"He had that in mind when he said—
"'Upward to heaven's sublimest light, life presses—and decays.
Know, that the future will even quench the glow of Brahma's rays.'"
After the short space of but a few thousand years came Kamanita's anxious and breathless question—
"Who ever uttered that frightful, that world-crushing sentence?"
"Who other than he, the Master, the Knower of Men, the Perfect One, the Buddha."
Then Kamanita became thoughtful. For a considerable length of time he pondered upon these words, and recalled many things. Then he spoke—
"Once already, Vasitthi, in Sukhavati, in the Paradise of the West, thou didst repeat a saying of the Buddha which was fulfilled before our eyes. And I remember that thou didst then faithfully report to me a whole speech of the Master's in which that saying occurred. This world-crushing utterance was not, however, contained in it. So thou hast then, Vasitthi, heard yet other speeches by the Master?"
"Many, my friend, for I saw him daily for more than half a year; yes, I even heard the last words he uttered."
Kamanita gazed upon her with wonder and reverence. Then he said—
"Then thou art, and just for that reason, as I believe, the wisest being in the whole Brahma-world. For all these star-gods round about us are aghast, shine with a wavering light, flicker, and blink; and even the hundred-thousandfold Brahma himself has become restless, and from his dulled radiance dart forth from time to time what seem to me flashes of anger. But thou dost give a steady light as of a lamp in a sheltered spot. And that also is a sign of dis-
