The she-wolf bared her fangs and snapped at the queen, rearing up on hind legs. “Be gone, demon!” the queen shouted, and gave a final blow. When the branch hit the wolf, the creature let out a piercing howl and changed into a thick cloud of mist. Before the queen’s eyes, the mist reformed itself into the figure of a young maiden – it was her daughter, Padma.
“Daughter!” the queen cried. “How is it that you have come to be here among all of these wolves?”
Padma smiled. “The wolves are my friends, and the forest is my home.”
That was when the queen understood. The flower of which Rama had spoken was her treasured Padma.
– excerpt from Leigh Hopkins’ book, copyright 2015