A fine trick: You have slipped a thorn into the midst of the torn cloth. Did You even consider what You were doing, mixing merit and sin like this? You cast a spell upon my brother all at once. Ritual marks, garlands, forehead-paste, and sweet, tender words; yet the hands hold coils of deceit. What kind of trick is this to play upon a householder? Says Tukya-bandhu, You sit there smirking. Look at the ruin You have caused; You have torn apart the household. You say there is not a moment to spare, yet it is You who have attached Yourself to him.