“What shall we do? For my son is learning the guarded secrets, and if I keep him shut in the gardens he will rebel and break away, and if I send him through the city such devils are my servants that horrible sights afflict him and disperse my hopes in him. Here have I built a Paradise so heavenly that could he but see it I need fear no more, for the man is not born who could leave its deep and delicious shades for the dusty world. And there have I placed a golden maiden whose smile is sunshine and her lips singing roses, and were he to see her—But what do I say? Is it not possible to a great person like myself that for a few short hours the city ways should be guarded from horror while he passes through? I am fallen indeed, otherwise.” But the old wise minister shook his head. “Great Sir, one should say it is possible, yet when I remember how the city was searched and guarded this twice, what dare I say? O Maharaj—may it not be that the high Gods being resolved may not be thwarted, and that we fight against iron destiny? Great fear possesses me.” But his Master replied angrily. “Foolish old man! And was I not given the choice? If I could withhold the truth he would be a great world-King. If he guessed it he would be an ascetic of the jungles. What father would choose other than I have done? Once more I will send him to my Paradise, and if this time I am tricked let your head answer it.” And again the Prince was sent out but this time also though the city was decorated and garlanded, there was no semblance of joy, and the very horses went with drooped heads as though fear were the charioteer. And as they reached the street, where most the people crowded, the Divinity was again ready with his work, having prepared a sight terrible and woeful. For slowly preceding the chariot there went a funeral train, with four men bearing a bier and lying on it a body cold and stiff, with dropped jaw and dreadful dead eyes staring blindly at the sun. Withered flowers lay on the bier and the mourners beat their breasts and wept aloud, filling the air with wailing and lamentation. And the Prince closing his eyes to shut out the horror, and clenching his palms said: “What is this?” And Channa not daring to look in his face, answered very low: bowed under the weight of words he was compelled to utter. “This is a dead man, all his powers of body destroyed, life departed, his heart without thought, his intellect dispersed. His spirit is fled, his body withered, stretched out like a dead log, taken from all who loved him. And mourning they carry him forth to burn and obliterate him, for they—even they—will have no more of his presence now become loathsome, but cast him from them utterly. And this is Death.” And into his clenched hands he murmured: “Is this also the common lot?” And the charioteer replied, with hidden face: