Rudradhir’s demeanour remained as serious and self-important as ever.

‘Perhaps you remember,’ he said, ‘that I was banished from Madra for a period of two thousand days. It is only occasionally that I get any news of Sagal. I spent much of my time in Magadh, and it was there that I heard about the great fame of Devi Anshumala. On my way back home, I thought I would have the pleasure of seeing her. But what I see before me is beyond my wildest imagination.’

Trying to keep the smile on her lips, Anshumala said, ‘Arya, the river, when it springs from its source, does not know in which direction it will flow, or with which ocean it will merge.’

Anshumala’s coolness nettled Rudradhir and he decided to probe a little, ‘News reached me of the marriage of the slave-born Prithusen with Seero, the granddaughter of the President, and also the rumours of your untimely death. Is it that you have been reborn as Anshumala in the same body?’

Anshumala remained unruffled. ‘You have guessed correctly,’ she smiled.

Her indifference still irritated Rudradhir. ‘It must be so,’ he said, with his head lowered, then suddenly lifting it and looking straight into Anshu’s eyes, he added, ‘I also heard that the grandsire, the Chief Justice, died out of grief for the loss of his great-granddaughter.’ Then as if feeling ashamed of what he had said, he lowered his eyes and added in a faint voice, ‘My father, the Acharya, is also dead. He died of some stomach ailment.’

‘They were both fine people,’ Anshumala said, after a brief pause. ‘Everyone loved them. They were worthy of the respect of the gods, and that is why they were summoned to heaven.’ She continued with a slight change in her tone, ‘I hope your sojourn here was not too uncomfortable. Magadh is a large and prosperous kingdom known for its grandeur, but naturally, no place can compare with one’s home. I wish you a pleasant return journey.’

Rudradhir was overwhelmed on seeing Divya after such a long time, but the same could not be said of his meeting Anshu. Baffled and crestfallen, Rudradhir looked for a way out of the embarrassing situation. ‘It is getting late,’ he said. ‘May I be permitted to leave? If I stay on in Mathurapuri for a few more days, I would like to have the pleasure of seeing you again.’

‘That would indeed be very kind of you,’ Anshumala replied, joining her palms in farewell. ‘This house would always be honoured by serving so distinguished a guest. Your humble servant would only be too pleased at a further visit.’

In Mathurapuri, Rudradhir was staying as a guest in the palace of Acharya Suchit, the savant. One of the reasons for his visit was to see Anshumala, the famed pupil of the court dancer of Shursen. In Anshumala he met Divya, an old love, who had supposedly died years ago, and his feelings for her revived. But her attitude and manner disconcerted him. Beneath her polite smiles and elaborate courtesies, he saw the professional politeness of a courtesan; a demeanour, to his mind, most unbecoming for the high-born Brahmin girl his Divya had been. Rudradhir’s mind was torn between love and revulsion.