the
burning-ground. Dogs and jackals are tearing up carcasses which lie
scattered all round. Vultures are quarrelling among themselves. These
sights unloosen the bonds that bind him to the world. The king is
trembling with fear. His two colleagues have left him. But he will not
leave his station. He must do his duty. The night deepens. The
burning-ground becomes still more hideous. To try the king's sense of
duty, Virtue once more becomes incarnate and this time appears before
the king in a horrible form. The king has never before seen such a
terrible sight, but still he will not leave his station. Not one or two
but myriads of such forms dance before him, but in vain. The king
exclaims, "No one shall be allowed to burn any corpse without depositing
rags and couches with me. I am the agent of the lord of this
burning-ground. I make this proclamation by order of my lord."

No one responds. No voice is heard; only horrible figures are seen
playing around him. After a while, a hermit comes and says.

"I am a hermit. I have resolved to practise some _mantras_. I have come
to know everything about you by my powers of _yoga_. You are a king and
you should protect me from the demons that disturb my meditations."

The king most humbly submits, "My body is not my own; I have sold it to
the lord of the Chandals. How can I forsake my duty to my lord to save
you?"

The hermit says, "come and help me if I ever suffer extreme distress."

The king replies, "If I can ever help you without detriment to the
business of my lord, I am ready to do it." The hermit retires, and after
a short time he returns; and says,

"By your help I am now versed in all _mantras_. I am prepared to give
you such a mantra as by its virtue you will be able at once to repair to
Heaven. You need not suffer hell by slavery to a Chandal."

The king replies, "Many thanks for your kind offer. But how can I accept
your offer as this body belongs to a Chandal? I will not go anywhere
before death."

The hermit says, "Then take this money and deliver your wife."

The king thankfully declines the offer with the observation, "I have
sold my queen in my hour of need. To buy her back is not in my power."
The hermit soliloquizes,

"Blessed is Maharaja Harischandra! What fortitude! what wisdom! what
generosity! what a sense of duty! The world has never produced a nobler
man. A tempest shakes even the mountains, but behold! this noblest
specimen of humanity is not