The magician waves his plumes and exhibits most wonderful scenes. Brahma appears throned upon the lotus; Sankara appears with the crescent moon, his glittering crest; Hari, the destroyer of the demon race, in whose four hands the bow, the sword, the mace and the shell are borne, is observable. Indra, the king of Swarga, is seen mounted on his stately elephant.  Around them countless spirits dance merrily in mid air, sporting with the lovely nymphs of heaven, whose anklets ring responsive to the measure.  The king and queen look up and rise from their seats.  At this time, a female attendant appears to announce;—­“So please your Majesty, the minister Yaugandharayana begs to inform you, that Vikrambahu, the king of Ceylon, has sent, along with your own messenger who returns, the councillor Vasubhuti; be pleased to receive him as the season is auspicious.  The minister will also wait upon you as soon as he is at leisure.”  The queen observes, “Suspend this spectacle, my lord.  Vasubhuti is a man of elevated rank; he is also of the family of my maternal uncle, and should not be suffered to wait; let us first see him.”  The king orders the suspension of the show, the magician retires promising to exhibit yet some sights.

Vasubhuti, after the customary exchange of courtesies, thus relates his story:—­“In consequence of the prophesy of a seer, that whoever should wed Ratnavali, my master’s daughter, should become the emperor in the world, your Majesty’s minister solicited her for your bride; unwilling, however, to be instrumental in the uneasiness of Vasavadatta, the king of Simhala declined compliance with his suit.  My master, understanding at last that the queen was deceased, consented to give his daughter to you.  We were deputed to conduct her hither, when alas, our vessel was wrecked.”  The envoy, overpowered by sorrows, is unable to continue the story and weeps.  The queen exclaims, “Alas, unhappy that I am!  Loved sister Ratnavali, where art thou?  Near me and reply.”

The king consoles the queen thus:—­

“The fate that causes, may remove our sorrows.”

A cry is now heard from behind that the inner apartments are on fire.  The king starts up wildly and exclaims, “Vasavadatta burnt to death! my queen, my love!”

The queen exclaims, “What extravagance is this—­behold me at your side.  But ah! help, help, my lord.  I think not of myself but poor Sagarika.  She is in bonds; my cruelty has kept her captive—­and she will be lost without some aid—­haste, haste and save her!” The king flies to her rescue, precipitates himself into the flames and takes her in his arms.  He pauses—­looks around—­closes his eyes, and reopens them.  The flames disappear.  The palace stands unharmed.  The king observes, “This must have been a dream, or is it magic?” Vasantaka replies, “The latter, no doubt; did not that conjuring son of a slave say, he had still something for your Majesty to see?”