“And how about the fourteen thousand warriors I killed, with whose bodies I built a mound?” said the King. “I am alive, but they no longer exist. Does not that prove that I can destroy life?”
“How do you know they no longer exist?”
“Because I no longer see them. And, above all, they were tormented, but I was not. It was ill for them, but well for me.”
“That, also, only seems so to you. You tortured yourself, but not them.”
“I do not understand,” said the King.
“Do you wish to understand?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then come here,” said the old man, pointing to a large font full of water.
The King rose and approached the font.
“Strip, and enter the font.”
Esarhaddon did as the old man bade him.
“As soon as I begin to pour this water over you,” said the old man, filling a pitcher with the water, “dip down your head.”
The old man tilted the pitcher over the King’s head, and the King bent his head till it was under water.
And as soon as King Esarhaddon was under the water, he felt that he was no longer Esarhaddon, but someone else. And, feeling himself to be that other man, he saw himself lying on a rich bed, beside a beautiful woman. He had never seen her before, but he knew she was his wife. The woman raised herself and said to him: