With a flicker of a smile, Anshu joined her hands in greeting to the visitor, ‘The humble servant to the Court Dancer offers her salutations to the honoured guest.’

Marish found himself staring at her petal-like lips. He raised his eyes and felt a flash of recollection. In the sad, set features of this timid woman he recognized the young dancer in the white costume of the lovelorn swan-maiden who had danced five years before in Sagal’s Festival of Spring.

At a sign from Ratnaprabha, Anshu sat down on the mattress, and as desired by her mistress, filled a bowl with wine and held it out with both hands to the visitor.

Marish continued to look at Anshu with astonishment. Anshu, finally recognizing him, sat petrified under his piercing gaze.

Ratnaprabha sized up the situation and put her arm round Anshu in reassurance. Noticing the extreme bewilderment in Marish’s eyes, she smiled and with a corner of her stole screened Anshu’s face. ‘Arya,’ she said jokingly, ‘you will frighten my gentle friend by staring so hard.’

Lost in memories, Marish’s gaze remained fixed on Anshu. Then his lips moved, ‘Kumari Divya!’ he muttered.

Speechless, Anshu lowered her eyes.

Ratnaprabha looked at Marish and then at Anshu. The faces of both had darkened like the overcast sky before rainfall. For a few seconds she hesitated, and then, taking with her the slave-girl who had been waving the fan all the while, and issuing a string of instructions to her, she moved off the veranda.

‘Kumari Divya,’ Marish muttered again, after a few seconds.

Anshu sat motionless, holding the bowl of wine in her hands. She lowered her head still further. ‘Arya, I am no longer Divya,’ she said in a faint voice. ‘I am no longer a kumari (virgin) either. I am Anshumala now, dancer–courtesan and the bought slave of Devi Ratnaprabha. Do, pray, accept this bowl of wine.’

With a deep sigh, Marish took the bowl, but put it back on the tray. His mind, soaring on the wings of memory, once again flew towards the past. ‘How did you happen to come here, to this far-off place?’

‘Fate brought me here, Arya, my karma,’ Anshu answered in a firm voice, raising her eyes and looking at Marish in the dim light of the cloudy evening.

This mention of fate and karma exasperated Marish. He felt as though he had been rudely jolted out of his reverie. ‘What has fate or karma to do with it?’ he said. ‘Fate is nothing but an expression of human helplessness. And to blame your present way of life on karma, as the result of your deeds in a previous life, means nothing but blindness to the cause of suffering and helplessness. Dear girl, fate and karma are nothing more than this.’

‘Arya, that is what your humble servant meant. I feel completely helpless, and I am ignorant of the cause of my helplessness.’

Marish felt relieved by Anshu’s answer, which seemed to reflect his own ideas. But her resignation hindered further conversation on the subject. Marish sat silent, his eyes fixed on the bowl of wine on the tray. Anshu once again picked up the bowl and dutifully offered it to the guest, ‘Pray, do have some wine.’