ankles whose tiny golden bells sang at each step. Ah, the rosy red
tender feet that walked the dust of the earth like God's mercy on the
fallen! The poet had placed them on the altar of his heart, where he
wove his songs to the tune of those golden bells. Doubt never arose in
his mind as to whose shadow it was that moved behind the screen, and
whose anklets they were that sang to the time of his beating heart.

Manjari, the maid of the princess, passed by the poet's house on her way
to the river, and she never missed a day to have a few words with him on
the sly. When she found the road deserted, and the shadow of dusk on
the land, she would boldly enter his room, and sit at the corner of his
carpet. There was a suspicion of an added care in the choice of the
colour of her veil, in the setting of the flower in her hair.

People smiled and whispered at this, and they were not to blame. For
Shekhar the poet never took the trouble to hide the fact that these
meetings were a pure joy to him.

The meaning of her name was the spray of flowers. One must confess that
for an ordinary mortal it was sufficient in its sweetness. But Shekhar
made his own addition to this name, and called her the Spray of Spring
Flowers. And ordinary mortals shook their heads and said, Ah, me!

In the spring songs that the poet sang the praise of the spray of
spring flowers was conspicuously reiterated; and the king winked and
smiled at him when he heard it, and the poet smiled in answer.

The king would put him the question; "Is it the business of the bee
merely to hum in the court of the spring?"