Chapter IV The rajah’s dream
“I made such a discovery!” exclaimed Ada, with a look of triumph, as she entered the drawing-room one morning. “Ah, Flora! demure, sensible, philosophical Flora—you who listen to Alison with such profound attention, and whose brain is a silent library of solid and intellectual literature, I have found you out at last!”
“What do you mean?” asked Flora, gaily, while gentle Mrs. Vernon looked up with an expression of inquiry.
“You don’t read novels! Oh no; you are too wise! But who keeps Eastern tales in her boudoir, quietly hidden behind a vase of Innocent flowers, to feast upon when nobody sees her?” And Ada displayed a book, in singular binding, which she had carried off from the room of her cousin.
“Oh, I have not had time to read it yet! It is a book which Mr. Ward lent me.”
“Mr. Ward! Now, that is too good! Who would have dreamed of Mr. Ward’s patronizing a new edition of the Arabian Nights?”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Vernon, “I have no doubt that any book lent by our excellent clergyman will be very improving.”
“Oh, I’m so glad that you think, so, for this looks amusing besides! I propose that for one day—you know that this is my last day at Laurel Bank—we substitute it for Alison.”
“As you please,” said Mrs. Vernon, taking the quaint volume from the hand of her niece, and turning over some of the pages. “This appears to be a kind of Eastern fable.”
“Then I’ll have the story, and Flora shall have the moral, and we’ll both be suited exactly.”
In a few minutes the young ladies were seated, Ada at her embroidery, Flora at her drawing, when Mrs. Vernon, who was usually the reader, commenced the following tale:—
THE RAJAH’S DREAM.
Mighty was the Rajah Futtey Sing, and great were the deeds which he had done. His granaries overflowed with corn, and his coffers with gold; the hungry were fed by his beneficence, and the needy supplied by his wealth. He was like a magnificent banyan-tree, whose branches having stooped to the earth, there take root, and extending on all sides, the tree becomes as a forest. Beneath it the beasts of the field take shelter; the bright-winged birds roost on its boughs; the sunshine rests brightly upon it; it stands glorious and beautiful to the eye of man.
The Rajah lay reclined on cushions in his lordly dwelling. The calm of evening was over earth; the red orb of the sun had almost touched the horizon; he seemed glancing, ere he departed, on the world which his beams had clothed with brightness and beauty; and a calm was upon the soul of the Rajah—a joy was within his heart. He said to himself, where he lay—“I have been a blessing in my generation; I have gone on my course like the sun, and the world has been the brighter for my smile. I have benefited man, and I have glorified the Supreme. I have fasted long and I have prayed much; I have wasted my flesh by abstinence, and spent the long night in devotion. And now, am I not holy? May I not stand upright before my Creator? Are not my hands stainless? Is not my heart clean? Who can lay anything to my charge?”
A Brahmin in his white robes now entered, and bent reverently before the Rajah.
“Friend of the needy!” said he, “thy will hath been obeyed! In nine different parts of thy spacious domains, nine wells, dug deep into the heart of the earth, now offer their waters to the pilgrim, plenteous as thy liberality, clear as thy nature.”
“It is well!” cried the Rajah. “Let their number be trebled! Let the travellers from the north, from the east, from the west, bless the name of Rajah Futtey Sing.”
Another Brahmin approached, and made obeisance.
“Hope of the friendless!” said he, “behold, at thy command three hundred indigent and sick, the leper and the blind, wait at thy gate for the accustomed alms bestowed by thy princely bounty!”
“It is well!” cried the Rajah. “Let their numbers be thrice three hundred! Let no poor man stand hungry at my gate. To supply the wants of the needy shall my fields grow yellow with golden maize, and the rice-plant lift its head above the spreading waters; and let those who come to me in rags retire in fair white garments such as are worn by my servants!”
A third Brahmin entered, and bowed his head before the Rajah.
“Mirror of piety!” said he, “the foundation of the great temple has been laid which thou wilt raise to the honour of the Deity. Stones are being hewn in the distant quarry; yellow brass is brought from afar; an edifice is rising from the earth which will be lofty as thy devotion, firm as thy power!”
“Leave the stones in the quarry, and hew me white marble!” cried the Rajah; “lay aside the brass, and supply its place with beaten gold. No mean sacrifice will I offer to the Creator; he shall look upon my gifts and be satisfied, and future generations shall witness the vastness of my liberality and of my devotion!”
And all who heard exclaimed, “Praise to the Rajah! Praise to the pious and the holy! High is his place in this life; higher shall be his place in the next! His offerings shall be accepted on high; his prayers and his fasting shall bring great reward! Wisdom is on his lips and virtue in his heart. He stands faultless before God and man!”
The red sun had sunk beneath the plain, and darkness spread her sable wings over earth. There was silence where the axe and hammer had rung, in the spot where the temple was rising; the poor had departed satisfied from the gate, and no pilgrim bending to drink of the wells dug by Futtey Sing disturbed the image of the quiet stars that were reflected in their motionless depths.
Sleep came to the Rajah with the night; and as his eye closed to the world around, the eye of his mind opened to the world of dreams.
Behold, he dreamed that his temple was completed, and that it was fairer to look upon than ever before was temple erected by man. Its marble dome and cupolas were white as snow from the summit of the Himalaya. It was encrusted with precious jewels in every form which could charm the eye. There the diamond glittered like a petrified dewdrop; there shone the ruby, and the sapphire blue as the Nerbuddah; and wreaths of pearls of magnificent size twined round the lofty pillars of gold!
In this temple stood the Rajah in his dream; and his heart was lifted up with pride. He looked above, around, below him, and all was beautiful and glorious. “Am I not holy?” he repeated to himself. “Shall I not rejoice in my works?”
He wondered in his dream to behold a bright ray, more intense than any which the sun ever shed, stream down from an opening in the dome; and down this ray, as down a path of glory, descended a being who would have been too bright to be looked upon, had her form not been shrouded in a wide veil, which encircled her like a silver cloud. The Rajah trembled as the unearthly visitant descended to his side.
“Who art thou,” he cried, “that comest as from above? and wherefore do I behold thee?”
“I am Truth,” replied a sweet but solemn voice from the veil, for the face of the bright one was not seen. “It is my office to open the eyes of the blind, to draw aside the curtain of delusion, to dispel the mirage upon the desert, to waken mortals from the dreams of their fancy. Hast thou, O Futtey Sing, courage to follow me—courage to explore, with me for thy guide, this Temple of the Human Heart?—for what we now survey is thine own.”
The Rajah paused in his dream; a strange feeling of awe was on his soul.
“Dost thou fear,” pursued Truth, “to know thyself?”
“I fear not,” replied the Rajah. “He who knows not himself knows nothing. I shrink not even from thy searching eye! I have fasted long, have prayed much, I have freely given to the poor; my hands are stainless, my heart is clean; I am holy in the sight of all men!”
“But in the sight of God what art thou?” exclaimed Truth. “Ye see not the motes in the air, though numerous as the leaves of the forest, till the glowing ray reveal them to the eye. The river seems to flow stainless and clear, till the wondrous microscope displays to the view a hundred loathsome reptiles enclosed in every drop that glitters beneath the sun! But if thou fearest not to know that which it most concerns thee to know, follow me, and thine eyes shall be opened!”
She led him to the lofty entrance of the temple, from whence they could gaze into the fair garden which surrounded it.
“We will not now speak of thy sins,” said Truth; “perhaps thou deemest that thou art defiled by none. But show me first, O Rajah! thy virtues, that, if they merit the favour of the Deity, I may join my praises to those of all men.”
Then the heart of Futtey Sing revived, for the topic of his virtues was ever sweet to him; and even if his life could be proved to be not quite free from sins, his merits, he felt assured, would far outweigh them.
So in his dream he beheld before him three fair and lofty trees, bending beneath the weight of the fruit which loaded their branches. The eye of the Rajah brightened as he gazed on them, and, turning to Truth, he exclaimed: “Lo! these are the trees of love to God and love to man, and thou knowest that they are mine! Behold how they are loaded with fruit, so that the boughs bend down to the earth! There is the first, that bears deeds of beneficence, rosy as the clouds at sunrise. The second bears deeds of justice, in ripe clusters of shining gold. The third bears deeds of self-denial, resting like snow-flakes on the dark leaves.” And as he spake, again he seemed to hear the voices of men blending in loud chorus together,—“Praise to the Rajah! praise to the holy and the pious! High as is his place in this life, higher shall be his place in the next Wisdom is on his lips, and virtue in his heart; he stands faultless before God and man!”
“When I passed by the trees of love to God and love to man”—such was the reply of Truth—“I looked, and beheld they were barren: they bare neither blossom nor fruit. Whence, then, are these clusters, red, yellow, and white? Are they indeed fruits which grow on the trees, or have they been placed there to charm and to deceive? Has the sap of life swelled them, the sweet juices filled? Approach, O Rajah! the tree upon which hang the rosy clusters; for methinks it is the love of praise that has placed on it seeming deeds of beneficence!”
She approached it without motion of foot or of wing, gliding towards it like a cloud impelled by breezes; and even thus, in his dream, did Futtey Sing appear carried on beside her. She stretched out her hand towards the fair and stately tree, and even as she stretched it, down fell the rosy shower of fruit like hail, reddening the ground on which they lay. Not one remained fixed upon the branches!
“They grew not upon the holy tree,” cried the bright one; “love of praise had but fastened them on, and the waxen fastening melted at the approach of Truth! Thy alms were not given from love to God; thy alms were not given from love to man; they were done to be seen, they were done to be praised, and surely thou hast had thy reward! Fool, fool! dost thou claim merit for this? Lo! the dust of earth hath defiled thy deeds of beneficence!”
Futtey Sing heaved a sigh of bitter disappointment; he had deceived others, but himself had been most deceived.
Then, irresistibly impelled by Truth, the Rajah approached the fair and stately tree upon which hung the golden clusters. Truth stretched forth her hand, and, even as she stretched it, down fell the yellow shower of fruit like hail, gilding the ground on which they lay. Not one remained fixed upon the branches.
“They grew not on the holy tree,” cried the bright one; “interest had but fastened them on, and the waxen fastenings melted at the approach of Truth! Well has it been said by the wise—‘Man judges of our motives by our actions, God judges of our actions by our motives!’ Thou knewest that the strength of thy throne was justice; and therefore, O Rajah, wert thou just! Surely thou hast had thy reward! Fool, fool! dost thou claim merit for this? Lo! the dust of earth hath defiled thy deeds of justice!”
And Futtey Sing sighed more heavily than before; he had deceived others, but himself had been most deceived.
So in his dream the Rajah approached the third tree, the fair and stately tree upon which hung the milk-white clusters, the deeds of self-denial! Truth stretched forth her hand, and, even as she stretched it, down fell the snowy shower of fruit like hail, whitening the ground on which they lay. Not one remained on the branches!
“They grew not on the holy tree,” cried the bright one; “pride had but fastened them on, and the waxen fastenings melted at the approach of Truth! Thou didst feel exalted in thine own eyes by thy humiliations, thy fastings and thy oblations raised thee in thine own sight above the level of common men. Surely thou hast had thy reward! Fool, fool! dost thou claim merit for this? Lo! the dust of the earth hath defied thy deeds of self-denial!”
Then Futtey Sing groaned aloud; he had deceived others, but himself had been most deceived.
“What see I yonder,” said Truth, “on the marble before the porch of thy temple? Every bird of goodly plumage appears to be there, with wings of emerald and sapphire, and necks of changing hues, like the varied colours of the opal Tell me, O Futtey Sing! what are these?”
Again the spirit of the Rajah revived—again his heart throbbed with a feeling of pride, as he gave answer in his dream: “These are the thousands of prayers which I have uttered, at morn, at noon, and at the hour of sunset. Have I not worn the marble with my knees? nay, have I not stolen the hours from sleep, and with the voice of my supplication pierced the dull air of night! These, my prayers, like birds of strong wing, shall rise above the clouds, appear for me before the eternal throne, and draw down a blessing from on high!”
“Yea,” replied Truth, “the Supreme loves to receive the prayers of his people. The faintest sigh from a true, humble heart, mounts far beyond the twinkling stars. But wherefore rest thine upon the ground? Will they not take flight at our approach? Are their goodly wings so clogged that they cannot rise?”
And Futtey Sing trembled as they drew nigh to the porch of his temple; and the light which gleamed through the silvery veil of Truth fell on the types of his prayers. Lo! death had breathed on the birds whose plumage looked so bright from afar! Stiff and cold, with ruffled feathers, they lay on the marble! A few, but a few, with some feeble show of life, fluttered their pinions and rose for a little way from earth, then sank down again as though these pinions were of lead! And many others were already corrupted by decay, so that the Rajah shrank from the touch of them as from pollution!
“Are these, then, thy merits!” exclaimed Truth; “thy lifeless prayers that rise not to Heaven—the prayers which thou fearest to examine! Here is the form, but where is the life—the outside show, but the spirit is wanting! Thou hast never uttered one real and acceptable prayer, for the first petition that can rise as on an eagle’s wing from guilty man to his Creator is the petition for mercy—the first cry that brings down a blessing is the cry, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner!’”
The Rajah bowed his head and was silent
“Let us return into the Temple of the Heart,” said Truth. “But a small portion of it can be seen by thee: it has deep recesses, which can never be explored but by the eye of Omniscience; yet mayst thou learn something by the quest.”
Then reluctantly, yet drawn on by invisible power, Futtey Sing re-entered through the porch of the temple.
The place seemed strangely changed, as places do change in dreams. The gold on the pillars was dim, the silver was tarnished and blackened; where jewels had shone there were spots, and spots upon the pavement of marble.
“What are these spots?” cried the Rajah; “I behold them wherever I turn my eye, staining the wall, specking the floor, numerous as a flight of locusts, which darken the earth as with a cloud!”
“These are the evil words of thy lips,” replied Truth; “every day has added to the number, and well mayst thou compare them to locusts, whose myriads blacken the plain. Thou hast deemed that a word once spoken hath passed away from thee for ever, because thou seest not its shape on the air, nor its shadow on the ground; but every one is remembered and recorded. Each hasty word of anger has fallen like a red drop, not to be washed away; every word of profanity or pride like a black drop, whose stain lies deep on the soul; nay, every idle and foolish word hath left its mark—and who, O Futtey Sing! shall number them?”
Then the Rajah started and trembled. “What are these unclean birds,” he cried, “that swoop round my head, filling the air with the rustle of their flight; and these winged reptiles and creeping ones that cross my path, unsightly and loathsome to behold?”
“These are the evil thoughts that have haunted thy heart ever since thy mind opened to knowledge—thoughts of pride, thoughts of covetousness, of malice, envy, and impurity. Thou didst think them gone for ever, like the track of a vessel through the waves, or of a vulture through the air; but they live in the sight of the Omniscient, before whom the past and the future form but one infinite present.”
I hen Futtey Sing wrung his hands in despair. “Who then can say, I have made my heart clean?” he exclaimed; “where is the being who is faultless before God? In vain shall we seek for the righteous upon earth; there is none who is holy, none!” And from the dome above, and from the earth beneath, a hollow echo repeated “None!”
“Behold here!” cried Truth, and she touched the wan, and the face of the marble was changed to glass, and a wide mirror appeared before them. “If thou wouldst know more, look into this, and see some of thy sins of omission!”
Then the mirror became crowded with figures; and though his eyes ached as he gazed, the Rajah could not choose but look. Fast scene succeeded to scene, and each shot a pang through his heart. He saw evils that he had winked at—duties that he had overlooked—the proud oppressing the weak—the hand of the magistrate closing on the bribe—the quiet, uncomplaining poor left to suffer neglected, while idle mendicants absorbed the stream of charity which should have flowed to bless them! Futtey Sing often had dwelt with complacence on the good which he had done: he started to behold how much he had left undone. He groaned and hid his face in his hands.
“Thou hast beheld some of thy sins of omission,” cried Truth; “shall I now show thee the sins which thou hast committed?”
“No, no!” exclaimed the Rajah; “I have seen enough, and too much! I have seen enough to humble me in dust and ashes—to make me know myself blind, wretched, and guilty! Why,” he continued, bitterly, “why hast thou come to break my peace—to poison my happiness in the very temple which I have erected to the Deity? Mean and polluted it may be, but still it hath been raised to his honour.”
“Is God then enthroned in this temple?” replied Truth. “It cannot be, or the presence of divine purity would have purified even it. Self-deceiver! thou standest now in the centre of the temple—thou standest at the foot of the shrine; lift up thine eyes and behold the object of thy worship—behold the Idol which thou hast adored all thy days!”
Futtey Sing glanced up; the pedestal was lofty—on image of clay was on the summit. He saw the idol, and he knew it; he saw the effigy of himself, dressed in the robes of his pride, and he fell on his face with a cry.
“To exalt self have thy good deeds been performed—to exalt self has been the motive of thy actions—to exalt self has been the object of thy life! And will the Supreme see His rightful throne in the heart given to another? Will not His lightning strike down the idol?”
It seemed as though the words shook the earth beneath their feet; it shuddered, it reeled, it heaved. It seemed as though the words awakened the thunders above their heads; they rolled, they burst, they roared in the sky. The walls trembled, rent, fell with a fearful crash, as if to bury the sinner beneath their ruins; while a vivid flash of forked lightning darted from the heavens, struck the idol of Self, and laid it prostrate in the dust.
“Save me! I perish! I perish!” exclaimed the Rajah; and with that cry of terror he awoke.