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d they forgot to applaud him。 As this feeling died away Pundarik stood up before the throne and challenged his rival to define who was this Lover and who was the Beloved。 He arrogantly looked around him； he smiled at his followers and then put the question again ： 〃Who is Krishna； the lover； and who is Radha； the beloved？〃
Then he began to analyse the roots of those names；and various interpretations of their meanings。 He brought before the bewildered audience all the intricacies of the different schools of metaphysics with consummate skill。 Each letter of those names he divided from its fellow； and then pursued them with a relentless logic till they fell to the dust in confusion； to be caught up again and restored to a meaning never before imagined by the subtlest of word…mongers。
The pandits were in ecstasy； they applauded vociferously ； and the crowd followed them； deluded into the certainty that they had witnessed； that day； the last shred of the curtains of Truth torn to pieces before their eyes by a prodigy of intellect。 The performance of his tremendous feat so delighted them that they forgot to ask themselves if there was any truth behind it after all。
The king's mind was overwhelmed with wonder。 The atmosphere was completely cleared of all illusion of music； and the vision of the world around seemed to be changed from its freshness of tender green to the solidity of a high road levelled and made hard with crushed stones。
To the people assembled their own poet appeared a mere boy in comparison with this giant； who walked with such case； knocking down difficulties at each step in the world of words and thoughts。 It became evident to them for the first time that the poems Shekhar wrote were absurdly simple； and it must be a mere accident that they did not write them themselves。 They were neither new； nor difficult； nor instructive； nor necessary。
The king tried to goad his poet with keen glances； silently inciting him to make a final effort。 But Shekhar took no notice； and remained fixed to his seat。
The king in anger came down from his thronetook off his pearl chain and put it on Pundarik's head。 Everybody in the hall cheered。 From the upper balcony came a slight sound of the movements of rustling robes and waist…chains hung with golden bells。 Shekhar rose from his seat and left the hall。
It was a dark night of waning moon。 The poet Shekhar took down his MSS。 from his shelves and heaped them on the floor。 Some of them contained his earliest writings； which he had almost forgotten。 He turned over the pages； reading passages here and there。 They all seemed to him poor and trivialmere words and childish rhymes！
One by one he tore his books to fragments； and threw them into a vessel containing fire； and said ： 〃To thee； to thee； O my beauty； my fire！ Thou hast been burning in my heart all these futile years。 If my life were a piece of gold it would come out of its trial brighter； but it is a trodden turf of grass； and nothing remains of it but this handful of ashes。〃
The night wore on。 Shekhar opened wide his windows。 He spread upon his bed the white flowers that he loved； the jasmines； tuberoses and chrysanthemums； and brought into his bedroom all the lamps he had in his house and lighted them。 Then mixing with honey the juice of some poisonous root he drank it and lay down on his bed。
Golden anklets tinkled in the passage outside the door； and a subtle perfume came into the room with the breeze。
The poet； with his eyes shut； said； 〃My lady； have you taken pity upon your servant at last and come to see him ？〃
The answer came in a sweet voice 〃My poet； I have come。〃
Shekhar opened his eyesand saw before his bed the figure of a woman。
His sight was dim and blurred。 And it seemed to him that the image made of a shadow that he had ever kept throned in the secret shrine of his heart had come into the outer world in his last moment to gaze upon his face。
The woman said； 〃I am the Princess Ajita。〃
The poet with a great effort sat up on his bed。
The princess whispered into his car ： 〃The king has not done you justice。 It was you who won at the combat； my poet； and I have come to crown you with the crown of victory。〃
She took the garland of flowers from her own neck； and put it on his hair； and the poet fell down upon his bed stricken by death。
ONCE THERE WAS A KING
〃Once upon a time there was a king。〃
When we were children there was no need to know who the king in the fairy story was。 It didn't matter whether he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban； whether he lived at Kashi or Kanauj。 The thing that made a seven…year…old boy's heart go thump； thump with delight was this one sovereign truth； this reality of all realities： 〃Once there was a king。〃
But the readers of this modern age are far more exact and exacting。 When they hear such an opening to a story； they are at once critical and suspicious。 They apply the searchlight of science to its legendary haze and ask： 〃Which king？ 〃
The story…tellers have become more precise in their turn。 They are no longer content with the old indefinite； 〃There was a king；〃 but assume instead a look of profound learning； and begin： 〃Once there was a king named Ajatasatru；〃
The modern reader's curiosity； however； is not so easily satisfied。 He blinks at the author through his scientific spectacles； and asks again： 〃Which Ajatasatru？ 〃
〃Every schoolboy knows；〃 the author proceeds； 〃that there were three Ajatasatrus。 The first was born in the twentieth century B。C。； and died at the tender age of two years and eight months； I deeply regret that it is impossible to find； from any trustworthy source； a detailed account of his reign。 The second Ajatasatru is better known to historians。 If you refer to the new Encyclopedia of History。 。 。 。〃
By this time the modem reader's suspicions are dissolved。 He feels he may safely trust his author。 He says to himself： 〃Now we shall have a story that is both improving and instructive。〃
Ah！ how we all love to be deluded！ We have a secret dread of being thought ignorant。 And we end by being ignorant after all； only we have done it in a long and roundabout way。
There is an English proverb ； 〃Ask me no questions； and I will tell you no lies。〃 The boy of seven who is listening to a fairy story understands that perfectly well； he withholds his questions； while the story is being told。 So the pure and beautiful falsehood of it all remains naked and innocent as a babe； transparent as truth itself； limpid as afresh bubbling spring。 But the ponderous and learned lie of our moderns has to keep its true character draped and veiled。 And if there is discovered anywhere the least little peep…hole of deception； the reader turns away with a prudish disgust； and the author is discredited。
When we were young； we understood all sweet things； and we could detect the sweets of a fairy story by an unerring science of our own。 We never cared for such useless things as knowledge。 We only cared for truth。 And our unsophisticated little hearts knew well where the Crystal Palace of Truth lay and how to reach it。 But to…day we are expected to write pages of facts； while