King (reverently).  I must not neglect the happy chance.  I cannot go farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one.

Matali.  It is a worthy thought, O King. (The chariot descends.) We have come down to earth.

King (astonished).  Matali,

  The wheels are mute on whirling rim;
    Unstirred, the dust is lying there;
  We do not bump the earth, but skim: 
    Still, still we seem to fly through air.

Matali.  Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.

King.  In which direction lies the hermitage of Marichi’s son?

Matali (pointing).  See!

  Where stands the hermit, horridly austere,
  Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sore;
  Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown
  About him, standing post-like and alone;
  Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest,
  The dead skin of a serpent on his breast: 
  So long he stood unmoved, insensate there
  That birds build nests within his mat of hair.

King (gazing).  All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so terribly.

Matali (checking the chariot).  We have entered the hermitage of the ancient sage, whose wife Aditi tends the coral-trees. King.  Here is deeper contentment than in heaven.  I seem plunged in a pool of nectar.

Matali (stopping the chariot).  Descend, O King.

King (descending).  But how will you fare?

Matali.  The chariot obeys the word of command.  I too will descend. (He does so.) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest hermits lead their self-denying life.

King.  I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what they might enjoy.

  Their appetites are fed with air
  Where grows whatever is most fair;
  They bathe religiously in pools
  Which golden lily-pollen cools;
  They pray within a jewelled home,
  Are chaste where nymphs of heaven roam: 
  They mortify desire and sin
  With things that others fast to win.

Matali.  The desires of the great aspire high. (He walks about and speaks to some one not visible.) Ancient Shakalya, how is Marichi’s holy son occupied? (He listens.) What do you say?  That he is explaining to Aditi, in answer to her question, the duties of a faithful wife?  My matter must await a fitter time. (He turns to the king.) Wait here, O King, in the shade of the ashoka tree, till I have announced your coming to the sire of Indra.

King.  Very well. (Exit MATALI. The king’s arm throbs, a happy omen.)

  I dare not hope for what I pray;
    Why thrill—­in vain? 
  For heavenly bliss once thrown away
    Turns into pain.

A voice behind the scenes.  Don’t!  You mustn’t be so foolhardy.  Oh, you are always the same.