The scent of the flowers of the _bakul_ tree pervaded
the air, mingled with that of jasmine and other blossoms. Everywhere
fireflies flew in the darkness over the clear water, dancing,
sparkling, becoming extinguished. Flying foxes talked to each other;
jackals howled to keep off other animals. A few clouds having lost
their way wandered over the sky; one or two stars fell as though
overwhelmed with grief. Kunda Nandini sat brooding over her troubles.
Thus ran her thoughts: "All my family is gone. My mother, my brother,
my father, all died. Why did I not die? If I could not die, why did I
come here? Does the good man become a star when he dies?" Kunda no
longer remembered the vision she had seen on the night of her father's
death. It did not recur to her mind even now. Only a faint memory of
the scene came to her with the idea that, since she had seen her
mother in vision, that mother must have become a star. So she asked
herself: "Do the good become stars after death? and if so, are all I
loved become stars? Then which are they among those hosts? how can I
determine? Can they see me--I who have wept so much? Let them go, I
will think of them no more. It makes me weep; what is the use of
weeping? Is it my fate to weep? If not, my mother--again these
thoughts! let them go.
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