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The omen be averted! I will not weep. O Malayavatí, revive. Rise, my child, rise. At this time, if ever, look on the face of thy husband.

Alas! my husband!

O child, act not thus. May this omen be averted.

Why do I not burst into a hundred pieces through sorrow, as I behold my son giving up his life, which, the rest of his body being destroyed, has retreated to his throat as to its last remaining stronghold?

Alas! my husband! I must indeed be very wicked, since, even when I see my husband in such a state, I yet live on!

O thou who fearest naught, how could this body of my son, in the fresh bloom of youth, be brought by thee to such a state as this?

O mother, not so indeed. What harm has been done by him? Was it not in reality just the same before?