FAR BELOW flowed the Jumna, swift and clear, above frowned the jutting bank. Hills dark with the woods and scarred with the torrents were gathered around. Govinda, the great Sikh teacher, sat on the rock reading scriptures, when Raghunath, his disciple, proud of his wealth, came and bowed to him and said, 1 have brought my poor present unworthy of your acceptance.' Thus saying he displayed before the teacher a pair of gold bangles wrought with costly stones. The master took up one of them, twirling it round his finger, and the diamonds darted shafts of light. Suddenly it slipped from his hand and rolled down the bank into the water. 'Alas,' screamed Raghunath and jumped into the stream. The teacher set his eyes upon his book, and the water held and hid what it stole and went its way. The daylight faded when Raghunath came back to the teacher tired and dripping. He panted and said, I can still get it back if you show me where it fell.' The teacher took up the remaining bangle and throwing it into the water said, It is there.'
THE EVENING was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with moonlight. Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance overbrims the sky, stand hidden behind a candle's tiny flame? How could a few vain words from a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm?
