It was a mid-summer night. I was very much hurt by the hotness of summer. Sleep came very late too and I rose very late in the morning. During my short sleep, I saw an interesting dream. It is narrated in the following lines.
The night when I fell in the grip of sleep. I saw in my dream, an aero-plane landed by my bed. The pilot delivered me a gold printed letter from the king of the Himalayas and offered me to sit in the place. The plane, decked with costly jewels, carried me in on times, to the bank of the Manasarobar where I was cordially received by the king of the Himalayas. At Manasarobar there was no hotness of June. Everything was cool and sweet. The golden sun-shine was mellow and mild. It was reflecting on the snow clad peaks. Many birds with coloured feathers were dancing and singing. The king of the Himalayas offered me a cold drink. When I looked downward I saw the thing of Summer mocking at me from the hot. Suddenly I fell down from that height. With that my dream vanished and my two legs dashed on my cot.
I had seen a lot of dreams of a lot of variety and I am seeing a lot at present. But this particular dream, which I have described above, had a great interest for me.