The Philosopher Prince     In the land of Kamarupa, today called Assam, there was a prince. He lived in Palace Badirchand, a gleaming white monument of carved stone hidden away deep in the heart of the jungle.     The prince was a philosopher. He was also quite stupid, and utterly incapable of answering the questions he asked. This may seem like a handicap. Actually, it made the job easier, like a manure peddler who's had his nose cut off and doesn't see what everyone's complaining about.     The prince had attracted a large group of students from around the kingdom to listen to him talk. They were not nearly as stupid as he was, but they absolutely loved his ideas, however infrequent they might be. Of course, they also loved his large banquets and comfortable beds, but they stayed for the ideas.     The prince liked to wake up very early in the morning and go walking in the jungle. He did this because he was a philosopher. His students would follow, a great big tail of nods and agreements trailing him through the trees.     They weaved through the groves of teak and bamboo. Everywhere one looked there was life. The brilliant blue peacock unfurling its sail. The Barasingha cleaning its velvet antlers on the bark of the Jati tree. A family of gibbons clamoring like drunks for a morning drink at the river. Even the air seemed to have a pulse.     The prince stopped. He reached up to an umbrella tree and pulled down a tendril of white flowers, inhaling deeply. He was feeling particularly philosophical this morning. He cleared his throat, an idea forming. Three students had minor heart attacks the anticipation was so great.     "I think," said the prince, "that I am alive." The students agreed. It was very perceptive. "I also think that you, my students, are alive. And," he continued, gesturing across the river, "I believe that stork wading for his breakfast is alive." The students nodded eagerly. "We know that certain things are living. I don't think anyone will argue this fact.     "But we also know some things are certainly not living. For example, I think that this rock I am sitting on is not alive." He patted the rock to prove his point. "Now, why do I think this?"     "Because you are very wise!" a student piped up.     "That may be," said the prince, "but what I ask is what defines us as living creatures, while this rock I sit on is so very nonliving?"     Everyone thought very hard about this. The prince scratched his head to help himself think. "Ah!" said a student, "You move! That is why you live! We all do! Even the sapling moves, however slowly, to become a tree. The rock you sit on clearly does not move. You clearly do. Therefore, life moves."     The prince was very impressed. "Yes. . ." he said "Yes, I believe you are right! That which is alive must move!" That question answered, they headed back to the castle for a large breakfast.     For the next ten years the prince questioned many insignificant things, but remained certain that that which lives, moves. * * * * *     One day the prince was taking a philosopher's nap on the palace balcony. He was having a very good dream about princesses when he woke up with a start. He had overslept and it was well into the evening. "Now where has that sun gone?" the prince grumbled. "It was high above my head when I left it." Then it hit him. "Oh dear! The sun has moved! Yet I know the sun was never given the gift of life! This is dreadful!"     He ran into the palace and woke up all of his students for an emergency walk. Out into the forest they went, sleepy and shivering.     "Now," said the prince, seated on his rock, "I have terrible news: my theory of life has been disproved. The sun has moved, yet it does not live."     "It might live," mused a student.     "Don't be stupid! Now, if movement does not necessarily define life, what does?"     They sat huddled for a long while, thinking hard, blowing steam into the cold air. Finally, a student said, "I've got it! Just as God breathed life into us, life must be that which can breathe."     The prince was wary. "Well, the sun doesn't breathe. . . but what about the plants? Are they not alive and without lungs?"     The student thought for a moment. "But a plant submerged underwater drowns, does it not?"     The prince had to agree. The student's theory seemed solid. "Wonderful!" said the prince. "That which lives must breathe." The students agreed, then quickly returned to their warm beds.     The prince lived the next twenty years of his life satisfied that life is that which breathes. * * * * *     He lived like this, quite happy with himself. Quite happy, that is, until the day his palace caught fire. It was just an errant spark from the fireplace, a mere particle of flame. But philosophy, and the drinking that accompanies it, tends to be an engrossing topic. It wasn't until the flames leapt high over their heads that the prince and his students noticed something was wrong.     They rushed outside into the dark night. As they watched the flames try to singe the stars, great clouds of smoke billowed out of the palace, turning the moon black. The prince looked on in terror, quite ignoring a nasty cut on his forehead. "My god!" he cried. "The fire. . . my palace. . . it is breathing black smoke! I lived in it all my life and I know it certainly does not live. This is dreadful! Just dreadful!"     He cradled his head in his hands as his palace crumbled to the ground. "Surely the question is unanswerable. There is not one quality of life that a nonliving entity has not stolen. Mankind is doomed to live in ignorance."     The students began weeping openly. All except one, who had lost his hand in the fire and was now bleeding quite badly. "Your highness! I see it now!" He waved his wound towards the prince. "I have been blessed with divine inspiration! Can't you see it? You, me, the stork, the trees - we all share one trait! We all bleed! No palace has ever bled. The sun has never worn a bandage. Therefore, living things must be those things that bleed." He then promptly fainted.     The prince smiled. Of course! Blood is the living liquid. Without it, there cannot be life. The prince was relieved that the question was, in fact, answerable. He then made his way to what remained of his palace to see if there was anything to salvage.     There wasn't. But the prince did not mind, for he was a man of ideas. To prove this, he vowed to abandon all worldly possessions and travel the world. He started walking right then and there.     His students followed for a few hours, but soon realized that they missed the prince's hot meals and soft beds more than they would miss his ideas. So they left to go write books.     For the next thirty years the prince wandered the world, questioning everything and answering very little. But he knew one thing for sure: that which lives, bleeds. * * * * *     In time he came upon a kingly mountain capped with a crown of clouds. By now he was very old. He was poor and tired. He had lost everything – everything, that is, except his definition of what makes us live. While he still had this he was a happy man.     He hobbled up the mountain until he reached the peak. He sat down and admired the view - it was more spectacular than anything he had ever seen. "How wonderful life is," he sighed, "When you know all of its secrets."     As soon as he said this, the mountain began to rumble. White smoke seeped up through the cracks in the ground. Suddenly, the mountain ruptured and great streams of melted rock poured from it.     "My god!" cried the prince. "What kind of cruel trick is this? A mountain that bleeds? A mountain of rock and stone, a mountain that cannot possibly live! This is dreadful!"     These proved to be the last words the prince ever spoke on earth, as the lava soon consumed his fragile body.     As his soul drifted towards the sky, he looked down at his remains. "What an awful way for a philosopher to go," he sighed, "To have one's answers snatched from him just before death.     "But of course! That's it! Living things may move, breathe and bleed, but these are not qualities unique to them. But there is one thing they all share! They are all united in their destiny - they all must die! To die proves one has lived. Death defines life!" He clapped his hands with delight as he soared skywards.     For the next five billion years the prince's soul floated through the ether, certain that he alone had discovered life's secret.     Until the day the sun exploded and folded in on itself, leaving a tiny black corpse.     "God damn it!" said the prince. THE END Back