Ratnaprabha stood there with her companion for a long time, her hand on her chin, contemplating this work of art. Marish, too, stood there in silence.

‘Is this work finished, Arya?’ Ratnaprabha finally asked.

‘As far as my intention is concerned, yes, it is complete. Devi.’

‘I think it shows only part of the body of a woman and not the complete woman.’

Running his fingers through his unruly hair, Marish replied, ‘You may be right, but that very part of a woman’s body invites a man for the fulfilment of her womanhood and, then, nurses the fruit of that fulfilment.’

Ratnaprabha nodded to acknowledge Marish’s serious tone. ‘Arya, you have tried, then, to express an eternal truth about womanhood.’

Muktavali turned her face aside to hide her smile. Anshumala was looking thoughtfully at the panel cut in the rock. Marish’s words rang in her ears, ‘… which is the primeval power of creation in woman’.

That night again Anshu could not sleep, her heart thudding, as she pondered on what had become the fulfilment of her own life and the price that she had to pay for it. Every now and then she would heave a sigh and promise herself that she would remain unshaken in her resolve.

Next morning, heavy and inert from lack of sleep, Anshu went into the garden for a breath of fresh air, and sat down under the blooming kadamb¹ tree. Seeing Marish coming towards her, she felt unsure of herself but greeted him politely, ‘I hope the Arya is in good health.’

Marish stopped and leaned against the tree trunk. His eyes looked heavy and red. He noticed Anshu’s tired eyes, ‘Lady, it seems that you’ve perhaps had too much on your mind to sleep soundly.’

‘You’ve guessed rightly, Arya,’ Anshumala admitted, with her head bowed, forgetting to observe the courtesy of a smile.

‘But, lady, a conflict never ends unless the problem is resolved. Especially if the problem involves a return to the natural assertion of the normal ways of life. The suppression and destruction of a natural instinct is no solution.’

‘For me there is no other way except to suppress my desires and to destroy my inner self.’

‘For what reason, may I ask?’

‘Arya, I am frightened. All my experiences in life have done nothing but terrify me,’ Anshu’s voice shook as she looked around nervously.

Marish stood away from the tree and faced her, ‘Lady, no experience in life is final. Life is measured in time and time is a continuous flow. All kinds of events—good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant, occur in this flow. This continuity is the only unchanging and certain thing in nature and the universe. But to step out of the current of life and to go against the natural appetite for life, simply because of a sequence of unfortunate occurrences is nothing but obstinacy to my mind.’

‘Arya, I tried, but I have failed.’

‘Lady, the circumstances in which you failed have all but disappeared. Ceaseless effort alone is the sign of life. The failure of one attempt does not mean the failure of one’s entire life.’