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like progenies of one mother, like one life having different bodies.
Lines of auspicious wishes are coming out from the mouth of the pitcher:
"Here... the life of all may become auspicious, may the shade of happiness spread, all inauspicious feelings of everyone may vanish, the life-creeper of everyone may blossom, be verdurous, the flowers of virtues may bloom, the hope of destruction may vanish, and from root to top be fragrant,
... that's all!"
And at this side... why this uneasiness in the bank begins to be seen! It has to welcome the pitcher. There seems the brilliance of the baby sun as if entangled in the constantly rising waves, hesitating out of shyness like the passionate women in rosy sari taking bath.
Silent Soil :: 479
