A fever starve, but feed a cold,
the unhappy Vajramukut’s fortitude abandoned him; he burst into tears, and exclaimed, ‘Whosoever enters upon the path of love cannot survive it; and if (by chance) he should live, what is life to him but a prolongation of his misery?’
‘Yea,’ replied the minister’s son, ‘the sage hath said—
The road of love is that which hath no beginning nor end;
Take thou heed of thyself, man! ere thou place foot upon it.
And the wise, knowing that there are three things whose effect upon himself no man can foretell—namely, desire of woman, the dice-box, and the drinking of ardent spirits—find total abstinence from them the best of rules. Yet, after all, if there is no cow, we must milk the bull.’
The advice was, of course, excellent, but the hapless lover could not help thinking that on this occasion it came a little too late. However, after a pause he returned to the subject and said, ‘I have ventured to tread that dangerous way, be its end pain or pleasure, happiness or destruction.’ He then hung down his head and sighed from the bottom of his heart.
‘She is the person who appeared to us at the tank?’ asked the pradhan’s son, moved to compassion by the state of his master.
The prince assented.