He cheerfully shows off, feigning appetite, yet he does not see my real suffering. He has driven me mad with his charm and nods along at every complaint. I truly cannot eat a morsel, yet three meals a day I need a full measure of wheat. Last time you brought sugar and ten pounds vanished in seven days. My stomach aches without end, and the only remedy is milk, rice, sugar, and ghee. At midnight fits of delirium seize me, and I lose all sense and sleep. I cannot sleep unless I am strewn with flowers, and the children must not come near. I rub sandalwood on my body and forehead, yet a constant pain pierces my skull. My flesh falls from the bone. Says Tuka, he was made a donkey while alive and dragged to hell after death.