“They are in honour,” responded the demon interrogated, “of the pious Ananda, one of the apostles of the Lord Buddha, whose advent is hourly expected among us with much eagerness and satisfaction.”

The horrified Ananda with much difficulty mustered resolution to inquire on what account the apostle in question was necessitated to take up his abode in the infernal regions.

“On account of poisoning,” returned the fiend laconically.

Ananda was about to seek further explanations, when his attention was arrested by a violent altercation between two of the supervising demons.

“Kammuragha, evidently,” croaked one.

“Damburanana, of course,” snarled the other.

“May I,” inquired Ananda of the fiend he had before addressed, “presume to ask the signification of Kammuragha and Damburanana?”

“They are two hells,” replied the demon.  “In Kammuragha the occupant is plunged into melted pitch and fed with melted lead.  In Damburanana he is plunged into melted lead and fed with melted pitch.  My colleagues are debating which is the more appropriate to the demerits of our guest Ananda.”

Ere Ananda had had time to digest this announcement a youthful imp descended from above with agility, and, making a profound reverence, presented himself before the disputants.

“Venerable demons,” interposed he, “might my insignificance venture to suggest that we cannot well testify too much honour for our visitor Ananda, seeing that he is the only apostle of Buddha with whose company we are likely ever to be indulged?  Wherefore I would propose that neither Kammuragha nor Damburanana be assigned for his residence, but that the amenities of all the two hundred and forty-four thousand hells be combined in a new one, constructed especially for his reception.”

The imp having thus spoken, the senior demons were amazed at his precocity, and performed a pradakshina, exclaiming, “Truly thou art a highly superior young devil!” They then departed to prepare the new infernal chamber, agreeably to his recipe.

Ananda awoke, shuddering with terror.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “why was I ever an apostle?  O Buddha!  Buddha! how hard are the paths of saintliness!  How prone to error are the well-meaning!  How huge is the absurdity of spiritual pride!”

“Thou hast discovered that, my son?” said a gentle voice in his vicinity.

He turned and beheld the divine Buddha, radiant with a mild and benignant light.  A cloud seemed rolled away from his vision, and he recognised in his master the Glendoveer, the Jogi, and the Physician.

“O holy teacher!” exclaimed he in extreme perturbation, “whither shall I turn?  My sin forbids me to approach thee.”

“Not on account of thy sin art thou forbidden, my son,” returned Buddha, “but on account of the ridiculous and unsavoury plight to which thy knavery and disobedience have reduced thee.  I have now appeared to remind thee that this day all my apostles meet on Mount Vindhya to render an account of their mission, and to inquire whether I am to deliver thine in thy stead, or whether thou art minded to proclaim it thyself.”