The Pilgrim Kamanita

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,

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.

A great outcry brought me abruptly back to rude reality. As though a wicked magician had suffered them to grow up out of the soil, armed men swarmed about us, and the neighbouring thickets added constantly to their numbers. They were already at the wagons, which I had ordered to be drawn up in a circle round the tree, and had begun to fight with my people, who were practised in the handling of arms, and defended themselves bravely. I was soon in the thick of the fight. Several robbers fell by my hand. Suddenly, I saw before me a tall, bearded man of horrible aspect, the upper part of his body naked, and about his neck a triple row of human thumbs. Like a flash, the knowledge came to me: “This is Angulimala, the cruel, bloodthirsty robber, who makes of the villages blackened rooftrees; of the towns, heaps of smoking ruins; of the wide lands, desert wastes; who does away with innocent people and hangs their thumbs about his neck.” And I believed my last hour was come. As a matter of fact, the monster at once struck my sword out of my hand⁠—a feat with which I would have credited no being of flesh and blood. Soon I lay on the ground, fettered hand and foot. Round about me all my people were killed save one, an old servant of my father’s, who was overpowered by numbers, and, like myself, had been made prisoner without a wound. Gathered in groups round about us, under the shady roof of the gigantic tree, the robbers indulged themselves to their hearts’ content.

In this dreamy condition, I heard, near me, one woman say to another: “But the bride⁠—she doesn’t look at all happy!”

Hardly conscious of what I did, I glanced upward, and a strangely uneasy feeling stole over me as I caught sight of the figure sitting there under the purple baldachin. Figure, I say⁠—the face I couldn’t see, because the head was sunk upon the breast⁠—but even of a figure one saw little, and it seemed as if in that mass of rainbow-coloured muslins, although a body did exist, it was not one gifted with life or any power of resistance. The way in which she swayed hither and thither at every movement of the animal, whose powerful strides caused the tent on his back to rock violently to and fro, had something unutterably sad, something to make one shudder in it. There was really cause to fear that she might at any moment plunge headlong downward. Some such idea may have occurred to the maiden standing behind her, for she laid her hand on the shoulder of the bride, and bent forward, possibly to whisper a word of courage in her ear.

An icy fear all but lamed me as, in the supposed servant, I recognised⁠—Medini. And before this suddenly awakened foreboding had time to grow clear within me, Satagira’s bride had raised her head.

I stood today⁠—he began⁠—a few hours after sunrise at the edge of the forest, gazing out at the towers of Kosambi, my mind full of vengeance on Satagira and revolving the question as to whether thou wouldst bring me the desired information, when, on the road which leads from the eastern gate to the forest, I became aware of a solitary traveller, garbed in a yellow cloak, who paced vigorously forward. On both sides of the road, herdsmen and peasants were busied with their daily toil. And I observed how those who were nearest the road shouted something to the lonely traveller, while those who were farther off also paused in the middle of their work, looked after him, and pointed with their fingers. The men who were near enough appeared, the farther he advanced, to warn him the more eagerly, yes, even to seek to stop him, while some ran after him, seized his cloak, and then with hurried and horror-stricken gestures pointed to the wood. I almost believed I could hear them calling to him, “No farther! Don’t go into the forest! There the fearful robber Angulimala has his lair.”

But the traveller came onward, undisturbed, in the direction of the wood. And now I saw from his cloak and his closely shaven head that he was an ascetic, one of those who belong to the Order of the Son of the Sakyas, an old man of commanding stature.

And I thought to myself, “Passing strange, truly!