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Shrimati, as if struck by lightning, fell to the ground, her face pale, remembering the departure of the Deva.
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The charioteer, Halaliyanga Devayajnapati, seeing her in this state, immediately sprinkled her with water.
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Lalitanidapa, with trembling hands, unable to bear the pain, fell to the ground, her body weak. She cried out in despair, "Oh, Lalitanga Deva!" She beat her head against the ground, her voice filled with sorrow. She fainted and was revived by a stream of water. The gentle breeze from the fluttering chamaras calmed her. She rose, her body weak, her breath shallow, her heart heavy with the pain of separation. Kamadeva, the god of love, burned her with his fiery arrows. The wet, heavy clothes she wore felt like burning coals. The Malaya breeze felt like a raging fire. Her ornaments felt like shackles. What good is the coolness of a hundred petals when the heart is shattered into a hundred pieces? This bath is a bath of sorrow.
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