It was the dancing girl, starred with jewels, clouded with a
pale-blue mantle, drunk with the wine of her youth.
She lowered her lamp and saw the young face, austerely beautiful.
"Forgive me, young ascetic," said the woman; "graciously come to
my house. The dusty earth is not a fit bed for you."
The ascetic answered, "Woman, go on your way; when the time is
ripe I will come to you."
Suddenly the black night showed its teeth in a flash of
lightning.
The storm growled from the corner of the sky, and the woman
trembled in fear.
......
The branches of the wayside trees were aching with blossom.
Gay notes of the flute came floating in the warm spring air from
afar.
The citizens had gone to the woods, to the festival of flowers.
From the mid-sky gazed the full moon on the shadows of the silent
town.
The young ascetic was walking in the lonely street, while
overhead the lovesick
koels urged from the mango branches
their sleepless plaint.
Upagupta passed through the city gates, and stood at the base of
the rampart.
What woman lay in the shadow of the wall at his feet, struck with
the black pestilence, her body spotted with sores, hurriedly
driven away from the town?
The ascetic sat by her side, taking her head on his knees, and
moistened her lips with water and smeared her body with balm.
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