morning bath, sat under the ancient tree, before the master.

There came Satyakâma.

He bowed low at the feet of the sage, and stood silent.

"Tell me," the great teacher asked him, "of what clan art thou?"

"My lord," he answered, "I know it not. My mother said when I
asked her, 'I had served many masters in my youth, and thou hadst
come to thy mother Jabâlâ's arms, who had no husband.'"

There rose a murmur like the angry hum of bees disturbed in their
hive; and the students muttered at the shameless insolence of
that outcast.

Master Guatama rose from his seat, stretched out his arms, took
the boy to his bosom, and said, "Best of all Brahmins art thou,
my child. Thou hast the noblest heritage of truth."



LXV

May be there is one house in this city where the gate opens for
ever this morning at the touch of the sunrise, where the errand
of the light is fulfilled.

The flowers have opened in hedges and gardens, and may be there
is one heart that has found in them this morning the gift that