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 sacred bosom of the flowing Bhagirathi, under the silvery radiance of the glorious moon?

The moon was then smiling overhead.

Shaibalini. I swear by you—tell me what I am to do.

Pratap. Swear—swear by me—that you shall be responsible for my weal and woe, yea, for my life and death.

Shaibalini. Yes, in your name I promise that throughout my life I will unswervingly act up to your wishes.

Pratap then demanded a most painful promise. To Shaibalini it was very cruel and severe—its fulfilment was beyond her powers, yea, it meant her death. She recoiled from it, and said,

"Pratap, is there a second person in this world who is as miserable as myself?"

Pratap. It is me, Shaibalini!

Shaibalini. You have wealth—you have strength—you have ambition—you have fame—you have friends and then you have Rupashi. What have I as my own, Pratap?

Pratap. Nothing—then come, let us both drown ourselves here.

Shaibalini reflected for a moment. As the