The Singer and His Teacher

The golden voice of the court-singer rose fuller
and richer, filling every comer of the great hall,
rolling wide into the corridors and forcing its lim-
pid sweetness into the innermost heart of the Pal-
ace where the Empress and her maidens sat in en-
raptured silence, with swelling hearts and deep-
drawn breath listening to him, the world-famed
singer, whose voice was drawn from Heaven and
who drew toward Heaven all who listened to that
Heavenbom voice.

''Oh!'' said the Empress, ''surely that voice
speaks to my heart of the land of my fathers, and
again I hear the fountain-splash as I play with my
sisters and brothers in the cool of the evening and
weave the garland to throw about the beloved
form of the Goddess who would bless me with a
lord, faithful and true, even as is my own dear
lord. "

"And to me, fair Queen,'' said a pensive maid,
"he sings of the sister that was my playmate and
who was dear beyond words to me, but who, in
her early youth, grew very tired of much play and
would lie gazing on the shadows that the turrets
threw upon the courtyard floor for hours and hours until at last it seemed th^ wanted her
even more than we did. And one day I came upon
her and she lay so still and gray as if she had par-
taken of the last long evening shadow, and when I
touched her, she did not stir nor look at me. When
my father came, he said to me, taking her in his
arms so tenderly, 'Alas, little one! She hath gone
out of the shadow into the sunlight that is for such
as she!'"

And the littlest maid of honor broke the sad sil-
ence and said, "His voice, Queen, makes me
think of the dawn before the dew is dry on the
roses, when the birds are greeting each other, and
the fawns skip and jump in the moist gardens and
the black night has given way to the first golden
smile of the sun. It is then I want to go forth and
speak to all the living things that are so wide
awake, and greet them, even as they greet the com-
ing day. And when his voice bursts forth so glad
and happy then, Queen, I feel the early mom is
with me and all the world rejoice in living and all
the living rejoice in the world. ' '

''0 Queen, thou kindly one! When I hear his
voice," said yet another companion of the Em-
press, ''it is as if I were in the House of the Great
Gtod again, making offerings for the son that I
wanted so much and was not bom to me, or as if
I sat again in the silence of the night and waited
for the footsteps of him, my lord, who was my all
on earth and now my all in glory."

And the sweet-faced widow turned away her
eyes, wide-gazing into the distance, while in the
audience chamber, the Singer, whose wonderful
voice had roused memories sad, sweet and glad,
in the hearts of the hearers of the inner chambers,
stood smiling before the Emperor who showered
upon him praises and gifts because of the joy his
song had given him. Akb&r the Greats the Grand
Mogul, Emperor of all that realm, he, the wise
and just and learned King, had taken into his court
T&nsen the Singer, and unto his heart, T&nsen the
Man. Of all his courtiers and subjects, T&nsen
was to him the dearest and best friend. It mat-
tered not how wearied was his body, how tired his
brain, how sad his heart or how troubled his spirit,
the voice of T4nsen ever soothed him into restful-
ness— the golden voice that filled the heavens with
its beauty, that pierced the god-realms with its
sweetness, that stormed the thunders with its
strength, that cleft the clouds by its plaintive sad-
ness. This was the magic voice that now thrilled
through the heart of the King banishing every dis-
cord and crowning him with a peace and content-
ment that rarely sits upon the brow of King or
nestles in the heart of man.

''0, Tansen," said the Emperor, ''tell me where-
trom came this voice of yours, whence the won-
der of it? It is not of mortals, but of the gods. No
other voice such as thine blesses the ear of man.

my friend, and gladly would I listen for aye to its
marvel."

*'You are kind, Sire," the Singer replied,
''but could you hear the voice of him who taught
me, whose beauty of voice I reflect so little, could
you but hear him, all my poor efforts would be
forgotten."

"Ever is your answer thus, Tansen! But tell
me who is he, this wonderful gooroo of wonderful
voice?"

' 'He is but a hermit, Sire, a saint who lives in the
jungle of Brindaban^ By all he is known as a holy
man and his voice hath the power of drawing all
unto himself. Will not your majesty go with me
on a pilgrimage to the holy forest where you may
hear for yourself this voice of wonder and forget
that T&nsen ever knew how to sing?"

"No, my friend, yours is unjust humility. To
forget your golden voice is impossible, for there is
none like it. But gladly will I go with you to this
hermit, your Gooroo, to prove what I already know
that you are the greatest singer of the world. Let
all be made ready for our journey tomorrow."

So the next day as the Emperor, disguised and
seated on a huge elephant, started on a pilgrimage
with Tansen to the latter's Gooroo, he said to the
singer, "Tell me, Tansen, how met you the Saint-
Singer and how became you his chela?"

"It is quickly told, your majesty, it may interest
you. My father was a Brahman living in the out- skirts of a jimgle. We were very poor and I was
his only child. Often the passersby from the
jungle would stop at our little fruit grove and
strip from the trees the fruits that meant the live-
lihood of our family. One day my father said to
me, 'T&nsen, my son, do you watch this side of the
grove and call to those wayfarers that seek to
steal ftom our trees.' So I sat within our little
raised watch shed and while there I remembered
how I had, one terrible day, heard the roar of a
stricken tigress as she neared the village in search
of her stolen cubs, and day after day I tried to give
that roar until it became so perfect that my father
fled from the grove on one occasion as he heard it,
thinking a tiger was upon his land. After that
our fruits were safe, for, as soon as I heard any
one approaching with intent to steal, I gave the
roar, and instantly they were lost to view in the
distance.

''One evening, as I sat in the watch-cot, I saw
through the trees a band of men coming toward
the grove. I gave my roar and all, save one, fled.
But the one made straight toward me, looking not
at me, but into the undergrowths. I shall never
forget the love in his face. It seemed that it must
draw me down ftom the cot, and I understood only
then the stories I had heard of these holy men, i^iio
feared neither man nor beast, and how, by their
love the taint of the world was banished from the
hearts of the men they k>oked upon, and the lust of blood quelled in the breasts of the savage beast.
The saint struck at the thickets with his staff to
look for the tiger, then turned and looked at me
Ijring in my shed, and said : 'What are you doing
liiere, my little man? Have you no fear of the
tiger that seems to be lurking near here?' 'Oh
no/ I answered, 'I am here to guard my father's
fruit grove from the bold thieves that stripped
them. There is no tiger here, sir, I roar at them
and they think it is a tiger and flee from here. And
so my father's trees are safe.'

''Smilingly he lifted me down from the cot and
hoisting me upon his shoulders, walked toward
the house where he sojourned for the night much
to the joy of my father and mother who felt them-
selves blessed by his presence within their lowly
abode. The next day he left and I with him , He
had seen possibilities in the voice of the child
that could easily imitate the roar of a tiger, and
bad promised my father the reward of a world-^
famous singer for the sacrifice of his son. So I lived
with him and loved him, this great Saint-Singer
Hari D&s, until you, Sire, heard my poor voice
and took me to your court and home, and most of
all, to your mighty heart."

Two days later, as the sun threw its rays athwart
the hillside, the King and singer found themselves
at their joum^'s end, and Brind4ban, holiest
ground in all India, lay before them— Brind&ban,
sweetest word of Indian tongue, most sacred spot where Krishna walked and talked, and where lov-
ers of Him still walk that they may partake of the
glory that His Blessed Feet have left on its hal-
lowed dust.

There, in this forest of Brind&ban, before a small
hut, they beheld a man sitting in deep meditation,
hands folded on breast, head lifted high, eyes clos-
ed| and on his brow the glow like the sun's first
waking.

See, it is he, my Oooroo the Saint-Singer," whis-
pered Tansen, reverently. ''Tarry thou here,
Sire, behind these bushes and I will see how it can
be brought about that you shall hear this voice so
gloriously beautiful and yet so often silent in the
presence of the idly curious. Gold, nor jewels,
nor titles can bring it ftom that golden throat.
But the smallest action of love will set it vibrating
to the pulse of Nature's heart."

So saying, the singer prostrated himself low be-
fore his Gooroo, who, wrapped in meditation, saw
him not, nor heard him. Then lifting up his head,
T4nsen burst forth in a sacred song which his Ooo-
roo had taught him years ago. Louder and louder
rang the tone, sweeter and sweeter grew its beauty
until suddenly the golden notes broke and harsh
discord jarred on the listening ear. The Saint-
Singer opened his eyes and spake.

''Thou art out of key. Thou dost distort the
beauty of sound, T&nsen, thou who wert so per-
fect, art imperfect and discordant Thou gold- en-throated one, has dallying with the court and
the world lost for thee the soul of harmony?''

The singer, who purposely had made the harsh
discord, said, ''0 Oooroo! I pray thee, sing thou
the strain that I may again bring it to memory.''

Then the Qooroo lifted his voice and pealed forth
the harmonies of Heaven-sounds. It told of the
song of the stars, of the marriage of earth and seas,
of the weavings of love that give sustenance to
man and all that lives, of the birth of Time and the
crowning of Eternity, of the creation of gods and
the dance of Love, each step of which is the mak-
ing of a universe, each circle of which is the im-
mutable law thereof.

And, as he sang, Akbar fell on the ground
drunk with the exquisite blessedness of it.

The chela stood wrapped in devotion before that
Saint-Singer, and when the song ceased and its
sweetness still throbbed through the silence of the
evening, T4nsen's hushed voice fell upon the ear
of the holy man, saying, ''The Badshah hath come
to pay thee homage, Gooroo."

And when Akb&r the Great had fallen at the feet
of the humble saint and risen again, he walked a
little in the lengthening gloom with his singer
and said, ''Thou art right, Tansen.. He is all thou
sayest. Thou art a shadow, he a sun. Thou art
as brass, he is gold. Why is this great difference
and what the cause? Both of you have the sound of Heaven in your voice, the gold of harmony in
your tones. So like, yet so different/'

''The difference, Sire," answered Tansen, '4s
vast as you say, but the cause is simple. I sing
to please an earthly King. He sings to please the
King of Kings.