“My friend,” said Bhima Gandharva, “a short time ago a play was performed in this city which purported to be a translation into the Mahratta language of the Romeo and Juliet which Shakespeare wrote.  It was indeed a very great departure from that miraculous work, which I know well, but among its many deviations from the original was one which for the mournful and yet humorous truth of it was really worthy of the Master.  Somehow, the translator had managed to get a modern Englishman into the play, who, every time that one of my countrymen happened to be found in leg-reach, would give him a lusty kick and cry out ‘Damn fool!’ Why is the whole world like this Englishman?—­upon what does it found its opinion that the Hindu is a fool?  Is it upon our religion?  Listen!  I will recite you some matters out of our scriptures:  Once upon a time Arjuna stood in his chariot betwixt his army and the army of his foes.  These foes were his kinsmen.  Krishna—­even that great god Krishna—­moved by pity for Arjuna, had voluntarily placed himself in Arjuna’s chariot and made himself the charioteer thereof.  Then—­so saith Sanjaya—­in order to encourage him, the ardent old ancestor of the Kurus blew his conch-shell, sounding loud as the roar of a lion.  Then on a sudden trumpets, cymbals, drums and horns were sounded.  That noise grew to an uproar.  And, standing on a huge car drawn by white horses, the slayer of Madhu and the son of Pandu blew their celestial trumpets.  Krishna blew his horn called Panchajanya; the Despiser of Wealth blew his horn called the Gift of the Gods; he of dreadful deeds and wolfish entrails blew a great trumpet called Paundra; King Yudishthira, the son of Kunti, blew the Eternal Victory; Nakula and Sahadeva blew the Sweet-toned and the Blooming-with-Jewels.  The king of Kashi, renowned for the excellence of his bow, and Shikandin in his huge chariot, Dhrishtyadumna, and Virata, and Satyaki, unconquered by his foes, and Drupada and the sons of Drupadi all together, and the strong-armed son of Subhadra, each severally blew their trumpets.  That noise lacerated the hearts of the sons of Dhartarashtra, and uproar resounded both through heaven and earth.  Now when Arjuna beheld the Dhartarashtras drawn up, and that the flying of arrows had commenced, he raised his bow, and then addressed these words to Krishna: 

“’Now that I have beheld this kindred standing here near together for the purpose of fighting, my limbs give way and my face is bloodless, and tremor is produced throughout my body, and my hair stands on end.  My bow Gandiva slips from my hand, and my skin burns.  Nor am I able to remain upright, and my mind is as it were whirling round.  Nor do I perceive anything better even when I shall have slain these relations in battle, I seek not victory, Krishna, nor a kingdom, nor pleasures.  What should we do with a kingdom, Govinda?  What with enjoyments, or with life itself?  Those very men on whose account we might desire a kingdom, enjoyments or pleasures