It rang forth agitated and sonorous as a gong, yet farther, solitary, inaccessible.
Then as if it had grown in magnitude by the ascent, it roared like a planet as it shoots into space to restore the equilibrium of the Universe, and suddenly, unexpectedly, in the fashion of the shooting star, it stopped short, carrying in its wake the exhausted assemblage of listeners to the floor as a mass of inert flesh.
One by one, as do the reeds after the violent gust of wind has blown over, they raised themselves, but not quite so erect as before. The musicians approached him humbly, and breaking their instruments, threw them at his feet, salaaming and promising never to play again from that day on.
Then Rajah Nila spoke: “Oh Asneha! Thou art indeed a great musician, and thou shalt be rewarded as befits a king; my riches, my kingdom, my daughter, are thine for thy choosing!”
“Oh, Rajah!” answered Asneha, “I am only a poor man and a musician by divine grace, but I am not a beggar, and have no desire for thy kingly gifts and thy fair daughter!”
The astonished Nila replied: “Assuredly thou art richer than am I, for thou art freed of all desires! But let me be a beggar for once, and entreat thee for another song!”
One day Pavana, the messenger of the gods, appeared to Asneha mounted on his white antelope, a flag in one hand, in the other an arrow, with a command from Indra to present himself immediately to the gods. So he mounted the antelope, and in less time than it takes to think it, he was carried to the eastern spur of the great Mount Meru, which is Swargra, in the City of Asmaravati, the heaven of Indra. All the gods had assembled there. Above all towered the great and mighty Indra, the Ruler of the gods and Lord of the Firmament, mounted on his elephant Airavata, at his right his dog Surana, and at his left his wife Indrani. Farther to the left was Surya, the god of the Sun, on his winged horse Tarkshya. Agni, the god of Fire, on a blue ram, and Varuna, the god of Waters, on his terrible Makara.
