The Saint's Temptation

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!).

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! 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:

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 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

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, 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.

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?

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 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;

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!