leaf or the play of light and shadow on the ground an
omen of some kind. If it then happened that the sign
given by such a self‐invented oracle bore a favourable
interpretation, I was able to feel happy for a whole day or
even longer, and to look hopefully into the future. But just
for that very reason my longing increased, and with the
longing my fears returned as naturally as bad dreams
result from a fevered temperature.
In this condition it was almost a benefit that, after a
short time, my love was not permitted to live in solitary
inactivity dedicated to suffering alone, but that it was
forced into a combative attitude and obliged to gather up
all its strength — even if thereby it brought me to the
verge of complete estrangement from my own family.
It was in this way that it came about: Sātāgira, the
son of the Minister, pursued me ever more assiduously
now with tokens of his love, and I could no longer show
myself in a public pleasure‐garden with my companions
without his being there and making me the object of his
obtrusive attentions.
Unfortunately the fact that I didn’t respond to these
had not the slightest deterrent effect upon him — even
though I showed him even more plainly than was polite
how hateful they were to me. Soon, however, my parents
began to plead his cause, first with all kinds of hints and
then with less and less reserve, and when he finally came
forward to press his suit openly, they demanded that I
should give him my hand. I assured them, with bitter
tears, that I could never love Sātāgira. That, however,
made little impression upon them. But I was similarly as
little affected by their representations, their prayers and
their reproaches, and remained insensible alike to both
the pleading of my mother and to the threats of my father.
Driven to bay, I finally told them straight out that I had
promised myself to you — of whom they had already
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heard from Sātāgira — and that no power on earth could
either force me to break my word, which had been sac‐
redly given to you, or to belong to another. And I added
that, if the worst should come to the worst, I would kill
myself by persistently refusing all nourishment.
*
*
*
As my parents now saw that I was quite capable of
carrying out this threat they finally gave the matter up,
although much put out and very angry, and Sātāgira also
now seemed to yield to his fate and to be taking pains to
comfort himself for his defeat in the courts of love by
becoming the hero of victorious deeds on a sterner field
of battle.
About this time people had many terrible tales to
tell of the robber Angulimāla who, with his band, had laid
waste whole districts, burnt villages and made the roads so
unsafe that eventually almost no‐one ventured to travel to
Kosambī. I became a prey, as a consequence, to horrible
fears for I naturally dreaded that you might at last be
coming to me and be unfortunate enough to fall into his
hands on the way.
Things stood thus when news arrived that Sātāgira
had received the supreme command of a large body of
troops with which to sweep the whole neighbourhood of
Kosambī and if possible to capture Angulimāla himself, as
well as the other members of the band. Sātāgira had, so
the story ran, sworn to accomplish this or to fall fighting in
the attempt.
Little as I was otherwise disposed to feel kindly
towards the son of the Minister, I could not on this occa‐
sion refrain from wishing him the best of success and,
when he moved out, my earnest wishes for his prosperity
followed his colours.
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About a week later I was in the garden with
Medinī, when we heard loud cries from the street. Medinī
rushed there at once to learn what had happened, pres‐
ently she announced that Sātāgira was returning to the city
in triumph, having either cut down the robbers or taken
them prisoner.
It seemed that Sātāgira had obtained information as
to the whereabouts of the secret hideout of the band by
capturing the belovèd of one of Angulimāla’s cronies and,
through both threatening her life and promising rich
rewards for their complicity, he had forced the man to
betray his robber honour.
Sātāgira had thus been able to steal up on the gang
with his troops, after one of their festive orgies, and had
slaughtered most of them where they slept — Angulimāla
himself had fallen into his hands alive.
She invited me to go out with her and Somadatta
into the street, to witness the entry of the soldiers with the
captive robbers, but I did not wish Sātāgira to have the
satisfaction of seeing me among the spectators of his
triumph. So I stayed behind alone, more than happy at the
thought the roads were now again open to my belovèd —
for so little do mortals understand of the workings of
karma that they sometimes, as I did then, treat as a spe‐
cially fortunate day just that one on which the current of
their lives takes a turn for the worse.
*
*
*
On the following morning my father entered my
room. He handed me a crystal chain bearing a tiger‐eye
amulet, and asked me if I, by any possibility, recognised it.
I felt as though I should drop, but I summoned up
all my strength and answered that the chain resembled
one which you had always worn round your neck.
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