Shantil then explained that a certain Vetâl must be captured and given into his possession. ‘On the 14th of Aswin,’ said he, ‘at midnight, your Majesty must go alone to the cemetery on the banks of the Godavery, beyond the town: you must be clothed in black and bear in your hand a naked sword.’ When the appointed day arrived a certain tree was pointed out from which he was to cut down the required corpse, and having thrown it across his shoulders carry it in perfect silence to Shantil. Vikrama went and found this burial-ground filled with smoke from burning corpses, and resounding with piercing cries of devils, which were coming from all regions. At length King Vikrama found the tree, and climbing into it, he cut the cord by which the corpse was suspended and threw it on the ground; but just as he put out his hands to capture the Vetâl it jumped up, and suspended itself as before, high up in the tree.[3] Footnote 3: Certain trees are considered the true home of the Vetâl: he is then said ‘to live in his own house.’ This happened more than once, until the king discovered that he must bind the corpse across his back before he came down. And now the king encountered another difficulty; for the wily Vetâl within the corpse which he carried began telling stories, to beguile the fatigue of the journey he said, but in truth, because he wanted to escape; and Vikrama could only hold him on condition of his being absolutely silent. The Vetâl’s plan was therefore, to put the king off his guard, and just when his interest was excited to ask some pointed question. Five-and-twenty times did this succeed. As soon as the king spoke the Vetâl flew back to his tree, and the whole process had to be repeated. The five-and-twenty stories called ‘Vetâlapanchavinsati,’ are a record of the tales related on these occasions, which Crustnath Cassinathjee, a modern Hindu, translated recently into English. What ultimately became of the persecuted Vetâl we will leave to the reader who delights to revel in Eastern fairy lore, as did Swami from his boyhood upwards. Magic and mystery possessed a charm for him that he could not overcome, the result being that he too desired superhuman power, which should astonish even the advanced scientists of the twenty-first century. CHAPTER IX ‘I know the wealth of every urn In which unnumbered rubies burn, Beneath the pillars of Chilminar; I know where the isles of perfume are, Many a fathom down in the sea, To the south of sun-bright Araby; I know too, where the Genii hid The jewelled cup of their King Jamshid, With life’s elixir sparkling high.’ _Lalla Rookh._