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THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE The dark veil of night was slowly being withdrawn from the blushing face of Dawn. Nature seemed bountiful on this spring morning, but it was far from auspicious for the once wealthy citizen of the town. For him, it was a day in autumn with its seared leaves dropping limply to the earth. The tide of affluence was receding slowly but sảrely,
However, the worthy man viewed the change in the tide with equanimity. Sitting at the threshold of his house this bright morning, he was musing to himself, “Fortune has turned her wheel, but I refuse to be downhearted; she might turn her wheel again and I may go up, who knows?"
The sun had set; birds had retired to their nests. The full moon came up in the east, flooding the earth with her silvery beams, shining alike on the rich and the poor, the high and the low. A group of humble villagers was sitting in the moonlight after the day's work was done and gossiping. Their conversation turned to the topic of who was the most generous man in the town. Someone said, "Such and such a man is the very incarnation of generosity. Whoever goes seeking his help, never leaves empty-handed.”
Another chimed in, “Such a one is the incarnation of Karna. He puts his hand in his pocket and
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