Note 2 — Chapter LXXXVII · (Vetála 13.)

Immediately her husband, the young man Harisvámin, woke up, and not seeing his beloved, he rose up in a state of distraction. He said to himself, “What can this mean? Where has she gone? I wonder if she is angry with me. Or has she hidden herself to find out my real feelings, and is making fun of me?” Distracted by many surmises of this kind, he wandered hither and thither that night, looking for her on the roof, and in the turrets of the palace. He even searched in the palace-garden, and when he could not find her anywhere, being scorched with the fire of grief, he sobbed and lamented, “Alas! my beloved with face like the moon’s orb, fair as the moonlight; did this night grudge your existence, hating your charms that rival hers2? That very moon, that, vanquished by your beauty, seemed to be in fear, and comforted me with its rays cool as sandalwood, now that I am bereaved of you, seems to have seen its opportunity, and smites me with them, as if with burning coals, or arrows dipped in poison.” While Harisvámin was uttering these laments, the night at last slowly passed away, not so his grief at his bereavement.