On the 15th of January his astral self must be back, here, in the palace of Oneypore. On the I5th of January! Three times I gave him warning! And he promised—and—"
"He broke the promise!"
"Yes. His astral self was caught in the eddy of foreign life, foreign desires, foreign vices perhaps"—he smiled with sudden kindliness—"foreign virtues. I waited. Day after day I waited. Came the 15th of January—and he did not return. For—"
"His astral self died—in England. It was buried in foreign soil," Thorneycroft interjected.
"You have said it, Brother Brahman. And now"—he raised his hands in a gesture of supplication—"though I have prayed to Vishnu, who is my cousin, to Shiva, to Doorgha, to Brahm himself, though I have offered the slaughter of my own soul for the homeless soul of him whom I loved, the evil is done. He is neither dead, nor is he alive. His soul is a fluttering, harrowed thing, whirling about on the outer rim of creation, cursed by the gods, his kinsmen. His physical body is here—on this couch—and the spiritual self, his astral body, is in foreign soil—sullied, sullied!"
