Chapter 3 3

31 "Which of you is willing to take on the task of relieving the hungry?" Buddha asked his disciples when famine was rampant in Shravasti. Ratnakar, the jeweler, drooped his head and said, "My wealth is too small. How can I help those who are starving?" Jayson, the leader of the royal army, said: "For the disaster victims, even if I donate all my blood, I will not hesitate, but even my own food is not enough." Damapal, who owns a lot of land, sighed: "The drought has sucked my fields like a devil. I don't know how to pay the king's tax yet."

At this moment, Supriya, the daughter of the dervish, stood up. She bowed to everyone and said timidly, "I would like to help the hungry." "What?" Everyone called out in surprise. "How can you fulfill such an important task?" "I am the poorest of you," said Supreya, "and this is my strength. In each of you is my source of wealth and stores." 32 My king didn't know me, so when he asked for tribute, I thought rudely that I could hide and not pay this debt. I flee from the work of the day and the dreams of the night. But his demands tracked my every breath.

Then I began to understand that my king knew me and that I had nowhere to hide. Now I wish to lay my all at his feet and win my foothold in his kingdom. 33 I thought I would shape you, an image from my life to be worshiped by the world, and then I brought my dust and wishes, and my colorful dreams and fantasies. I ask you to use my life to fashion an image from your heart for your love, when you bring your fire and strength, truth, loveliness and peace. 34 "Your Majesty," the servant informed the king, "Saint Narodan has never been kind enough to look upon your royal shrine."

"He's singing under a tree by the road. There are no worshipers in the temple." "They flocked about him like a swarm of bees around a white lotus, and turned their backs on the golden altar of honey." Angry in his heart, the king came to Narodan who was sitting on the grass. He asked sharply, "Master, why did you leave my golden-roofed temple and sit in the dust outside the door and praise God's benevolence?" "Because God does not live in your temple," Narodan replied. The king frowned and said: "You should know that in order to build that artistic miracle, I spent twenty million taels of gold, and held a luxurious ceremony to dedicate it to God."

"Yes, I know that." Narodan replied, "It was in that year that tens of thousands of Li people, whose houses were burned and left homeless, stood at your door in vain, begging for help. "Therefore God said: 'This poor king cannot provide refuge for his people, but he can build a temple for me!" "So he came under a tree by the side of the road and lived with the homeless people. "The temple became a golden bubble with nothing but haughty heat." The king roared angrily, "Get out of my land!" The saint said calmly, "Yes, where you have cast out God, cast me out."

35 The horn lay in the dust. The wind is weary, the light is dead. Ah, ominous day! Come, warriors, take up your flags, singers, sing your war songs! Come on, pilgrims, walk fast along the journey! The horn that lies in the dust awaits us. I am on my way to the temple with my vesper offering, seeking a resting place after a day's torment; hoping my wounds will be healed and my stains washed away, When I found your horn lying in the dust. Isn't it time to light the night light for me? Has the night not sung a lullaby to the stars? O you, blood-red rose, the flower of my sleep has faded and withered!

I was sure my wanderings were over and my debts paid, when suddenly I found your horn lying in the dust. Hit my lifeless heart with the charm of your youth! Let the joys of my life burn brightly in flames. Let the arrows of awakening pierce the heart of night, and let a terror shake the blind and paralyzed. I have picked up your horn from the dust. I will sleep no more - I will walk through a shower of sharp arrows. Some will run out of the house and come to Me, some will cry. Some will toss and turn in bed, moaning in horrible nightmares. For tonight your trumpet will be sounded. I pleaded with you for peace, and found shame.

Now I stand before you - help me put on my armor! Let the heavy blow of trouble shoot fire into my life. Let my heart beat in pain the drum of your victory. I will go to your horn with empty hands. 36 Oh beautiful God, I too was heartbroken when they ecstatically kicked up dust and stained your robes. I cry out to you: "Take up your rod of punishment and judge them." The morning light fell on those eyes reddened by night's carnival, and the place where white lilies met their flaming breath; the stars looked through the holy deep darkness on their drinking, on those who raised dust to stain your robes, O beautiful God!

In gardens thy judgment-seat is set, in the twittering of the spring birds; on the shaded banks the trees whisper and answer the muffled crash of the waves. O my lovers, they have no mercy in lust. They prowl in the dark, grabbing your jewels to satisfy their desires. When they strike you and hurt you, they stab me where it hurts, and I cry to you, "Take out your sword, O my lover, punish them well." However, you have a vigilant heart of justice. The mother's tears fell for their insolence; the immortal fidelity of lovers hid their treacherous swords in their wounds. Thy judgment is contained in the silent pain of love that never sleeps, in the blush of the chaste, in the tears of the lonely at night, and in the pale morning of mercy.

O dreadful god, in their unbridled greed they come to your door in the dead of night, come to your treasury and rob you. But the weight of their stolen goods became heavier and heavier, so heavy that they could not carry it or move it. Therefore I cry out to you: "Forgive them, O terrible God!" Thy forgiveness broke out in a thunderstorm, knocked them down, and scattered their spoils in the dust. Your forgiveness permeates the falling thunderstone, the pouring blood, and the bloody dusk of anger. 37 Upa Gupta, a disciple of the Buddha, was lying on the dust beside the walls of Mathura, soundly asleep.

All the lights were extinguished, all the doors were closed, and all the stars hid in the gray August sky. Whose feet jingling anklets suddenly struck his chest? He woke up with a start, and a light from a woman's hand shone into his benevolent eyes. Here is a dancing girl, bejeweled and clad in a light blue cloak, reveling in the wine of youth. She brought the lamp closer and saw a dignified and handsome young face. "Forgive me, ascetic," said the woman, "for your kindness to the abode. This dusty ground is not a suitable breeding ground for you." The ascetic replied: "Woman, go your way; I will come to you when the time is right." Suddenly, the dark night showed its shiny teeth. Thunder and lightning roared in the sky, and the woman trembled with fright. ... the branches of the roadside trees are in the throes of flowering. In the mild spring air, the cheerful flute sounded from afar. Common people have gone into the woods to participate in the flower festival. From mid-air a full moon gazes at the shadows of the silent town. The young ascetic monk was walking on the lonely street, and above his head, the lovesick cuckoo was resting on the top of the mango tree, pouring out his sleepless laments. Upagupta passes through the gates and stands under the moat. In the shadow of the city wall lay a plague-stricken woman, blotched and hastily driven out of the city.Who is this woman? The ascetic sat down beside her, put her head on his lap, moistened her lips with water, and anointed her whole body with ointment. "O merciful person, who are you?" the woman asked. "At last the time came to visit you, and here I am," replied the young ascetic. 38 It's just a romp of love between us, my lover. Over and over, the night of howling storms swooped down on me and blew out my lamps; black doubts gathered and strangled all the stars from my sky. Over and over again, river banks collapsed, floods washed away my crops, grief and desperation ripped my sky apart. This makes me know: in your love there are painful blows, but there is never the cold silence of death. 39 The walls crumbled and the light broke in like divine laughter. Victory, O light! The heart of the night has been torn apart! With your gleaming sword cut in two lingering doubts and feeble desires. victory! Come, you intolerant light! Come, you appear terrible in whiteness. O light, thy drum beats in the march of fire, the red torches are lifted aloft; and the breath of death dies suddenly in a flash of splendor. 40 O flame, my brother, I sing to you victory. You are the scarlet image of extreme freedom. You wave your arms in the air, your fingers fly across the strings, and your dance music is beautiful. When my days are done and the gates are thrown open, you will burn the ropes of my hands and feet to ashes. My body shall become one with you, my heart shall be drawn into your frenetic whirl, and my life, as burning heat, shall shimmer and melt into your flame. 41 At night, the boatman sets sail across the rough sea. The sails swelled with the wind, and the masts creaked with pain. The sky was bitten by Ye's fangs, poisoned by the black terror, and passed out on the sea. One by one, the crests of the waves crashed into the bottomless darkness, and the boatman set sail across the roaring sea. The boatman has set sail, and I don't know what appointment he is heading for, and the sudden appearance of a white sail shocked the night. I don't know where he will land in the end, walking towards the silent courtyard with lights, looking for her sitting on the ground waiting. A small boat, not afraid of the storm, not afraid of the dark, what is it looking for? Maybe, it's laden with gems and pearls? Ah, no, the boatman carried no jewels, but a white rose in his hand, and a song of joy on his lips. This is dedicated to her.In the middle of the night, with the lights on, she waited alone. She lives in a cottage by the road. Her loose hair fluttered in the wind, blocking her bright eyes. The strong wind snarled through the crack of her dilapidated door, and the light of the simple lamp flickered, casting erratic shadows on the four walls. Through the howling of the wind, she heard him calling her name, her unknown name. A long time has passed since the boatman set sail. It will be a long time before dawn will come and he will knock at the door. No one will beat the drum, and no one will know his coming. Only the sun will fill the house, the dust will be purified, and the soul will be happy. When the boatman docks, all doubts are bound to disappear in the silence. 42 I cling to this living raft, my body, in the narrow stream of my earthly years. When I crossed this stream, the raft was abandoned by me. What's next? I don't know if the light and the darkness are the same there. The Unknown is Eternal Free: He has no mercy in love. He crushes shells in search of pearls silently imprisoned in darkness. Poor heart, you brood and weep for the days gone by! Please be happy for the days ahead! The bell has struck, O pilgrims! You should make a choice at the crossroads! The unknown will once again lift the veil and meet you. 43 King Bimbisar built a shrine to the relic of Buddha, paying homage with pure white marble. In the evening, all the concubines and princesses of the royal family will come here to light the lights and present flowers. After the prince became king, during his reign, he used blood to rob his father's faith, and used the holy book to ignite the flame of sacrifice. Autumn is dying. The hour of vespers was drawing near. The queen's maid, Shrimati, was devout to the Buddha. After bathing in the holy water, she decorated the gold plate with bright lamps and pure white flowers, silently raised her black eyes, and stared at the queen's face. The queen was silent, and then said: "Stupid girl, don't you know that anyone who goes to the Buddha's temple to worship Buddha will be punished with death? This is the king's will. " Shrimati bowed deeply to the queen, turned and stepped out of the door, and found the prince's bride Amita, standing in front of her. A golden mirror is placed on her knees, and the bride braids her long black hair in front of the mirror, and puts an auspicious red mole on the hairline of her forehead. As soon as she saw the young maid, she cried with trembling hands: "What terrible misfortune do you wish to bring upon me? Leave me at once." Princess Sukla is sitting in front of the window, reading a love novel with the setting sun. She couldn't help being surprised when she saw the maid standing at the door holding the sacrifice. The book fell from her lap, and she whispered into Shrimati's ear, "Bold woman, don't go to die!" Shrimati walked through door after door. She raised her head and shouted loudly: "Women of the palace, come quickly, the time to worship Buddha has come!" Some immediately closed the door, and some opened their mouths to insult her. The last rays of daylight faded from the bronze dome of the palace. Deep shadows fell on the street corners; the noise of the city fell silent; the gong of Shiva's universe announced that the hour of vespers had come. On an autumn night, as deep as a calm lake, the stars trembled in the darkness. At this time, the guards of the imperial garden looked through the shadows of the trees and were surprised to find a row of bright lights lit up in front of the Buddha Temple. They drew out their sharp swords, rushed towards them, and shouted loudly: "Idiot, who are you, how dare you seek death?" "I am Shrimati," replied a sweet voice, "I am a servant of the Buddha." Immediately afterwards, the blood from her heart stained the cold marble red. The stars were silent, and the last sacrificial lamp in front of the temple was extinguished tragically. 44 The day that stands between you and me, bows farewell one last time. The night that casts a veil over the day also hides a lamp that burns in my bedroom. Your dark servant came in noiselessly and spread out the wedding rug for you, so that you and I would sit alone in wordless silence until the night passed away. 45 My nights are spent in the bed of sorrow, my eyes are weary.My heavy heart was not ready to meet the morning hours with overflowing joy. To veil the naked light, to wave away from me this dazzling flicker and dance of life. Let you wrap me in the folds of a cloak of tender darkness, and shield my pain for a moment from the pressures of the world.