wounded man, who, owing to the pain occasioned by his being lifted, had become all but unconscious, and had not noticed the arrival of the potter. "Is it possible that this poor man should have had the happiness for which he so longs, the whole night through, without in the least suspecting it?"
"That is the way of fools," said Sariputta. "But let us go. Now he can, of course, be brought along."
"One moment," called Ananda, "he has been overcome by the pain."
Indeed Kamanita's blank stare showed that he scarcely noticed what was passing around him. It began to grow dark before his eyes, but the long strip of morning sky, which showed between the high walls, nevertheless pierced to his consciousness, and may well have appeared to him like the Milky Way crossing the midnight sky. His lips moved.
"The Gunga," he murmured.
"His mind wanders," said Ananda.
Those standing next to Kamanita, who had heard what he said, interpreted it differently.
"He now wishes to be taken to the Gunga in order that the sacred waters may wash away his sins. But Mother Gunga is far from here—who could possibly carry him thither?"
"First to the Buddha, then the Gunga," murmured Sariputta, with the half-contemptuous pity the wise man bestows on the fool who, beyond the reach of help, falls out of one superstition into another.
Suddenly, however, Kamanita's eyes became wonderfully animated, a happy smile transfigured his face; he sought to raise himself. Ananda supported him.
"The heavenly Gunga," he whispered, with weak but happy voice, and pointed with his right hand to the strip
