which had been raised about him from the time of his awakening in the pond till the present.
His past life lay open before him.
He saw the hall of the potter where he had sat in conversation with that foolish Buddhistic monk; he saw the little lane in Rajagriha through which he had hurried and the cow tearing towards him—then the horrified faces round about and the yellow-clad monks. And he saw the forests and the country roads of his pilgrimage, his palace, and his two wives, the courtesans of Ujjeni, the robbers, the grove of Krishna, and the Terrace of the Sorrowless with Vasitthi, his father's house, and the children's room.
And behind that he saw another life, and yet another, and still another, and ever others, as one sees the line of trees on a country road till the trees become points and the points blend into one strip of shadow.
At this, his brain began to reel.
And at once he found himself in the cleft again like a leaf that is driven by the wind. For, the first time, no one can bear the perfume of the Coral Tree for long, and the instinct of self-preservation bears every one thence at the first sign of dizziness.
As he, by and by, moved more quietly through the open valley, Kamanita pondered: "Now I understand why the white robe said she imagined I had not yet been to the Coral Tree. For I certainly could not imagine then what they meant by 'dream-pictures'; but now I know, for in that other life I have seen such. And I also know now why I am here. I wanted to visit the Buddha in the Mango Grove beside Rajagriha. Of course that intention was frustrated by my sudden and violent death, but my good intentions have been looked on favour-
