The founder of our dynasty had his royal physician, too. But what could he do? Death has left his card of invitation behind my ear. The Queen wanted, then and there, to pluck out the grey hairs. But I said, "Queen, what's the use? You may remove Death's invitation, but can you remove Death, the Inviter?" So, for the present——
Yes, Sire, for the present, let us attend to business.
Business, Vizier! I have no time for business. Send for the Pundit. Send for Sruti-bhushan.
But, Sire, the General——
The General?—No, no, not the General. Send for the Pundit.
But, the news from the frontier——
Vizier, the news has come to me from the last great frontier of all, the frontier of Death. Send for the Pundit.
But if Your Majesty will give me one moment, the Ambassador from the great Emperor of China——
Vizier, a greater Emperor has sent his embassy to me. Call Sruti-bhushan.
Very well, Sire. But your father-in-law——
It is not my father-in-law whom I want now. Send for the Pundit.
But, if it please you to hear me this once. The poet, Kabi-shekhar, is waiting with his new book called the Garden of Poesy.
Let your poet disport himself, jumping about on the topmost branches of his Garden of Poesy, but send for the Pundit.
Very well, Sire. I will send for him at once.
Tell him to bring his book of devotions with him, called the Ocean of Renunciation.
Yes, Sire.
But, Vizier. Who are those outside making all that noise? Go out and stop them at once. I must have peace.
If it please Your Majesty, there is a famine in Nagapatam and the headmen of the villages are praying to be allowed to see your face.
My time is short, Vizier. I must have peace.
They say their time is shorter. They are at death's door. They, too, want peace,—peace from the burning of hunger.
Vizier! The burning of hunger is quenched at last on the funeral pyre.
Then these wretched people——
Wretched!—Listen to the advice of a wretched King to his wretched subjects. It is futile to be impatient, and try to break through the net of the inexorable Fisherman. Sooner or later, Death the Fisherman will have his haul.
Well then?
Let me have the Pundit, and his Book of Renunciation.
And in this scarcity——
Vizier! The real scarcity is of time, and not of food. We are all suffering from starvation of time. None of us has enough of it, neither the King, nor his people.
Then——
Then know, that our petitions for more time will all go to the last fire of doom. So why strain our voice in prayer?—Ah, here is Sruti-bhushan at last. My reverence to you.
Pundit, do tell the King that the Goddess of Fortune deserts him who gives way to melancholy.
Sruti-bhushan, what is my Vizier whispering to you?
He tells me, King, to instruct you in the ways of fortune.
What instruction can you give?
There is a verse in my book of devotions which runs as follows:
Fortune, as fickle as lotus-flower,
Closes her favours when comes the hour.
Oh, foolish man, how can you trust her,
Who comes of a sudden, and goes in a fluster?
Ah, Pundit. One breath of your teaching blows out the false flame of ambition. Our teacher has said:
"Teeth fall out, hair grows grey;
Yet man clings to hope that plays him false."
Well, King, now that you have introduced the subject of hope, let me give you another verse from the Ocean of Renunciation. It runs as follows:
That fetters are binding, all are aware;
But fetters of hope are strange, I declare.
Hope's captive is tossed in the whirlpool's wake,
And only grows still when the fetters break.
Ah, Pundit. Your words are priceless. Vizier, give him a hundred gold sequins at once. What's that noise outside?
It is the famine-stricken people.
Tell them to hold their peace.
Let Sruti-bhushan, with his book of devotions, go and try to bring them peace; and, in the meanwhile, Your Majesty might discuss war matters——
No, no. Let the war matters come later. I can't let Sruti-bhushan go yet.
King, you said something to me, a moment ago, about a gift of gold. Now mere gold, by itself, does not confer any permanent benefit. It is said in my book of devotions, called the Ocean of Renunciation:
He who gives gold, gives only pain;
When the gold is spent grief comes again.
When a lakh, or crore, of gold is spent,
Grief only remains in the empty tent.
Ah, Pundit. How exquisite. So you don't want any gold, my Master?
No, King, I don't want gold, but something more permanent, which would make your merit permanent also. I should be quite content, if you gave me the living of Kanchanpur. For it is said in the Renunciation——
No, Pundit, I quite understand. You needn't quote scripture to support your claim. I understand quite well—Vizier!
Yes, Your Majesty.
See that the rich province of Kanchanpur is settled on the Pundit.—What's the matter now outside there? What are they crying for?
If it please Your Majesty, it is the people.
Why do they cry so repeatedly?
Their cry is repeated, I admit, but the reason remains most monotonously the same. They are starving.
But, King, I must tell you before I forget it. It is the one desire of my wife to make her whole body jingle, from head to foot, in praise of your munificence; but, alas, the sound is too feeble for want of proper ornaments.
