The poet now describes the various stages of her waking up on the fateful morning:

At first life grieved not in her burdened breast:

On the lap of earth's original somnolence

Inert, released into forgetfulness

Prone it reposed, unconscious on mind's verge,

Obtuse and tranquil like the stone and star.

At first she is still restful in the sleepy hours of the earth; life in her is still inert, forgetful, stretched out in full repose. Life has not yet come in the mental awareness. It is dull of sensation like the stone and serene like the star. Grief is not yet felt on the surface though the breast carries the load of the impending doom.

In a deep cleft of silence twixt two realms

She lay remote from grief, unsawn by care,

Nothing recalling of the sorrow here.

She is still in a deep belt of silence between the two states of sleep and wakefulness, lying untouched by grief, unscratched by care, unaware of the sorrow in the world.

Then a slow faint remembrance shadowlike moved,

And sighing she laid her hand upon her bosom

And recognised the close and lingering ache,

Deep, quiet, old, made natural to its place,

But knew not why it was there nor whence it came.

Then a vague memory, an indistinct remembrance, appears and flits across like a shadow; there is some slight recollection and with a sigh her hand moves to her bosom where she feels some movement. She recognises there the ache, intimate and prolonging itself. It is not superficial, it is deep; it is not a passing ache, it persists; it is not loud, it is quiet; she recognises that it is not anything new that has come all of a sudden; it has been there for so long that it has become natural to where she feels it. But still does not know why it is there nor from where it has come.

The Power that kindles mind was still withdrawn:

Heavy, unwilling were life's servitors

Like workers with no wages of delight;

Sullen, the torch of sense refused to burn;

The unassisted brain found not its past.

Even though she has started feeling the ache, she is not able to explain what it is because her mind is not yet active. Nature has still withheld that power which activises the mind and enables it to analyse and understand. Moreover, the sense-faculties which are the servants of life are still dull, reluctant to move into activity. Like workers to whom wages of joy are not paid, her senses are unwilling to exert themselves. They have not yet reached the state where they can draw the pleasure of life; so they are indifferent. The sense-torch is not burning. Her brain, which is not yet fully awake, is not helped by nature to remember its past.

Only a vague earth-nature held the frame.

Her bodily frame is held together by an indistinct earth-nature. The full force of that nature is not yet. [The author adds: These lines lend themselves to another interpretation. They may be taken to delineate the various stages in the growth of Savitri from the early days when she was still carrying something of her native felicity and had not yet awakened to the existence of suffering and evil in the world. She was a child nestling in the lap of earth that was still warm and restful for her. She had forgotten why she had come to earth; that memory had not yet emerged. Life was full of repose, not yet developed enough for the full activity of the mind. It was dull of sensation like the stone and serene like the star. Savitri was ensconced in the gulf of Silence between the higher realm of Superconscience and the lower realm of Inconscience, far from grief, untouched by care, unaware of sorrow in the world that is the badge of life. But that state did not continue for long. A vague remembrance came up and she became awae of an old, lingering ache in her bosom. But she could not, at first, make out why it was there or whence it came. The mind was not developed, the sense-faculties were not yet active for their game of life, and brain needed some stimulus to recollect its past. Her physical frame was held by earth-nature that was still to be formed fully. Thus it was till she grew up. But now things are different.]

But now she stirred, her life shared the cosmic load.

Now she wake up fully. Her life-spirit moves into action to participate in the cosmic purpose.

At the summons of her body's voiceless call

Her strong far-winging spirit travelled back,

Back to the yoke of ignorance and fate,

Back to the labour and stress of mortal days,

Lighting a pathway through strange symbol dreams

Across the ebbing of the seas of sleep.

As she wakes up, the body call up the other faculties. Her spirit which had traveled far elsewhere during the sleep of the night returns and takes up the bueden of life, its ignorance and its fate, ready for the labour and stress of this mortal world. Her spirit comes back through the dream-land—full of symbols—lighting its pathway across the receding waters of sleep.

Her house of Nature felt an unseen sway,

Illumined swiftly were life's darkened rooms,

And memory's casements opened on the hours

And the tired feet of thought approached her doors.

She feels a new pulsation from an unseen source; all the nooks and corners of her life that were obscure are quickly lighted up and the windows of her memory get fully opened. Even the thought-activity that had slowed down comes back gradually into its own.