The Guru had told them many tales of Hindu gods and heroes. One morning the boys came from their bath with a quantity of crimson water–lilies, and a handful of the golden–coloured champaka flower, sacred to Krishna. This led Govinda to tell them the story of the avatur, calling Krishna the Son of God. They, in their turn, related the legend of Balder, and, after reflecting a while, the Guru said that Balder and Krishna were one, and that both were Christ. Remembering the conversation with Monas, Porlor asked whether this Son of God with several names, whom they all worshipped, existed of two natures or in two natures. "Both," replied the Guru, and this bold solution appeared at once to sweep away the motives for religious disputes which sounded so incomprehensible to the boys. "Both, for whether of or in two natures, the incarnation of a deity embraces and contains, and in fact is, all that can be expressed by prepositions, and much more."
Then, descending from such sublime speculations, he said that he would relate to his young friends the sequel of the story of the Pandavas, those princes favoured by Krishna, including their search for heaven after a long life of adventures and vicissitudes. The Pandavas found that all the rewards of this life were vanity, and that they must seek for higher and better things. "We must all do likewise sooner or later, and meanwhile we may reflect on the story of the Pandavas," he went on. "There were five princes—Yudisthira, Arjuna, Bhima, and the two sons of Madri. They set out with their wife Draupadi and their dog Suparaka." "That is the name of our dear old dog at home!" exclaimed Coelred. "True," said the Guru, "for Suparaka is Yama." He continued—"The princes, with their beautiful wife and faithful dog, set out for the mighty Himalaya Mountains, to find the heaven of the gods on Mount Meru." "Is not Asgard the abode of the gods?" interrupted Coelred. "Asgard is Meru," explained the long–suffering Guru; "but few can reach it, trusting in their own strength. Sins and moral defects prove fatal to the pilgrims. They toiled on over scorching plains and snowy mountains, tired and foot–sore. Draupadi was the first to fall." Porlor asked why she should be the first. "Her love for Arjuna was too great," explained the Guru. "Next fell one of the sons of Madri, for he thought that none was equal to himself; and the other son of Madri followed, for he had the same fault. Then Arjuna fell, because he could not fulfil his boast that he would destroy all his enemies in one day. Bhima fell, because he cursed his opponents before he encountered them in fight. Yudisthira and the dog Suparaka alone reached the gate of heaven. The Prince was invited by the gods to enter, but he refused unless Draupadi and his brothers were also received. He was assured that they were already there. But he still refused, unless the faithful dog Suparaka could bear him company. The gods remonstrated, but Yudisthira was firm. 'Never, come weal or come woe, will I abandon that faithful dog.' He prevailed, but when he entered he found that Draupadi and his brothers were not in heaven. They cried to him for help from hell. Yudisthira triumphed in the crowning trial. He resolved to share the fate of his dear ones in hell, rather than enjoy heaven without them. This was the supreme test applied by the gods. They then showed him that it was all maya or illusion, and the brothers, Draupadi, and the dog dwell in heaven with the gods, in full content of heart for ever."
Coelred and Porlor talked much over this story of Yudisthira when they returned that evening to their home with Monas. They loved the Pandu prince for standing by the good dog Suparaka, and they swore that they would imitate the steadfast loyalty of Yudisthira.
Thus the days passed on, while Monas completed his business, and the Guru related many strange tales to the English lads. One day, as they sat with him, a dark mass of cloud rose from the southern horizon, and moved rapidly northwards across the sky towards the Himalayan snows. Old Govinda pointed to it, and said that it reminded him of Kalidasa's poem of the Cloud Messenger. "Tell us about it," said both the boys; and he related how Yaksha was banished for some fault by the god Kuvera, and was sent to pass the years of his exile at Ramagiri, near Nagpore, and to the south of Ujjayani, and of the Vindhyan Hills. One day he saw a cloud, the herald of the rainy season, passing to the north, just as the cloud we now see floats in the same direction. He prayed to the cloud to take a message for him, after discharging some of its moisture.
With pinions swifter by the 'minisht store,
Soon over Vindhyan mountains thou wilt soar,
And Reva's rippling stream, whose waters glide
Beneath their feet, without their rush and roar,
In many a rock–bound channel, summer dried,
Like lines of paint that deck an elephant's huge side.
The cloud passed on to this bright imperial city of Ujjayani, the pride of all the earth. It rested on flower–sweet terraces where women sit at open casements, while the air of the morning
Plays wooingly around the loosened hair
And fevered cheek—
Then, as it blows o'er Sipra fresh and strong,
Bids all her swans upon the banks prepare
To hail the sunrise.
"The cloud hurries onward on its journey," said Porlor, "but whither was Yaksha's message sent?" "It was sent," said the Guru, "to Alakà." "To Alca!" exclaimed both the boys, as they sprang to their feet in astonishment. Then, seeing the question in Govinda's eyes, they explained that Alca was the beautiful Princess of Deira. "We love her more than anything in the world. She knows everything. She loves all living things. She can disclose all the hidden mysteries of nature. She is our joy, our hope. Oh that the cloud would take a message to her from us! Shall we pray to it? Answer us, good Govinda."