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SELF-INFLICTED UNHAPPINESS
It was a wet, dark night in the month of Shravan. The rain came down in torrents, turning the narrow lanes of the town into rivulets, all heading towards the main river.
King Bimbisara of Magadha and his consort sat on the balcony of the palace, listening to the rumbling of the thunder and watching the fury of the rains as the flashes of lightning momentarily rent the curtain of darkness..
Suddenly, as one of the flashes revealed the surroundings, Queen Chelna caught sight of a man wading through the knee-deep waters, gathering sticks of wood.
She told the king what she had seen, adding reproachfully, “My Lord, is this our Welfare State? Here's a man who has to toil even on such a night as this, in the cold, swirling waters, just to gather a few bits of wood, while some roll in riches.” As if to justify her reproach, a fresh flash revealed to the king the brief sight of an old man, desperately clutching at the pieces of wood that went floating down the swift torrent.
Calling his attendant, King Bimbisara ordered him to bring the man into his presence. Within minutes, an old man was ushered in. His thin, bony body was almost bare, covered with only a dripping loin
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