The sky was very red. Two clouds above me seemed to shape themselves into a fiery cross. Did my words provoke such anger in heaven? I racked my memory to discover how the sky had looked previous to my harangue. I could not tell. I could only doubt and speculate. Doubt—always doubt—yes, that would be the symbol of my life: doubt never assuming the hue of certainty, certainty always dissolving into doubt!

But whither?

I raised a bit of dust, and threw it into the air. The wind blew it to the east. “It is the hand of God!” I exclaimed.

I laughed.

XI: I ENTER DELHI ON AN ELEPHANT—A FAITHFUL SERVANT—THE LEVITATION—MY FRIEND THE FAKIR—I BECOME A MAGICIAN

I ENTERED Delhi, riding on an elephant. The driver walked ahead of the animal, shouting. “Make way for my master! Make way for my master!” The elephant flapped his great ears and raised his trunk toward me. I fed him on small hazel nuts. He was as gentle and playful as a young dog. I had bought him some months previous from a blind merchant, and I became very fond of him. I hired the driver the same day, upon the recommendation of a shopkeeper. The man was worthy of the beast. He was as kind and as sportive, and, with the exception of a few phrases, as taciturn. I was frequently tempted to feed him on hazel nuts.

At the crossroads, a crowd of people encircled a very dark-skinned man, with a long white beard, who waved a black cloth and uttered incomprehensible sounds mingled with prayers from the Upanishads. At his feet, a shrub was rising. He sprinkled water upon it, while continuing his incantation and the waving of the cloth. The trunk spread into branches upon which blossomed large leaves. When the tree reached his knees, the man stopped, breathed deeply several times, and mopped his face.

“Make way for my master!”

“Wait! Wait! Don’t disperse the people. I want to see more of this.”

The driver helped me jump off the elephant, which turned around and struck my arm gently with his trunk. I filled it with the nuts. “Take him to the empty space yonder, and wait until I come. But be careful,” I whispered into his ear. “My valuables are in that sack.”

Animal and man skipped off. I watched them for a few moments, delighted, and mingled with the crowd. The fakir drove several swords into the ground, and asked a boy to stretch out upon the hilts. He covered the body with a black cloth, and motioned to the people to make room. For several minutes, he uttered queer sounds, discoursed on life and death, prayed, all the time waving his arms to east, west, north and south.

The body began to rise slowly, constantly, until it overtopped us all. It remained in the air a few moments, then descended, as leisurely as it had risen. The man removed the cloth, rubbed the boy’s forehead and nostrils, made strange gestures over him. The boy opened his eyes, looked about bewildered, and jumped off the swords. The spectators laughed. The fakir bowed profoundly and passed around a wooden bowl. The people dispersed.

“I amuse them; I make them laugh, and they do not give me enough to eat.”

“Is it possible?”

“See for yourself.”

He showed me the bowl which was almost empty.

“I know a place, my friend, where you would be considered a god, if you performed miracles of this sort.”

“Where is it? I am not as old as I seem and can travel for days without tiring.”

“Crucifixion, however, is apt to precede apotheosis.”

He looked at me and smiled. “The penalty is disproportionate to the honor, I fear, sir.”

“You are wise.”

He was about to go. “Wait. Since you do not wish to become a god…do you wish at least, to make money?”

He bowed very profoundly. “At your service.”

“I come from very far off countries. I am a man of leisure, have nothing to do. If you should care to teach me some of your tricks– —”

“Not tricks, sir, I beg you…art.”

“Art…it would be a most entertaining way of spending my time and a means of amusement for my friends.”

“It is not easy to teach, sir.”

“Does it not depend upon the reward you obtain?”

“My master is wise.”

“My servant and my elephant await me yonder. Come along.”

We reached the spot, but I saw neither elephant nor servant. “Strange. I ordered my man to wait for me here but– —”

We walked up and down. We looked into the distance.

After an exhaustive search, I came to the conclusion that my very gentle elephant and my gentler servant had disappeared.

“There are many such rascals around here,” the old man suggested.

“You can’t imagine how faithful he seemed.”

“He only awaited his opportunity. If you wish it, I can direct you to the authorities, who will search for the rascal.”

“Are they very severe with thieves?”

“No…they merely cut off their hands.”

“I prefer not to find him.”

He looked at me for a long while. “You are not a Hindu, and probably not a Buddhist. How can you be so humane?”

“Other religions and philosophies also teach charity.” He shook his head.

I had told my servant that all my valuables were in the sack. As a matter of fact, however, I had nothing there, save some clothing and a few trifles. I wished to direct his attention from where I really kept my valuables, for I never stretched to its limits the elastic faculty of man’s honesty.

For several months the old fakir and I retired to a solitary villa, where he taught me many remarkable tricks. In a long life, such as mine, it was well to know things that dazzle the onlookers. I rewarded him handsomely.

“It’s strange,” he said, “you pay to learn what I should gladly forget.”

“That is often the case, my friend.”

“Will you allow me to praise you, sir? You have a marvelous faculty for the art. You should continue with it.”

“Are there better teachers than yourself?”

“Not better, but more accomplished.”

He mentioned several Hindu names. Then scratching his head, “But I’m thinking of another man…the greatest of them all…a Greek…but he is not a fakir like me. He is a saint. His great wisdom and the purity of his life, enabled him to perform miracles—not trifles, such as these. His name is Apollonius the Tyanean.”

XII: APOLLONIUS OF TYANA RAISES THE DEAD—DAMIS THE FAVORITE DISCIPLE

APOLLONIUS was not in. The door to his house being open, I entered nevertheless. A very simple home, a few pieces of furniture, Greek statuary, Hindu vases, and large piles of manuscripts. I seated myself on the floor, my legs under me, and waited. ‘You have always time to wait, Cartaphilus. You need never be in haste.’

It was early afternoon, and the sun basked upon the threshold—a luminous, tamed serpent. I closed my eyes. Peace caressed me like a kind, smooth hand, and I was on the point of falling asleep when two young men broke the reflection of the sun, and entered the room.

I rose and bowed.

“I have come to see the Master. Having found the door open, I took the liberty of entering. Have I transgressed the laws of courtesy?”

“Our master’s door is never closed, and he who seeks truth is welcome always,” answered one of the young men, motioning to me to sit down.

We were silent for a while. “Damis, you were recounting the conversation between our Master and the prisoners.”

“Oh, yes. He touched the arm of the thief, saying: ‘While we live, my friend, we are all prisoners, for the soul is bound to the body and suffers much.’

“ ‘Ah,’ remarked the thief, ‘but we are not all cast into jail. Some of us live in palaces.’

“ ‘He who builds a house,’ replied our master, ‘builds one more prison for himself. Cities are only common prisons and the earth is bound to the ocean as by a chain.’

“ ‘Ah, but life even in prison is very sweet,’ replied the murderer, who is to be quartered tomorrow.