The King was dying.
‘Go at once and bring the Court Historians,’ he cried; ‘the recital of
our many wonderful virtues and deeds will charm our last remaining
hours.’ The Historians came and read aloud the glorious history of his
reign, but, after a little while, the King waved them aside. ‘You bore
us,’ he said. ‘Let us have music,’ the King commanded, and the most
skilled musicians in the kingdom came and played before him. But the
music was so passionately sorrowful, joyous, heart-stirring, that the
King wept. ‘Go away,’ he cried, ‘we would make Death easy, but your
music is the enemy of Death!’
Then the Monarch ordered all the members of the Royal Family to come to
his bedside, that he might spend his last hours in loving discourse with
his kindred. But when they came, they wept so bitterly, that the King’s
heart was turned to water within him, and he commanded them to depart.
The King was fretful.
‘How many different religions are there in the kingdom?’ he enquired of
the chamberlain.
‘Sire, there are six great religions, and one hundred and seventy-two
different sects,’ replied that worthy.
The King mused for a moment, then said: ‘Bring the Chief Priests of the
six great religions!’
The Chief Priests came, and assembled near the royal bed, looking very
wise.
The King raised himself wearily from his pillow, and said in a faint
voice: ‘We have commanded your presence here that you may explain the
means we must adopt to secure the happiness of our immortal soul in the
next world. You may begin.’ And he sank back again into his pillows.
Then the six Chief Priests all began to talk at once, explaining their
different systems, and they quarrelled and argued one with another,
until nothing could be heard in the Palace but the sound of their
voices. Hour after hour went by and still they wrangled, but the King
had long since passed away, a happy smile upon his face.