And so it went, far into the night. I took note of the idea for possible future use. When I finally got to bed, I had the fright of my life when I disturbed one of those giant mice, as large as a half-grown kitten, which infest this land. Luckily, the beast dashed into its hole without attacking me.
We presented ourselves at the park at dawn, with supplies of food and drink for the day. Despite having awakened with four heads instead of one, Otaspes had wisely thought to bring this provender with us. We were shown to an inclosure reserved for foreigners, heretics such as Buddhists and Jainists, and persons of low color. The other colors all had their proper inclosures. I grumbled a bit at being so classified, but Otaspes merely shrugged and smiled. "It's India," he said.
Around us, thousands of Indians sat or squatted on the grass, while the action took place in a cleared space in the center of the crowd. The king made a speech, which did not much enlighten me because he spoke with his back to us. Then his band played and his dancing girls danced.
Next, a company of actors staged a play, about a noble hero whose king was turned against him by the plots and slanders of a wicked minister. The actors, in gilded armor, strutted about the low platform that served as a stage, shouting verses in the ancient Sanskrit tongue, of which I understood not a word. I was startled to see actors performing unmasked, with their faces bare save for paint and powder. I have heard that the Italians put on plays in this manner. I also learnt that women's parts were actually taken by women instead of by boys. I suppose it was foolish of a widely traveled man like me, but I could not help feeling uncomfortable, as if this spectacle were somehow indecent.
After the heroine had stabbed herself and thus, in some manner I never understood, proved to the stupid king that the hero was really a monster of virtue and valor, other acts followed. There were acrobats, tight-rope walkers, jugglers, animal trainers, wrestlers, storytellers, and conjurors. There was a chariot race along a path cleared through the crowd.
As the sun set, another troupe staged a play. This was a comedy, which I had little trouble in following. For one thing, the actors spoke ordinary modern Indian; for another, the plot was much like that of the comedies of Menandros and his kind. It told about a pair of young lovers kept apart by the benighted obstinacy of their parents but united at last by the crafty advice of a holy hermit.
Next morning I called upon Jaivali. I took the usual offering of food and found the hermit a stout, jolly-looking fellow, naked and bearded like his colleague downstream, and living in a cave. He, too, assured me that he had the only true system of attaining the higher wisdom.
"Sisonaga means well," said Jaivali, "but he is lost in a swamp of ignorant atheism."
"Does he not believe in gods?"
"Well, he calls himself an agnostic, saying there is no proof whether gods be or not."
"We had a fellow named Protagoras, who said something like that," I said. "The men of Athens—a great city in the West—exiled him and burnt his books on that account"
"What a wicked thing, to force a belief upon a man by persecution! But that, I suppose, is to be expected in your barbarous land. In Bharata we believe in tolerance; nobody would dream of interfering with another's beliefs.
"But as to the gods, I can assure you that they do exist. By austerities and spiritual exercises, I have induced a vision wherein the gods appeared to me in person and explained it all. If you would submit to my discipline, I could double your physical powers and the acuteness of your senses within a year."
Jaivali described his system, which sounded much like Sisonaga's, save that it entailed the worship of many Indian gods. It also involved some disagreeable-sounding exercises, such as swallowing and vomiting up a rag to cleanse one's stomach. Lacking a translator, I repeatedly had to ask Jaivali to slow down and to repeat, but I think I got the gist of it.
"Well," I said, "I fear I shall not be in Mahismati long enough for your full course. Actually, I came here in hope that you could cure me of one specific physical weakness ..." And I told him.
His response was just like those of the Buddhist priest and the yogin Sisonaga. "My poor man!" he exclaimed. "Know you not that, for long life and health, you must retain your semen instead of wasting it in copulation? If retained, this secretion is carried by invisible ducts to all parts of the body, nourishing and lubricating it. Besides, of all forms of physical pleasure, that of copulation is the most intense. Therefore it must be forsworn by the seeker after higher wisdom, since it ties one by the strongest bonds to attachments and desires on this material plane."
"Well, that is what I am after and nothing else. If you cannot help me, who can?"
Jaivali closed his eyes for a space. When he opened them, he said: "There is a philosopher in Ozenê, Gupta, who might do something. His repute is not of the highest, but he may have what you seek."
"Where is Ozenê?"
"Eight yojanas north of here, over the Paripatra Hills. It is the capital of Avanti."
I got directions for finding Gupta and took my leave.
Otaspes had spent the morning trading in Mahismati and had bought a bolt of turquoise-colored silk. I told him that my next goal was Ozenê.
"By the Holy Ox Soul, you do have the traveler's itch!" he said. "Here in Mahismati, the Brachmanist dynasty enforces tolerance between its Brachmanist and Buddhist subjects. But in Ozenê, the two factions are always fighting for supremacy. The Brachmanists (or Orthodox, as they call themselves) are more numerous, but the Buddhists have more wealth and power."
"Jaivali tells me that Indians never do that sort of thing. They believe in tolerating one another's opinions, he says."
Otaspes gave his silent laugh. "My dear Eudoxos, have you been around for half a century without learning that men say one thing and do another?"
"I know what you mean. But are you coming to Ozenê?"
'To hear is to obey! One can make even better buys there, and no true Persian merchant ever quailed at the prospect of a hazardous journey. But we shall need horses."
I made the rounds of the gem merchants, picked up three sapphires, and marked for purchase a ruby and an emerald if I could beat the price down far enough. These five gems would have been worth a king's ransom in the Inner Sea, but for a hundred drachmai one can buy a gemstone in India that would fetch a thousand in the West.
In the afternoon, we at last made our duty call on King Girixis. The sour-looking Brachman minister informed us that the king was late for the audience; he was out hunting in the royal park east of the public park we had seen the day before.
"But you need not waste your time whilst awaiting His Majesty," he added. "I will have one of our officials show you through the royal art gallery."
This was an unexpected diversion. The gallery was a separate building full of paintings of astonishing lifelikeness and liveliness. Most of them illustrated scenes from Indian myth and legend, such as the churning of the Sea of Milk, the slaying of the demon Bali by the god Indra, and the adventures of the scholar Utanka in the underground world of serpents. The official pointed out some paintings by the king himself, which to me looked neither better nor worse than the rest.
Back before the porch of audience, we found King Girixis seated on his terrace and judging a minor lawsuit. This king proved a short, plump young man who nibbled sweetmeats and watched his six naked dancing girls more than he did the litigants.
When our turn came, he graciously accepted our gifts and seemed pleased to see us. When I told him—truthfully—that the paintings in his gallery were better than anything I had seen in my native western lands, and less truthfully added that his own paintings were by far the best, he beamed all over and hoped we should have a long and profitable stay in Mahismati.