“You understood, poor sage? In every hundred thousand of my blind servants there is always one obstinate man like you, and one lazy man like Purana. … You have both come here. … Greetings, ye sages, who have completed my calculations. …”
Two tears rolled down from the dull eyes of the sage; they quietly rolled down over his dried up cheeks and fell upon the ground like two ripe fruits from the tree of his aged wisdom.
Beyond the walls of the temple everything went as usual. The sun shone, the winds blew, the people in the valley busied themselves with their cares, the clouds gathered in the heavens. … As they crossed the mountains, they became heavy and weak. A storm broke in the mountains. …
Again as in times of yore, a foolish shepherd from a neighboring hillside drove hither his flock and from another direction a young and foolish shepherdess drove hither her flock. They met by the brook and the recess out of which the deity looked at them with its strange smile, and while the thunder roared, they embraced and cooed, just as 999,999 pairs had done in the same situation. If wise Darnu could have seen and heard them, he would certainly have said in the greatness of his wisdom:
“Fools, they are doing this not for themselves but for the pleasure of Necessity.”
The storm passed, the sun again played upon the grass, which was still covered with the sparkling drops of rain and lighted up the darkened interior of the temple.
“Look,” said the shepherdess, “see those two new statues. They never were here before.”
“Hush,” answered the shepherd. “Old men say that these are worshippers of the ancient deity. But they can’t do any harm. … Stay with them and I’ll go and find your stray sheep.”
He went out and left her alone with the idol and the two sages. Because she was a little afraid and because she was filled with youthful love and delight, she could not remain in one place but kept walking around the temple and singing loud songs of love and joy. When the storm was entirely passed and the edge of the dark cloud had hidden itself behind the distant summits of the range of mountains, she pulled some damp flowers and decked the idol with them. To conceal its unpleasant smile, she stuck in its mouth a fruit of the mountain nut with its leaves and stem.
Then she looked at it and laughed aloud.
That did not seem enough. She wanted to adorn the old men with flowers. But since good Purana still carried the nest with the young birds, she turned her attention to stern Darnu, whose nest had been abandoned. She removed the empty nest, cleaned of bird droppings the turban, hair and shoulders of the sage and washed his face with spring water. She thought that in this way she was recompensing the gods for their protection of her happiness. Because even this seemed little and she was overflowing with joy, she bent over and suddenly the blessed Darnu, standing on the very threshold of Nirvana, felt on his dry lips the vigorous kiss of the foolish girl. …
Soon after the shepherd returned with a lamb which he had found, and the two went off, singing a cheerful song.
VI
In the meantime, that spark which had not been quite extinguished in the consciousness of wise Darnu, flickered up and commenced to burn brighter and brighter. First of all, in him as in a house where everyone is sleeping, thought awoke and began to wander restlessly in the darkness. Wise Darnu thought a whole hour and formed only one phrase:
“They were subject to Necessity. …”
Another hour:
“But in the last instance, I too was subject to it. …”
A third hour brought a new premise:
“In picking the fruit, I obeyed the law of Necessity.”
A fourth:
“But in refusing, I fulfilled her calculations.”
A fifth:
“Those fools live and love, but wise Purana and I die.”
A sixth:
“This perhaps is a work of Necessity, but it has very little sense.”
Then awakened thought finally stirred itself and began to rouse other sleeping faculties:
“If Purana and I die,” said wise Darnu to himself, “it will be inevitable but foolish. If I succeed in saving myself and my companion, it will be likewise necessary but sensible. Therefore we will save ourselves. For this I need will and strength.”
He rallied the little spark of will which had not been extinguished. He compelled it to raise his heavy eyelids.
The daylight broke in upon his consciousness, as it floods a room on the opening of the shutters. First he noticed the lifeless figure of his friend, with his set face and the tear that precedes death already on his cheeks. Darnu’s heart felt such pity for his ill-fated fellow seeker after truth that his will became stronger and stronger. It entered his hands and they began to move; his hands helped his feet. … This all took much longer to execute than to decide upon. But the following morning found Darnu’s gourd full of fresh water at Purana’s lips, and a piece of juicy fruit fell finally into the open mouth of the good-natured sage.
Then Purana’s jaws moved and he thought: “O benevolent Necessity. I see that you are now beginning to fulfill your promise.” But when he realized that it was not the goddess but his companion Darnu who was stirring around him, he felt himself rather insulted and said:
“Eight mountain ranges and seven seas, the sun and the holy gods, you, I, the universe—all are moved by Necessity. … Why did you awaken me, Darnu? I was on the threshold of blessed peace.”
“You were like a corpse, friend Purana.”
“He who like a blind man sees nought, like a deaf man hears nought, like a tree is insensible and immovable, has attained
