The ascetic answered, Go on your way, fair woman. When the time is ripe, I will come and see you.
Suddenly the dark black night showed its teeth in a flash of lightning. The storm-fiend growled in the sky and the woman trembled in fear.
* * *
The New Year had not yet begun. It was an evening of March. The wind was wild. The branches of the wayside trees were aching with blossoms.
Gay notes of the flute came floating in the warm spring air from afar. The citizens had gone to the woods, to the festival of flowers. From the mid-sky smiled the full moon on the empty and silent town.
The young ascetic was walking alone in the lonely city road. The moon-beam checquered with shadows fell on his path and sleepless Koels sang from the flowering mango branches.