had a wife — Dhanaśrî — of whom he was extremely fond. One day this merchant went away on business to a distant country, taking with him a
large sum of money.
After his departure his wife remained indoors in a state of grief: she neither ate, nor bathed, nor spoke to her friends. She neglected herself, and took no trouble about her personal appearance.
The soft note of the cuckoo borne on the breeze from Malaya: the soothing hum of the bees: the scent of the jasmine: these fall upon our senses. If Spring moves us not with such scents and sounds then her coming is only as the coming of the king of death. At such a time as this even the mind of the temperate undergoes a change. One of Dhanaśrî's friends said to her: " My love ! don't waste your youth and beauty ! Listen to me ! The cuckoo, the lord of love, is speaking to you in his sweet low note. The Spring covers the face of the earth. Put all pride away. Women should accept the honour due to them. Youth passes. Life is uncertain. Enjoy yourself while you may." At these words she exclaimed, " I can no longer delay ! tell me ! what shall I do? " A lover came by and she followed him. While she was in his company he cut off her lock of hair, and just at that moment her husband returned. Reflecting
