On recognizing Divya in Ratnaprabha’s concert hall, Rudradhir had sat frozen for several moments. When he recovered, his old days in Sagal came back to his mind with extreme vividness. The dances of Anshumala and Muktavali and the singing of Ratnaprabha ceased to have any interest for him. In his imagination, he began to see Divya in the palace of the Chief Justice, in the concert hall of Devi Mallika, and in numerous other places.

He was returning to that very city of Sagal. He had taken a solemn vow to re-establish the eminence of twice-born Brahmins, and end the rule of barbarians, slaves, and men of low birth. Divya herself had been cruelly deceived and cast out by the son of a slave, Prithusen. That affront was symbolic of all the insults hurled at Brahmins. By restoring Divya to her rightful place, he would show Prithusen and the people of Madra who were the victors and who the vanquished.

But Divya’s attitude and behaviour demolished the grand design that he was shaping in his imagination. With a deep sigh, he tried to rid himself of the hope that he had been nurturing secretly in his heart. ‘That soft-spoken and timid Divya, the high-born Brahmin maiden that I had once desired, does not exist any more,’ he tried to tell himself. But this attempt at self-deception could not conceal the reality before his eyes.

In the mansion of Acharya Suchit, the midnight religious service ended to the sound of bells, gongs and conch shells. Soon the household settled into stillness. In every room of the palace, the inmates slept soundly, and the sound of their even breathing filled the air and seemed to deepen the still of the night. This quiet was broken only by the calls of the night watchman, who, in an effort to ward off sleep, shouted to the others to keep awake and alert. For Rudradhir there was no rest. He tossed about in the comfortable bed provided by his kind host. All the means of inducing sleep had proven ineffective. Delicious food and fragrant wines he pushed aside with distaste. Even the services of a supple and experienced slave-girl did not bring rest to his body, tired as it was after his long journey.

He mulled over Divya’s professional courtesy and her indifference to her past. That he should have been treated like an ordinary visitor to whom such formal courtesies were extended, seemed like a personal insult to Rudradhir. Again and again her words rang in his ears: ‘This house would always be honoured by serving so distinguished a guest. Your humble servant would only be too pleased at a further visit.’ It appeared to him as though a brazen prostitute was dancing shamelessly on the dead body of a gentle, pure, high-born maiden.

At Acharya Suchit’s palace, he heard frequent praise of Anshumala. Such comments appeared to him to be insulting and demeaning to a noble Brahmin girl. ‘A courtesan has to make herself attractive to others,’ he tried to reassure himself. But Aniruddha, the son of his host, who was of the same age as Rudradhir, expressed his dislike of her. ‘Anshumala is interesting only from a distance,’ he said. ‘Otherwise she is nothing but a puppet, devoid of human qualities. Her charm and smiles are only a part of her routine. She is too detached and indifferent to be a true artiste. She titillates your senses, but offers no satisfaction.’