Queen.
O son, Śankhachúda, quickly get it ready. Thy brother remains in pain, without our company.
Śankhachúda (tearfully).
Whatever my parents order. Am not I willing to lead the way? (Rises and builds a funeral pile.) O father, O mother, here is the funeral pile prepared.
King.
O Queen, why do you still weep? Rise, we will mount the pile.
Malayavatí (looking up with her hands together).
O revered Gaurí, it was promised by thee—"An emperor of the Vidyádharas shall be thy husband." How, then, in my case, wretched one that I am, have thy words proved untrue?
(Then enters Gaurí, as in haste.)
Gaurí.
O mighty King Jímútaketu, assuredly this rash act must not be done.
King.
Oh! How can the sight of Gaurí be in vain?
Gaurí (addressing Malayavatí).
Child, how could I prove untrue? (Going up to the hero, and sprinkling him with water from a water-pot.) I am well pleased with thee, who even at the cost of thy
