| Heaven split in twain. A pure-born houri | |
| lifted the veil from her countenance; | |
| on her brow shone eternal fire and light, | |
| her eyes were radiant with immortal joy. | |
| The robe covering her was lighter than a cloud, | |
| its warp and woof of the veins of rose-petals. | |
| With all such loveliness, she was doomed to chains and fetters, | 2595 |
| and from her lips sighs of agony broke. | |
| Rumi said, ‘See, this is the Spirit of India; | |
| the heart is broken by her lamentation.’ |