Servant.
O prince, take then this pair of garments.
Śankhachúda (respectfully).
Give them to me. (Takes them.) The mandate of our lord is on my head.
Old Woman (having seen the clothes in the hand of her son,
striking her breast).
Alas! my child, this seems like a flash of lightning.
Servant.
The time for Garuda's approach is close at hand. I will be off.
Śankhachúda.
O mother, recover thyself.
Old Woman (coming to herself, tearfully).
Alas! my son, alas! thou obtained by a hundred vows! Where shall I again behold thee?
Jímútaváhana.
Alas! the pitilessness of Garuda. I should think that the heart of the lord of birds must be made of very adamant, if, casting away all pity, he can eat this child in his mother's lap, while she, distracted, utters vain complaints, with tears streaming from her eyes, and,
