"Prince!" he said, Pay me the offering!" Harišchandra gave The money gainèd by the shameful sale Of wife and child. And when the priest beheld The money, overcome with wrath, he said: "How canst thou mock me with this paltry sum! Base Kshatriya! And thinkest thou that this Suffices for a sacrificial gift Such as I would accept? But if thy mind Thus far misleads thee, thou shalt feel my power-- Power transcendant, gained by penances, And scripture meditation. Yes! the power Of my pure Brâhmanhood shall show itself On thee." "More will I give thee," said the king, "But wait, most noble saint! Nought have I left! Even my wife and child are sold." Replied The Brâhman: "Hold! be silent! Further time Than the remaining fourth part of to-day I grant thee not." Enraged, he turned away, Departing with the money. And the king, Immersed in grief and fear, with face cast down, Cried out: "If there be any one of you Who wants a slave, let him make haste and speak While day remains." Then Dharma, putting on The form of a Cha.n.dâla, hastily Came forward, taking pity on the king. His countenance was fearful,--black, with tusks Projecting; savage in his words; his smell Was foul and horrible; a crowd of dogs Came after him. "Tell me thy price," he said; "Be quick; and whether it be large or small I care not, so I have thee as my slave:" The king, beholding such a loathsome form, Of mien revolting--"What art thou?" he said. "Men call me a Cha.n.dâla," he replied. I dwell in this same city--in a part Of evil fame. As of a murderer Condemned to death, such is my infamy. My calling is a robber of the dead." "I will not be a slave," exclaimed the king, "To thee, a base Cha.n.dâla. Better far That I should perish by the fiery curse." The words were scarcely uttered, when the saint Returned, his countenance with rage Distorted; and he thus addressed the king: "The sum is fair; why dost thou not accept The offer? Then indeed thou mightest pay The gift thou owest for the sacrifice." "O son of Kušika!" replied the king, "Consider this, I pray!--my noble race! Truly am I descended from the sun! How can I then become, though sore in want, Lowest of creatures--a Cha.n.dâla's slave?" "Delay no more," the Brâhman said, "but pay The gift at once, and sell thyself a slave To the Cha.n.dâla--or assuredly I curse thee." "Saintly priest, be merciful!" The king entreated; and, immersed in care, He seized the Brâhman's feet, exclaiming thus: "What am I but a slave, o'erwhelmed with grief! Fear holds me! Saintly priest, be merciful! Protect me, mighty saint! Save me, I pray, From this most horrible Cha.n.dâla. Sir! Most noble saint! hereafter shall thy will Be all the object of my life! To serve Thy lightest wish shall be my highest joy! Thus will I make the offering--I will be Thy __slave__!" Replied the Brahman: "If thou art