“My son, tidings have reached me of great things concerning you and the fulfilment of prophecies. But of these I will not speak for it is fitting that I should hear them from your own lips. But this I have to say: Is it not just and right that I should see my son before I die? Come to me.” And when this reached the Enlightened One it was impossible that he should doubt or hesitate, for who had more right to call upon him? And so, preparing himself for the journey on foot with certain of his disciples, once more he set his face to Kapila looking toward the mountains. And many things filled his heart, of memory and of affection, but all now controlled and guided by divine knowledge and certitude so that he went surrounded by peace and glad in that he carried a great gift to his father exceeding all gold, all jewels of all kings, if so it could be received, repaying thus the tenderness which had guarded his youth. And when the Maharaja and the people of Kapila heard he would come, from that day forth they watched the ways to the city that they might with due eagerness and joy welcome the great return of their Prince. For they said proudly: “Our Prince who left us to seek enlightenment has now found it, and gloriously returns!” and they thought: “To what kingdom has the like happened?” So journeying on foot, the Blessed One, crowned with the Ten Perfections, at last approached Kapila, and those who were the far outposts of the watch ran back to the next and those to the next until it reached the city crying: “The Prince comes! The Prince comes!” And the Maharaja having prepared himself, surrounded by his lords and all the neighbouring nobility, went forth along the flower-strewn ways (for the people hurried with flowers and banners and perfumes) to meet the great guest. And the heart of the Maharaja was hot within him and exulted, thinking: “He returns and the clouds are past and the sun of his glory drowns all in its brightness, and my good days are come again.” So they paused in the principal street of the town and there waited in the shade, with banners and flowers making gay the blue air about them. Then at long last moving through the streets, followed by two others, the Maharaja and his nobles saw a young monk clad in the yellow robe, with one shoulder bared, who in his hands carried an alms-bowl, and at each house door stopped and silently tendered the bowl, receiving with majesty what was given, and passing on with patience when it was refused. And it was his son. Then shame and love and anger contended in the heart of the Maharaja and tore him like a whirlwind among the leaves of a tree, and he clenched his robe across his breast and cried out aloud to Siddhartha: “I am put to shame—to horrible shame. My son a beggar! Our race is beaten to the earth with shame.” And standing calmly before the angry Maharaja the Blessed One after due salutation lifted his eyes and replied: “Maharaj, this is the custom of our race.”