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频毗娑罗王在佛陀的圣迹之上建造了一座神殿，那是用白色大理石筑成的一份敬意。
傍晚时分，王室的嫔妃、公主便会来到这里，献上鲜花，点上明灯。
后来，他的儿子当上了国王，在位期间用鲜血洗去了父亲的信条，用圣书点燃了献祭的火焰。
秋日里的一天行将终结。
晚祭的时刻就要来临。
什瑞玛蒂是王后的使女，虔信佛陀的她在圣河中洗净了身体，用明灯和新摘的白花装点好金色的供品盘，然后静静地抬起乌黑的双眼，眼前是王后的脸。
王后惊恐万分，战栗着说道：“傻丫头，给佛陀神殿献祭的人都会被处以死刑，莫非你懵然不知？”
“这可是国王的旨意啊。”
什瑞玛蒂对王后躬身施礼，然后转身出门，去到王子的新婚妻子阿米塔所在的地方，站在她的面前。
新娘子膝头放着一面磨光金做成的镜子，一边编结乌黑的长辫，一边在发际点上吉祥的红痣。
看到年轻的使女，她吓得双手颤抖，不由得叫了起来：“你要给我带来怎样的可怕灾祸啊！赶紧离开吧。”
公主舒克拉坐在窗边，正借着落日的余晖读一本浪漫小说。
看到使女拿着供品站在门口，她吓得跳了起来。
书本从她膝头跌落，她在什瑞玛蒂的耳边轻声说道，“想死也不用着急啊，你这胆大的女人！”
什瑞玛蒂走过一道又一道门。
她昂着头，高声叫喊：“王宫里的女人啊，赶快！”
“朝拜我佛的时间已经来临！”
有的人当她的面关上房门，有的人对她大加斥责。
白昼的最后一抹日光消逝在王宫塔楼的青铜穹顶。
街道的角落爬满黯黑的阴影：熙攘的城市归于宁静：湿婆神庙的锣声，宣告晚祷时间已经来临。
秋天的黄昏深邃如清澈的湖泊，星星在暝色之中闪闪烁烁，透过树丛，王宫花园的警卫惊异地发现，佛陀的神殿前亮着一列灯火。
他们拔出剑来跑了过去，大声叫道：“不怕死的蠢东西，你到底是谁？”
“我是什瑞玛蒂，”回答他们的是一个甜美的声音，“佛陀的使女。”
转眼之间，她心脏的血液，便给冰冷的大理石着上了红色。
在满天繁星的静谧时分，神殿前的最后一盏祭灯悄然熄灭。
Over the relic of Lord Buddha King Bimbisār built a shrine, a salutation in white marble.
There in the evening would come all the brides and daughters of the King's house to offer flowers and light lamps.
When the son became king in his time he washed his father's creed away with blood, and lit sacrificial fires with its sacred books.
The autumn day was dying.
The evening hour of worship was near.
Shrimati, the queen's maid, devoted to Lord Buddha, having bathed in holy water, and decked the golden tray with lamps and fresh white blossoms, silently raised her dark eyes to the queen's face.
The queen shuddered in fear and said, "Do you not know, foolish girl, that death is the penalty for whoever brings worship to Buddha's shrine?
"Such is the king's will."
Shrimati bowed to the queen, and turning away from her door came and stood before Amitā, the newly wed bride of the king's son.
A mirror of burnished gold on her lap, the newly wed bride was braiding her dark long tresses and painting the red spot of good luck at the parting of her hair.
Her hands trembled when she saw the young maid, and she cried, "What fearful peril would you bring me! Leave me this instant."
Princess Shuklā sat at the window reading her book of romance by the light of the setting sun.
She started when she saw at her door the maid with the sacred offerings.
Her book fell down from her lap, and she whispered in Shrimati's ears, "Rush not to death, daring woman!"
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Shrimati walked from door to door.
She raised her head and cried, "O women of the king's house, hasten!"
"The time for our Lord's worship is come!"
Some shut their doors in her face and some reviled her.
The last gleam of daylight faded from the bronze dome of the palace tower.
Deep shadows settled in street corners: the bustle of the city was hushed: the gong at the temple of Shiva announced the time of the evening prayer.
In the dark of the autumn evening, deep as a limpid lake, stars throbbed with light, when the guards of the palace garden were startled to see through the trees a row of lamps burning at the shrine of Buddha.
They ran with their swords unsheathed, crying, "Who are you, foolish one, reckless of death?"
"I am Shrimati," replied a sweet voice, "the servant of Lord Buddha."
The next moment her heart's blood coloured the cold marble with its red.
And in the still hour of stars died the light of the last lamp of worship at the foot of the shrine.