“Great Lady, have pity on my grief, for I am innocent in this. In my soul I believe it was the Gods’ doing. From the day of his birth there have been portents, and who was I to stand against it?” Then the Princess, just and noble of soul, recollected herself, regretting her words, knowing well that the burden of the Gods’ purpose is their own and cannot be charged upon a man, and she spoke gently to him, and when he was gone she sat alone mourning, recalling the face and voice of her Prince, and slowly as the strong grief overburdened her she slipped down strengthless from the golden cushions and lay upon the ground, her empty arms stretched out before her. So her women found her, and as they raised her tenderly, she said this only: “Take away my golden bed where my lord and I lay, for henceforth I will lie upon bare earth. Take away my robes of silk and my jewels and bring me the yellow robe of the mendicant, for I am beggared indeed. Henceforth I will wear no other. Cut off my long hair, for I have done with beauty. And once a day and once only, bring me the food of the mendicant, such as will keep the flame of life alight and no more, for as to pleasure, the name of it is forgotten.” And as she said so was it done, and the long and perfumed tresses that touched her lovely feet fell about her like a dropped veil, and thus she lived henceforward, and for her child’s sake only. But as to the Maharaja his case was different, for love and anger contended in him, and his thoughts charged each other as in battle, rushing madly hither and thither like a herd of wild elephants. And when his nobles gathered about him he raged aloud before them: “Once I had a son. Now I have none. What is my kingdom to me, and my horribly echoing empty palace? And what are rule and dominance? Why was he given to be taken?” And for all the royal priest and the wise minister could do, they could not assuage his wrath and grief until the thought occurred to them that they might follow the wanderer and yet compel or persuade him to return. Then, and then only, the King listened: “Go,” he said, “and swiftly. Let not a breath intervene between now and your going, for life is unendurable until you return with him.” So in great haste the priest and minister set out on the way indicated by Channa, counting every instant of time they lost precious as dropped grains of pearl. And when they were come to the forests and hills of Rajagriha, they asked their way of the wandering religious persons whom they met, and of the cave-dwelling ascetics, and to these grave persons they said: “We are come, beseeching your aid. We serve a King like to the greatest of the Gods and his son, beautiful as the God who pierces hearts, has forsaken us and gone out into the solitudes seeking a remedy against old age, disease, and death, a thing no man can find. Knowing this, tell us, we entreat, where we may find him.” And the ascetics replied: