童子哥帕拉的故事
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中文
牧童哥帕拉的故事
"妈妈！我好害怕一个人穿过树林去上学；别的孩子有仆人或什么人送他们上学或接他们回家——为什么我不能也有人接我回家？"——在一个冬天的下午，小婆罗门男孩哥帕拉准备上学时，这样对他的母亲说。学校的课程分上午和下午。下午放学时天已经黑了，而回家的路要穿过树林。
哥帕拉的母亲是一位寡妇。他的父亲生前像一个婆罗门应该的那样生活——从不贪图世间财物，读书教书，礼拜神灵并帮助他人礼拜——在哥帕拉还是婴儿时就去世了。这位贫苦的寡妇完全退出了世俗的事务——甚至连她曾经拥有的那一点点也放弃了——她的灵魂完全交付给神，以祈祷、禁食和苦行耐心等待着，等待那伟大的解脱者——死亡——好在来生与那位永恒相伴她的喜乐和悲伤、在那无始的生命之链中与她共历善恶的伴侣重逢。她住在自己的小茅屋里。她丈夫作为对学问的神圣供养而获得的一小片稻田为她提供足够的稻米；环绕茅屋的那片土地上，几丛竹子、几棵椰子树、几棵芒果树和荔枝树，加上善良村民的帮助，一年四季都能产出足够的蔬菜。其余的，她每天在纺车前辛勤劳作数小时。
她在玫瑰色的晨曦触及棕榈树蓬松的梢头之前很久便起身，在鸟儿们开始在巢中啁啾之前很久，坐在她的床上——地上铺了一条毯子的草席——念诵着过去圣女们的圣名，向古代仙人们致敬，念诵那罗延那（Narayana）——人类的庇护所——的圣名，念诵大慈大悲的湿婆的圣名，念诵救度母多罗（Tara）的圣名；而最重要的是，她向她心中最爱的那位祈祷——克里希纳，祂曾化身为牧童哥帕拉，来教化和拯救人类——她欢喜于自己又近了一天，离那位先行离去的人更近了，而与他一起，也离祂——那位牧童——更近了一天。
天色未明之前，她便在邻近的溪流中沐浴，祈祷着她的心能像她的身体被水净化一样，被克里希纳的恩典所净化。然后她穿上新洗的白色棉衣，采集一些鲜花，在一块圆石上用少许水研磨一块檀香木制成芳香的糊膏，采几片馨香的杜尔西（Tulasi）叶，退入茅屋中一间专门用于礼拜的小房间。在这个房间里，她供奉着她的小牧童；在一个小木宝座上，罩着一顶小丝绸华盖；在一个几乎被鲜花覆盖的小天鹅绒垫上，放着一尊铜制的婴儿克里希纳像。她那颗母亲的心只有将神想象为她的婴儿才能感到满足。许多许多次，她那学识渊博的丈夫向她讲述过吠陀中所宣说的那位——无形的、无限的、非人格的。她全神贯注地聆听，而结论总是一样的——吠陀中所记载的一定是真理；但是，哦！那太广大了，太遥远了，而她，不过是一个软弱、无知的女人；况且，经典上也写着："无论以何种形式寻求我，我便以那种形式到达他身边，因为全人类都不过是在走我为他们铺设的道路"——这就足够了。她不需要知道更多。她就在那里——她的心所能容纳的一切虔诚、信仰和爱，都在克里希纳——那位牧童婴儿身上，而她全部的心都缠绕在那可见的牧童身上，这尊小小的铜像上。她又曾听闻："像侍奉一个有血有肉的人一样侍奉我，以爱和纯洁，我就接受这一切。"于是她像侍奉主人、侍奉深爱的老师那样侍奉，尤其像侍奉她的掌上明珠、她唯一的孩子、她的儿子那样侍奉。
于是她为神像沐浴、穿衣、在其前焚香，至于供品？——哦，她是那么贫穷！——但她含着泪水想起丈夫从经书中念过的话："即便是树叶和鲜花、水果和清水，凡以爱心供奉的，我都欣然接受。"于是她供奉道："花为你而开，世间万花为你绽放，请接受我这几朵平凡的花。你供养着整个宇宙，请接受我这些微薄的果品。我是软弱的，我是无知的。我不知道如何亲近你，如何礼拜你，我的神，我的牧童，我的孩子；愿我的礼拜纯净，愿我对你的爱无所求取；如果礼拜中有什么功德，愿那功德归于你，只赐予我爱，那'除了爱别无所求'的爱。"也许那位乞食者在他清晨的巡行中正在小院里歌唱：
你的知识，人啊！我不在乎，
我畏惧的是你的爱；
是你的爱撼动了我的宝座，
让神流下了人间的泪。
看吧，为了爱，万有之主，
那无形的、永远自由的，
化为人形，
来与你嬉戏同住。
温达林中的牧人们
曾获得过什么学问？
挤奶的姑娘们有何科学？
她们爱了，便将我赢得。
你的知识，人啊！我不在乎，
我畏惧的是你的爱；
是你的爱撼动了我的宝座，
让神流下了人间的泪。
看吧，为了爱，万有之主，
那无形的、永远自由的，
化为人形，
来与你嬉戏同住。
温达林中的牧人们
曾获得过什么学问？
挤奶的姑娘们有何科学？
她们爱了，便将我赢得。
然后，在那神圣之中，这颗母亲的心找到了她尘世的儿子哥帕拉（意即牧童），以那位神圣的牧童之名命名。而那几乎机械般地在尘世环境中移动的灵魂——那仿佛一直飘浮在天界以太之中、随时准备脱离物质接触的灵魂——在她的孩子身上找到了尘世的锚。这是留给她的唯一事物，让她把全部尘世的欢乐和爱倾注其上。她的行动、她的思想、她的快乐、她的整个生命，不都是为了那个将她系于生命的小生灵吗？
多年来，她以一个母亲的全部关怀，日复一日地守望着那个婴儿生命的展开；如今他已经长大到可以上学了，为了给小学童准备必需品，她多少个月辛苦劳作！
然而必需品不过寥寥几样。在那片土地上，人们满足地在泥灯的微光下——灯中只有一盎司的油和一根细棉芯——终其一生地研读书籍——一张草席是他们唯一的家具——学生的必需品并不多。但即便是那几样，对于贫穷的母亲来说也需要多日的辛勤劳作。
她多日在纺车前辛苦劳作，只为给哥帕拉买一件新棉布单衣和一件棉布披肩——内外两件衣物，还有哥帕拉用来包裹他的贝叶书写本和芦管笔的小草席——他会卷起来夹在腋下带去学校，用作他的坐垫——还有墨壶。而当在一个吉日，哥帕拉第一次尝试书写他的第一个字母时，那对她是怎样的喜悦啊，只有一颗母亲的心，一颗贫穷母亲的心，才能知晓！
但今天她的心头有一片阴影。哥帕拉害怕独自穿过树林。她从未像这样痛切地感受到她的寡居、她的孤独、她的贫穷。有那么一刻，一切都是黑暗的，但她想起了她所听闻的那个永恒的承诺："那些放弃一切其他念头而依靠我的人，我亲自为他们运送所需的一切。"而她正是那种能够信赖的灵魂。
于是母亲擦干眼泪，告诉她的孩子他不必害怕。因为在那片树林中住着她的另一个儿子，也在放牛，也叫哥帕拉；如果他穿过树林时害怕，他只需呼唤哥帕拉哥哥！
孩子不愧是母亲的儿子，他相信了。
那天，放学穿过树林回家时，哥帕拉害怕了，便呼唤他的牧童哥哥哥帕拉："牧童哥哥，你在这里吗？妈妈说你在，叫我喊你；我一个人害怕。"一个声音从树后传来："不要怕，小弟弟，我在这里；安心回家去吧。"
就这样，每天男孩呼唤，那声音便回应。母亲听到后又惊又喜；她嘱咐孩子下次让树林中的哥哥现身。
第二天，男孩穿过树林时呼唤了他的哥哥。声音照常传来，但男孩请求树林中的哥哥让他看到自己。声音回答说："小弟弟，我今天很忙，来不了。"但男孩坚持，于是从树荫深处走出了树林中的牧童，一个穿着牧童服饰的男孩，头戴小小的冠冕，冠上插着孔雀翎毛，手持牧童的笛子。
他们是多么快乐啊：他们在树林里一起玩了好几个小时，爬树、采果子和花——寡妇的哥帕拉和树林的哥帕拉——直到快要迟到了。然后寡妇的哥帕拉恋恋不舍地去上学，几乎忘记了所有功课，他的心急切地盼望着回到树林去和他的哥哥玩耍。
就这样过了几个月。贫穷的母亲日复一日地听着这一切，在这神圣恩典的喜悦中，忘记了她的寡居、她的贫穷，千百倍地感恩她的苦难。
后来，老师要举行一些祭祀祖先的宗教仪式。这些乡村教师独自管理着许多学生，不收取固定的学费，在需要的时候不得不依赖学生的供奉。
每个学生都带来了自己的一份，或实物或金钱。而哥帕拉，那个孤儿，寡妇的儿子！——其他男孩们谈到他们要带的礼物时，都对他投以轻蔑的微笑。
那天晚上，哥帕拉心情沉重，向母亲要些礼物给老师，可怜的母亲一无所有。
但她决心做她一生都在做的事——依靠那位牧童——于是告诉儿子去向树林中的哥帕拉哥哥要些礼物送给老师。
第二天，在哥帕拉像往常一样在树林中与牧童男孩相会、一起玩了些游戏之后，哥帕拉告诉他树林中的哥哥心中的忧愁，恳求他给点什么让他送给老师。
"哥帕拉弟弟，"牧童说，"你看我只是一个牧童，没有钱，但拿着这罐奶酪吧，作为一个穷牧童的礼物送给你的老师。"
哥帕拉十分高兴，因为他现在有东西可以送给老师了——更何况这是树林中哥哥送的礼物——他急忙赶到老师家，满怀期待地站在一群正在向老师呈递礼物的男孩身后。他们带来的礼物琳琅满目，没有人想到去看一看这个孤儿的礼物。
这种忽视令人十分沮丧；哥帕拉的眼里含着泪水。就在这时，老师碰巧注意到了他。他从哥帕拉手中接过那小罐奶酪，把奶酪倒入一个大容器中——令他惊讶的是，那小罐又满了！他又把里面的东西倒入一个更大的容器中，小罐又满了；就这样持续着，他倒得越快，小罐填满得越快。
于是每个人都惊呆了；老师把这个贫穷的孤儿揽入怀中，询问这罐奶酪的来历。
哥帕拉把关于树林中牧童哥哥的一切都告诉了老师——他如何应答他的呼唤，如何与他一起玩耍，以及最后如何给了他这罐奶酪。
老师请哥帕拉带他去树林，让他看看他的树林哥哥，哥帕拉非常乐意地带老师去了那里。
男孩呼唤他的哥哥出现，但那天连声音都没有。他一遍又一遍地呼唤。没有回应。然后男孩恳求他树林中的哥哥说话，否则老师会认为他说的不是真话。这时一个声音从远处传来：
"哥帕拉，是你母亲的和你的爱与信心把我带到了你身边；但告诉你的老师，他还要等很长很长的时间。"
English
THE STORY OF THE BOY GOPALA
"O mother! I am so afraid to go to school through the woods alone; other boys have servants or somebody to bring them to school or take them home-why cannot I have someone to bring me home?"-thus said Gopâla, a little Brahmin boy, to his mother one winter afternoon when he was getting ready for school. The school hours were in the morning and afternoon. It was dark when the school closed in the afternoon, and the path lay through the woods.
Gopala's mother was a widow. His father who had lived as a Brahmin should-never caring for the goods of the world, studying and teaching, worshipping and helping others to worship—died when Gopala was a baby. And the poor widow retired entirely from the concerns of the world-even from that little she ever had-her soul given entirely to God, and waiting patiently with prayers, fasting, and discipline, for the great deliverer death, to meet in another life, him who was the eternal companion of her joys and sorrows, her partner in the good and evil of the beginningless chain of lives. She lived in her little cottage. A small rice-field her husband received as sacred gift to learning brought her sufficient rice; and the piece of land that surrounded her cottage, with its clumps of bamboos, a few cocoanut palms, a few mangoes, and lichis, with the help of the kindly village folk, brought forth sufficient vegetables all the year round. For the rest, she worked hard every day for hours at the spinning-wheel.
She was up long before the rosy dawn touched the tufted heads of the palms, long before the birds had begun to warble in their nests, and sitting on her bed-a mat on the ground covered with a blanket-repeated the sacred names of the holy women of the past, saluted the ancient sages, recited the sacred names of Nârâyana the Refuge of mankind, of Shiva the merciful, of Târâ the Saviour Mother; and above all, (she) prayed to Him whom her heart most loved, Krishna, who had taken the form of Gopala, a cowherd, to teach and save mankind, and rejoiced that by one day she was nearer to him who had gone ahead, and with him nearer by a day to Him, the Cowherd.
Before the light of the day, she had her bath in the neighbouring stream, praying that her mind might be made as clean by the mercy of Krishna, as her body by the water. Then she put on her fresh-washed whiter cotton garment, collected some flowers, rubbed a piece of sandalwood on a circular stone with a little water to make a fragrant paste, gathered a few sweet-scented Tulasi leaves, and retired into a little room in the cottage, kept apart for worship. In this room she kept her Baby Cowherd; on a small wooden throne under a small silk canopy; on a small velvet cushion, almost covered with flowers, was placed a bronze image of Krishna as a baby. Her mother's heart could only be satisfied by conceiving God as her baby. Many and many a time her learned husband had talked to her of Him who is preached in the Vedas, the formless, the infinite, the impersonal. She listened with all attention, and the conclusion was always the same-what is written in the Vedas must be true; but, oh! it was so immense, so far off, and she, only a weak, ignorant woman; and then, it was also written: "In whatsoever form one seeks Me, I reach him in that form, for all mankind are but following the paths I laid down for them"-and that was enough. She wanted to know no more. And there she was-all of the devotion, of faith, of love her heart was capable of, was there in Krishna, the Baby Cowherd, and all that heart entwined round the visible Cowherd, this little bronze image. Then again she had heard: "Serve Me as you would a being of flesh and blood, with love and purity, and I accept that all." So she served as she would a master, a beloved teacher, above all, as she would serve the apple of her eye, her only child, her son.
So she bathed and dressed the image, burned incense before it, and for offering?-oh, she was so poor!-but with tears in her eyes she remembered her husband reading from the books: "I accept with gladness even leaves and flowers, fruits and water, whatever is offered with love", and she offered: "Thou for whom the world of flowers bloom, accept my few common flowers. Thou who feedest the universe, accept my poor offerings of fruits. I am weak, I am ignorant. I do not know how to approach Thee, how to worship Thee, my God, my Cowherd, my child; let my worship be pure, my love for Thee selfless; and if there is any virtue in worship, let it be Thine, grant me only love, love that never asks for anything-'never seeks for anything but love'." Perchance the mendicant in his morning call was singing in the little yard:
Thy knowledge, man! I value not,
It is thy love I fear;
It is thy love that shakes My throne,
Brings God to human tear.
For love behold the Lord of all,
The formless, ever free,
Is made to take the human form
To play and live with thee.
What learning, they of Vrindâ's groves,
The herdsmen, ever got?
What science, girls that milked the kine?
They loved, and Me they bought.
Thy knowledge, man! I value not,
It is thy love I fear;
It is thy love that shakes My throne,
Brings God to human tear.
For love behold the Lord of all,
The formless, ever free,
Is made to take the human form
To play and live with thee.
What learning, they of Vrindâ's groves,
The herdsmen, ever got?
What science, girls that milked the kine?
They loved, and Me they bought.
Then, in the Divine, the mother-heart found her earthly son Gopala (lit. cowherd), named after the Divine Cowherd. And the soul which would almost mechanically move among its earthly surroundings-which, as it were, was constantly floating in a heavenly ether ready to drift away from contact of things material found its earthly moorings in her child. It was the only thing left to her to pile all her earthly joys and love on. Were not her movements, her thoughts, her pleasures, her very life for that little one that bound her to life?
For years she watched over the day-to-day unfolding of that baby life with all a mother's care; and now that he was old enough to go to school, how hard she worked for months to get the necessaries for the young scholar!
The necessaries however were few. In a land where men contentedly pass their lives poring over books in the the light of a mud lamp, with an ounce of oil in which is a thin cotton wick-a rush mat being the only furniture about them-the necessaries of a student are not many. Yet there were some, and even those cost many a day of hard work to the poor mother.
How for days she toiled over her wheel to buy Gopala a new cotton Dhoti and a piece of cotton Châdar, the under and upper coverings, the small mat in which Gopala was to put his bundle of palm leaves for writing and his reed pens, and which he was to carry rolled up under his arm to be used as his seat at school-and the inkstand. And what joy to her it was, when on a day of good omen Gopal attempted to write his first letters, only a mother's heart, a poor mother's, can know!
But today there is a dark shadow in her mind. Gopala is frightened to go alone through the wood. Never before had she felt her widowhood, her loneliness, her poverty so bitter. For a moment it was all dark, but she recalled to her mind what she had heard of the eternal promise: "Those that depend on Me giving up all other thoughts, to them I Myself carry whatever is necessary." And she was one of the souls who could believe.
So the mother wiped her tears and told her child that he need not fear. For in those woods lived another son of hers tending cattle, and also called Gopala; and if he was ever afraid passing through them, he had only to call on brother Gopala!
The child was that mother's son, and he believed.
That day, coming home from school through the wood, Gopala was frightened and called upon his brother Gopala, the cowherd: "Brother cowherd, are you here? Mother said you are, and I am to call on you: I am frightened being alone." And a voice came from behind the trees: "Don't be afraid, little brother, I am here; go home without fear."
Thus every day the boy called, and the voice answered. The mother heard of it with wonder and love; and she instructed her child to ask the brother of the wood to show himself the next time.
The next day the boy, when passing through the woods, called upon his brother. The voice came as usual, but the boy asked the brother in the woods to show himself to him. The voice replied, "I am busy today, brother, and cannot come." But the boy insisted, and out of the shade of the trees came the Cowherd of the woods, a boy dressed in the garb of cowherds, with a little crown on his head in which were peacock's feathers, and the cowherd's flute in his hands.
And they were so happy: they played together for hours in the woods, climbing trees, gathering fruits and flowers-the widow's Gopala and the Gopala of the woods, till it was almost late for school. Then the widow's Gopala went to school with a reluctant heart, and nearly forgot all his lesson, his mind eager to return to the woods and play with his brother.
Months passed this wise. The poor mother heard of it day by day and, in the joy of this Divine mercy, forgot her widowhood, her poverty, and blessed her miseries a thousand times.
Then there came some religious ceremonies which the teacher had to perform in honour of his ancestors. These village teachers, managing alone a number of boys and receiving no fixed fees from them, have to depend a great deal upon presents when the occasion requires them.
Each pupil brought in his share, in goods or money. And Gopala, the orphan, the widow's son!-the other boys smiled a smile of contempt on him when they talked of the presents they were bringing.
That night Gopala's heart was heavy, and he asked his mother for some present for the teacher, and the poor mother had nothing.
But she determined to do what she had been doing all her life, to depend on the Cowherd, and told her son to ask from his brother Gopala in the forests for some present for the teacher.
The next day, after Gopala had met the Cowherd boy in the woods as usual and after they had some games together, Gopala told his brother of the forest the grief that was in his mind and begged him to give him something to present his teacher with.
"Brother Gopala," said the cowherd, "I am only a cowherd you see, and have no money, but take this pot of cream as from a poor cowherd and present it to your teacher."
Gopala, quite glad that he now had something to give his teacher, more so because it was a present from his brother in the forest, hastened to the home of the teacher and stood with an eager heart behind a crowd of boys handing over their presents to the teacher. Many and varied were the presents they had brought, and no one thought of looking even at the present of the orphan.
The neglect was quite disheartening; tears stood in the eyes of Gopala, when by a sudden stroke of fortune the teacher happened to take notice of him. He took the small pot of cream from Gopala's hand, and poured the cream into a big vessel, when to his wonder the pot filled up again! Again he emptied the contents into a bigger vessel, again it was full; and thus it went on, the small pot filling up quicker than he could empty it.
Then amazement took hold of everyone; and the teacher took the poor orphan in his arms and inquired about the pot of cream.
Gopala told his teacher all about his brother Cowherd in the forest, how he answered his call, how he played with him, and how at last he gave him the pot of cream.
The teacher asked Gopala to take him to the woods and show him his brother of the woods, and Gopala was only too glad to take his teacher there.
The boy called upon his brother to appear, but there was no voice even that day. He called again and again. No answer. And then the boy entreated his brother in the forest to speak, else the teacher would think he was not speaking the truth. Then came the voice as from a great distance:
"Gopala, thy mother's and thy love and faith brought Me to thee; but tell thy teacher, he will have to wait a long while yet."
文本来自Wikisource公共领域。原版由阿德瓦伊塔修道院出版。