King Makhadeva's Grey Hairs

Once on a time in Mithila in the realm of Videha
there was a king named Makhadeva, who was righteous
and ruled righteously. For successive periods of eighty-
four thousand years he had respectively amused himself
as prince, ruled as viceroy, and reigned as king. All these
long years had he lived, when one day he said to his
barber, " Tell me, friend barber, Avhen you see any grey
hairs in my head." So one day, years and years after, the
barber did find among the raven locks of the king a
single grey hair, and he told the king so. " Pull it out,
my friend," said the king ; " and lay it in my palm." The
barber accordingly plucked the hair out with his golden
tongs, and laid it in the king's hand. The king had at
that time still eighty-four thousand years more to live ;
but nevertheless at the sight of that one grey hair he was
filled with deep emotion. He seemed to see the King of
Death standing over him, or to be cooped within a blazing
hut of leaves. " Foolish Makhadeva ! " he cried ; " grey
hairs have come upon you before you have been able to
rid yourself of the depravities." And as he thought and
thought about the appearance of his grey hair, he grew
aflame within ; the sweat rolled down from his body ;
whilst his raiment oppressed him and seemed intolerable.
" This very day," thought he, " I must renounce the world
for a hermit's life."

To his barber he gave the grant of a village, which
yielded a hundred thousand pieces of money. He sent for
his eldest son and said to him, "My son, grey hairs are
come upon me, and I am become old. I have had my fill
of human joys, and fain would taste the joys divine ; the
time for my renunciation has come. Take the sovereignty
upon yourself; as for me, I will take up my abode in the
pleasaunce called Makhadeva's Mango-grove, and there
tread the ascetic's path."

As he was thus bent on becoming a hermit, his
ministers drew near and said, " What is the reason, sire, of
your becoming a hermit ? "

Taking the grey hair in his hand, the king repeated
this stanza to his ministers:

Lo, these grey hairs that on my head appear
Are Death's own messengers that come to rob
My life. 'Tis time I turned from worldly things,
And in the hermit's path sought saving peace.

And after these words, he renounced his sovereignty that
selfsame day and became a recluse. Dwelling in that
very Mango-grove of Makhadeva, he there during eighty-
four thousand years fostered the Four Perfect States
within himself, and, dying with ecstasy full and unbroken,
was reborn in the Realm of Brahma. Passing thence, he
became a king again in Mithila, under the name of Nimi,
and after uniting his scattered family, once more became
a hermit in that same Mango-grove, winning the Four
Perfect States and passing thence once more to the Realm
of Brahma.