I was presently to see, however, and that plainly, that my learned and, by popular pronouncement, now “sainted” friend had been mistaken when he averred that a robber constellation had shone upon me at my birth. For on no part of the way to Ujjeni did we see even a trace of robbers, and yet scarcely a week later a caravan we met after we had gone through a large forest hard on the borders of Avanti was fallen upon by robbers in this very wood.
It has been the source of many a curious reflection to me that the purest chance should to all appearance have led to my remaining in civil life, instead of adopting, as my heart so ardently desired, the life of the robber. Not that it is impossible for one of the nightly paths of Kali to lead directly to the path of the pilgrim; just as, of the hundred and one veins filled with quinque-coloured fluid, but a single one leads to the head, and is that one by which, at death, the soul leaves the body.
So also it is quite possible that even had I become a robber, I might nevertheless have been a pilgrim now, and on the way, with salvation as my goal. Besides, when a man has attained to salvation, all his works, whether good or bad, disappear, burnt to ashes, as it were, in the fervour of his knowledge.
Moreover, the interval, had it been given to the life of the robber rather than to civil life, might not, in so far as its moral fruits are concerned, have fallen out so differently as thou wouldst expect, O brother. For, during the time I dwelt among the robbers, I came to know that there are among them many different types, of which some possess most excellent qualities, and that, certain external features apart, the difference between robbers and honest folks is not quite so vast as the latter would fain have us believe. And, furthermore, in the ripe period of life on which I now entered, I could not help noticing that the honest folks dabbled in the handiwork of the thieves and robbers—a number of them, as opportunity offered, and, as it were, improvising; others regularly, and with great as well as, so far as they personally were concerned, highly profitable skill, so that by mutually lessening the dividing distance, not a little contact, even, took place between the groups.
For which reason I am really unable to say whether I have or have not, by the help of the favouring fate which held me back from the nightly paths of the goddess-dancer with her swaying necklace of human skulls, actually won so very much.
After this profound reflection, the pilgrim Kamanita became silent, and turned his eyes, lost in thought, on the full moon, which rose large and glowing into the heavens directly over the distant forest—the haunt of the robbers—and flooded with a stream of light the open hall of the potter, where it seemed to transform the yellow mantle of the Master into pure gold, like to the raiment of some godlike image.
The Lord Buddha—on whom the pilgrim, attracted by the splendour, but without having the smallest inkling of the identity of him whom he beheld, involuntarily turned his gaze—indicated his sympathy by a measured inclination of the head, and said—
“Still I but see thee, pilgrim, turning thy steps rather towards home than homelessness, although the path to the latter had of a truth opened itself to thee with sufficient plainness.”
“Even so, O Reverend One! My dim eyes failed to see the path to freedom, and I took my way, as thou sayest, to the home.”
The pilgrim sighed deeply, and by and by, in a fresh, clear voice, resumed the record of his experiences.
XIII
The Boon Companion
The end of the matter was that I continued to reside in the house of my parents in Ujjeni.
This, my native town, O stranger, is, as all the world knows, famed throughout India not less for its revels and unstinted enjoyment of life than for its shining palaces and magnificent temples. Its broad streets resound by day with the neighing of horses and the trumpeting of elephants, and by night with the music of lovers’ lutes and the songs of gay carousers.
But of all the glories of Ujjeni, none enjoy a reputation so extraordinary as do its courtesans. From the great ladies who live in palaces, building temples to the gods, laying out public parks for the people, and in whose reception-rooms one meets poets, artists, and actors, distinguished strangers, and, occasionally, even princes, down to the common wenches, all are beauties with softly swelling limbs and indescribable grace. At all great festivals, in processions and exhibitions, they form the chief adornment of the beflagged and flower-strewn streets. In crimson dresses, with fragrant wreaths in their hands, the air about them heavy with delicious odours, their attire sparkling with diamonds, dost thou see them, O brother, sitting on their own magnificent grandstands moving along the streets, with glances full of love, seductive gestures, and playfully laughing words, everywhere fanning the heated senses of the pleasure-seekers to living flame?
Honoured by the king, worshipped by the people, besung by the poets, they are fitly named “the many-coloured floral crown of the rock-enthroned Ujjeni,” and draw down upon us the envy of the less favoured neighbouring towns. Not unfrequently the choicest of our beauties go to these places as guests, and it actually happens that one
