**1
*Fruit Gathering
*1
Ask me and I shall gather my fruits to bring them in <+++> {full} baskets into your courtyard though some are lost and some not ripe.
For the season is heavy with its burden and shepherd<’s>{s’} pipes in the shade<+++>{s} are pensive.
If you allow me I shall set sail on the river to cross home to you. The March wind is fretful teasing the weary waves into murmurs. The work of the field is over and the call comes for me from your house.
±{F. G.— I}±
**2
*Fruit Gathering
*5
A mere handful of dust could obscure it when I knew not the meaning of thy signal.
Now that I am wiser I read it in all that did hide it before.
It is painted in petals of flowers; sea waves flash it from their foams; hills hold it high on their summits.
I had my face turned away from you, thus I read the letters all awry and knew not their meaning.
±{F. G.— V}±
**3
*Fruit Gathering
*7
Alas, I cannot stay in the house, and home is no home to me, for the eternal stranger calls me, he is going along the road.
The sound of his footfalls knocks at my breast, it pains me!
The wind is up, the sea is moaning. I leave all my cares and doubts to follow the homeless tide, for the stranger calls me, he is going along the road.
±{F. G.— VII}±
**4
*Fruit Gathering
*8
Be ready for the sailing of the sea, my heart! and let those linger behind who must.
For your name me has been called in the morning sky. Wait for none!
The desire of the bud is for the shelter of the night to be fed with the dew but the blown flower cries for the freedom of light.
Burst your sheath, my heart, and come out!
±{F. G.— VIII}±
**5
*Fruit Gathering
*9
When I tarried supine among my hoarded treasure I felt like a worm that feeds in the dark upon the fruit in which it was born.
I leave this prison of the feast of decay.
I care not to haunt the mouldly stillness of stored things, dallying with death for I go in quest of the everlasting youth;—
I throw away all that is not one with my life nor as light as my laughter.
I rush through time and, O my heart, in your chariot dances the mad poet who slngs as he wanders.
±{F. G.— IX}±
**6
*Fruit Gathering
*11
It decks me onl<+++>{y} to mock me, this jewelled chain of mine.
It bruises me when on my neck, it st<+++>{r}angles me when I struggle to tear it off.
It grips my throat, It chokes my song.
Could I but offer it to your hand, my lord, I would be saved.
Take it from me and in exchange bind me to you with a simple flower garland, for I am ashamed to stand before you with this jewelled chain on my neck.
±{F G— XI}±
**7
*Fruit Gathering
*12
Down below flowed the Jumna, s<+++>{w}ift and clear, above frowned the jutting bank<,>{.} Hills dark with forests and scarred with rushing torrents stood around like giant motion held in chains.
Govinda, the great Sikh teacher, sat on the rock reading scriptures, when Raghunath, his rich {and proud} disciple, came and bo<+++>{w}ed to him and said, “I have brought my poor present unworthy of your acceptance.”
Thus saying he <laid> {displayed} before the teacher a pair of golden bangles wrought with costly stones.
The master took up one of them twirling it round his finger, and the diamonds darted shafts of light. Suddenly it slipped from his hand and rolled down the bank into the water.
“Alas,” screamed Raghunath, and jumped into the stream. The teacher set his eyes upon his book and the water <kept> {held} its theft darkly hidden and went its way.
The daylight faded when Raghunath came back to the teacher tired and dripping. He panted and said, “I can still get it back if you show it to me where it fell.”
The teacher took up the remaining bangle and throwing it across into the water said, “It is there.”
±{F G— XII}±
**8
*Fruit Gathering
*14
My portion of the best in this world will come from your hands such was your promise to me.
Therefore your light glistens in my tears and my pain has the music that is yours.
I fear to be led by others on my path lest I miss your guidance waiting for me in some road corner. I walk my own wilful way till I tempt <by> you by my very folly to bring me to your door.
For I have your words that my portion of the best in this world will come from your own hands.
±{F G— XIV}±
**9
*Fruit Gathering
*16
They knew the path and went to seek you along the narrow lane— but I wandered abroad, for I was ignorant.
I was not schooled enough to be afraid of you in the dark, therefore I struck against your doorsteps unaware.
The wise rebuked me and asked me to go back, for I had not travelled by the road.
I turned back in doubt, when you held me fast in your arms barring my retreat, and their scolding becomes louder everyday.
±{F G— XVI}±
**10
*Fruit Gathering
*17
I brought out my earthen lamp from my house and cried, “Come children, I will light your path!”
The night was still dark when I came back to the house leaving the road to its silence, crying, “Light me, O Fire! for my earthen lamp lies broken in the dust!”
±{F G— XVII}±
**11
*Fruit Gathering
*18
No; it is not yours to open buds into blossoms.
Shake the bud, strike it; it is beyond your power to make it blossom.
Your touch soils it, you tear its petals to pieces, and strew <it> {them} on the dust.
But no colors appear, and no perfume.
Ah! it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom.
He who can open the bud into a blossom does it so simply.
He gives it a glance of his eyes, and the life sap stirs through its veins,
At his breath the flowers spreads its wings and flutters in the wind.
Colors flush out like heart-longings, the perfume betrays sweet secrets.
He who can open the bud does it so simply.
±{F G— XVIII}±
**12
*Fruit Gathering
*21
I will meet one day the Everlife within me that hides in my life, though the moments barricade my way with their odds {and} ends.
I have known it in glimpses, and its fitful breaths came to me making my thoughts fragrant for a while.
I will meet one day the Everjoy without me that dwells behind the screen of light— and will stand in the overflowing solitude where all things are seen as seen by their creator.
±{F G— XXI}±
**13
*Fruit Gathering
*23
The poet’s mind floats and dances on the waves of life amidst the clamorous voices of wind and water.
Now when the sun has set and the darkened sky draws down upon the sea like tired eyelids upon drowsy eyes it is time to take the poet’s pen from him and let his thoughts sink into the bottom of the deep amidst the eternal secrets of silence.
±{F G— XXIII}±
**14
*Fruit Gathering
*45
My night has passed on the bed of sorrow, and my eyes are tired.
My heavy heart is not yet ready to meet morning with its crow{d}ed joys.
Draw a veil over this unsheathed light, beckon aside from me these flashe<+++>{s} and dances of life.
Let thy mentle of tender darkness cover me in its folds, and screen my pain awhile from the rude pressure of the jostling world.
±{F G— XXLV
F. G. XLV
(1916)}±
**15
*Fruit Gathering
*24
The night is dark and your slumber is deep in the hush of my being.
Wake, O <p>{P}ain of Love, for I know not how to open the door, and I stand outside.
The hours wait, the stars watch, the wind is still, the silecnce is heavy in my heart.
Wake, Love, wake! brim my empty cup and with a breath of songs ruffle the night.
±{F. G XXIV}±
**16
*Fruit Gathering
*27
Sanatan was telling his beads by the Ganges when a Brahmin in rags came to him and said, “Help me, I am poor!”
“My alms-bowl is all that is my own,” said Sanatan, “I have given away everything I had.”
“But my lord Shiva came to me in my dreams” said the Brahmin “and counselled me to come to you.”
When suddenly Sanatan remembered he had picked up a stone of priceless value from the pebbles on the banks of the river, and thinking that someone might need it hid it in the sands.
He pointed the spot to the Brahmin, who dug up the stone and was surprised.
He sat on the earth and mused alone till the sun went down behind the trees, and cow-herds went home with their cattle.
Then he rose and came slowly to Sanatan and said, “Master, give me the least fraction of th<at>{e} wealth that disdains all the wealth of the world.”
And he threw away the gem into the water.
±{F. G XXVII}±
**17
*Fruit Gathering
*30
A smile of mirth spread over the sky when you dressed my heart in rags and sent her forth into the road to beg.
She went from door to door and many a time wnen her bowl was nearly full she was robbed.
At the end of the weary day she came to your <placeF> palace-gate holding up her pitiful bowl, when you came out and took her hand and seated her beside you on your throne.
±{F. G XXX}±
**18
*Fruit Gathering
*31
“Who among you will take up the duty of feeding the starving?” Lord Buddha asked to his fo<r>{l}<r>{l}owers when famine raged at Shravasti.
Ratnakar, the banker, hung his head and said “Much more is needed than all my wealth to feed the hungry multitude.”
Jaysen, the ch<+++>{ie}f of King’s army, said, “I could gladly give my life’s blood if needed, but where is enough food in my house?”
Dharmapal, who owned broad acres of land, said with a sigh, “The drought demon has sucked my fields dry. I know not how to pay King’s dues.”
Then rose Supriya, the mendicant’s daughter. She bowed to all and meekly said, “I will feed the hungry.”
“How!” they cried in surprise, “How could you ever dare to hope to fulfil your vow?”
“I am the poorest of you all” said Suprlya “that is my strength. I have my coffer and my store at each one of your house.”
±{F G XXXI}±
**19
*Fruit Gathering
*32
My king was unknown to me,
Therefore when he claimed his tribute I was bold to think I would hide myself
Leaving my debts unpaid.
I fled and fled
Behind my day’s work and my nights’ dreams.
But his claims followed me at every breath I drew.
Thus came I to know that I am known of him
And no place is left which is mine.
Now I wish to lay my all before his feet
And gain the right to my own place in his kingdom.
±{F. G XXXII}±
**20
*Fruit Gathering
*33
When I thought I would mould you, an image from my life for men to worship,
I brought my dust and desires and all my coloured delusions and dreams.
When I asked you to mould with my life an image from your heart for you to love, you brought your fire and force, and truth, <love> loveliness and peace.
±{F. G XXXIII}±
**21
*Fruit Gathering
*34
“Sire” announced the servant to the King “the saint Narottam never deigns to step into your royal temple.
He is singing God’s praise under the trees by the open road. The temple is empty of all worshippers.
They flock round him like bees round the fragrant white lotus leaving the golden jar of honey unheeded.”
The King vexed at heart, went to the spot where Narottam sat on the grass.
৲“Father,৲ ৴He asked him,৴ “why leave my tem<l>{p}le of golden dome and sit on the <+++>{d}ust outside to preach God’s love?”
“Because God is not there in your temple” said Narottam.
The King frowned and said, “Do you know twenty millions of gold have been spent on that marvel of art and the temple was duly consecrated to God with costly rites.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Narottam, “It was the dread year when thousands of your people lost their home in fire and stood at your door for help in vain.
**22
And God said— The poor creature who can give no shelter to his brothers would aspire to build me my house! Thus he took his place with the shelterless under the trees by the road. And that golden bubble is empty of all but hot vapour of pride.”
The King cried in anger, “Leave my land.”
৲“Yes,৲ ৴Calmly said the saint,৴{“}banish me to where you have banished my God.”
±{F. G XXXIV}±
**23
*Fruit Gathering
*35
Thy trumpet lies in the dust.
The wind is weary, the light is dead. Ah the evil day!
Come fighters, carrying your flags and singers with your songs!
Come pilgrims hurrying on your journey!
The trumpet lies In the dust waiting for us.
I was on my way to the temple with my evening offerings,
Seeking for the heaven of rest after the day’s dust<y> toil;
Hoping my hurts would be healed and stains in my garment washed white,
When I found thy trumpet lying in the dust.
Had it not been the time for me to light my eve<+++>{n}ing lamp?
Had not the night sung its lullaby to the stars?
O thou blood-red rose, my poppies have paled and faded<?>{!}
I was certain my wanderings were over and my debts all paid
When suddenly I came upon thy trumpet lying in the dust.
Strike my drowsy heart with thy spell of youth!
Let my joy in life blaze up in fire.
Let the shafts of awakening fly piercing the heart of nigh<y>{t}
And a thrill of dread shake the palsied blindness.
I have come to raise thy trumpet from the dust.
**24
Sleep is no more for me— my walk shall he through showers of arrows.
Some shall run out of their houses and come to my side,— some shall weep.
Some in their beds shall toss and groan in dire dreams.
For tonight thy trumpet shall be sounded.
From thee I had asked peace only to find shame.
How I stand before thee— help me to don my armour!
Let hard blows of trouble strike fire into my life.
Let my heart beat in pain— beating the drum of thy victory.
My hands shall be utterly emptied to take up thy trumpet.
±{F. G XXXV}±
**25
*Fruit Gathering
*36
When, mad in their mirth, they raise dust to soil thy robe, Oh Beautiful, it makes my heart sick.
I cry to thee and ask, “Take thy rod of punishment in thy hand for this once and judge them.”
Ah, but ceaseless is thy judgment.
The morning light strikes them in their eyes red with the revel of night;
The scent of the white lily greets their burning breath;
The stars through the depth of the sacred dark stare at them in their carousing— those that raise dust to soil thy robe , Oh Beautiful!
Thy Judgment seat is in the flower garden, <in the b>
In the bird’s notes in springtime;
In the shady river banks, where the trees whisper in answer to the lisping of the waves.
Oh my Lover, they are pitiless in their passion.
They prowl in the dark to snatch thy ornaments to deck their desires.
When they dare to strike thee and thou art pained, it pierces me to the quick,
And I cry to thee and ask, “Take thy sword, Oh my Lover, and judge them!
Ah, but thy justice is ever active.
The mother’s tears are shed on their insolence;
The perishless faith of the lover takes their spears of rebellion into its own wounds to hide them.
**26
Thy judgment is in the mute pain of sleepless love;
In the blush of pure hearts;
In the tears of the night of desolation;
In the pale mornlng-light of forgiveness.
Oh Terrible, they in their reckless greed cross thy gate at night, breaking into thy storehouse to rob the<+++>{e}.
The weight of their b<+++>{u}rden of plunder grows immense, too heavy to carry or to remove.
I cry to thee and ask, Forgive them, Oh Terrible!
Thy forgiveness bursts in storm<,>{s} throwing them down, scattering their thefts in the dust.
Thy forgiveness is in the thunderflame;
In the angry red of the sunset;
In the shower of blood;
In the sudden concussion of things.
±{F. G XXXVI}±
**27
*Fruit Gathering
*37
Upagupta, the disciple of Bud{d}ha, lay asleep on the dust by the city wall of Mathura.
Lamps were all out, doors were shut in the town, and stars were hidden in clouds in the murky sky of August.
Whose feet were those tinkling with anklets, touching his breast of a sudden?
He woke up starting, and rude light from the woman’s lamp struck his forgiving eyes.
It was the dancing girl, drunk with the <youth> {wine}of her youth, starred with jewels, and clouded with a pale-blue mantle.
She lowered her lamp and saw the young face, <austerly> {austerely} beautiful.
“Forgive me, young ascetic,” said the woman, “graciously come to my house. The dusty earth is not a fit bed for you.”
The ascetic answered, “Go on your way, fair woman. When the time is ripe I will come and see you.”
Suddenly the black night showed its teeth in a flash of lightning.
The storm growled from the corner of the sky, and the woman trembled in fear.
**28
The wind was wild. The branc{h}es of the wayside trees were aching with blossoms.
Gay notes of the flute came floating in the warm spring air from afar.
The citizens had gone to the woods, to the festival of flowers.
From the mid-sky smiled the full moon on the shadows of the silent town.
The young ascetic was wal<+++>{k}ing in the lonely city road, while overhead the lovesick koels urged from the mango branches their sleepless plaints.
Upagupta passed through the city gates, and stood at the base of the rampart.
What woman was it lying in the shadow of the wall at his feet?
Struck with the black pestilence, her body spotted with sores, she was driven away from the town with haste for fear of her fatal touch.
The ascetic sat by her side, taking her head on his knees, and moistened her lips with water and smeared her body with balm.
“Who are you, kind angel of mercy?” asked the woman,
“The time{,} at last, has come for me to visit you, and I have come,” replied the young ascetic.
±{F. G XXXVII}±
**29
*Fruit Gathering
*40
O fire, my brother, I sing victory to you.
You are the bright red image of fearful freedom.
You swing your arms in the sky, you sweep your impetuous fingers upon the strings of <my> {your} [\Vina\], your mad dance music is fiercely beautiful.
When my days are ended and the gates are opened you will burn to ashes the cordage from my hands and feet.
My body will be one with you, my heart will be caught in the whirls of your frenzy, and the burning heat of my life will flash up and mingle itself in your flame.
±{F G XL}±
**30
*Fruit Gathering
*43
Over the relic of Lord Buddha King Bimbisar built a shrine, a salutation in white marble.
There in the evening would come all the brides and daughters of the King’s house to offer flowers and light lamps.
When the son became king in his time he washed away with blood all traces of his father’s creed from his kingdom and lit sacrificial fires with the sacred books of the Buddhists.
The autumn day was dying. The evening hour of worship was near. Shrimati, the maid of the queen, bathed in holy water; and decking the golden tray with lamps and fresh white blossoms silently raised her dark eyes to the queen’s face.
The <+++> Queen shuddered in fear and said “Do you not know, foolish girl, that death is the penalty for whoever brings worship to Buddha’s shrine? Such is the King’s will.”
S<+++>{h}rimati bowed to the queen, and turning away from her door came and stood before Amita, the newly-wed bride of the prince. A mirror of burnished gold on her lap, she was braiding her dark long tresses and painting the red spot of good luck at the parting of her hair. Her hands trembled when she saw the young maid and she cried “What fearful peril would you bring me! Leave me this instant.”
**31
Princess Shuk{l}a sat at the window reading her book of romance by the light of the setting sun. She started when she saw at her door the maid with the sac<+++>{r}ed offerings. Her book fell down from her lap and she whispered to Shrimati’s ears, “Rush not to death, dar<l>ing woman!”
Shrimati walked from <d> door to door. She raised her head and cried, “O wom<a>{e}n of King’s house, hasten! The time for our lord’s worship is come!” Some shut their doors in her face and some reviled her.
The last gleam of daylight faded from the bro<w>{n}ze dome of the palace tower. Deep shadows settled in street corner<’>s; the bustle of the city was hushed; the gong at the temple announced the time of the evening prayer.
In the dark of the autumn evening, deep as a limpid lake<,> stars throbbed with light, when the guards of the palace garden were startled to see through the trees a row of lamps burning at the shrine.
They rushed with their swords unsheathed, crying, “Who art thou, foolish one, rashly courting death?” “I am Shrimati” replied a sweet voice, “the servant of Lord Buddha.”
Next moment her heart’s blood coloured the cold marble with its red. And in the still hour of stars died the light of the last lamp of worship at the foot of the shrine.
±{F G XLIII}±
**32
*Fruit Gathering
*44
The day that stands between you and me makes her last bow of farewell. The night draws her veil upon her face and hid{e} behind <its> {her} skirt the one lamp burning in my cham<p>{b}er.
Your dark servant comes {noiselessly} and spreads the bridal carpet for you to take your seat there alone with me in the worldless silence till the night is done.
±{F G XLIV}±
**33
*Fruit Gathering
*46
The time is past when I could repay her for all that I received.
Her night has found its morning and thou hast taken her to thy arms; and to thee I bring my grateful gifts that were for her.
For all the hurts and offences to her I come to thee for forgiveness.
I offer to thy service those flowers of my love that still remained in bud when she waited for them to open.
±{F G XLVI}±
**34
*Fruit Gathering
*49
The pain was great when the strings were being tuned, my Master!
Begin your music on me, and let me forget it, let me feel in beauty what you had in your mind through those pitiless days.
The waning night lingers outside my doors, let her take her leave in songs.
Pour your heart into my life strings, my Master, in tunes that throb down from your sta<i>{r}s.
±{F G XLIX}±
**35
*Fruit Gathering
*50
I have seen in the lightning flash of a moment the immensity of your creation in my life<+++>— creation carried on through deaths from world to world.
I weep at my unworthiness when I see my life at the grasp of unmeaning hours,— but when I see it in your hands I know it is too precious to be squandered among shadows.
±{F G— L}±
**36
*Fruit Gathering
*54
The cloud said to me, “I vanish,” the Night said “<I> I plunge into the fiery dawn.”
The <p>{P}ain said, “I remain in deep silence as his footprint.”
“I die into the fullness,” said my life to me.
The Earth said, “My lights kiss your thoughts every moment.”
“The days pass,” Love said, “But I wait for you.”
Death said, “I ply the boat of your life across the sea.”
±{F G— LIV}±
**37
*Fruit Gathering
*55
Tulsidas, the poet, as was his custom, was wandering, deep in thought, by the Ganges, in that lonely spot where they burn their dead.
He found a woman sitting at the feet of the <cropse> corpse of her dead husband, gaily dressed as for wedding.
She rose as she saw him, bowed to him, and said, “Permit me, master, with your blessings, to follow my husband to heaven.”
“Why such hurry, my daughter?” asked Tulsi. “Is not this earth also His who made heaven?”
“For heaven I do not hanker,” said the woman. “I want my husband.”
Tulsi smiled and said to her, “Go back to your home, my child. Before the month is over you will find your husband.”
The woman went back with glad hope. Tulsi came to her every day and gave her high thoughts to think, till her heart was filled to the brim with love divine.
When the month was scarcely over, her neighbors <c> came to her asking, “Woman, have you found your husband?”
The widow smiled and said, “I have.”
Ea<+++>{g}erly they asked, “Where is he?”
“In my heart is my lord, one with me,” said the woman.
±{F G— LV}±
**38
*Fruit Gathering
*58
Yours is the light that breaks forth from the dark and the good that sprouts from the clef<y>{t} heart of strife.
Yours is the house that leads to the open and the love that calls to the battlefield.
Yours is the gift that still is a gain when everything is a loss,
and the life that flows through the caverns of death.
Yours is the heaven that lies in the common dust,
and there you are for me where you are for the all.
±{F G LVIII}±
**39
*Fruit Gathering
*59
When the weariness of the road is upon me and the thirsty of the sultry day; when the ghostly hours of the dusk throw their shadows across my life then I cry not for your voice, only my friend, but for your touch.
There is an anguish in my heart for the burden of its store not given to you. Put out your hand through the night, let me hold it and <feel it> fill it and keep it; let me feel its touch along the lengthening stretch of my loneliness.
±{F G LIX}±
**40
*Fruit Gathering
*60
The odour cries in the bud, “Ah me, the day departs, the happy day of spring, and I am a prisoner in petals!”
Do not lose heart, timid thing! Your bonds will burst, the bud will open into flower and when you die in a fulness of life, even then the spring will last on.
The odour pants and flutters within the bud, crying, “Ah me, the hours pass by, yet I do not know where I go, or what it is I seek!”
Do not lose heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheard your desire, the day will not end before you have fulfilled your being.
Dark is the future and the odour cries in despair, “Ah me, through whose fault is my life so unmeaning? Who can tell me, why I am at all?”
Do not lose heart, timid thing! The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life with all life and know at last your purpose.
±{F G LX}±
**41
*Fruit Gathering
*62
“Who is there but the sky, O Sun, which can hold thine image?
“I dream of thee, but to serve thee I never can hope,” the dewdrop wept and said,
“I am too small to ta<l>k{e} thee unto me, great lord, and my life is all tears.”
“I illumine the limitless sky, yet I can yield myself up to a tiny drop of dew,” thus the <s> Sun said,
“I shall be a speck of sparkle and fill you, and your little life will be a smiling orb.”
±{F G LXII}±
**42
*Fruit Gathering
*63
Not for me is the love that knows no restraint, but like the foamiing wine would burst its vessel in a moment and madly run to waste.
Send me the love which is cool and pure like your rain that blesses the thirsty earth and fills the homely earthen jars.
Send me the love that would soak down into the centre of being and from there would spread like the unseen sap through the branching tree of life, giving birth to fruits and flowers.
Send me the love that keeps the heart still with the fulness of peace.
±{F G LXIII}±
**43
*Fruit Gathering
*64
The sun had set on the western margin of the river among the tangle of the forest.
The hermit boys had brought back the cattle home, and sat round tho fire to listen to the master, Gautama.
Just then a strange boy came, and greeted him with fruits and flowers, and, bowing low at his feet, spoke in a bird-like voice— “Lord, I have come to thee to be taken into the path of the supreme Truth. My name is Satyakama.”
“Blessings be on thine head,” said the master. “Of what clan art thou, my child? It is only fit for a Brahmin to aspire to the highest wisdom.”
“Master,” answered the boy, “I know not of what clan I am. I will go and ask my mother.”
Thus saying, Satyakama took leave, and wa<+++>ding across the shallow stream, came back to his mother’s hut, which stood at the edge of the sandy waste at the end of the sleeping vi<+++>{l}lage.
The lamp burned dimly in the room, and the mother stood at the door in the dark waiting for her son’s return.
She clasped him to her bosom, kissed him on his hair, and asked him of his errand to the master.
**44
“What is the name of my father, dear mother?” asked the boy. “It is only fit for a Brahmin to aspire to the highest wisdom, said Lord Gautama to me.”
The woman lowered her eyes, and spoke in a whisper. “In my youth I was poor, and had many masters. Thou hadst come to thy mother Jabala’s arms, my darling, who had no husband.”
The early rays of the sun glistened on the tree-tops of the forest hermitage.
The students, with their tangled hair still wet with their morning bath, sat under the ancient tree, before the master.
There came Satyakama. He bowed low at the feet of the Sage, and stood silent.
“Tell me,” the great teacher asked him, “of what clan art thou?”
“My lord,” he answered, “I know it not. My mother said when I asked her, ‘I had served many masters in my youth, and thou hadst come to thy mother Jabala’s arms, who had no husband.’”
Then rose a murmur like the angry hum of bees disturbed in their hive; and the students muttered their wrath at the shameless insolence of the outcast waif.
Master Gautama rose from his sent, stretched out his arms, took the boy to his bosom, and said, “Best of all Brahmins art thou, my child. Thou hast the noblest heritage of truth.”
±{F G LXIV}±
**45
*Fruit Gathering
*65
May be there is one house in this city where the gate opens for ever this norning at the touch of the sunrise, where the errand of the light is fulfilled.
The flowers have opened in hedges and gardens, and may be there is one heart that has found in them this morning <this> {the} gift that has been on its voyage from the endless time.
±{F G LXV}±
**46
*Fruit Gathering
*68
Suddenly the window of my heart flew open this morning{,}
<T>{t}he window that looks out on your heart.
I wondered to see that the name by which you know me is written in April’s leaves and flowers, and I sat silent.
The curtain was blown away for a moment between my songs and yours.
I found that your morning light was full of my own mute songs unsung; I thought that I would learn them at your feet,— and I sat silent.
±{F G LXVIII}±
**47
*Fruit Gathering
*70
When you hold your lamp in the sky it throws its light on my face and its shadow behind over you.
When I hold the lamp of love in my heart its light falls on you and I am left standing behind in the shadow.
±{F. G. LXX}±
**48
*Fruit Gathering
*72
The joy rushed from all the world to build my body.
The lights of the sk<y>{i}es kissed and kissed her till she woke.
Flowers of hurrying summers sighed in her breath and voices of winds and water sang in her motion.
The passion of the tides of colours in clouds and in forests flowed into her life and the music of all things carressed her limbs into shape.
She is my bride,— she has lighted her lamp<s> in my house.
±{F. G. LXXII}±
**49
*Fruit Gathering
*75
It was only the other day that I came to this earth, naked and nameless, with a walling cry.
Today my voice is glad, while you, my lord, stand aside to make room for others to fill my life.
Even when I bring my songs to you for my offerings I have the hope in my heart that men will come and love me for them.
You love to see that I love this world where you have brought me.
±{F. G. LXXV}±
**50
*Fruit Gathering
*76
Timidly I cowered in the sleepy shadow of safety but now when the surging waves of joy bear my heart <e> away on their crests it dances to kiss and clasp the cruel rocks of trouble.
I sat alone in a dark corner of my dwelling thinking it too narrow for any guest, but now when its door is flung open by an unbidden rush <for> {of} joy I find that room is there for thee and for all the world.
I walked on tiptoe, careful<ly> of my person, perfumed and decorated— but now when a whirl-wind of joy has overthrown <the> {me}into the dust I laugh and roll on the earth at thy feet like a child.
±{F. G. LXXVI}±
**51
*Fruit Gathering
*77
The world is yours at once and for ever.
And because you have no want, my king, you can have no pleasure in your wealth.
It is as it were <not> naught.
Therefore through slow time you make mine what is yours, and <e>{c}easelessly win your kingdom in me.
Day after day you buy your sunrise from my heart, and you find your love carven into the image of my life.
±{F. G. LXXVII}±
**52
*Fruit Gathering
*78
To the birds you gave songs, the birds give you songs in return.
You gave me only voice, asking for more,
And I sing.
You made your winds light and they are fleet in their service.
You burdened my hands for me to lighten them
Till{,} at last, I bring uncumbered freedom for your service.
You created your Earth filling its shadows with fragments of light.
There you paused; to create your heaven <Y>{y}ou left me empty handed in the dust.
To all things else you give; from me you ask.
The harvest of my life ripens in the sun and the shower
Till I reap more than you sowed, glad reaper gladdening your heart.
O <m>{M}aster of the golden granary.
±{F. G. LXXVIII}±
**53
*Fruit Gathering
*81
You, in your timeless watch, listen to my approaching steps,
While your gladness brews in the dusk of the dawn and breaks in the burst of light.
The nearer I draw to you the deeper grows the fervour in the dance of the sea.
Your world is a branching <spr+++ng> {spray} of light filling your hands,
But your heaven is in my secret heart;
It slowly opens its buds in shy love.
±{F. G. LXXXI}±
**54
*Fruit Gathering
*82
I will utter your name, sitting alone among the shadows of my silent thoughts.
I will utter it without words, I will utter it without purpose.
For I am like a child that calls its mother an hundred times, glad that it can say “Mother.”
±{F. G. LXXXII}±
