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JAIN JOURNAL: VOL XXIX, NO 1, JULY 1994
She looked into the mirror of her angry self, And she said, "I quit my anger forevermore." And so Rajimati moved on with a bright face. She had forsaken a self-injury, she felt her path eased, The firethorn of anger was no more.
And so passed a long measure of months.
Rajimati was walking into the glazy heat of midmorning, Already, birdsongs were falling into stepwells of silence. For long, she had observed the rootless men on the horizon, Monks, she thought, but not one heavy-in-shoulder.
On the path stood a beautiful young nun. "Mind what the Good Monk said to me,"
"Why do you toss yourself hither and you in pride? Nun, like to you, the food-animals are beautiful, And like to you, evolving toward.higher understanding, Yet their souls are one with the flow of harmlessness. Pride is injury to you and to all living beings, Young Nun! Live in your soul's beauty of non-injury'." The nun grew awestruck, "Wonder of wonders, His words lay bare my silly self-praise, And I quit pride, in homage to the Good Monk."
Rajimati looked at the beautiful nun of simple bearing. By non-violence, he had cast out a blemish of pride. "Young Nun, my deepest thanks." And Rajimati moved on.
Tis he, she thought, Yadava jaw in the sun,
The warrior for wailing animal-prisoners without crimes. Rejoice me! That I am near to meeting my husband!
Then an inner voice said to Rajimati:
'You inherited your love for him in your soul, Abandoned, you shrieked of your lofty bloodline, Of what, your word? Your word was of pride, While to your husband, pride is a wound, an injury'. She looked into the mirror of her prideful self, And she said, "I quit my pride forevermore."
And so Rajimati moved on with a bright face. She had forsaken a self-injury, she felt her path eased,
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