have rolled onward side by side with the yellow waters of the Gunga, and blue and yellow have never mingled. Blue and Yellow, Warrior and Brahman in the great river-bed of Caste, passing onward to eternity, approaching—uniting—for ever side by side—for ever two. Then it seemed to me that, blent with the rushing of these blue floods, I heard warlike sounds—the clash of arms and the blowing of horns, neighing of horses and the trumpeting of war elephants—and my heart beat faster, for my ancestors also had been there, and the sands of Kurukshetra had drunk their heroic blood."

Full of admiration, I looked up to this man from the warrior caste, in whose family such memories lived.

But he took me by the hand, and saying, "Come, my son, and behold the goal of thy first journey," he led me but a few steps around some dense shrubbery that had hitherto hidden the view to the cast.

As it flashed upon my vision I uttered an involuntary cry of admiration, for there, at a bend of the broad Gunga, lay, great and splendid in its beauty, the city of Kosambi. With its walls and towers, its piled-up masses of houses, its terraces, its quays and ghâts lit up by the setting sun, it really looked like a city of red gold—a city such as Benares was until the sins of its inhabitants changed it to stone and mortar—while the cupolas that were of real gold shone like so many suns. Columns of smoke, dark red brown from the temple courts above, light blue from the funeral pyres on the banks below, rose straight into the air; and borne aloft on these, as if it were a canopy, there hung over the whole a veil woven of the tenderest tints of mother-of-pearl, while in the background, flung forth in the wildest profusion, flashed and burned every hue of heaven. On the sacred stream which imaged all this glory and multiplied it a thousandfold in the shimmer of its waters, rocked countless boats, gay with many-coloured sails and streamers; and, distant though we were, we could yet see the broad stairs of the ghâts swarming with people, and numerous bathers already plashing in the sparkling waves beneath. A sound of joyous movement, floating out upon the air like the busy hum of innumerable bees, was borne up to us from time to time.

As thou canst imagine, I felt I was looking upon a city of the thirty-three gods, rather than one of human beings; indeed, the whole valley of the Gunga with its luxuriant richness looked to us, men of the hills, like Paradise. And of a truth, this very place, of all others on earth, was to be Paradise Revealed to me.

That same night I slept under the hospitable roof of Panada, my father's old friend.

Early on the following day, I hurried to the nearest ghât, and descended, with feelings which I cannot attempt to describe, into the sacred waters which should not only cleanse me from the dust of my journey but from my sins as well. These were, owing to my youth, of no great gravity; but I filled a large bottle front the river to take to my father. Alas! it never came into his possession, as thou wilt later learn.

The good Panada, a grey-haired old gentleman of venerable appearance, now conducted me to the markets of the city, and, with his friendly assistance, I was able, in the course of the next few days, to sell my wares at a good profit, and to lay in an abundance of those products of the northern plain which are so highly prized among our people.

My business was thus brought to a happy conclusion long before the embassy had begun to think of getting ready to start on its return journey; and I was in no way sorry, for I had now full liberty to see the town and to enjoy its pleasures, which I did to the full, in the company of Somadatta, the son of my host.

Chapter 4

One delightful afternoon we betook ourselves to a public garden outside of the town—a really magnificent park it was, lying close to the high banks of the Gunga, with shady groups of trees, large lotus ponds, marble summerhouses, and jasmine arbours, in which at this hour of the day life and bustle reigned supreme. Here we were gently rocked in a golden swing by the attendants, while with ravished hearts we listened to the lovesick notes of the kokila and the sweet chatter of the green parrots. All at once there rose on the air the merry tinkling of anklets, and instantly my friend sprang out of the swing and called to me—

"Look, Kamanita! The fairest maidens in Kosambi are just approaching, virgins specially chosen from the richest and most noble houses, come to do honour to the goddess who dwells on the Vindhayas by engaging in ball games. Thou canst count thyself fortunate, my friend, for at this game we may see them without restraint. Come, let us not miss the chance."

Naturally, I waited for no second bidding, but made haste to follow.

On a spacious stage decorated with precious stones, the maidens appeared at once, ready for the game. And, if it must be acknowledged that it was a rare sight to behold this galaxy of fair young creatures in all their glory of shimmering silk, airy muslin veils, of pearls, sparkling jewels and gold bangles, what must be said of the game itself that gave to all these gracious limbs such varied opportunities of displaying their wealth of subtle beauty in the most charming of positions and movements? And yet that was, as it were, but a prologue. For when these gazelle-eyed worshippers had entertained us for a considerable time with games of the most varied description, they all stepped back, save one, who remained alone in the centre of the jewelled stage: in the centre of the stage, and—in the centre of my heart.

Ah! my friend, what shall I say? To talk of her beauty would be audacity! I should need to be a poet like Bharata himself to conjure up to your fancy even a faint reflection of it. Let it suffice that this maiden, with the gentle radiance of the moon in her face, was of faultless form and glowed in every limb with the freshness of youth; that I felt her to be the incarnate goddess of Fortune and Beauty; and that every smallest hair on my body quivered with delight as I beheld her.

Presently she began, in honour of the goddess whom she so fitly represented, a performance worthy of a great artist. Dropping the ball easily on the stage, as it slowly rose she gave it, with flower-like hand, thumb slightly bent, and tender fingers outstretched, a sharp downward blow, then struck it, as it rebounded, with the back of her hand and caught it again in mid-air as it fell. She tossed it in slow, in moderate, in quick time, now inciting it to rapid motion, anon gently quieting it. Then striking it alternately with the right hand and with the left, she drove it towards every point of the compass and caught it as it returned. If thou art really acquainted with the mysteries of ball-play—as it seemeth to me from the intelligence of thine expression thou art—I need only tell thee that thou hast probably never seen the Curnapada and the Gitamarga so perfectly mastered.

Then she did something that I had never seen, and of which I had not even heard. She took, I must tell thee, two golden balls, and while her feet moved in the dance to the tinkling of the jewels she wore, she made the balls spring so rapidly in lightning-like lines, that one saw but, as it were, the golden bars of a cage in which a wondrous bird hopped daintily to and fro.

It was at this point that our eyes suddenly met.

And to this day, O stranger, I do not understand how it was that I did not instantly drop dead, to be reborn in a heaven of bliss. It may well be, however, that my deeds done in a former life, the fruits of which I have to enjoy in this, were not yet exhausted. Indeed, this balance from my wanderings in the past has, in very truth, carried me safely through various mortal dangers down to the present day, and will, I trust and expect, suffice for a long time to come.

But to return. At this instant one of the balls, which had hitherto been so obedient to her, escaped and flew in a mighty curve down from the stage. Many young folks rushed to seize it. I reached it at the same moment as another youthful, richly dressed man, and we flew at one another, because neither was willing to yield it. Owing to my absolute familiarity with the tricks of the wrestler, I succeeded in tripping him up; but he, in order to hold me back, caught at the crystal chain which I wore round my neck, and to which an amulet was attached. The chain snapped, he went crashing to the earth, and I secured the ball. In a fury, he sprang up and hurled the chain at my feet. The amulet was a tiger-eye, no very specially precious stone, yet it was an infallible safeguard against the evil eye; and now, just as his lighted upon me, I must needs be without it. But what mattered that to me? Did I not hold in my hand the ball which a moment before her lily-hand had touched? And at once, as a highly skilled player should, I succeeded in pitching it with so accurate an aim that it came down just in front of one corner of the stage, and, rising again with a gentle movement, landed, as if tamed, within reach of the fair player, who had not for a moment ceased to keep the other in motion, and who now wove herself again into her golden cage, amid the wild jubilation of the numerous spectators. With that the ball-play in honour of the goddess Lakshmi came to an end, the maidens disappeared from the stage, and we turned our steps homeward.