again would he even allow her shadow to fall on him. He might get her sent away from the village. She must not breathe a word of it to any one; so, with much effort, Rohini kept the matter hidden in her heart.
But as hidden fire burns outwardly, so it was with Rohini. The burthen of life became painful to her. Day and night she longed for death.
Who can reckon the number of people who long to die? I believe there are many, whether among the happy or the wretched, who heartily wish for death. The joy of this earth is not joy, it is full of pain. No happiness can be called happiness. No joy is complete; therefore many people desire death, and the sorrowful, saying they can no longer bear their burthen, call upon Death.
They call upon Death, but to whom does death come? Calling does not bring it. The happy, they who do not wish to die, the beautiful, the young, the hopeful, they in whose sight the earth is a garden of delight, to them Death comes. Of such as Rohini it comes to no one. For one thing man's power to summon Death is weak. The prick of a needle or half a drop of poison can
