“Dear lord, he shall plough his furrow and sow his seed, and very great shall his harvest be. All goes better than well.” And again another day he came with a sword, the haft sparkling like frost with jewels, and he cried, rejoicing: “This have the goldsmiths and handicraftsmen of the city given me, that with it my son may strike off the head of the goat for his first sacrifice, and after destroy his enemies as when Indra thunders and lightens from the peaks. But is all well?” And she, smiling: “Beloved, his enemies shall fall before him like chaff driven on a gale. And all goes better than well.” And she spent her time in deep meditation, free from grief or pain, free also from illusions and desires, in a measureless content and foreseeing. Thus the time went by, not swiftly as a dancer nor slowly as a mourner, but in a great quiet, pacing with majesty from day to day. Now, on a certain day when Spring with her birds and blossoms was come to earth, the Maharani, following the custom of the ladies of her race, with her sister made ready all her matters and entered the presence of her husband, speaking thus: “Dear lord, it is a habit of my people that when our children are born it is in the house of our parents. Have I then your permission to journey to them for this auspicious birth, that, returning, I may bring my sheaves with me?” And he, embracing her with true affection, gave her leave to go, commending her to the care of Prajapati and giving strict command that men should go before making all the ways clear for her litter, and men and women be warned that no sight painful or terrifying should meet her eyes. So, tenderly invoking the prayers and ritual of the Brahmans on her and his son’s behalf, he sent her forth and returned to his duties full of thought. But she, borne in her litter and embraced in the very arms of peace, went her way, thinking to reach the house of her parents and knowing not that the great hour of her life was even then upon her. And passing the Lumbini gardens, where trees and flowers, placid waters and green shades, the song of birds and cooing of doves combine to make a heaven on earth, she commanded them to stay her litter that she might set her feet in the sun-warmed grass and stand beside the coolness of the lake. So it was done, and leaning on the arm of Prajapati, she descended and entered the garden and wandered awhile, silent for joy.