Savitris, he said, and his voice was strangely musical, like song in a minor key. I claim the soul of Saddaman, as is my right. Do not be afraid for him. All his sorrows are over now. He leaned down and fasten the rope around the dying men's hip, his hand brushing against flowing docks of hair that only that morning had laying on a pillow beside her. At the touch of the rope the soul of Satyama separated from his body