O, what a shame the bashless lily blooms
when the moon doth shine,
And the newly wedded bride, her wedlock
o'er, does for her husband pine.
Shyamasundari. "Would you lead an ascetic's single life all your days?"
"Why? what asceticism do I practise?" replied Mrinmoyee.
Shyamasundari with both hands lifting Mrinmoyee's rich curling locks exclaimed "Would you never gather this heap of hair in a knot?"
Mrinmoyee with a soft smile gently extricated her hair from Shyama's clutches.
"Well and good" continued Shyamasundari "Do but fulfil my wishes. Once attire yourself after the style of our household women. How long, Oh God, would you play the ascetic?"
"I had ever been an ascetic girl before I fell in with this son of a Brahmin."
"Now you must forego that."
"Why forego?"
"Why? would you see? I will break your asceticism. Do you know what a philosopher's stone is?"
"No"
"The philosopher's stone turns the rusty bars of iron into gold."
"What of that?"
"Women have, too, their philosopher's stone."
