The Yogi and the Hunter

A soft, brown fluttering thing— a bird with a
shaft caught fast in its blood-spread breast fell at
the feet of the ensilenced Yogi, who for hours had
sat in deep meditation at the foot of a broad-
branching tree in the green heart of a jungle. The
hunter, following the path of his flying arrow,
found himself thus confronted by the Yogi, who,
rudely awakened from his trance-like attitude,
looked upon him rebukingly.

Now in this land of castes and spirituality, he
that is a slayer of living things, be they large or
small, bird or beast, is out of the pale of all castes
and is considered so unclean that his very touch is
regarded as pollution. So great was the fear and
consternation that overcame the hunter when he
found himself before the Yogi, that he quickly
prostrated himself to him and said:

''0 thou holy one, forgive me for having intrud-
ed upon thy meditation. I know how unseemly it
is for such as I, who make my living by the hunt-
ing and slajdng of flesh, to come before thee. But
I saw thee not, as thou didst sit in stillness. I saw
only the bird perched upon the bough above thy
head, and so intent was I upon its slaying that ev-
erything else was blotted from my sight. So I beg
thee to forgive me and allow me to depart in
peace. Do not follow me with thy anger, Yogi,
for having brought my unclean presence brfore
thee."

The Yogi, looking upon him wrathf ully, said :

' 'Thou hast aroused me from my silence. Thou
hast caused a dead thing to fall upon me, thou hast
polluted my atmosphere by thy unclean presence.
And because of this, I could, by the power of my
wrath, cause thee to die."

The frightened hunter writhed.

''But do it not, kind sir," he implored again,
helplessly, "I pray thee, do it not. I know it for
certain that though I fly to mountain heights or
sink to the deeps of the ocean, thou, in thy wrath,
couldst reach me there. So do it not, spirit-
potent one ! I am too small for thy power. But ask
any service thou wilt of me, for the expiation of
my unconscious wrong to thee, and I will render
it to my uttermost might. Only do not visit thy
wrath upon me, holy sir, for the sake of my wife
and my little ones, who would perish for want of
life's sustenance if I am no more, for I am their
only provider. If thou wilt forgive me and let me
go, I shall never cross thy path again or come with-
in a long radius of your holy seat."

The Yogi looked at the hunter with unchanged
sternness and then said :

**Qo thou, then, since thou wouldst serve me
and thus escape my anger. Go thou far and broad
into this forest and find thou my boy, my tmaat
boy who comes not at my call, but wanders ever
away, sometimes near, sometimes far, aye, ever in
waywardness strays from me though I long for
him. 60, seek him, find him and bring him to me.
Krishna is his name. Call upon his name and he
will come to thee and thou wilt bring him to me.
Thus canst thou only escape the punishment thou
so richly deservest, and return to thy home and
people untouched by my wrath."

The hunter repeated the name slowly, ''Krishna,
Krishna." "Tell me, Yogi," he asked, "how he
looks, and I will hunt the jungle day and night
and bring him to thee if he is to be found therein. ' '

A slow smile of peace came upon the face of the
Yogi, as he answered:

"The boy thou art to bring before me is of great
beauty and grace. His garment is of rich and rare
texture and gold in color. His complexion is dark,
but with unchanging light of unwavering love
gleaming from within until color is quite lost in
the glory of that light. His brow is crowned by
three peacock plumes, and in his hands he bears a
flute upon which he makes strains of music that
cause all hearts to throb in ecstasy because of its
sweetness. This is the boy I will have thee find.
And if thou art so fortunate as to catch him and
bring him hither, thou shalt not only gain my for-
giveness, but my blessing shall be with thee from
now unto all life."

Happy in this given promise, the hunter rushed
into the jungle calling the name "Krishna, S^ricdina,'' until the echo fell fainter and fainter on the
ears of the silent Yogi who listened with a still
smile on his lips.

And so the days passed until three were gone,
when suddenly the hunter appeared before the
Yogi, footsore and weary, and said unto him:

''0 holy sir, I see the boy often when I call his
name, but only as a flash, and then he is gone
again. Oftime^ in the far distance, I hear the
sweet strain of his flute as if in answer to my call.
But ever, as I follow it, and seem to come upon
him, lo, he is not there»! And again from the far
distance the flute I hear, and the flash of his
garment I behold, and then, woe is me!— he van-
ishes, or is too far in the distance for me to over-
take him. Once, sir, I caught the flash of his
eyd Oh, wondrous eye it was ! And it seemed to
me I must follow forever to again see the flash
thereof. And I wonder not, sir, that thou art
sad, and wouldst have this wajrward, but be-
wilderingly beautiful boy with thee. But I have
come back to thee tired and worn, to tell thee that
he eludes me ever, and empty-handed, my quest in
vain, I beg thee to allow me to return to my wife
and children, who ere now must have missed me
sorely."

While the hunter was speaking, the Yogi sat
gazing at him with wonder slowly growing in his
eyes of wisdom, and when he paused, he said:

''Away, thou fortunate one! Bring to me this
boy. Call upon him, follow him, catch him and
fetch him to me, else never expect mercy from
me/'

And again the hunter hurried away, calling
''Krishna, Krishna,'' until the jungle rang and
echoed and re-echoed with that name. To and fro
he rushed ever calling, calling, now chasing here
now there, gazing into the thickets, peering behind
the trees and anon crawling through the interlac-
ed branches of undergrowths, until again the days
and nights were passed. But he knew not of the
passing because of the wild joy in the chase of the
boy who lured him from the distances by the
glance of his eye exquisite and the strains of his
flute entrancing, until he once more stood before
the Yogi. But this time he was not footsore or
weary or frightened, but with flushed cheek, tri-
umphant brow and glad voice he called forth :

"Here, Yogi, is he whom thou seekest. Long
and hard have I chased him, and ever and again
hath he eluded me. But elusive and mischievous
as he is, I have caught him at last and bring him
to thee. For three dajrs I followed the gleam of his
golden garment, the flutter of his mantle in the
breeze, the waving of his peacock plumes and the
strains of his flute. Hither and thither he darted,
flashed the beauty of his eye upon me, and then the
splendor of his smile which quite outrivalled the
jewel on his breast. But I have him now. I bring
him to thee though he even now struggles to flee
from me. But he cannot. I hold him tight. And
now that I come to give him to thee, I cannot, I
cannot; for his glance has made me forget the
world, his smile has made me forget all that it
holds, his flute has fllled me with longings for that
which only his beauty can sartisfy. Though he is
thine, Yogi, oh let him be mine also. Let me
stay here, I pray thee, to serve thee, so that I may
be near him and look upon him always."

The Yogi stared at the glorified mein of the
hunter who seemed to be grasping something
which struggled to escape, but which the Yogi
could not see. *'What art thou saying?'' he said,
* *I see no boy with thee. I see only thee. ' '

*'Why!'' the hunter exclaimed in surprise,
**dost thou not see thy boy, Krishna, whom I hold
here? Come, take him, lest he escape again."

Intently the Yogi gazed toward him, and close
at the side of the hunter, there flashed before his
vision the outline of a figure— shadowy, faint, en-
trancing. It gleamed for an instant, then van-
ished, though the hunter still struggled to hold the
figure beside him.

Then the Yogi rose and fell at the feet of the
hunter and said :

''0 fortunate one! man that is blest beyond
human ken ! Thou art a Yogi of the highest rank
and I am an outcast compared to thee. Didst thou
call me a holy Yogi and thyself an untouchable
pariah? The reverse is the truth. Whoever like
thee has searched and reached and grasped the
Holy of holies is the holiest Brahman, the highest
saint, the greatest Yogi; and whoever, like me,
has failed to do so, is a pariah, a false saint, an3
of unclean soul and body, though bom a Brahman
and trained in Yoga. It was to serve thee that I
frightened thee, with mock anger, into turning thy
mind from the killing of life to the Source of All
Life, for I saw thee possessed of absolute concen-
tration bom of thy past birth. This I recognized
when I saw how thou couldst see a bird above my
head and yet not see that head, yea^ couldst see
only that bird to the exclusion of all else. I was
right, for by the power of that absolute concentra-
tion thou hast in six days found what I have
sought in vain in silent meditation for a life time.
Dost thou know whom thou beholdest, thou un-
conscious one? It is the Seedless One, yet the Seed
of all Creation. He is the Lord of Love, the Youth
Eternal and yet the Ancient of All Ages. He the
Soul of the Universe—the Supreme Being in Man-
ifest form, the Lover and Beloved of All— Krishna
Himself!''