was over, the prince got down from his palace, and was in a few minutes in the East street. The severe watch kept over him by Raṇavîrasiṅg made it very difficult for him to go out when he liked, and now by the grace of God, as he thought, he had escaped that dark new-moon night.
“Life is dear to every one. What can I do if any of the minister’s men find me out now and murder me? Na daivan Śaṅkarât param. No god but Saṅkara, and he will now help me.” Thus thinking he walked to the nearest pyal, and lingered there till the bustle of the town subsided. Nor was it in vain that he stopped there. He overheard while there the following conversation take place between the master and mistress of the house at which he lingered:—“Console yourself, my wife. What shall we do? Fate has so willed it on our heads. May Brahmâ[1] become without a temple for the evil that he has sent us. When the old king was living he appreciated my merits, and at every Saṅkrânti[2] gave me due dakshiṇâ[3] for my knowledge of the Vêdas.[4] Now there reigns a tyrant over our kingdom. I have been lingering here with the hope that the son of Śivâchâr would one day come to the throne and
