In plain words
Make this message known to the king,’ he said. ‘The crown prince was caught by wild beasts and died. I have brought his clothes’; and he showed them. The soldiers there said: ‘Why have you brought the clothes? Every person who is born must die. Right beside birth is death. The two come at the one time; neither is born and comes on its own. Death comes joined with birth itself,’ they remarked. In these times there are railway wagons. They send these wagons from the coach factory to wherever they are needed. They put a date on it marked ‘Return’ and send it off. Its meaning is: send this wagon back by such and such a date. This wagon called our body has a return date too. But it is not seen on the outside, that date. When the soldiers said in this way that every person must die, the sannyāsī took it that they must bear the crown prince a grudge, and went to the king. ‘O King! Your son is dead,’ he wept. When the sannyāsī wept, the king burst out laughing. ‘What you wear is the kāṣāya robe. But your words are kaṣāya, bitter as a decoction. What reason is there in this to weep? This is nothing to weep over! It is nothing to grieve over. In the evening many birds come and settle on a tree. By daybreak the birds fly off, each on its own way. What bond of kinship have the birds that sat on one tree? On the tree called my family, wife, children, all have alighted; sons, daughters-in-law, all of them are just like these birds! Where, when, which bird will fly away, who knows! There is no need to grieve over this. This is natural,’ said the king, unmoved. Oh! How hard-hearted this king is! So thought the sannyāsī. Then he went to give the queen the news. ‘A mother will grieve, one way or another. There is no escaping it,’ he thought to himself. ‘Mother! Your son has died. Here are the clothes,’ he said. She too burst out laughing. ‘Sannyāsī! You have given up every tie, have you not! Why this attachment in you too? Many travel to the city of the Ātma. Along the way some stop at rest-houses.