The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1870-01-01
HindOO Legend.

There is beautiful and touching story
told in the books of the Buddhists about
the founder of their religiOn-a story that
has moral for people of all creeds and
countries. Among the immediate follow
ers of Bhudda was a young girl, named
Koshagantami. She was a simple, artless
creature, married to an Indian youth like
herself, and the pair dwelt together in a
woodland country near the city of the IA
nous Oriental teacher They had a little
child, of which Koshagautami was pas
sionately fond, as is the wont of Eastern
mothers. But it happened that the little
one sickened and died, much to the aston
ishment of the young and ignorant pa
rents, who had been brought up in life
so solitary that they knew nothing what
ever about death. The mother was es-
pecially grieved to find that her child
looked so still and pale, and felt so cold,
although she pressed it to her bosom and
tempted it with delicate food. She rock
ed and shook it to make it speak once
more-she would have been even glad to
hear it cry, although in pain; for the
silence and deadly heaviness of the little
body filed her with vague misery. She
went about the woods with the baby upon
her hip, as Indian women always carry
their children, asking everybody whom
she met to tell her what would be good for
the baby, and why it was so quiet and so
chill The people whom she met looked
very strangely at the tiny corpse, and
shook their heads, saying that no medicine
would do it good any more. This disap-
pointed the mother so much that she de-
| termined to seek out old Buddha, and to
ask him, who was never at loss for
something that would bring back the
warmth and laughter to the small cheeks.
| The master was seated under banyan
tree with his disciples, and when the
mother came near with the child, beseech-
ing him to say if he knew what would
make it well again, he looked at her weep
ing countenance with great pity, and an
swered that he did. $50" he said, fand
| bring me hither a handful of mustard
| seed from house where nobody has ever
| died, and then | will heal your SON" Kos
/ hagautami repaired to the town with the
/ child, and asked at the first house for a
| little mustard seed which was readily
given, because of her gentle and sorrow
full look Friend, said she to the good
man, "did ever any one die in this house
/ hold, for then the seed would not do"
The householder shook his head mourn
fully, and replied that his eldest son had
died there during the last moon. She
went to the next residence; and to the
next, and so on right through the town
but TO her surprise, she found that into
every house had entered that same disease
of which her little one was sick-even
death. Ashamed to have been so pas
sionate and importunate, when the rest
of the world suffered and submitted, she
dared not take the child back to Buddha,
but buried it tenderly in the forest, under
the shade of an asoka tree, and then re
turned to the spot where the master was
still teaching. There was no one, she
moaned, who had mustard seed to givt
me, of the kind you babe me bring" anc
Buddha answered, 'No, Koshagautami
it does not grow in this world of pain anc
illusioni The living are very few; thu
dead are very many, my daughter"