Dhritarashtra answered: "Well, I shall seek a place yet higher." Gautama said: Gautama said: "If thou goest to the summit of Mount Meru, where the flowery woods are echoing with the song of kinnaras, I shall yet pursue and take my elephant again.

So was it said by each of every higher place: the flowery groves of Nārada, resort of all who are given over to dancing and to music; the perfumed land of Soma; the heavens of Indra with the apsarās; the heavens of the rishis; the heavens of Brahmā. "There," said Dhritarashtra, "thou mayst not discover me." "Even there,” replied Gautama, "I shall find thee out and take my elephant. But now I know thee. Thou art Indra, wont to wander through the universe in divers shapes. Pardon my missaying thee, and that I knew thee not."

Then was Indra pleased that Gautama knew him, and bestowed on him a boon. Gautama asked that the elephant should be restored, for, he said: "It is so young; it is only ten years old. I have brought it up as my own child. It has been my dear companion in these woods." Indra answered: "Lo, the elephant that has been so dear comes toward thee and bows his head down to thy feet, Be it well with thee." Then Gautama bowed to the king of gods and took the elephant. But Indra blessed him and took him with himself and with the elephant to Heaven, where even the righteous hardly go.

He also who tells or hears this tale shall reach the same place.

The Throne of Vikramaditya

Indian legend has attached great sanctity and fame of wisdom to the name of Vikramaditya, who is historically a somewhat shadowy king, generally identified with

The Throne of Vikramaditya

Chandragupta II (A.D. 375-413); but perhaps the Vikramaditya of this story was an older than he. At any rate it so fell out that in the time of a later king the ancient throne of Vikramaditya was discovered near what had been the old city of Ujjayini. The king had the throne brought to his own capital, and proposed to take his seat upon it with great state, and thence to deliver his daily judgments. The marble seat was supported by thirty-two stone angels. Each day that the king was about to ascend the throne one of these addressed him and, requesting him not to take his seat on the sacred throne, related a story of the wisdom of Vikramaditya.

This is the story related by the eighteenth statue, named Rūp-rekha, Streak of Beauty:

Once there came before King Vikramaditya two hermits with a dispute concerning a matter of philosophy, and requested him to resolve their doubt. The king asked what it was, and the first hermit said: "O king, I maintain that Intellect is superior to Wisdom and Soul, since these and the senses are subject to the Intellect, inasmuch as all Deeds are born in the Mind. Thus Mind rules over all." But the second hermit said: "It is Wisdom that rules the Mind. For Wisdom checks the froward thoughts arising in the Intellect. True, the senses are ruled by Mind, but Mind is ruled by Wisdom. Through Wisdom our senses are controlled, and we progress in yoga."

The king replied: "O ascetics, of a surety this mortal body, wrought of fire, air, earth, and water, is ruled by the Intellect. But by following the dictates of the Mind alone, this body perishes untimely. Therefore I think that Wisdom is greater than the Mind, for it is Wisdom that preserves us from destruction. Again, it is said that

one perfect in Wisdom dieth nevermore; and no yogi can attain perfection lacking Wisdom."

Both ascetics were delighted with this judgment, and they gave to the king a piece of chalk, saying: "Whatever thou dost draw therewith in the day will come to life at night." Then they departed.

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At once the king shut himself in a room alone and spent the whole day drawing gods and goddesses upon the wall. At night the figures all came to life and cried 'Hail! Hail!" to the king and talked together. Next day the king drew on another part of the wall armies of men, horses, elephants, and other creatures, and at night he was delighted to find that they, too, came to life. The next day, again, he drew gandharvas and apsarās with drums and lutes and viols in their hands, and at night they came to life and played exquisitely according to the laws of music.

Thus the king spent his days in drawing and his nights in seeing living pictures, and he neglected all his queens and the duties of the state. One night the queens came to him in their splendid palanquins, weeping and lamenting. Vikramaditya asked them why they wept. "O ladies," he said, "why are your moon-faces pale?" One answered in a sweet voice: "O Mahārāja, you promised never to leave us alone; why, then, do you desert us now?" But the king paid no attention, for he was absorbed in looking at the moving pictures on the wall.

Next day, when all the figures on the wall were still once more, the queens spoke to the king again, praying him not to leave them in distress. He smiled and asked: "What am I to do, then ?" "O king," they answered, "if thou art agreed to grant a boon, then give to us the chalk that is in thy right hand." So Vikramaditya gave the chalk,

The Ashvins

and the queens kept it hidden ever after. Never since have pictures come to life.

The Ashvins

The Ashvins are divine twins, distinguished for their great beauty, and masters of medicine. They were at first refused a place amongst the gods on account of their lowly birth; but the rishi Chyavana, who received from them perpetual youth, secured from Indra that they should participate in the offerings.

This tale is told of Chyavana's attainment of eternal youth: The aged rishi Chyavana had a beautiful wife, Sukanyāthat is to say, Fair-maid. One day the Ashvins beheld her at her bath, bare of any garment. They came to her and asked: "O fair-limbed girl, whose daughter art thou, and what hast thou to do here in these woods?" and she answered shyly: "Know that I am Saryati's daughter and the wife of Chyavana." The Ashvins answered: Why has thy father given thee to one so aged and near to death, for thou art radiant as summer lightning? We have not seen thy like even in Heaven. Bare of adornment as thou art, none the less thou makest all the forest fair; how much fairer mightst thou appear in gorgeous robes and splendid jewels! Do thou leave thy aged husband and take one of us, for youth will not endure."

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She replied: "I am devoted to my husband Chyavana." Again they prayed her, saying: "We are the physicians of Heaven. We will make thy husband young and fair; then choose from us three-ourselves and him-whom thou wilt for lord." Then Fair-maid told to Chyavana what had been said, and he consented.

Then the Ashvins commanded Chyavana, who was eager to regain his youth, to enter water, and they, too, sank into

the waters of the pool. Then came forth all three in radiant youthful forms, wearing burnished ear-rings. All were of the same appearance, delightful to behold, and they said to Fair-maid: "Choose one of us to be thy husband. Choose whom thou dost most desire." But Fair-maid found that one appearance was upon them all, and she hesitated long; only when at last she recognized her husband did she choose, and chose no other than himself.

Then Chyavana, well pleased to have both youth and beauty and to have his wife again, promised in return to win for the Ashvins the right to share in the offerings of soma-juice given to the gods. The twins, no less glad, went their way to Heaven, and Chyavana and Fair-maid dwelt together in great joy, even as the gods themselves.

The Story of Dhruva

Of myths that represent a spiritualizing interpretation of the stars, the very jewel is probably the story of Dhruva. It is frankly a statement of how the Pole-star came to be so steady, and the Hindu name for the Pole-star is Dhruvalok, or place of Dhruva.

Dhruva was a child and a prince, the eldest son of a king and his chief queen. There was, however, a younger wife who had gained great ascendancy over the mind of Dhruva's father, and in consequence of her jealousy and dislike the prince and his mother Sunīti were banished from the court and sent to live in retirement in a cottage on the edge of a great forest. We are here dealing, we must remember, with a Hindu tale of the period when every story forms an epos of the soul, and in the epos of the soul the chief event is that by which arises a distaste for the material world. Young Luther sees his