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In the dark of the autumn evening, deep as a limpid lake, stars throbbed with light, when the guards of the palace garden were startled to see through the trees a row of lamps burning at the shrine of Buddha. 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."
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."
Leave me this instant." Princess Shuklâ 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 the sacred offerings. Her book fell down from her lap, and she whispered in Shrimati's ears, "Rush not to death, daring woman!" Shrimati walked from door to door.
Shrimati bowed to the queen, and turning away from her door came and stood before Amitâ, 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!
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