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 faded away in the black waters of the tank, and in a moment everything became dark. Only the top of the palm trees began to scintillate like golden flags.

Sundari cried out, "Well, it is getting late. We should not be here any longer. Let us go home."

Shaibalini.  No one is here to listen to us, just softly sing a song, dear.

Sundari.  Stop, thou naughty creature; come home.

Shaibalini then playfully uttered the first few lines of a Bengali love song—

Sundari.  What a curse it is! Your love is at home, better go there.

Shaibalini.  Go and tell him that his sweet-love, finding the waters of the Bhima delightfully cool, has drowned herself in it.

Sundari.  Enough, keep your joke aside. It is getting late, I can't wait any longer. Besides, Khemi's mother was telling us that a whiteman has come in our village!

Shaibalini.  What need you and I fear in that?