Ratnaprabha’s mansion had been a place of pilgrimage for the lovers of art, not only in Mathurapuri, but also in the entire territory of Shursen. But now its fame spread to Magadh, Kuru, Katha and Madra. In the evenings, connoisseurs would vie with one another for a seat in the concert hall. Whenever Anshumala gave a performance, it became necessary for the state officials to post guards on the roads to maintain order. With such popularity, Ratnaprabha’s wealth doubled and tripled in a short time. Earlier, at the performances of Muktavali and Ratnaprabha, garlands and silver coins were the usual gifts, whereas now gold coins, precious gems and jewelled necklaces were showered on her. The glory went to Ratnaprabha, but Anshumala was the reason for it.

Anshumala’s magnetism yielded yet another result. Young merchants, nobles and state officials began to flock to the palace carrying bouquets and garlands. They made handsome gifts of money to Ratnaprabha and offered to escort Anshumala on excursions along the river or in the forests. Those who used to plead for Ratnaprabha’s favours, now came to the palace with their hearts aflutter for Anshumala. The riches poured at the feet of Ratnaprabha ceased to have any attraction for her. Conscious of her own waning attraction, she began to find everything around her dull and insipid.

Instead of being the focus of attention for visitors, Ratnaprabha had become the protectress, the mistress and the guardian of the new public idol. The money and the gifts that were offered in appreciation of Anshumala’s art belonged to Ratnaprabha. She would look at the mounting riches and often ask herself, ‘What has been the purpose of being attractive? Money I have plenty. But there is something which is lacking now.’ This sense of loss would depress her, ‘What is the use of money? Is it meant to be used for enjoyment? But then how should I enjoy it? By wearing beautiful clothes and ornaments, by living in a palatial house? Yet, what lasting comfort do they give me? Such worldly possessions are not the aim in themselves, but only the means. Even if the cage is made of gold, it is the mynah that attracts attention, not the cage.’

Eighteen years before, when she had finished her training under Mallika and had come to Mathurapuri, the people had welcomed her performances with delirious enthusiasm. Kaumudi, the reigning public favourite, had been so jealous. Such is the irony of a courtesan’s life. The courtesan gives up her private existence for the sake of success, affluence and self-dependence. But a wife, in giving up her independence in marriage, gets a man in return. The life of a courtesan is like a meteor, which gives a brilliant display of light for a little while, and then plunges into darkness. The life of a housewife, on the other hand, is like a lamp that burns dimly but for a long time. There are sheltering hands to protect it when the strong winds of adversity blow. Before her extinction, she is able to light other lamps from her being, and is able to see her own light in them. Even when she is extinguished, her light glows on. Ratnaprabha would often remember Marish’s words; he used to say, ‘In such continuity lies man’s immortality.’