“No, you are telling lies.”
The Yakā said, “In my breast.”
“That also is false,” she says. “Tell me the truth.”
The Yakā said, “In my neck.”
“It is not there, also,” she says.
At last the Yakā said, “My life is in [the brightness of] my sword.”
Afterwards, placing the sword near his head, he went to sleep. Then this woman having gone, collected a bon-fire (gini goḍak), and quietly taking the sword put it into the hearth. Well then, the woman having come back, when she looked that Yakā was dead.
That eldest Yakā having arisen, when he looked [saw that] the flowers and fruit had all fallen from the lime tree. The Yakā said, “Anē! Bola, there will have been some accident; I must go to look.” Well then, the eldest Yakā having tied up the lime fruits, and come to that Yakā’s country, taking them, when he looked his younger brother was dead. When he sought for that sword it was not [there].
Afterwards, when he looked at the fire heap that sword was in the heap. Well then, taking the limes and having cut them, when he was thoroughly polishing it with the limes that dead Yakā revived (lit., was born). Then the elder Yakā, calling the revived Yakā, came to his [own] house [with him].
A pestilence having stricken the second Yakā, one morning when those two looked the flowers on that planted tree had fallen. Well then, having said, “Appā! Bolan, some accident will have stricken our Yakā,” putting together those flowers also, they went away.