When he had thought thus far he remembered one of his books in which the ancient beliefs of the valley were discussed. It happened to be one of the books which he had brought into his exile with him. He took it down, and in the evening set himself to search through it. And in a footnote towards the end of the book he read:
“The existence of a power shaping the valley for the good of the beings in it is clearly disproved. First, by the amount of suffering there is in the valley. Secondly, by the fewness of the types of life, and the constant modification of one plan to secure different results—which would be much better achieved by the use of radically different types and means. Thirdly, by the absence of any indication of such a power, except in the traditions of uncultivated tribes.”
When the student had read this he rose up and paced his chamber. For he saw clearly that if it was in bearing part of the pain that the power of the being lay, the first of these arguments fell to the ground. The presence of the pain in the valley would prove that this power took only some of the pain and not all. As to the second argument, all it would come to was that the being who, bearing pain, gave existence to the inhabitants, used economy in his actions—he chose to effect his objects with the least possible expenditure of means.
Reflecting thus he went out.
Now it may be considered surprising that the king did not communicate in some way with the student, for by means of his rays he was in possession of all that had gone on in his mind. But the king had found over and over again that if he manifested himself to any one of the inhabitants of the valley, the effect, though good at the immediate time, was most disastrous for the following time. For the ends he was working towards, and leading the inhabitants towards, were much greater than any one of them could grasp or conceive. And the inhabitants, as soon as they had communication with him, at once thought they knew his final will. And they were a set most peculiarly stiff in their notions, and with the kind of sanction which communication with him gave them, even the most absurd ideas if once conceived took a very long time to eradicate.
So when the student went out into the open air he saw nothing except the stars, and heard nothing except the wind. The way was so well known to him, however, that he walked on quickly without stumbling in the darkness. He had not gone far when he saw a kind of luminousness. Is it the moon beginning to rise? he thought. But he found he had passed the light and was leaving it behind. He could not have passed the moon thus. He went towards the light, and when he had reached it, it seemed like a slender staff of light. He touched it with his hand, and although he did not feel anything, yet he could take hold of it, and he walked on with the slender beam in his hand.
He had not gone very far when in his walk he touched on something lying in the path. Bending down and touching it with his hand he found that it was the form of a fellow creature. “He is overcome with fatigue; can I help him along?” he thought. He rose up to look round, and let the beam of light which he held in his hand touch the prostrate form. “I wish he could get up by himself,” he thought. No sooner had he felt this wish than he had a sensation of pain in his limbs, and the figure rose up.
“I could not move,” it said, “until you came, with all my reasons to get along; the pain was as much as the pleasure.”
“Who are you?”
“I am a wanderer, and am trying to reach the place where I was born; they will help me there.”