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haze cleared and bright moonlight covered the great expanse of sand with a dazzling white garment such as our widows wear. On the river not a boat, not a ripple even, was to be seen, and peace, like the unbroken calm that death bestows on a tortured sufferer, overspread stream and shore.

When Ramesh regained consciousness he found himself lying on the margin of a sandy island. Some time elapsed before he could remember what had happened, then the whole catastrophe came back to him like a fevered dream, and he sprang to his feet. His first impulse was to discover what had befallen his father and his friends. He gazed around but nowhere was there sign of mortal man. He started off along the water's edge searching in vain. The snow-white island lay like a child in arms, between two branches of the great Padma river—a tributary of the Ganges. Ramesh traversed one side of the island and had just begun to search the other when he espied something that looked like a red garment. He quickened his pace and found, lying as if lifeless on the sand, a young girl clad in the crimson dress of a bride.

Ramesh had learned how to bring back to life the apparently drowned. For a long time he persevered in his efforts to restore respiration by drawing the girl's arms above her head then pressing them against her sides, till at last she drew breath and her eyes opened.

Ramesh was completely exhausted by this time and for the next few minutes he was unable to command