In plain words
In the inner palace, the maids took the sannyāsī to the queen mother. As soon as they had taken him to the queen mother, he handed the clothes to her and wept aloud, ‘Mother, your son fell into the jaws of a great tiger and gave up his life.’ Then the queen mother: ‘Sannyāsī, there is no reason at all for this grief. At some inn along the way many travellers stop. They put up at that inn. They rest. Then, as soon as they have rested, they set out again on their journey to the place where they belong, the place they have to go. Just for that, what bond is there between one and another? This world is like an inn. In this inn, many of us have each taken a room. But he has set out today and gone to his own home. We too are only people who will leave tomorrow; we are not people who stay in the inn for good. For this sannyāsī to grieve so much over so small a thing is laughable,’ she argued, as if to teach the sannyāsī some sense. Well! Thinking that this mother might be a stepmother, the sannyāsī fell once more into worldly infatuation, and thinking that when he went to the prince's wife, she at least, her wedded happiness ruined, might shed tears, he wished to go to the prince's wife. He went there: ‘Mother, your wedded state has perished from this day. From this day your happiness as a wife is gone. Your appearance has had to change to that of a widow. So I have come to bring you this news,’ he told her, and wept. The prince's wife laughed very loudly: ‘Sannyāsī, in a forest some tree branches break off through rain and through wind.