And now Yasodhara, deeply chiding, spoke thus to Kandaka:  “Where now dwells he, who ever dwells within my mind?  You two went forth, the horse a third, but now two only have returned!  My heart is utterly o’erborne with grief, filled with anxious thoughts, it cannot rest.  And you, deceitful man!  Untrustworthy and false associate! evil contriver! plainly revealed a traitor, a smile lurks underneath thy tears!  Escorting him in going; returning now with wails!  Not one at heart—­but in league against him—­openly constituted a friend and well-wisher, concealing underneath a treacherous purpose; so thou hast caused the sacred prince to go forth once and not return again!  No questioning the joy you feel!  Having done ill you now enjoy the fruit; better far to dwell with an enemy of wisdom, than work with one who, while a fool, professes friendship.  Openly professing sweetness and light, inwardly a scheming and destructive enemy.  And now this royal and kingly house, in one short morn is crushed and ruined!  All these fair and queen-like women, with grief o’erwhelmed, their beauty marred, their breathing choked with tears and sobs, their faces soiled with crossing tracks of grief!  Even the queen (Maya) when in life, resting herself on him, as the great snowy mountains repose upon the widening earth, through grief in thought of what would happen, died.  How sad the lot of these—­within these open lattices—­these weeping ones, these deeply wailing!  Born in another state than hers in heaven, how can their grief be borne!” Then speaking to the horse she said, “Thou unjust! what dulness this—­to carry off a man, as in the darkness some wicked thief bears off a precious gem.  When riding thee in time of battle, swords, and javelins and arrows, none of these alarmed or frighted thee!  But now what fitfulness of temper this, to carry off by violence, to rob my soul of one, the choicest jewel of his tribe.  O! thou art but a vicious reptile, to do such wickedness as this! to-day thy woeful lamentation sounds everywhere within these palace walls, but when you stole away my cherished one, why wert thou dumb and silent then! if then thy voice had sounded loud, and roused the palace inmates from their sleep, if then they had awoke and slumbered not, there would not have ensued the present sorrow.”

Kandaka, hearing these sorrowful words, drawing in his breath and composing himself, wiping away his tears, with hands clasped together, answered:  “Listen to me, I pray, in self-justification—­be not suspicious of, nor blame the royal horse, nor be thou angry with me, either.  For in truth no fault has been committed by us.  It is the gods who have effected this.  For I, indeed, extremely reverenced the king’s command, it was the gods who drove him to the solitudes, urgently leading on the horse with him:  thus they went together fleet as with wings, his breathing hushed! suppressed was every sound, his feet scarce touched the earth!  The city gates wide opening of themselves! all space self-lighted! this was the work indeed of the gods; and what was I, or what my strength, compared with theirs?”