After completing the needful arrangements he would leave home, revisit the spot where Surja Mukhi had died, and then resume his wandering life.

So long as he should live he would hide in some corner of the earth.
Such were Nagendra's thoughts as he was borne on in his palanquin; its doors were open, the night was lightened by the October moon, stars shone in the sky.

The telegraph-wires by the wayside hummed in the wind; but on that night not even a star could seem beautiful in the eyes of Nagendra, even the moonlight seemed harsh.

All things seemed to give pain.

The earth was cruel.