They ran with their swords unsheathed, crying, “Who are you, foolish one, reckless of death?”
“I am Shrimati,” replied a sweet voice, “the servant of Lord Buddha.”
The next moment her heart’s blood coloured the cold marble with its red.
And in the still hour of stars died the light of the last lamp of worship at the foot of the shrine.
The day that stands between you and me makes her last bow of farewell.
The night draws her veil over her face, and hides the one lamp burning in my chamber.
Your dark servant comes noiselessly and spreads the bridal carpet for you to take your seat there alone with me in the wordless silence till night is done.
My night has passed on the bed of sorrow, and my eyes are tired. My heavy heart is not yet ready to meet morning with its crowded joys.
Draw a veil over this naked light, beckon aside from me this glaring flash and dance of life.
Let the mantle of tender darkness cover me in its folds, and cover my pain awhile from the pressure of the world.
The time is past when I could repay her for all that I received.
Her night has found its morning and thou hast taken her to thy arms: and to thee I bring my gratitude and my gifts that were for her.
For all hurts and offences to her I come to thee for forgiveness.
I offer to thy service those flowers of my love that remained in bud when she waited for them to open.
I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in her box—a few small toys for her memory to play with.
With a timorous heart she tried to steal these trifles from time’s turbulent stream, and said, “These are mine only!”
Ah, there is no one now to claim them, who can pay their price with loving care, yet here they are still.
Surely there is love in this world to save her from utter loss, even like this love of hers that saved these letters with such fond care.
Bring beauty and order into my forlorn life, woman, as you brought them into my house when you lived.
Sweep away the dusty fragments of the hours, fill the empty jars, and mend all that has been neglected.
Then open the inner door of the shrine, light the candle, and let us meet there in silence before our God.
The pain was great when the strings were being tuned, my Master!
Begin your music, and let me forget the pain; let me feel in beauty what you had in your mind through those pitiless days.