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The sixteen festivals, as they are called, are a time of great joy and celebration. Pavananjay awoke from his slumber, his body still languid from sleep, his eyes red from the lingering effects of slumber, and a yawn escaping his lips. He rubbed his ear with the index finger of his left hand, and then stretched his right arm, making a cracking sound. He looked at his beloved, his eyes cast down in shyness, and said, "Come, my friend." He then rose from his bed. He smiled and asked, "Did you have a pleasant night?" Pavananjay, in turn, smiled and asked, "Did you have a good night?" After this exchange, Prahasit, who knew all the details and was a master of the art of statecraft, sat down on a nearby comfortable seat, as directed by Anjana, and said to Pavananjay, "My friend, get up, let's go. Many days have passed since you have been engaged in the work of honoring your beloved." "It is best to leave now, before anyone knows we are returning. Otherwise, it will be embarrassing." "Your commander, Rathanupuraka, and the king, Kairnaragit, who is eager to go to your master, are waiting for you." "Ravan, filled with respect, constantly asks his ministers, 'Where is Pavananjay?'" "I have devised this plan for your departure. Therefore, you should leave the company of your beloved now." "You must obey the orders of your master, Ravan, and your father, Prahlad. Then, after returning safely, you should continue to honor your beloved." "I will do as you say, my friend," said Pavananjay, and then, after performing the auspicious rituals of the body, he embraced his beloved in secret, kissed her trembling lips, and said, "My dear, do not worry, I am going. I will return soon, after fulfilling my master's orders." "Stay," he said in a sweet voice.
And so, the moon, having lost its brilliance, was no more.