The great God Indra had once forgotten himself so far as to fall in love with a Princess of Mortal Blood.
It must be said in extenuation that she was of the bluest blood, so blue indeed that in comparison to it the sapphire would fade and grow pale; and so aristocratic and ancient was her royal lineage that the parchment on which the names of her ancestors were duly recorded would easily have stretched across the peninsula from Mount Davalaghiri to Cape Comorin, and with a little tugging might easily have reached over to Ceylon as far as Adam’s Peak.
Now the Ruler of the gods knew well enough that the Princess was unapproachable by men, no matter how exalted their rank. As a God he was invisible to mankind; therefore, to the great shock and indignation of the other gods and his wife Indrani, he took the incarnation of a beautiful Angora cat, as fluffy and delicate as a cotton puff, immaculately white, with a bushy tail, gray-green eyes, very bristling mustachios and a nose pink as a rose coral bead.
Then he dropped into the lap of the Rajah, the father of the Princess, as he was driving in state through the town.
“Surely this is a message from the gods, O Protector!” said humbly the Prime Minister. “Many moons has the Princess of all virtues wished for such a perfect specimen, and if the Protector will deign to utter the wish it will be presented to the Princess.”
