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　the　truth　is　simply　this：
  〃There　was　a　king。〃
  I　remember　vividly　that　evening　in　Calcutta　when　the　fairy　story　began。　The　rain　and　the　storm　had　been　incessant。　　The　whole　of　the　city　was　flooded。　　The　water　was　knee…deep　in　our　lane。　　I　had　a　　straining　hope；　which　was　almost　a　certainty；　that　my　tutor　would　be　prevented　from　coming　that　evening。　　I　sat　on　the　stool　in　the　far　corner　of　the　veranda　looking　down　the　lane；　with　a　heart　beating　faster　and　faster。　Every　minute　I　kept　my　eye　on　the　rain；　and　when　it　began　to　grow　less　I　prayed　with　all　my　might；　〃Please；　God；　send　some　more　rain　till　half…　past　seven　is　over。〃　　For　I　was　quite　ready　to　believe　that　there　was　no　other　need　for　rain　except　to　protect　one　helpless　boy　one　evening　in　one　corner　of　Calcutta　from　the　deadly　clutches　of　his　tutor。
  If　not　in　answer　to　my　prayer；　at　any　rate　according　to　some　grosser　law　of　physical　nature；　the　rain　did　not　give　up。
  But；　alas　！　　nor　did　my　teacher。
  Exactly　to　the　minute；　in　the　bend　of　the　lane；　I　saw　his　approaching　umbrella。　　The　great　bubble　of　hope　burst　in　my　breast；　and　my　heart　collapsed。　　Truly；　if　there　is　a　punishment　to　fit　the　crime　after　death；　then　my　tutor　will　be　born　again　as　me；　and　I　shall　be　born　as　my　tutor。
  As　soon　as　I　saw　his　umbrella　I　ran　as　hard　as　I　could　to　my　mother's　room。　　My　mother　and　my　grandmother　were　sitting　opposite　one　another　playing　cards　by　the　light　of　a　lamp。　　I　ran　into　the　room；　and　flung　myself　on　the　bed　beside　my　mother；　and　said：
  〃Mother　dear；　the　tutor　has　come；　and　I　have　such　a　bad　headache；　couldn't　I　have　no　lessons　today？〃
  I　hope　no　child　of　immature　age　will　be　allowed　to　read　this　story；　and　I　sincerely　trust　it　will　not　be　used　in　text…books　or　primers　for　schools。　　For　what　I　did　was　dreadfully　bad；　and　I　received　no　punishment　whatever。　　On　the　contrary；　my　wickedness　was　crowned　with　success。
  My　mother　said　to　me：　〃All　right；〃　and　turning　to　the　servant　added：　〃Tell　the　tutor　that　he　can　go　back　home。〃
  It　was　perfectly　plain　that　she　didn't　think　my　illness　very　serious；　as　she　went　on　with　her　game　as　before；　and　took　no　further　notice。　　And　I　also；　burying　my　head　in　the　pillow；　laughed　to　my　heart's　content。　　We　perfectly　understood　one　another；　my　mother　and　I。
  But　every　one　must　know　how　hard　it　is　for　a　boy　of　seven　years　old　to　keep　up　the　illusion　of　illness　for　a　long　time。　　After　about　a　minute　I　got　hold　of　Grandmother；　and　said：　〃Grannie；　do　tell　me　a　story。〃
  I　had　to　ask　this　many　times。　　Grannie　and　Mother　went　on　playing　cards；　and　took　no　notice。　　At　last　Mother　said　to　me：　〃Child；　don't　bother。　Wait　till　we've　finished　our　game。〃　　But　I　persisted：　　〃Grannie；　　do　tell　me　a　story。〃　　I　told　Mother　she　could　finish　her　game　to…morrow；　but　she　must　let　Grannie　tell　me　a　story　there　and　then。
  At　last　Mother　threw　down　the　cards　and　said：　〃You　had　better　do　what　he　wants。　　I　can't　manage　him。〃　　Perhaps　she　had　it　in　her　mind　that　she　would　have　no　tiresome　tutor　on　the　morrow；　while　I　should　be　obliged