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O son, Śankhachúda, quickly get it ready. Thy brother remains in pain, without our company.

Whatever my parents order. Am not I willing to lead the way? (Rises and builds a funeral pile.) O father, O mother, here is the funeral pile prepared.

O Queen, why do you still weep? Rise, we will mount the pile.

[All stand up.

O revered Gaurí, it was promised by thee—"An emperor of the Vidyádharas shall be thy husband." How, then, in my case, wretched one that I am, have thy words proved untrue?

O mighty King Jímútaketu, assuredly this rash act must not be done.

Oh! How can the sight of Gaurí be in vain?

Child, how could I prove untrue? (Going up to the hero, and sprinkling him with water from a water-pot.) I am well pleased with thee, who even at the cost of thy