In that smiling moonlit night, the two silently walked across the plain. Mahendra was silent, sad, careless and a little curious. Bhavananda suddenly changed his looks. He was no more the steady and mild anchorite, nor wore any more the warlike hero's face — the face of the slayer of a captain of forces. Not even was there in his mien the proud disdain with which he had scolded Mahendra even now. It seemed as if his heart was filled with joy at the beauteous sight of the earth, lulled in peace and beaming under the silvery moon, and of the glory in her wilds and woods and hills and streams, and grew cheery like the ocean smiling with the rise of the moon. Bhavananda grew chatty, cheerful, cordial and very eager to talk. He made many an attempt to open a conversation with his companion but Mahendra would not speak. Having no option left, he then began to sing to himself : Hail thee mother ! To her I bow, Who with sweetest water o'erflows With dainty fruits is rich endowed And cooling whom the south wind blows, Who's green with crops as on her grow ; To such a mother down I bow. Mahendra was a little puzzled to hear the song ; he could not grasp anything. Who could be the mother, he thought " Who with sweetest water o'erflows, With dainty fruits is rich endowed And cooling whom the south wind blows ? Who's green with crops as on her grow. ,
