It is astonishing that the warrior king allowed this speech to last as long as it did. He hated nothing so fiercely， now that he was in middle-age， as any long mention of the "handsome god.[FN#81]" Having vainly endeavoured to stop by angry mutterings the course of the Baital's eloquence， he stepped out so vigorously and so rudely shook that inveterate talker， that the latter once or twice nearly bit off the tip of his tongue. Then the Vampire became silent， and Vikram relapsed into a walk which allowed the tale to be resumed.
[FN#81] Kama Deva. "Out on thee， foul fiend， talk'st thou of nothing but ladies？"
Jayashri immediately conceived a strong dislike for her husband， and simultaneously a fierce affection for a reprobate who before had been indifferent to her. The more lovingly Shridat behaved to her， the more vexed end annoyed she was. When her friends talked to her， she turned up her nose， raising her eyebrows （in token of displeasure）， and remained silent. When her husband spoke words of affection to her， she found them disagreeable， and turning away her face， reclined on the bed. Then he brought dresses and ornaments of various kinds and presented them to her， saying， "Wear these." Whereupon she would become more angry， knit her brows， turn her face away， and in an audible whisper call him "fool." All day she stayed out of the house， saying to her companions， "Sisters， my youth is passing away， and I have not， up to the present time， tasted any of this world's pleasures." Then she would ascend to the balcony， peep through the lattice， and seeing the reprobate going along， she would cry to her friend， "Bring that person to me." All night she tossed and turned from side to side， reflecting in her heart， "I am puzzled in my mind what I shall say， and whither I shall go. I have forgotten sleep， hunger， and thirst； neither heat nor cold is refreshing to me."
At last， unable any longer to support the separation from her reprobate paramour， whom she adored， she resolved to fly with him. On one occasion， when she thought that her husband was fast asleep， she rose up quietly， and leaving him， made her way fearlessly in the dark night to her lover's abode. A footpad， who saw her on the way， thought to himself， "Where can this woman， clothed in jewels， be going alone at midnight？" And thus he followed her unseen， and watched her.
When Jayashri reached the intended place， she went into the house， and found her lover lying at the door. He was dead， having been stabbed by the footpad； but she， thinking that he had， according to custom， drunk intoxicating hemp， sat upon the floor， and raising his head， placed it tenderly in her lap. Then， burning with the fire of separation from him， she began to kiss his cheeks， and to fondle and caress him with the utmost freedom and affection.
By chance a Pisach （evil spirit） was seated in a large fig-tree[FN#82] opposite the house， and it occurred to him， when beholding this scene， that he might amuse himself in a characteristic way. He therefore hopped down from his branch， vivified the body， and began to return the woman's caresses. But as Jayashri bent down to kiss his lips， he caught the end of her nose in his teeth， and bit it clean off. He then issued from the corpse， and returned to the branch where he had been sitting.
[FN#82] The pipal or Ficus religiosa， a favourite roosting-place for fiends.
Jayashri was in despair. She did not， however， lose her presence of mind， but sat down and proceeded to take thought； and when she had matured her plan she arose， dripping with blood， and walked straight home to her husband's house. On entering his room she clapped her hand to her nose， and began to gnash her teeth， and to shriek so violently， that all the members of the family were alarmed. The neighbours also collected in numbers at the door， and， as it was bolted inside， they broke it open and rushed in， carrying lights. There they saw the wife sitting upon the ground with her face mutilated， and the husband standing over her， apparently trying to appease her.
"O ignorant， criminal， shameless， pitiless wretch！" cried the people， especially the women； "why hast thou cut off her nose， she not having offended in any way？"
Poor Shridat， seeing at once the trick which had been played upon him， thought to himself： "One should put no confidence in a changeful mind， a black serpent， or an armed enemy， and one should dread a woman's doings. What cannot a poet describe？ What is there that a saint （jogi） does not know？ What nonsense will not a drunken man talk？ What limit is there to a woman's guile？ True it is that the gods know nothing of the defects of a horse， of the thundering of clouds， of a woman's deeds， or of a man's future fortunes. How then can we know？" He could do nothing but weep， and swear by the herb basil， by his cattle， by his grain， by a piece of gold， and by all that is holy， that he had not committed the crime.
