"Such is the king's will."

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! 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. She raised her head and
cried, "O women of the king's house, hasten!

"The time for our Lord's worship is come!"

Some shut their doors in her face and some reviled her.

The last gleam of daylight faded from the bronze dome of the
palace tower.