"Of what clan art thou, my child? It is only fitting for a
Brahmin to aspire to the highest wisdom."

"Master," answered the boy, "I know not of what clan I am. I
shall go and ask my mother."

Thus saying, Satyakâma took leave, and wading across the
shallow stream, came back to his mother's hut, which stood at the
end of the sandy waste at the edge of the sleeping village.

The lamp burnt dimly in the room, and the mother stood at the
door in the dark waiting for her son's return.

She clasped him to her bosom, kissed him on his hair, and asked
him of his errand to the master.

"What is the name of my father, dear mother?" asked the boy.

"It is only fitting for a Brahmin to aspire to the highest
wisdom, said Lord Guatama to me."

The woman lowered her eyes, and spoke in a whisper.

"In my youth I was poor and had many masters. Thou didst come to
thy mother Jabâlâ's arms, my darling, who had no husband."

The early rays of the sun glistened on the tree-tops of the
forest hermitage.

The students, with their tangled hair still wet with their