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In plain words

King Harischandra could not pay the fee, and so he had to sell Saivya. Their son Rohitasva stayed with her. The reciter told too of Rohitasva's gathering flowers at the house of the brahmin, Saivya's master, and of the snake-bite. In that pitch-dark night of doom the child died. There was no one to perform the last rites. The old brahmin, her master, would not get out of bed, and Saivya, alone, carrying her son's body in her arms, set out for the burning-ground. Now and then there came a roll of thunder and the crash of a falling bolt, and every so often lightning played, as if tearing the dense darkness apart. Saivya came on, weeping, beside herself with fear and grief.