work whatever might happen.
And so she stuffed her ears tightly with pieces of waste thread, to prevent herself from hearing anything. But still the terrible sound of the curse penetrated to her eardrums. Sometimes she found herself muttering the very words of the accursed song.
Gradually the maiden’s body began to grow weaker, and her soul began to pine away. Yet not for one single day did she cease weaving. And often now a great, fitful and impatient longing for the love of Adani came over her. But she bore it by summoning up all her strength of will, and even as her distress increased, she worked with greater haste. She was now weaving purple-coloured flowers into the fabric as a symbol of her great and burning passion for her lover.
But the cruel song of imprecation became louder and louder as the nights went by. The purple of the woven flowers gradually changed to a still darker shade, and the poor girl’s mind gradually became distraught. At last she wove nothing but black flowers every day. Even the little birds, that had formerly been woven in such bright and brilliant colours, were now worked in sombre black, and as she continued, the cloth began to take on a shabby appearance, as if the beautiful fabric had been dragged in the mud.
Her impatience became pitiable, and at last her great energy in weaving began to fail her. In the evening she was often seen standing beneath the eaves of her house, shuttle in hand, gazing absent-mindedly up into the sky. But Adani never beheld her in these
