"I will render it with my own lips," resolutely exclaimed Ananda. "It is
meet that I should bear the humiliation of acknowledging my folly."

"Thou hast said well, my son," replied Buddha, "and in return I will permit
thee to discard the attire, if such it may be termed, of a Jogi, and to
appear in our assembly wearing the yellow robe as beseems my disciple. Nay,
I will even infringe my own rule on thy behalf, and perform a not
inconsiderable miracle by immediately transporting thee to the summit of
Vindhya, where the faithful are already beginning to assemble. Thou wouldst
otherwise incur much risk of being torn to pieces by the multitude, who, as
the shouts now approaching may instruct thee, are beginning to extirpate my
religion at the instigation of the new king, thy hopeful pupil. The old
king is dead, poisoned by the Brahmins."

"O master! master!" exclaimed Ananda, weeping bitterly, "and is all the
work undone, and all by my fault and folly?"

"That which is built on fraud and imposture can by no means endure,"
returned Buddha, "be it the very truth of Heaven. Be comforted; thou shalt
proclaim my doctrine to better purpose in other lands. Thou hast this time
but a sorry account to render of thy stewardship; yet thou mayest truly
declare that thou hast obeyed my precept in the letter, if not in the
spirit, since none can assert that thou hast ever wrought any miracle."




THE CITY OF PHILOSOPHERS