through her broken doors, the light flickers in
her earthen lamp flinging shadows on the walls.

Through the howl of the winds she hears him call her name, she
whose name is unknown.

It is long since the Boatman sailed. It will be long before the
day breaks and he knocks at the door.

The drums will not be beaten and none will know.

Only light shall fill the house, blessed shall be the dust, and
the heart glad.

All doubts shall vanish in silence when the Boatman comes to the
shore.

XLII

I cling to this living raft, my body, in the narrow stream of my
earthly years.

I leave it when the crossing is over. And then?

I do not know if the light there and the darkness are the same.

The Unknown is the perpetual freedom:

He is pitiless in his love.

He crushes the shell for the pearl, dumb in the prison of the
dark.

You muse and weep for the days that are done, poor heart!

Be glad that days are to come!

The hour strikes, O pilgrim!

It is time for you to take the parting of the ways!

His face will be unveiled once again and you shall meet.

XLIII

Over the relic of Lord Buddha King Bimbisar built a shrine, a
salutation in white marble.

There in the evening would come all the brides and daughters of
the King's house to offer flowers and light lamps.

When the son became king in his time he washed his father's creed
away with blood, and lit sacrificial fires with its sacred books.

The autumn day was dying. The evening hour of worship was near.

Shrimati, the queen's maid, devoted to Lord Buddha, having bathed
in holy water, and decked the golden tray with lamps and fresh
white blossoms, silently raised her dark eyes to the queen's
face.

The queen shuddered in fear and said, "Do you not know, foolish
girl, that death is the penalty for whoever brings worship to
Buddha's shrine?

"Such is the king's will."

Shrimati bowed to the queen, and turning away from her door came
and stood before Amita, the newly wed bride of the king's son.

A mirror of burnished gold on her lap, the newly wed bride was
braiding her dark long tresses and painting the red spot of good
luck at the parting of her hair.

Her hands trembled when she saw the young maid, and she cried,
"What fearful peril would you bring me! Leave me this instant."

Princess Shukla sat at the window reading her book of romance by
the light of the setting sun.

She started when she saw at her door the maid with