Now in the meanwhile Bimba, when his cousin drove him off his throne, had fled away to the eastern quarter, taking his daughter with him. And he took up his home in the forest, and there he lived, in a little hut on the side of a hill, just where the desert ended, and the trees of the wood began, having fallen from the state of a King to that of a fugitive and a hunter, living by the chase and the fruits of the forest trees, and drinking streams instead of wine. And so he continued to live, year by year, mourning for his wife, and bitterly hating his cousin, disgusted with the world, with no companion but his daughter. And gradually, as time went on, he utterly forgot his kingdom and all his former life, growing ever fonder of the forest that he lived in, and saying to himself: Now is the wood become my wife, since my other wife is gone.[24] And the only thing that matters now is the daughter that she left behind, as if to keep my memory green of what she was herself. So now, then, I will change her name, lest some day in the future it should betray her to my cousin: for her name would be a clue, leading to her destruction. And as a rule, to lose a name is the same thing as to disappear, and die, and be forgotten. So she shall die, as Alipriya, to be reborn as Aranyani. And what does the title matter? For the bees will love her just as well, by one name as the other.[25] [Footnote 24: An untranslateable play on _dari_, wood, and _sundari_, a beautiful woman.] [Footnote 25: _Alipriya_, "beloved of the bees," a name of the trumpet flower, _Bignonia suaveolens_. _Aranyani_, a forest goddess, nymph, or dryad. Pronounce Urrun-nyani.]