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The king's lips, delicate as the Parijataka,* parted in a faint smile and his head inclined ever so slightly like a flower swayed on its stalk by a gentle breeze.
The two pilgrims were ushered into the presence of the king. The moment their eyes rested on him, they realized that Indra had not exaggerated his beauty. They stood there transfixed, speechless with adoration.
“Strangers, what may you be thinking of that you stand thus, without even a word of greeting?" asked Sanatraj with a self-conscious smile.
Hearing his melodious voice, they woke up from their trance and replied, “Sir, we were lost in admiration of your beauty; beauty such as yours is not found even among the gods!” .
These words of praise brought a flush of pleasure to the king's handsome face and his manly chest swelled with pride as he said, “But, how can you expect to see beauty at its best in the bath: You must come and see it in the imperial hall, where we hold our court.”
Bowing low, the pilgrims took their leave and attended the king's court at noon.
King Sanat was proudly seated on a throne of gold, studded with gems. He was clad in a flowing robe of heavy silk: He wore a necklace round his noble
A kind of flower.
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