Seldom does the god know of the adoration of the votary.
Every morning I went to the temple to prostrate myself before the image of the god. To him alone I confided my agony and sorrow. I told him alone of the deceit that I was practising on you, that was for your good.
This confession did not bring relief to my heart. For you, I had carried deceit even into my dealings with the god. In bitter shame and sorrow I confess it and hope for forgiveness. During the evening worship, when I stood with bowed head and joined palms before the image of the god, it was not he who filled my heart. I felt your gaze with my whole body. It flowed over me like a stream of holy water, purifying this body of its inherited sin. I felt that the end of my penance was drawing near. Purged of the sin in my blood in this life by your purifying look, I should have you as my very own when I should be born again. The conchshell blew on and the silver lamps blazed, but I had neither ears nor eyes for them; all my senses were then steeped in you. The temple held nothing but you. Even now, every evening I feel your presence there and it fills me with rapture.
But when I returned from the temple, fear used to take hold of my heart. If I had made the god angry by my neglect of him, would any harm befall you? For punishment strikes a woman very often through her beloved. And you too had no faith in that god. You went to the temple, but not for him. We have both sinned against the god, but I was the cause of your sinning. With bowed head I supplicated to him, not for forgiveness, but that punishment might fall upon me only.
My grandfather had told me that a god can never be contaminated by man. So I decided to dedicate myself to
