the king heard of this incident he was elated.
"Gopa, alone, could face my son," he thought; "she alone is worthy of him. Gopa, who would not accept the ring that you took from your finger, Gopa, O my son, will be your fairest jewel."
And he summoned Gopa's father to the palace.
"Friend," said he, "the time has come for my son Siddhartha to marry. I believe your daughter Gopa has found favor in his eyes. Will you marry her to my son?"
Dandapani did not answer at once. He hesitated, and again the king asked him:
"Will you marry your daughter to my son?"
Then Dandapani said:
"My lord, your son has been brought up in luxury; he has never been outside the palace-gates; his physical and intellectual abilities have never been proven. You know that the Sakyas only marry their daughters to men who are skillful and strong, brave and wise. How can I give my daughter to your son who, so far, has shown a taste only for indolence?"
These words disturbed King Suddhodana. He asked to see the prince. Siddhartha came immediately.
"Father," said he, "you look very sad. What has happened?"
The king did not know how to tell him what Dandapani had so bluntly expressed. He remained silent.
The prince repeated:
"Father, you look very sad. What has happened?"
"Do not ask me," replied Suddhodana.
"Father, you are sad, what has happened?"
"It is a painful subject; I would rather not speak of it."
"Explain yourself, father. It is always well to the explicit."
The king finally decided to relate the interview he had had with Dandapani. "When he had finished, the prince began to laugh.
"My lord," said he, "you are needlessly disturbed. Do you believe there is anyone in Kapilavastu who as my superior in strength or in intellect? Summon all who are famous for their attainments in any field whatsoever; command them to measure their skill with mine, and I shall show you what I can do."
The king recovered his serenity. He had it proclaimed throughout the city:
"That on the seventh day from this day, Prince Siddhartha will compete with all who excel in any field whatsoever."
On the day designated, all those who claimed to be skillful in the arts or in the sciences appeared at the palate. Dandapani was present, and he promised his daughter to the one, whether of noble or of humble birth, who would be victorious in the contests which were to take place.
First, a young man, who knew the rules of writing, sought to challenge the prince, but the learned Visvamitra stepped before the assembly and said:
"Young man, such a contest would be futile. You are already defeated. The prince was still a child when he was placed in my care; I was to teach him the art of writing. But he already knew sixty-four varieties of script! He knew certain varieties that were unknown to me even by name!"
Visvamitra's testimony was enough to give the prince a victory in the art of writing.
Then they sought to test his knowledge of numbers. It was decided that a certain Sakya named Arjuna, who had time and again solved intricate problems, would act as judge in the contest.
One young man claimed to be an excellent mathematician, and to him Siddhartha addressed a question, but the young man was unable to reply.
"And yet it was an easy question," said the prince. "But here is one that is still easier; who will answer it?"
No one answered this second question.
"It is now your turn to examine me," said the prince.
They asked him questions that were considered difficult, but he gave the answers even before they had finished stating the problem.
"Let Arjuna himself examine the prince!" came the cry from all sides.
Arjuna gave him the most intricate problems, and never once was Siddhartha at a loss for the correct solution.
They all marvelled at his knowledge of mathematics arid were convinced that his intelligence had probed to the bottom of all the sciences. They then decided to challenge his athletic skill, but at jumping and at running he won with little effort, and at wrestling he had only to lay a finger upon his adversary, and he would fall to the ground.
Then they brought out the bows, and skillful archers placed their arrows in targets that were barely visible. But when it came the prince's turn to shoot, so great was his natural strength that he broke each bow as he drew it. Finally, the king sent guards to fetch a very ancient, very precious bow that was kept in the temple. No one within the memory of man had ever been able to draw or lift it. Siddhartha took the bow in his left hand, and with one finger of his right hand he drew it to him. Then he took as target a tree so distant that he alone could see it. The arrow pierced the tree, and, burying itself in the ground, disappeared. And there, where the arrow had entered the ground, a well formed, which was called the Well of the Arrow.
Everything seemed to be over, and they led toward the victor a huge white elephant on which, in triumph, he was to ride through Kapilavastu. But a young Sakya, Devadatta, who was very proud of his strength, seized the animal by the trunk and, in fun, struck it with his fist. The elephant fell to the ground.
The prince looked reprovingly at the young man and said:
"You have done an evil thing, Devadatta."
He touched the elephant with his foot, and it stood up and paid him homage.
Then they all acclaimed his glory, and the air rang with their cheers. Suddhodana was happy, and Dandapani, weeping with joy, exclaimed:
"Gopa, my daughter Gopa, be proud to be the wife of such a man."
8
PRINCE Siddhartha lived happily with his wife, the princess. And the king, whose love for his son now verged on adoration, took infinite care to spare him the sight of anything that might distress him. He built three magnificent palaces for him: one for the winter, one for the summer, and the third for the rainy season; and these he was forbidden ever to leave, to wander over the broad face of the earth.
In his palaces, white as autumn clouds and bright as the celestial chariots of the Gods and Goddesses, the prince drained the cup of pleasure. He led a life of voluptuous ease; he spent languid hours listening to music played by the princess and her maidens, and when beautiful, smiling dancers appeared before him and performed to the sound of golden kettle-drums, with delight he watched them as they swayed with a grace and loveliness rare even among the happy Apsarases.
Women cast furtive glances at him: their eyes boldly offered or archly pleaded, and their drooping lashes were a promise of ineffable delight. Their games amused him, their charms held him in thrall, and he was content to remain in these palaces so full of their laughter and song. For he knew nothing of old age and sickness; he knew nothing of death.
Suddhodana rejoiced at the life his son was leading, though his own conduct he judged with the utmost severity. He strove to keep his soul serene and pure; he refrained from doing evil, and he lavished gifts on those who were virtuous. He never yielded to indolence or pleasure; he was never burned by the poison of avarice. As wild horses are made to bear the yoke, even so did he subdue his passions, and in virtue he surpassed his kinsmen and his friends. The knowledge he acquired he placed at the service of his fellow-men, and he only studied those subjects that were useful to all. He not only sought the welfare of his own people but he also wanted the whole world to be happy. He purified his body with the water from the sacred ponds, and he purified his soul with the holy water of virtue. He never uttered a word that was pleasant and yet a lie; the truths he spoke never gave offense or pain. He tried to be just, and it was by honesty, not by force, that he defeated the pride of his enemies. He did not strike, he did not even look with anger upon those