And he said:
“Turn my chariot again, I will go no further. I have seen what I have seen.”
So the news was carried to the Maharaja and he was almost beside himself, raging with anger that was half fear, and he sent for his wise minister, and cried to him:
“What shall we do? For my son is learning the guarded secrets, and if I keep him shut in the gardens he will rebel and break away, and if I send him through the city such devils are my servants that horrible sights afflict him and disperse my hopes in him. Here have I built a Paradise so heavenly that could he but see it I need fear no more, for the man is not born who could leave its deep and delicious shades for the dusty world. And there have I placed a golden maiden whose smile is sunshine and her lips singing roses, and were he to see her—But what do I say? Is it not possible to a great person like myself that for a few short hours the city ways should be guarded from horror while he passes through? I am fallen indeed, otherwise.”
But the old wise minister shook his head.
“Great Sir, one should say it is possible, yet when I remember how the city was searched and guarded this twice, what dare I say? O Maharaj—may it not be that the high Gods being resolved may not be thwarted, and that we fight against iron destiny? Great fear possesses me.”
But his Master replied angrily.
“Foolish old man! And was I not given the choice? If I could withhold the truth he would be a great world-King. If he guessed it he would be an ascetic of the jungles. What father would choose other than I have done? Once more I will send him to my Paradise, and if this time I am tricked let your head answer it.”
And again the Prince was sent out but this time also though the city was decorated and garlanded, there was no semblance of joy, and the very horses went with drooped heads as though fear were the charioteer.
And as they reached the street, where most the people crowded, the Divinity was again ready with his work, having prepared a sight terrible and woeful. For slowly preceding the chariot there went a funeral train, with four men bearing a bier and lying on it a body cold and stiff, with dropped jaw and dreadful dead eyes staring blindly at the sun. Withered flowers lay on the bier and the mourners beat their breasts and wept aloud, filling the air with wailing and lamentation.