Besides being the daughter of Doorga, the great goddess, Shoresh-sotee has a legendary tale attached to her person, which is regarded by the Hindoos as a genuine fact. Much as I do doubt its genuineness, I think it is a beautiful story, contrived to show the mercy of the goddess to her children. It is as follows. There was a young princess in India whose youth, personal charms, and mental accomplishments had made her the admiration of the time. Among other things that brought her notoriety, there was an oath she had taken, to the effect that she would give her hand to a man who would surpass her in power of reasoning, and conquer her in intellectual warfare.[24] The learned young princes and nobles of literary renown crowded her palace, but success did not smile upon any of them. One after the other they took the field of controversy with the maiden, and were vanquished. Disappointment and shame became their reward. Next to the kings and nobles, the Brahmun sages--whom we might call Depositories of Indian literature--made their appearance, but had to wear crowns of shame. Whether some superhuman intelligence shaped her arguments so as to render them impregnable, or her personal charms, her “lightning-like smiles,” or her “voice sweeter than Cuckoo’s,” threw a net of confusion over her opponents, I cannot say. While the vanquished party of the Brahmuns was returning home, they determined to know if anything could be done to punish the proud princess. Finding their own literary merits quite inadequate to the purpose, they did not hesitate to resort to stratagem. As the troubled company moved slowly homeward, contriving some way to ruin the learned maiden, it happened that a young man, singular in every way, came before their eyes. He was tall in stature, dark in complexion, unintelligent yet mild in his countenance. To describe his ignorance, which was proverbially great, the story says that the Brahmuns found him sitting on the branch of a lofty tree, and severing the same with an axe from the main trunk, not knowing that his own weight will facilitate the work, and that great will be his fall on the ground below! This ridiculous, yet pitiable scene attracted the attention of the sages, and they halted. This philosopher on the tree would make a good match for the princess, they said, if he could be saved from the ruin which his own hands were bringing upon him. They beckoned him down the tree, hinting that they have something very important to communicate to him, and so he came. In answer to their inquiries he told them his name was Kalidass, a Brahmun by caste, and that he had had no education. They informed him that they knew the latter while he had been on the tree. They asked him to follow them if he wished to marry a rich, noble woman in the country. He begged them not to make fun of him, as he was too unworthy of the bride they spoke of. However, they let him understand that they would do what is