45. The dead body of the warlike prince, being laid over the sepulchre, in the inside of the palace, the princess began to fade away at its sight, like a lotus flower without its natal water (of the lake). 46. Her lips grew pale by her hot and poisoned breath of sorrow; and she was in the agony of death, as a doe pierced by a dart (in her mortal part). 47. Her eyes were covered in darkness at the death of her lord, as a house becomes dark at the extinction of the light of its lamp. 48. She became leaner every moment, in her sad melancholy; and turned as a dried channel covered with dirt in lieu of its water. 49. She moved one moment and was then mute as a statue; she was about to die of grief, as the ruddy goose at the separation of her mate. 50. Then the etherial goddess Sarasvatí, took pity on the excess of her grief, and showed as much compassion for her relief, as the first shower of rain, does to the dying fishes in a drying pond. CHAPTER XVII. STORY OF THE DOUBTFUL REALM OR REVERIE OF LÍLÁ. Sarasvatí said:—Remove my child, the dead body of thy husband to yonder shrine! and strew those flowers over it, and thou shalt have thy husband again. 2. Never will this body rot or fade as long as the flowers are fresh over it, and know thy husband will shortly return to life again. (The strewing of flowers over the dead body and the grave, is a practice common in many religions). 3. His living soul which is as pure as air, will never depart from this cemetery of thy inner apartment. (The departed soul is believed to hover about the crypt or cairn until the day of resurrection). 4. The black-eyed princess, with her eyebrows resembling a cluster of black-bees, heard this consolatory speech of the goddess, and was cheered in her spirit, as the lotus-bed on return of the rains. 5. She placed the corpse of her husband there, and hid it under the flowers, and remained in expectation of its rising, as a poor man fosters the hope of finding a treasure. 6. It was at midnight of the very day, when all the members of the family had fallen fast asleep, that Lílá repaired to the shrine in the inward apartment. 7. There she meditated on the goddess of knowledge, in the recess of her understanding, and called her in earnest in the sorrow of her heart, when she heard the divine voice thus addressing to her. 8. “Why dost thou call me, child, and why art thou so sorrowful in thy countenance? The world is full of errors, glaring as false water in a mirage.” 9. Lílá answered:—“Tell me goddess, where my husband resides at present, and what he has been doing now. Take me to his presence, as I am unable to bear the load of my life without him.”