ight where I hoped to find you!”’

Krishna was delighted to see Matanga again, not just because making contact with her was a major part of the plan of Devadatta and his followers but more because it had been a long time since he had seen her and had had a chance to talk.

It was the dark of the moon and the Master had just finished giving a talk to a large gathering of monastics and lay-folk in the sala of the Jetavana. The forest rang with the susurration of crickets, punctuated by the soft hootings of owls and the occasional chapping of a gecko. Above, in the gaps between the treetops, the bright sparkle of the stars was the only light.

‘Krishna! Venerable sir! It’s been a long time since we’ve all seen you.’ Matanga was doubly pleased to meet him as she now had the major news of the manner of her birth to share with him, along with the chance to catch up after so long an interval. Her eyes shone with a joy-filled brightness. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you too!’

Both she and Krishna looked about them for a convenient and quiet place to sit for a moment but the crowds were still thick, in and around the sala, with people gathering their things and discussing the themes of the Master’s talk that evening. They settled on an outside corner of the building, under the eaves, with Matanga on a mat an arm-span away from Krishna¹. It was quiet enough and still in public view and earshot, as a more secluded spot would not have been appropriate for a bhikkhu and a lay woman to sit and talk.

‘Where’s our favourite sage, Khujjuttara?!’ Krishna looked around, ‘you two are usually inseparable! Who’s looking after her?’

‘Looking after! I wouldn’t say she needs that yet but she has been laid up for the last half-moon on account of her back. Now she’s older it goes out of whack more and more easily and so she’s been off her feet for a while. She’s in good spirits – as ever – I brought her into the Jetavana on a hand-cart² for the last of the Master’s talks, but it was a big hassle getting her in and out of the forest on wheels. She said to just leave it until she’s in better shape so I came here on my own.’

Krishna noticed the vivid beaming look on Matanga’s face and her uncharacteristically excited manner. ‘You’re more than just pleased to see me, what is it?’ He enquired.

Matanga looked around and, seeing that people were continually walking close by and chatting, and were gathered under the lanterns around the sala, she felt a little shy. She didn’t want to bring up something so personal as revealing that, unbeknownst to him, Krishna was her father, with so many others milling around so she responded, ‘I’ll save it for a quieter moment but it’s something that I promise you’ll be interested to hear. Anyway, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Yes, well,’ Krishna had been thinking long and hard about how to persuade her to join in with the scheme that Devadatta and his group had hatched³. He did not want to lie but it was hard to come up with any half-convincing reason without employing some deception. He began, ‘What we need you to do, if you’d be willing, is to spend a week coming to the Jetavana every day, arriving very early – before dawn if possible – and staying for the meal-offering, then coming again every evening and staying as late as possible, before walking home.’

‘That’s a strange request,’ she looked at him quizzically, ‘What’s the idea behind all that?’

Krishna then had to persuade himself that the reason he had come up with would be convincing to her. When he had tried to prise out of Kokalika and Samudadatta, Devadatta’s closest disciples, what was the purpose of this proposed procedure, they had both answered, ‘You don’t need to know,’ with a dismissive tone of voice, a tone he was very used to as a dark-skinned person. Both of them had added, however, as had Devadatta himself when he was asked, ‘Rest assured, no harm will come to her and she will not be blamed for anything.’

Krishna was reassured by this and Mara, who was looking on, was profoundly pleased by how these supposed holy men could look Krishna in the eye and tell him a blatant lie.

Krishna had been left to come up with a convincing reason so he explained to Matanga, ‘Some of us have become very concerned about the comfort and safety of women visitors to the Jetavana. So, since we were all monks and did not have first-hand knowledge of women’s needs – particularly lay-women visitors – we thought to find a regular, trustworthy and competent lay woman to come and go at those times when things are most risky or inconvenient – in the dark of the night or before dawn – and who could report back recommendations about pathways, shelter, places to sit, hazards to easy passage and, er, facilities to make answering the calls of nature more comfortable.

This speech covered all he could think of, to make sense of the plan of his Elders, and to convince Matanga to go along with it. Even Krishna felt he had not made a very good case and he was prepared for her to say, ‘Sorry but I’m unable to help.’ Or, more likely, ‘That seems a strange way to go about improving things, why not just ask us who have been coming for years, where the trip-hazards are on the paths, where a resting spot would be handy and so forth?’

Matanga was very quiet for some time. There were fewer people around them now and less of a burble of conversation mixing with the sounds of the forest night. She looked at Krishna long and steadily, then said, ‘I will happily do this for you. You helped me so much, I feel great gratitude and I would like to aid you and the Sangha in any way I can.’

Krishna was surprised and greatly relieved that Matanga was so amenable. He also noticed that the excited light that had been in her eyes had changed to something like poignancy or compassion, or even sadness.

‘I’d better be going as I told Khujj that I’d be back at our home before the end of the first watch. It’s getting on for that now. Maybe we’ll find time for that chat about my news sometime soon.’

‘I hope so! I’m intrigued,’ Krishna cheerfully replied, feeling as he spoke that his chirpiness was now strangely out of place.

‘I’ll start the routine you described before dawn tomorrow, it’s always peaceful then and it’s lovely to be in the forest as the songbirds begin their day.’

Krishna went on the morning alms-round each day and took his meal with the rest of the Sangha in the communal dana-sala. He could thus see Matanga, along with the other lay-folk, helping to offer the food prepared in the monastery and also dividing up what had been received by all the monks and novices in the town of Savatthi and the nearby villages.

He also saw her at the sala when they had communal chanting or meditation, and he noted how she indeed would stay on until all other lay-people had returned to their homes, not departing until it was late in the evening.

Five days went by in this fashion.

---

Matanga knew it was coming. She had steeled herself for the moment but her her heart raced furiously when she heard the heavy tread of feet behind her on the moonlit path, and the snarls of her attackers as they grabbed her plait and yanked her head back. Strangely she was sure smelled smoke for a moment and heard the crackle of flames as she grew calm and a great peace came over her. She did not resist or call out as the blade crossed her throat – she was alert and surprised that she felt no pain at all. As she crumpled to the forest floor Matanga fell forward in a final bow to the Triple Gem, blood pumping vigorously down her front and mixing with the dust of the path and the leaf-litter beneath the trees around her.

---

The next day, Krishna became concerned as she failed to appear in the morning, at the meal offering. She was not there in the evening or on the day after either. He was not sure what to do since he was not able to ask Khujjuttara if there was a problem. After he had let another day go by he went to see Devadatta, assuring him that if Matanga had merely been sick and unable to perform the task, she would have sent a message. ‘She’s very dutiful and reliable like that. That’s why she’s such a good support for Khujjuttara.’ When Devadatta heard this news, he furrowed his brow and said, ‘This could be serious, let us take the matter to the King.’ This seemed a somewhat extreme measure but, since it was a high-ranking individual making the suggestion, Krishna offered no comment.

In the past Devadatta, lickspittle that he was, had ingratiated himself with Prince Ajatasattu⁴, the son of King Bimbisara in Magadha, and had wielded enough influence to persuade the Prince to get his royal father to abdicate and to assume the throne of Magadha himself. Devadatta therefore had no reservations about requesting an audience with King Pasenadi, the ruler of Kosala where Savatthi was situated, and was confident that this king would give his words credence.

Devadatta, Katamoraka-tissaka, Kokalika and Samudadatta were received by King Pasenadi in one of his reception halls. Queen Mallika and Queen Vasabha, along with Prince Vidudabha and Princess Vajiri were either side of him, each queen with her own child.

‘Great King,’ Devadatta began, ‘we are grateful to be given this opportunity to address you directly but, ahem, since we come with a somewhat distressing concern, perhaps their Serene Highnesses and your Royal Children might wish to depart before we mention our business today.’

The King pondered this for a moment then, glancing to either side and gesturing with his hand, he indicated for the other members of his family to leave. Prince Vidudabha began to protest that he was easily old enough⁵ to be included in matters of state and of spiritual concern but the King gave him a redoubled Royal Look, and he left the chamber with the others.

Once solely the King and his hand-servants remained, Devadatta began, ‘Great King, the lay-devotee Matanga⁶, companion and attendant of the Maha-upasika Khujjuttara⁷, has gone missing and cannot be found.

‘Regrettably, Great King, we fear that she has met her end and that her lifeless body is hidden somewhere in our own monastery, the Jetavana.’

Pasenadi immediately responded, ‘Then let the Jetavana be thoroughly searched so that justice may be done,’ he paused for a moment then continued, ‘but why do you bring this matter to me? Surely this is first something you would investigate yourselves, as a community, is it not?’

‘That would normally be the case, Sire, however…’, he looked from side to side, to his fellow monks who nodded in concurrence, as if to say, ‘You must continue’. ‘It is the core of our concern that it is the Master himself who has become embroiled in this issue,’ he paused again. King Pasenadi’s eyebrows were raised to full height.

‘This is why we have brought the matter before you directly, Sire. It is an extremely delicate situation. Many of us,’ he looked from side to side again, by way of affirming his words, ‘are aware that the Master has been losing his faculties as he ages. He has become notably lenient in his propounding of the discipline and he rejected outright the proposals I made for some stricter standards. We are also aware that this devout, er, young lady,’ and here he seemed to stumble a moment over the term of reference, ‘this sincere and devout young upasika, has been coming to the Jetavana regularly for years, often as the help-mate of Maha-upasika Khujjuttara, and that recently she has been seen inside the monastery grounds late at night and before dawn each morning. To put it in a nutshell, we fear that she had become the paramour of the Master and that he, growing weary of the relationship, or having had some argument with the girl, has ended her young life and has had her body secreted somewhere in the monastery grounds.’

The King looked thunderous and aghast in equal measure. ‘This is an extremely serious accusation and, therefore, one I am sure you are not making lightly,’ the King was plainly disturbed by the story he had just heard. ‘It is clear why you suggested that my queens and my children should have left this chamber, in order not to be distressed by even the possibility that their belovèd teacher – and mine too, I might add – has fallen from grace and has taken to sensuality and murder. My queen, Mallika, has always had unwavering faith in the Buddha – myself I have had doubts and reservations in the past – so this investigation that you request must be carried out with great discretion. I will order the Jetavana to be searched, high and low, but without any public announcement; this is the only way we can get to the bottom of this issue, as well as being discreet about it.

‘If it proves to be the case that the Master is responsible, I will consider if any action is necessary on the part of the Crown, as well as any steps that you all need to take as a community.’

The four monks were sombre in their manner but inwardly delighted with this outcome and, as the King had promised, he despatched with them a number of his agents skilled in detection and undercover activities.

The presence of a group of men, apparently casually looking through the forest and grounds of the Jetavana, was noted immediately by many of the monks but before much could be said or done or asked about, the search party from the palace had uncovered a shallow grave, close to the Gandha-kuti, the Buddha’s residence. To the horror of those who had gathered round, the body of Matanga, throat slit, was found buried in a hole in the ditch that formed one of the conduits in the Rainy Season. No kind of accident could explain this; she had plainly been murdered.

---

As soon as the body of Matanga was discovered the word – and many accompanying rumours – of her death spread like wildfire in the Hot Season through the Jetavana, Savatthi and the villages round about. Despite coming from a candala background Matanga was well-loved and respected as a dedicated disciple of the Master, and as the faithful companion and helper of the revered Khujjuttara. It was more shocking that the whispered story was that it was the Master himself who had been engaging in misconduct with her and who had snuffed her life out so brutally.

Khujjuttara was deeply sorrowful⁸ at the death of her companion and Dharma friend; she shed many tears as waves of grief ran through her but she did not give rise to anger. She was however bluntly dismissive of the rumours of it being the Buddha who was responsible. Despite the raging uproar in the streets, generated particularly by those who found the Master’s refusal to respect the caste system abhorrent, and some who were known to rabble-rouse for almost any cause, the white-haired sage did not get pulled into the maelstrom of emotion. She was one who had seen too much in her long life to jump to conclusions quickly. She also knew with absolute certainty that the Master could never act in the way he was accused of⁹.

Day after day the clamour continued. ‘See the work of this brazen son of the Sakyans, this foreigner from the north who thinks so much of himself! He is a shameless, wicked liar and a lecher to boot! He who claims to follow the Path of the Dharma, and in serenity and purity, to speak the Truth, to be virtuous and good – he has nothing of the monk or brahmin in him. The ways of the samana and the true brahmin are travestied in him! How can he take advantage of a woman and then kill her?!’ These and similar were the words being bandied around the homes and well-heads, the markets and meeting-places of Savatthi and its environs during those days.

When word of all this reached the Buddha he was quite unfazed. He felt great compassion for his disciple Matanga – who had always been so humble and faithful, so kind in her ways and actions – but he did not leap to his own defence, or to that of the Sangha, when they were reviled or abused in the street, in the monastery or in the countryside. He was sanguine and spoke calmly, to comfort and guide the monks and nuns who were disturbed by these accusations.

‘This uproar will not last long, friends¹⁰. It will only last seven days, after that it will subside. When people abuse or criticize me or you in these ways, please respond to them with loving-kindness and these words:

‘The liar goes to hell, like one who did a deed
And afterwards declares, “I did it not.”
They, both of them, on dying fare alike,
In life to come, as those whose acts are vile.’¹¹

The nuns and monks all memorized this verse and, when confronted, calmly responded in this way. The consistency of this way of receiving criticism and, moreover how the Sangha and the Master showed they did not have anything to hide; their lack of defensiveness or anger at being attacked by words, steadily wrought its effect on the hearts of the local populace, including the King and the brahmins and the wanderers of other sects. As that turbulent week came to its end the uproar subsided and everyone came to the realization:– The Samana Gotama did not do this, he is innocent. It was not done by him.

The Princess Vajiri and Queen Vasabha with Kesini had come to see Khujjuttara and to offer their condolences, and the latter had proposed to carry her in her arms into the monastery.

‘Thank you very much dear, that’s a bit more dignified than pushin’ me in the cart – which is quite an adequate means of transport I might say – but are you sure you can manage with just the one hand?’

‘I can manage,’ Kesini’s jaw was firmly set; she was a strongly built woman in her forties so the weight of the wise Elder was not daunting. She wanted to bring her friend and mentor into the Jetavana, to see the Buddha herself.

When they had entered the Jetavana it was mid-morning and the Master received them in the sala; Krishna, looking grey and ten years older was at his side.

Despite the brouhaha having died down somewhat, Vasabha still had her suspicions and, being angry and grief-stricken by the loss of her dear friend and half-sister she was keen to blame someone and the Buddha was not out of bowshot yet. She had also heard that Krishna was involved somehow in this plot so Vasabha had not made any efforts to connect with him, and to reveal their relationship just yet. The Queen and the Princess had thus returned directly to the palace so it was just Khujjuttara and Kesini who had a conversation with the Master that day.

Krishna was haggard and distraught; he had been keeping to himself and weeping, often noisily at his kuti. He was heartbroken at his own stupidity and his role in the gruesome death of his young friend. Khujjuttara and Kesini, both still tearful, paid their respects to the Master and the Elder asked, ‘Venerable Sir, am I right in assuming that the death of our dear Matanga was part of a ruse to bring you into disrepute?’

‘You are correct, Khujjuttara,’ the Buddha replied.

‘I only ask by way of checkin’ since Matanga, bright girl that she is… was,’ she choked momentarily and went quiet as more tears came. When the wave had passed, she sniffed and breathed deeply to clear her head, then continued, ‘She gave me a message to give to you, in the event of her death by violence. I didn’t agree with what she was doin’ but she made her own choices. May I recite it to you, Venerable Sir? As you know, my powers of recall are still quite reliable so you can be assured that these are Matanga’s words.’

The Master assented with a gentle inclination of his head. His dark azure eyes¹² rested, fully attentive on this, the female lay disciple he had publicly named¹³ as ‘most accomplished in learning’:

‘O Blessèd One, please do not think that I went to my death as an unwitting dupe. Rather, knowing that the power and influence of this clique of deceitful miscreants was such that they would easily wriggle out of a mere accusation of “you are trying to use me” by one considered their social inferior; I allowed myself to be killed as part of a larger and more complex strategy.’

Khujjuttara’s voice became like Matanga’s as she recited.

‘By my death a bridge was crossed by them. My trust in the power of truth is such that, that crossing having been made, their fate would be sealed and the good reputation of you, the Master, would remain untainted.
‘My only regret is that my dear friend and kalyanamitta¹⁴, (and, as I have recently learned, my actual father), the bhikkhu Krishna, became an unwilling and indeed unwitting pawn in their scheme. He is without blame but I am not for, as I intuited some destructive and malicious plot had been hatched – even in the very first words that Krishna, my father, spoke to me on this – I chose not to tell him of my suspicions, that I discerned evil in the intentions of those treacherous Elders, those sham recluses with whom he had become aligned.’

Krishna raised his head from its sagging posture, ‘“Father”? What? How?!’ Khujjuttara glanced at him and indicated she had a bit more to recite, although her tears continued to run freely:

‘I am further to blame in that I did not tell the bhikkhu Krishna right away that I am his daughter, through his brief but meaningful relationship with my mother, Sugandhi of Kulluta. I have sacrificed my life but I have also – wisely or not I leave for others to judge – sacrificed the opportunity to greet and be with my real father and I have deprived him of the chance to know in full awareness one of his children. I regret having had to make this choice but, as my revered teachers have taught me, life is not under our personal control and difficult decisions have to be made along the way.
‘I trust by my offering up my life in this way that the Sangha may be cleared of corruption and that the poisoning elements will be cast out as a result.
‘I am your disciple and I bow three times at your feet, O Blessèd One. My heart is filled with gratitude at having been given the chance to hear your teachings and that I have been able to bask in the radiance of your presence.
‘Upasika Matanga, Haritaca-Kumari of Kulluta.’

Krishna was weeping freely, at the Buddha’s side. To his amazement the Master reached out and placed his hand upon Krishna’s shoulder. It felt as though it was a great weight that was lighter than a feather. A wondrous warming light spread through his body from that touch; he felt great peace even as the tears ran.

Kesini, her tears flowing too, then spoke up. ‘Master, given that Krishna knows who asked him to speak to Matanga, and to get her to follow their prescribed routine of coming and going to the Jetavana, is it appropriate for him to pass those names on to the King so that the perpetrators of this great hurt can be brought to book?’

‘I see no reason why he should not. I will question them myself, but the King should do with them as he sees fit, according to the law, and according to what facts can be publicly established. My own intuitive powers to know what has passed through a person’s mind are not sufficient evidence for the court.’

---

Maggot and the group of friends skirted the turreted and bejewelled walls of the deva city and were closing in on the Nandana Grove, just outside the great Eastern Gates. A pair of lurching figures were framed in the grand archway, seemingly rapt in conversation with each other.

‘I think that’s them!’ Bee called out, ‘Look, they’re pretty unmistakable.’

‘Dead right, I reckon,’ Gumbiya agreed. ‘Stroke ‘o luck that.’ He swerved mid-air and, released from Gumbiya’s arms, the whole group landed gently before the startled sisters, Hiri and Siri, the three kinnaris, in their pink, magenta and vermillion filmy garb, Rhamba and her brother Salassa, the apsaras, in matching jewels and braids and bangles, and the bulky form of Gumbiya, the warrior yakkha, dressed for battle, as usual, but endeavouring not to knock or squash any of his companions.

‘By all the heavens and our Royal Father – what are you doing here!? You’re all a sight for sore eyes!! Are you having a reunion? Where’s Minti and Ninka?’ Hiri was excited to see them.

‘I think she’s at the party, with Prince Wotsisname,’ Siri replied.

‘Oh yeah, Malabha thingummibob. We’re not invited,’ Hiri grinned, then in unison they recited, ‘We’re the ugly sisters!’ Both of them laughing, guffawing at their familiar in-joke, their long jaws and hefty teeth wagging as they crinkled up with the absurdity of things.

Maggot and the other searchers all smiled in turn, chuckling along with the princesses at the ridiculous nature of appearances and their so-called worth. It was good to see them again.

‘No, it’s not a reunion – we’ve been on a long search,’ started Bee.

‘… for Maggot’s baby…’, Ant continued, ‘Ninka had to leave us and Minti’s back in the Ghositarama forest in Kosambi. She has had enough adventures, for a while at least. Maggot’s little girl, Tambaka, went missing and we’ve been searching high and low for her…’

Salassa chimed in, ‘Everywhere we could think, in the Heaven of the Four Guardian Deities…’

‘…’n the Underworld, that woz a bit ‘airy…’ added Gumby.

‘Then up to Tusita, where we met the Great Bodhisattva Maitreya…’

‘… and now here,’ Maggot joined in, drawing close to the two sisters, fixing them pointedly with her stare. ‘I’ve got a strong feeling – from what Sri Ariya Maitreya told us – that you both might be able to help. We found traces of her passage through the Realm of Gandharvas and Apsaras but they led to nothing – not a sign of her after that.’

‘So, how were you finding your way through all these Realms?’ Siri asked. ‘You went on your own?’

‘There was a very kind and helpful gandharva called Muñca who…’ Bee began.

‘Muñca!’ Hiri and Siri blurted out in unison, ‘That rogue! He’s not to be trusted a fingerbreadth – even one of your kinnari fingers, let alone an asura one,’ Siri warmed to the subject. ‘He was your guide? He was leading you on a wild goose chase I’m sure. If you found traces of your girl in the Gandharva Realm you can be sure he put them there. He’s notorious and unwelcome here!’

‘That must be why he let go of my hand when we were about to come here – he knew he’d be recognized and get into trouble. But, if he’s got such a bad reputation here, why had Ninka not known of him?’ Ant was puzzled.

‘She must ’ave done!’ Hiri retorted, ‘How could she…’ she went quiet as her sister flashed her a very visible look, silently communicating, ‘Shush – sounds like personal stuff – leave it out.’ It was a very loud silent message and all went quiet, until Maggot broke the spell.

‘So, do you have any clues or ideas as to what happened to Tambaka, where she has gone? Who or what took her?’

The coarse featured princesses looked at each other and, again, a silent conversation seemed to pass between them, they obviously knew each other’s minds very well and apparently didn’t always need words to communicate.

‘Actually we had been wondering…’, Siri began.

‘But you know how it is – get a bit distracted by things… ’cuz last night, so less than half a day ago, we were at a talk on the full moon in Kosambi. It was, by the earth calendar, er…’, Hiri’s brow crumpled in concentration.

‘Kathika, the full moon that ends the Rainy Season,’ Siri remembered. ‘The month called Komudi, someone there was talking about it.’

‘And?!...!’ Maggot pressed them.

‘Oh yeah, and after the talk we were just hovering around, unseen by the humans…’

‘…as usual…’

‘…and there was this group of women from the north…’

‘…Sakyans…’

‘…yeah, Sakyans, like the Master, they were on some kind of special visit. Anyway, it sounded like they’d gone off into the bushes to do their human relieving of themselves, or just gone for a stroll after the talk to enjoy the moonlight in the forest…’

‘And?!’ Maggot was losing patience rapidly.

‘Sorry, they’d found a baby who had been abandoned in the forest. Beautiful little thing, as far as we could see. Anyway, these women were all over the kid: ‘Wot a beautiful child! How could anyone cast aside such a lovely babe? How sweet she smells!’

‘She had a sweet smell?’

‘Yeah – even we could tell that from where we were. Not like yer usual human¹⁵ – heh heh… Anyway, they all were really taken with the baby and, as far as we could tell, when they asked around all the locals who were there for the teaching no one recognized her, or had heard of a woman who couldn’t look after her baby, or anyfing – right?’ She turned to Siri by way of affirming her impressions.

‘Right – no one had a clue. Everyone they asked just shrugged, and then admired the baby too.’

‘So, long story short’ – Maggot smiled appreciatively, with a little effort – ‘one of the Sakyan women, posh Northern accent, says, “We can’t possibly just leave her here, and no one seems to be responsible for her so, can we adopt her into our travelling group and take her back to Kapilavatthu? What do you think?”’

‘One of the snooty ones, ladyship of some sort, then says, “But, my dear, she’s a foundling, and certainly not a Sakyan; you know how particular everyone is about ancestry in Sakya. Who would accept her into their family?”’

‘Then another one says, “She could be adopted by one of the slave families, ancestry means nothing to any of them.” That’s not strictly true – if you ask me the lower caste folks can be just as picky as the uppers, not to mention the ranks in the Tavatimsa Heaven… don’t get me started! Anyway…,’ Hiri risked a glance at Maggot, who was fixed firmly on this story – ‘… the long and short of it was they decided to take the baby to the north and to find a family in the palace slave halls who would take her in.’

‘That’s it, that’s what we heard ’em say. So, that was just last night, you might catch up with them if you head to the human world right now.’

‘Hiri!’ her sister scowled at her, ‘as far as these folks have experienced it, the baby went north years ago. It was last night to us, and it’s mid-morning here now, but one day and one night here in the Heaven of the Thirty-Three is one hundred years in the human realm. If it’s a third of a day that’s gone by since we returned here...’

‘That’s more than thirty sun-turnings in the Realm of Humans,’ Maggot completed the thought. Her mind was already racing, ‘Ant, if you want to stay here and find Ninka, at that party in the Nandana Grove, please do. I’m going to Kapilavatthu as fast as I can.’

‘Us too!’ the rest of the group chimed in. Ant meanwhile smiled meekly and made añjali as the others vanished. She was still perplexed about Ninka not knowing of Muñca’s duplicitous reputation, or, if she had done, why hadn’t she mentioned it?

Notes & References