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JAIN JOURNAL
'Yes, I have come Prabha, to make you mine for ever.'
‘My beloved Parsva ! Her joy was manifest in her voice like a lilt of a flute heard from distance.
Then after closing her eyes she said, 'Go back, Prince, the Hill of Sammeta was calling you. I am relieving you of the tears of my love.
Then after a pause she said again, 'I have got you in the depth of my heart, there is no separation, no pain, no fear of losing anything. There is only a glow of fulfilment. I have known you now, you are merciful, blameless, Lord of your self and of the Universe. You are mine...... and I ... ... yours.'
She was silent. But her words vibrated in the cool breeze of the morning, vibrated in the heart of Parsva. A hymn arising from her heart as if enkindled the heart of the prince. The path he was searching all these days suddenly stretched aglow before his eyes.
Parsva came out of the cottage with unfaltering steps. Then coming near the chariot he began to throw away his ornaments—the armlets, the necklace and the crown.
Astounded the charioteer cried, 'Prince !'
Quietly said Parsva, 'Don't say anything. With these you return to the capital.'
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