Going
thither, Kunda found the door open, and, stepping boldly in, hid
herself within the boughs of a _bakul_ tree growing in the midst.
Thickly-planted rows of creeper-covered trees decked the garden,
between which were fine stone-made paths, and here and there flowering
shrubs of various hues--red, white, blue, and yellow. Above them
hovered troops of insects, coveting the morning honey, now poising,
now flying, humming as they went; and, following the example of man,
settling in flocks on some specially attractive flower. Many-coloured
birds of small size, flower-like themselves, hovered over the
blossoms, sipping the sweet juices and pouring forth a flood of
melody. The flower-weighted branches swayed in the gentle breeze, the
flowerless boughs remaining still, having nothing to weigh them down.
The cuckoo, proud bird, concealing his dark colour in the tufts of the
_bakul_ tree, triumphed over every one with his song.
In the middle of the garden stood a creeper-covered arbour of white
stone, surrounded by flowering shrubs. Kunda Nandini, looking forth
from the _bakul_ tree, saw not Nagendra's tall and god-like form. She
saw some one lying on the floor of the arbour, and concluded that it
was he.
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