with Satagira—the chain which my good mother had at parting hung round my neck as an amulet—was rent from me by Angulimala's murderous hand. But much more distressing was the loss of the asoka flower, which I had constantly carried over my heart since that night on the terrace. Not far from me, I believed I could see it, a little red flame in the trampled grass, on the very spot where the youngest robbers ran hither and thither, carrying to the revellers the streaming flesh of beeves which had been hastily slaughtered and roasted, and, what was even more agreeable to the thirsty passions of that bestial throng, calabashes filled with spirits. It was to me as though they trampled on my heart every time I saw my poor asoka flower disappear under their foul feet, to reappear a moment later less luminous than before, till at length I could see it no longer. And I wondered whether Vasitthi now stood beneath the sorrowless tree, pleading for news. How good, if she were, that it could not tell her where I then was, for she would certainly have yielded up her tender soul could she have seen me in such surroundings. Not more than a dozen paces away, the formidable Angulimala himself caroused with several of his cronies. The bottle coursed freely, and the faces of the robbers—with the exception of one, of whom I will speak later—became more and more flushed, while they carried on conversations full of noisy animation and excitement, and now and again broke into open quarrel.
At that time, unfortunately, the jargon of the robbers had not been added to my many accomplishments—from which one may see how little human beings can discern what acquirements are likely to be of most service to them. How more than glad I should have been to be able to comprehend the gist of their loud talk, for I could not doubt that it concerned me and my fate! Their faces
