Then the bride raised the dagger above her like a thirsty man raising a cup’s brim to his lips. She sheathed the dagger firmly in her breast and fell beside her lover, a lily cut down by the scythe. The women flinched and cried out in fear and pain. A few fainted. The clamor of the men arose on every side, and they approached the fallen pair with dread and awe.

The dying bride stared at them, bright blood pouring from her crystal breast. “Don’t come near, you who would censure me, and do not separate our bodies. Should you do so, the spirit that circles over your heads will seize your throats and strangle you cruelly. Let this hungry earth consume our bodies in a single bite. Let it conceal us and protect us in its breast as it protects the seeds from the snows of winter until the coming of spring.”

The bride gripped her lover and kissed his cold lips. Her last disjointed words came with her last breaths: “Look, Beloved! Look, husband of my soul, how the envious stand about our bed! See how they stare at us! Hear the grinding of their teeth and the snapping of their ribs! You have waited a long time for me, Saleem. Now, see how the shackles have broken and the chains snap. Let us hurry toward the Sun, for we have waited too long in the shadow. Forms are erased and beings are veiled, and I no longer see anything but you, Beloved. Here are my lips. Receive my last breaths. Let us go, Saleem! Love has spread its wings and flies before us to the circle of light.”

The bride threw herself upon her lover’s breast, and her blood mingled with his. She rested her head upon his neck, and her eyes stared fixed into his eyes.

The people remained silent for a moment, their faces pale and their knees weak, as though the dread of death had stolen their power to move.