,
By whom protection to the Town is given,
By whom the Outcaste impotent is slain,
He cannot fail to enter into heaven. (2)

After all, what have I to do with heaven, before I have paid my
debt to Vasantasena, my sister in Buddha? She bought my freedom
for ten gold-pieces from the gamblers, and since that day I
regard myself as her property. [_He looks about._] What was that?
a sigh that arose from the leaves? It cannot be.

The heated breezes heat the leaves,
The wetted garment wets the leaves,
And so, I guess, the scattered leaves
Curl up like any other leaves. 46

[_Vasantasena begins to recover consciousness, and stretches out her
hand._]

P. 222.12]

_Monk._ Ah, there appears a woman's hand, adorned with beautiful gems.
What! a second hand? [_He examines it with the greatest care._] It seems
to me, I recognize this hand. Yes, there is no doubt about it. Surely,
this is the hand that saved me. But I must see for myself. [_He uncovers
the body, looks at it, and recognizes it._] It _is_ my sister in Buddha.
[_Vasantasena pants for water._] Ah, she seeks water, and the pond is
far away. What shall I do? An idea! I will hold this robe over her and
let it drip upon her. [_He does so. Vasantasena recovers consciousness,
and raises herself. The monk fans her with his garment._]

_Vasantasena._ Who are you, sir?

_Monk._ Has my sister in Buddha forgotten him whose freedom
she bought for ten gold-pieces?

_Vasantasena._ I seem to remember, but not just as you say. It
were better that I had slept never to waken.

_Monk._ What happened here, sister in Buddha?

_Vasantasena._ [_Despairingly._] Nothing but what is fitting--for a
courtezan.

_Monk._ Sister in Buddha, support yourself by this creeper[82] that
clings to the tree, and rise to your feet [_He bends down the creeper.
Vasantasena takes it in her hand, and rises._]

_Monk._ In yonder monastery dwells one who is my sister in the
faith. There shall my sister in Buddha be restored before she returns
home. You must walk very slowly, sister. [_He walks about
and looks around him._] Make way, good people, make way! This is
a young lady, and I am a monk, yet my conduct is above reproach.

The man whose hands, whose lips are free from greed,
Who curbs his senses, he is man indeed.
He little recks, if kingdoms fall or stand;
For heaven is in the hollow of his han