And his father and mother, and all the people of his village, alike forgot that there could be any end to this happiness. But the King of Death did not forget. “No older than his thirteenth year,” had said Shiva, the great god. And Kamil, the perfect boy, was in his thirteenth year.
So, on his birthday, the King of Death sent his messengers, to bring Kamil away to the Kingdom of Death. “It is only another kind of life,” said the messengers; “do not be afraid, come with us. The King himself is waiting to receive you.”
But the boy said: “Why should I come? I want no other kind of life. This life I love. Why should I come? I will not come with you.”
“No one has ever disobeyed the King of Death,” said the messengers. “Come, you must.”
“I will not come,” said the boy. “Go back to the King of Death and say: ‘The boy who loves the life he knows, says that he cannot come to the new life which he does not know.’”
And the messengers went trembling back to the King with this message.
Now the King of Death is very old, and very kind and gentle, and he has the wisdom of Peace and of Forgetfulness. And the journey back to the life which the boy loved was for him a very long journey. “But I must see,” he said, “the one person who has disobeyed me.” So he sent for his black buffalo, and he rode the long and painful journey back to Life and Youth in the world of the-things-that-pass.
And it was spring-time, and the leaves of the pipal tree were shining after a shower of rain, which had made all the world smell sweet with the good earth-smell. And the birds were singing. And under the pipal tree stood the perfect boy beside the shrine of Shiva, the great god, playing a little tune of the gladness of the-things-that-pass.
“I am Death, who sent to fetch you”