Indian Idylls · 5 of 9

The Saint’s Temptation

(FROM THE VANA FARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA.- PAGE 565, LINE 10007- CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION.)

BORN of the White Doe, in the woods he dwelt, That sinless saint, pious and mild and pure, Sad-minded, solitary; for his eyes Had never lighted on a human face, Except his sire, Vibhandika’s; and thus Always young Rishyasringa’s heart was set On sanctities (O King!).

[1. A curious interest attaches to this legend, now for the first time extracted from the Mahâbhârata. It is familiar in Ceylon as the Nâlini Jâtaka, Buddha being made the sage Vibbandika, and the princess Nâlini-daughter of the Raja of Benares-the temptress of the youthful saint.]

At which far time Lômapâd, friend of Dasarath, was Lord In Anga. He, ’tis told, spake falsely once Unto a Brahmana; and thereupon The Brahmans fled from that dishonored court. So, when no priest was left, no purôhit, He, of the thousand eyes, Indra, withheld His rains, whereby sore suffered all the folk: And (O my King!) Lômapâd sent in grief, Praying his wisest if they knew the cause Of Indra’s wrath, and what should make him rain.

Thus questioned, these took counsel; and one spake, A chief of sages, - “O superior Lord, The Brahmanas are angered for thy word Forsworn: thou therefore make them fit amends; And hither bring Rishyasring, who dwells Alone, amid the groves, holy and mild; Whose eyes have never seen a woman’s face; Whose heart is pure. If the fair boy shall come, The clouds of Indra will let fall their drops That very day; of this thing doubt ye not!”

Hearing their words, the Raja purged his guilt With princely gifts, soothing the Brahmanas; And when their hearts were good, he came again Unto his kingdom, making all folks glad. And, next, the Lord of Anga called his best Among the ministers to compass means How Rishyasringa. might be brought; and those, Deep read in Shastra, Artha, Niti, all, - Counselled the wiles of woman; whereupon A band of comely, winsome girls were bid Unto the palace, skilled in arts to please. And the King, said: “Beautiful damsels, bring Rishyasringa hither, that saint’s son; Entice, allure, persuade, - ye know men’s hearts.” But they, fearing the King, yet fearing more The saint’s curse, if they vexed him, one by one Answered: “Yea, Raja, hearts of men we know; But in this thing how shall we serve thy will?”

Then one arose, white-haired and wrinkled deep, An ancient dame, who spake unto the King: “See, Maharaja! I will fetch this boy, Albeit an ocean of austerities. Do thou command that there be granted me Means for my need, that so I may prevail, And bring the Rishi’s son, this pearl of saints.”

“What needest thou?” quoth he. And when he knew, Much store of silver and of gold and gems He gave the dame; who from the ring of girls, Laughing, drew forth the fairest, wilfullest; And muttering, “He will come!” passed to the woods.

And there she built - (so Lomarsha went on) Not by the King’s word, but her own device, A floating bower to swim upon the stream. Full sweet she fashioned it, from woven boughs Of verdure, interlaced with palms and vines, And clasped by climbing stems, and hung with fruit Golden and rosy, and with bright blooms decked; Afterwards, on the river launched her boat, — The damsel seated ’neath its leafy screen, - So that it came, with paddle, stream, and breeze, Through the trees stealing, down the silvery road Softly and silent to the Rishi’s haunt; When lightly tripped the lovely girl ashore, And, looking in his eyes, demurely spake: -

“O Muni! [1] is it peace with you? are all the Rishis well? And have you roots and fruits enough? and take you joy to dwell All lonely in this hermitage, which I am come to see? And add you, day by day, dear saint, unto your sanctity? And, Brahman, doth your sire rejoice to watch you fast and pray? And do you read, O Rishyasring! the Vedas every day?”

Answered that blushing boy delightedly:

[1. This word signifies “saint,” as also Rishi.]

O unknown one, who shinest like the splendor of a star, Peace and good will! for due to thee my salutations are Accept, I pray thee, at my hands, the Padya [1] and this thrift Of roots and fruits, as duty bids, a hermit’s humble gift; And be thou pleased upon this mat of kusa grass to sit, Or, better, let the black deer’s skin be smoothly spread on it. Fair is the day which bringeth thee; O sweet saint, where may be Thy hermitage, and what vow fills the holy hours of thee?

Right archly answered him the laughing girl: -

“O son of pious Kasyapa, my charming bower lies Under a mountain far removed from these austerities, Three yojanas away, - away, - nor is it meet for me

[1. It was the graceful and wholesome custom of Indian hospitality to offer water for washing the feet (padya) to a stranger or guest arriving from a journey.]

Thus to be reverenced, nor to touch this water, nor to see A Rishi kneeling at my feet; far otherwise my state! Love is the vow which fills my life, and makes my heart elate.”

Perplexed, yet radiant, the boy replied: What should I do to pleasure thee? I ‘ll bring thee fruits we find Within our groves, bhallatakas, ingudas with gold rind; Karushakas, amâlakas, dhanwanas honey-sweet, Or pippalas; see, these are here; wilt thou not take and eat?”

But smilingly she put them by, and reached Rare cakes to him, spiced as no hermit knows, Pleasant of taste, which the boy ate with joy. And on his neck and wrists lightly she strung Garlands of subtle-scented flowers; and crowned Her own bright brows; and drew a light robe on, Laughing; and so, with murmuring song, unbound Her body-cloth, and, waving, weaving it, Paced the soft Kanduka,[1] with beating feet And bosoms lithely swayed, as flower-cups sway When the wind shakes their clusters; - at the last Danced to his side, and for a moment set Palm to his palm and limb to limb, and lip To trembling lip, and breast to beating breast: Then turned aside, and drew the branches down Of sarja, tilah, and asoka trees, Plucking their buds, shameless and well-content Because she saw love lighted in his heart. For, knowing well her triumph, and the saint Obtained, once more she clasped her soft brown arms About him, and with eyes fixed on his eyes Withdrew; having enkindled passion’s flame Where only fires of sacrifice had burned.

[1. A kind of dance in which the performer plays with a ball as she dances.]

WHEN she was gone, young Rishyasringa stood As one some dream of heaven hath left distraught, Spiritless - then within his lonely cell Sit, with lace fixed through many silent hours, Her beauties meditating.

Presently Vibhandaka, of Kasyapa the son, Returned. Much insight of the Veds had bleared His ancient orbs; a thick pile covered him, Body and legs and arms, to the finger-ends; A holy man; purified, dedicate To contemplation. He, arriving, saw The lad in deep thought plunged, sitting apart Dejected, fetching sigh on sigh, with glance Upturned. Whereat inquired Vibhandaka: My child, why hast thou gathered not the wood? Didst thou perform the sacrifice to-day? And didst thou lead the calf to suck the cow?[1]

[1. This was the sacred cow, kept at the hermitage for religious uses.]

Why art thou sad? I pray thee tell me true, - Hath one been with thee here to-day? “

The boy Gave answer: “Yea, a Brahmacharya came. His[1] locks were braided, and his comely form Seemed nor too tall nor short; fair-voiced he was, Colored as is new gold, with broad bright eyes Which were like lotus-blossoms. As gods shine, So - of his own divine grace - glittered he A glory had he like the sacred sun; And, ah! his dark, deep glance; and oh, his hair Tied tip with blue; sweet-smelling, lustrous, long! A necklace curled and clung about his neck, Sparkling like lightning on a dusky sky; And underneath his throat swelled forth to sight Two globes, flower-soft and smooth, fair-fashioned, large. His waist so tapered back and front came close; [2]

[1. Rishyasringa takes his visitant for a man, knowing no better.

2 This is a literal transcript from the Sanskrit, which means that the waist was so small (a great charm with Indian poets) as to be almost imperceptible.]

Below, his hips outrounded wondrously; A jewelled girdle hung above his thighs, And some strange tinkling ornaments adorned His feet. Also, upon his arms were gems Which chattered like the breast-beads of my string, (Ah, but so musically!) when he moved, - ’Twas as the songs of wild swans on our lake. The cloths he wore showed goodly, -not like mine. And when he spoke, those honeyed words which fell Gladdened my heart and passed into my soul, Deep -deep, till dearer seemed it than the notes Of Koils piping! Also, as the woods- When in the Madhva month the breezes blow - Shake fragrance forth, so there did waft from him Sweet breaths on every air. Over his brows The locks sat smooth, drawn forward from his braids; And in his ears swung little painted stones Brighter than chakravâka birds. Sometimes With skilful hand he tossed a ball aloft, Which fell to earth, and, bounding to his palm, Was beaten back again, and yet again, Wondrous to see; while this and that way waved His body like a tree which the wind bends. Ah, while I saw him so, like a young god, My heart grew full. I worshipped that fair saint. Full oft, too, he embraced me ‘ holding me Close, by the hair, and, drawing down my cheek, And covering up my mouth with his soft mouth, Upon my lips made tender sounds,- and this Gave me strange joy! He would not willingly Accept ‘foot-water,’ nor the fruits I brought. He had a vow was otherwise, he said; But showed me unknown fruits, more delicate Than aught we ever taste of here; no rind They had, nor flesh like ours. Also he gave Sweet juices to me, which I drank, and felt A quickening glow, lifting my eyebrows up. Those wreaths of scented blossoms, strung with silk, Are from his hand; he left them here, dear saint (Who by his fasts, no doubt, so splendid shows,) When he withdrew to seek his hermitage. Now he is gone, I am become as nought; My senses fail, my body burns. I ask Only to go to him, or else that he Should always come to us. Father, demand His presence; learn his Brahmacharya’s name. I wish to exercise with that wise man The penance they perform; I long to do it; My heart will break, if I see him no more!”

Vibhandaka spake sternly: “Son, there walk Wonderful Rakshasîs in this our wood, Dreadful for strength and cunning comeliness; Ofttimes to interrupt our rites they seek; Ofttimes, with winsome wiles, and beauteous shapes, Tempt saints to abandon Swarga’s heavenly rest. He who will rule his mind and reach toward bliss, With such makes no society, nor looks The way of those, th’ abominable, who snare The pious. Yea, my son, the foods she gave Are evil and forbidden, and conduce To sin. Yon wreaths, moreover, must not lie Within a hermitage, where Munis live; For soul- corrupting is their subtle scent. Nay, ’twas a Rakshasî!”

So did the sage Counsel that youthful saint, admonishing him, And afterwards set forth to seek the witch; But nowhere finding her, came home again.

Yet it befell, upon another day Vibliandaka went forth to pluck those fruits Which are most meet to make the sacrifice Of Sravan; and she came again, the girl, Silently shining through the trees; and he Saw her, and seeing, utterly forgot Rishis and Rakshasîs, so joyed he was, So with strong love transported; for she sighed, “Rishyasring!” And with one word he took Her palm, and led her to the lonely hut, Whose porch they entered.

Afterwards (O King!) Langhingly did she win him to the bank With honeyed arts, and lightly him entranced, Floating and fondling down the silvery stream, Until they came to Anga. There she drew The green boat in, and moored it ’neath the shade Love’s ark, - plain to be seen, and by all folk Named Navyasrama, “The Floating Shrine.” So Lômapâd brought in the Rishi’s son: And lo! great Indra’s wrath was gone; the rain Burst o’er the land, and drenched the thirsty fields But Rishyasringa to his forest-cell Came back no more!