Kripá Dé looked as much surprised at the question as a king might be if asked whether it would be a trial to part with his crown. Then the young Brahmin told the strange story of his own early life. He described the mysterious ceremony with which he had been invested with the Brahminical thread, revealing to his listener some of the strange force of that superstition which helps to choke spiritual life among the Hindus. “Immediately after the solemn act of putting the Brahminical sign round my neck,” said the youthful convert, “I was confined for three days in a closed room, and was not allowed to have intercourse with any one but my grandmother. She has since died, and her ashes, collected from the funeral pile, have been carried hundreds of miles to be thrown into the Ganges.” “Tell me more about your three days of seclusion,” said Robin. “During those three days in which I remained shut up my grandmother was my teacher. She reminded me of my new duties, and told me what honour I must claim from the lower orders simply on account of my being a Brahmin. Through her teaching my vanity increased: I thought in my pride that I was in possession of divine power, and could destroy any one who should dare to stand against me simply by the breath of my mouth.” “Could you believe such a tremendous falsehood?” exclaimed Robin Hartley. “I did believe it,” was the reply, “and I resolved to use my power. Immediately after my release, I thought of trying an experiment on one of my playmates who belonged to the Kayasta caste, a boy with whom I was not always on good terms. So after I was set free to walk about the village and join my former companions, one of the first things which I did was to pick a quarrel with the boy whom I wanted to destroy.” “Kripá Dé, were you ever such a fiend?” burst from the lips of the astonished listener.[5] “I was a Brahmin,” said Kripá Dé, as if that were sufficient reply. “Pray go on with your story,” said Robin. “In the quarrel I gave the boy two or three severe blows, and then warned him not to touch me, as I had now the power of reducing him to ashes. Notwithstanding my warning, he gave back as many hard knocks as he had received. I tried in vain to destroy him by the breath of my mouth; and at last threw my sacred thread at his feet, expecting to see him consumed by fire.” “And you were disappointed to find that your thread had no power to work such a horrible miracle!” observed Robin. “I was so bitterly disappointed that I ran crying to my grandmother to tell her what had happened. The result was a great quarrel between her and my playmate’s mother, who resented my attempt to burn up her son. Other women joined in the dispute, and the noise and wrangling lasted for more than an hour. All that I had at last was a rebuke, not for wishing to kill my companion, but for parting with my Brahminical thread, which was soon replaced by another.” Footnote 5: