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would raise obstacles in it. As protection against any obstacles to the sacrifice Angiras had begged of the king for his son, the renowned warrior, to be there.
    This was an honour even greater than the Horse sacrifice. Indra himself would send for me, as the young hero who defeated with ease the demons. I shall travel to Heaven and assure Indra thus, ‘Oh, King of Gods, I shall ever be on your side in any battle with the demons. But there is one thing you must do. My father carries a curse that his children will never be happy. I wish to be blessed with a counter-blessing to nullify it.’
    * * *
    My bodyguard was following leisurely. My horse grew tired of jogging along at a slow pace. He galloped like the whirlwind and I was near the cottage in no time.
    It was evening. Black smoke from a cluster of trees ahead was coiling up to the bluish sky. Its movement up was like the graceful steps of a dancer. Birds returning to their nests were twittering sweetly. The west looked beautiful with the glow as of a sacrificial fire. It was as if pieces of cloud were being offered to the fire as oblation and the birds were chanting hymns like priests. Bird life was returning to roost. I had not seen so much colour even in the palace. I reined in my horse. I was enchanted by their song and colour in flight. A multicoloured bird flew past me. I was overcome by the temptation to shoot him for his lovely plume as a keepsake. I mounted the arrow when, in a harsh voice, someone said, ‘Hold back.’
    It was not a request. It was an order. I was absorbed in the beauty of the colours and had not noticed my surroundings. To the left, on the branch of a tree, was perched a young ascetic, admiring the beauty of the twilight. The next instant he jumped down from the tree, came near and said, ‘This is the sacred hermitage of Maharishi Angiras.’
    ‘I am aware of that,’ I retorted.
    ‘Did you intend to kill a bird in the precincts of this hermitage? That would have been a sin.’
    ‘I am a Kshatriya ... hunting is enjoined on me by my religion.’
    ‘There is religious sanction to killing in self-defence or to subdue evil. How did this innocent dumb bird hurt you? What harm has it done?’
    ‘I admired his plume.’
    ‘You seem to be an epicure. But remember, He who gave you that quality also endowed that bird with life.’
    I was annoyed and said, ‘Such dry sermons sound very well in a temple.’
    The boy smiled and said, ‘You are in a temple itself. Look, there in the west, the lamp of this temple is getting low a little. Higher up, you will see oil lamps being lit one after another.’
    In appearance he was a common young ascetic. But his talk would have become a poet more than an ascetic. In disparagement I said, ‘My venerable poet, can you ride?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then you will never experience the pleasure of hunting.’
    ‘But I also go hunting.’
    ‘And pray, what do you hunt ... the sacred grass?’
    He calmly said, ‘My enemies.’
    ‘Is it possible that an ascetic wearing a tree bark and living in a cottage has enemies?’
    ‘Not one but many of them.’
    ‘And, pray, what do you fight with?’
    ‘A spirited steed faster than Lord Indra’s and of the Sun ...’
    ‘But you said you cannot ride!’
    ‘Not your kind of horse ... no. But my own, yes. It is beautiful and fast. How can I describe its lightning speed? In an instant he can travel from earth to heaven. He can fathom fastnesses where light does not penetrate. Horses for the victory sacrifice pale before it. He has the power to make man a God and a God ... a greater God.’
    In irritation I spurred my horse, saying to the insolent boy, ‘Show me your horse.’
    ‘I cannot show him to you. But he is with me all the time, eternally at my service.’
    ‘Can you name it?’
    ‘Yes ... the soul.’
    I was taken aback when that night Maharishi Angiras introduced the ascetic to me. He was Kacha, the leading priest of the sacrifice for peace. He was the son of