ound the palace, outside, outside, while all the time
he was kissing thy lotus and trampling on its heart, inside. And yet she
was his cousin, and the daughter of a king. Ha! Babhru, thou wert
ignorant, and didst not know. But there were so many other women, all
alike. Couldst thou even have discovered her among them all? Her eyes,
her eyes were different: her eyes were dreamy, and her kisses like
snowflakes. Surely it was better, after all, in the wood: there were no
other women there. Didst thou imagine, Babhru, thou wert the only one to
be dishonoured and befouled, trodden down into the mud and thrown away?
But the very pools were there to teach thee, thou art so ugly, so ugly:
and she was so beautiful. Couldst thou expect any better fate than hers?
How could she love thee, being herself so unworthy to be loved? And he
was like the very god of love, wandering in the wood. But it was she,
that lost her way. He knew his way very well indeed. How could she
expect, to keep him all to herself? Is not the whole world full to the
very brim of women, with cruel eyes? O Babhru, why wert thou such a fool
as to think one woman any better than another? Fool that she was, to
think to keep him all to herself! O Babhru, thou art absolutely nothing,
in comparison with him. Thou art so rude and coarse and rough, and he is
more beautiful than any woman. And he was so gentle and so kind, and his
kisses were so sweet. No, it was Babhru who was kind, and he was like a
snake. Listen, and let me tell thee: kisses that are sweet are the
bitterest of all: when other lips come in between. Thou feelest them,
the other lips, between his lips and thy own. And his lips were a flower
that is visited by a thousand bees. O Babhru, how canst thou know
anything about it, since thy lips have never kissed anyone at all? Kiss
me, poor Babhru, and thou shall learn by experience the poison of a
kiss, from lips that are sticky with the honey left by other bees.

IV

And as Babhru listened, gazing at her with alarm, with his reason swept
as it were along in a flood of grief, and humiliation, and compassion,
and sheer amazement, and hardly understanding the words flowing from her
mouth like the water of a stream, she stopped short, and laid her hand
upon his own. And he started at its touch, for it burned him like a
flame, as if she was on fire. And she said with a smile, while the tears
were running down her face: Babhru, dost thou know, Aranyani was a
cr