INTRODUCTION. 77 age to us. We make a great sacrifice when we deprive ourselves of your company during the hours of school. For all this time, we keep watching the path from expectation of your return. Just as a serpent pines away when deprived of the jewel that adorns its hood, or a miser when he loses his most precious diamond, so do we, during our separation. But no more of this! Henceforth you need not go to school again. Why, dearest, should we feel all this aching pain needlessly Stay here, and give us the joy of your constant company.” Says the poet Phakira Rāma “You need not say anything further to her, good queens, her school days are of themselves at an end for ever.” ( 6 ) The Kotowal's son: “The princess asked me in school to wait for her under the Wakula tree. The night is far spent now, and I am weary of waiting. Surely affection for home-life has seized her. The love of the queens has doubtless wrought a change on her resolve. Fair princess, you have pledged your honour, and have not fulfilled your vow. If the sweetness of home-life has kept you from fulfilment, why did you give me the promise at all. It matters not, I feel relieved. I have played my part but you have not played yours. The pleasure and sorrows of this world are nothing as compared with those of the next.” Says the poet Phakira Rāma “Verily it is so, my lad.” ( 7 ) The Princess: “My love, wait only a few moments more under the Vakula tree. My maids are constantly with me. Wherever I happen to go, they accompany me. How, for shame, can I come out? The hundred queens will not leave my side for a moment. No sleep visits They are not in the their eyes. They watch me, as if I were a least sleepy. precious jewel. Before me, behind me, and on every side they move about. Like the bird Chakora thirsting for nectar they seem to drink deep the joys they find in my words and company. Some cover me with the hem of their garments; some fan me and some wave the soft Châmara. One offers me betel and another kisses me with great love, and a third calls my attention by such words as “hear me, my dearest child, I will tell you a story.’ And yet another, weaves a floral wreath for me, and asks me if I would like it. I am but mortal, how can I cut off all these tender ties at once? But rest assured that when I have given my word I will keep it.” Sings the poet, Phakira Rāma, “Kumar’s” anxiety was removed by these words of the princess.”
- Kumara is the name of the Kotowal's son,
