"Yes, my friend," added Vasitthi, "I heard those words, which appear so destructive of all hope to you, without disappointment, as I now without pain, and indeed even with joy, perceive how, round about us here, the truth of these words is established in what we see taking place."
During Vasitthi's narration, the process of decay had gone on, slowly but ceaselessly, and there could no longer be the least doubt but that all these beings and their surroundings sickened to their fall and complete dissolution.
The lotus flowers had already shed more than half their crown-petals, and the waters sparkled but sparingly forth from between these gay-coloured little vessels which were set trembling every other instant as a fresh one fell. On their flower-thrones, divested of all adornment now, sat the once-happy inhabitants of the Paradise of the West, in positions more or less indicative of utter breakdown. The head of one hung down upon his breast, that of another sideways on his shoulder, and a shiver as of fever ran through them every time that an icy blast shook the already thinned tops in the groves, causing blossoms and leaves to rain to earth. Woefully subdued, and more and more frequently interwoven with painful discords, sounded the music of the heavenly genii; and with it were blent deep sighs and anxious groans. All that had been so luminous—the faces and robes of the blest and of the genii, no less than the clouds and flowers—all gradually lost brightness, and a blue twilight haze appeared to weave its threads about the distances. The fresh fragrance of the flowers too, that had formerly been as a vitalizing breath to everything, had gradually become a soporific odour, at once distressing to the respiratory organs, and stupefying to the senses.
Kamanita indicated the things about him with a tired movement of the hand.
"How can one possibly feel pleasure in such a sight, Vasitthi?"
"For this reason, my friend, it is possible to feel pleasure in such a sight, that if all this were lasting and did not pass away, there would be nothing higher. But now there is something higher; for this does pass, and beyond there is that which knows neither decay nor genesis. Just that it is that the Master calls 'joy in the transient'; and for that reason he says: 'If thou hast discerned the dissolution of all created things, then thou dost know the uncreated.'"
At these confident words, Kamanita's features grew animated, as a flower that is withering for want of water revives beneath the falling rain.
"Blessings on thee, Vasitthi! For my salvation wast thou given me. Yes, I feel it. We have erred but in this one particular—our longings did not aim high enough. We desired for ourselves this life in a paradise of flowers. And flowers must, assuredly, in accordance with their nature, wither. Everlasting, however, are the stars; according to eternal laws they keep their courses. And look there, Vasitthi; while all else shows the pale traces of decay, that little river—a tributary of the heavenly Gunga—flows into our lake, its water just as starlike in its purity and just as plentiful as ever, and all because it comes from the world of stars. One who should succeed in entering into existence again among the gods of the stars, would be raised above the sphere of mortality."
"Why should we not be able to succeed in that?" asked Vasitthi. "For I have certainly heard of monks who fixed heart and mind upon returning to existence in the kingdom of the hundred-thousandfold Brahma. And even now it cannot be too late, if the ancient words of that song of the Sublime One[1] be true—
"'Longings for a future being, filling heart and brain at death,
To the life that follows this one, will give character and breath.'"
"Vasitthi? thou givest me that more than human courage! Come then, let us turn our whole thoughts to the entering, into existence again in the kingdom of the hundred-thousandfold Brahma."
Scarcely had they come to this decision when a violent hurricane swept through the groves and over the lakes. Blossoms and leaves were whirled away in heaps; the beings throned on the lotus flowers cowered before the storm, and, moaning, drew their robes closer about their trembling limbs.
But like one who, all but suffocated in the close and perfume-laden atmosphere of a room, breathes deep and feels himself a new man when the fresh sea-breezes, salt-laden from the floods of the ocean, blow in through the open window, so it was with Kamanita and Vasitthi when a breath of that absolute purity came streaming towards them which they had once inhaled on the shores of the heavenly Gunga.
"Dost thou notice aught?" asked Vasitthi.
"A greeting from the Gunga. And listen, she calls," said Kamanita.
As he spoke, the wailing death-song of the genii was silenced by the solemn, thundering sounds they both remembered.
"Good, that we already know the way," exulted Vasitthi. "Art thou still afraid, my friend?"
"How should I fear? Come!"
And like a pair of birds that dash from the nest and fly in the teeth of the wind, so they flew thence.
All stared after them, amazed that there were still beings there who had the strength and courage necessary to flight.
But as they thus breasted the storm, there arose a whirlwind behind them which bereft everything of leaf and soul alike, and made an end of the slowly fading life of Sukhavati.
Soon they had reached the forest of palms, soon passed over it. Before them the silvery expanse of the Stream of the Universe stretched far away to the blue-black border of the heavens.
They swept out over its floods, and were instantly caught in the current of air prevailing there, and borne away with the swiftness of the tempest.
Overpowered by the speed of their flight and by the frightful crash, as it seemed of thunder mingled with the ringing of bells, their senses forsook them.
- ↑ Bhagavad Gîta.