‘Venerable Nāgasena, this water when boiling over the fire gives forth many a sound, hissing and simmering. Is then, Nāgasena, the water alive? Is it shouting at play? or is it crying out at the torment inflicted on it?’

‘It is not alive, O king, there is no soul or being in water. It is by reason of the greatness of the shock of the heat of the fire that it gives forth sounds, hissing and simmering.’

‘Now, venerable Nāgasena, there are false teachers who on the ground that the water is alive reject the use of cold water, and warming the water feed themselves on tepid foods of various kinds.

‘These men find fault with you and revile you, saying: “The Sakyaputtiya Samaṇas do injury to the souls of one function.” Dispel, remove, get rid of this their censure and blame.’

‘The water is not alive, O king. Neither is there therein either soul or being. And it is the great shock of the heat of the fire that makes it sound, hissing and simmering. It is like the water in holes in the ground, in ponds and pools and lakes, in reservoirs, in crevices and chasms, in wells, in low-lying places, and in lotus-tanks, which before the mighty onset of the hot winds is so deeply affected that it vanishes away. But does the water in that case, O king, give forth many a sound, hissing and simmering?’

‘Certainly not, Sir.’

‘But, if it were alive, the water would then also make some sound. Know therefore, O king, that there is no soul, neither being, in water; and that it is the greatness of the shock of the heat of the water that makes it give forth sounds.

‘And hear another reason, O king, for the same thing. If water, O king, with grains of rice in it, is put in a vessel and covered up, but not placed over the fireplace, would it then give forth sound?’

‘No, Sir. It would remain quiet and unmoved.’

‘But if you were to put the same water, just as it is in the vessel, over a fireplace, and then light up the fire, would the water remain quiet and motionless?’

‘Certainly not, Sir. It would move and be agitated, become perturbed and all in commotion, waves would arise in it, it would rush up and down and in every direction , it would roll up and boil over, and a garland of foam would be formed above it.’

‘But why so, O king, when water in its ordinary state remains quiet and motionless?’

‘It is because of the powerful impulse of the heat of the fire that the water, usually so still, gives forth many a sound, bubbling and hissing.’

‘Then thereby know, O king, that there is no soul in water, neither being; and that it is the strong heat of the fire that causes it to make sounds.

‘And hear another reason, O king, for the same thing. Is there not water to be found in every house put into water-pots with their mouths closed up?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Well, does that water move, is it agitated, perturbed, in commotion, does it form into waves, does it rush up and down and in every direction, does it roll up and roll over, is it covered with foam?’

‘No! That water is in its ordinary state. It remains still and quiet.’

‘But have you ever heard that all this is true of the water in the great ocean? and that rearing up it breaks against the strand with a mighty roar?’

‘Yes, I have both heard of it, and have seen it myself—how the water in the great ocean lifts itself up a hundred, two hundred, cubits high, towards the sky.’

‘But why, whereas water in its ordinary state remains motionless and still, does the water in the ocean both move and roar?’

‘That is by reason of the mighty force of the onset of the wind, whereas the water in the water-jars neither moves nor makes any noise, because nothing shakes it.’

‘Well, the sounds given forth by boiling water are the result, in a similar way, of the great heat of the fire.’

‘Do not people cover over the dried-up mouth of a drum with dried cow-leather?’

‘Yes, they do.’

‘Well, is there any soul or being, O king, in a drum?’

‘Certainly not, Sir.’

‘Then how is it that a drum makes sounds?’

‘By the action or effort of a woman or a man.’

‘Well, just as that is why the drum sounds, so is it by the effect of the heat of the fire that the water sounds. And for this reason also you might know, O king, that there is no soul, neither being, in water; and that it is the heat of the fire which causes it to make sounds.

‘And I, too, O king, have something yet further to ask of you—thus shall this puzzle be thoroughly threshed out. How is it? Is it true of every kind of vessel that water heated in it makes noises, or only of some kinds of vessels?’

‘Not of all, Sir. Only of some.’

‘But then you have yourself, O king, abandoned the position you took up. You have come over to my side-that there is no soul, neither being, in water. For only if it made noises in whatever vessel it were heated could it be right to say that it had a soul. There cannot be two kinds of water—that which speaks, as it were, which is alive, and that which does not speak, and does not live. If all water were alive, then that which the great elephants, when they are in rut, suck up in their trunks, and pour out over their towering frames, or putting into their mouths take right into their stomachs—that water, too, when crushed flat between their teeth, would make a sound. And great ships, a hundred cubits long, heavily laden, full of hundreds of packages of goods, pass over the sea—the water crushed by them, too, would make sounds. And mighty fish, leviathans with bodies hundreds of leagues long, since they dwell in the great ocean, immersed in the depths of it, must, so living in it, be constantly taking into their mouths and spouting out the ocean—and that water, too, crushed between their gills or in their stomach, would make sounds. But as, even when tormented with the grinding and crushing of all such mighty things, the water gives no sound, therefore, O king, you may take it that there is no soul, neither being, in water.’

‘Very good, Nāgasena! With fitting discrimination has the puzzle put to you been solved. just, Nāgasena, as a gem of inestimable value which had come into the hands of an able master goldsmith, clever and well trained, would meet with due appreciation, estimation, and praise-just as a rare pearl at the hands of a dealer in pearls, a fine piece of woven stuff at the hands of a cloth merchant, or red sandal wood at the hands of a perfumer—just so in that way has this puzzle put to you been solved with the discrimination it deserved.’

Here ends the dilemma as to the water-life.