That evening Anshumala was dancing, enacting the lovelorn chakore,¹ waiting for her mate, eager to consummate their love before the setting of the moon. The entire audience watched her every gesture and step with rapt attention. In her outstretched arms, in her fingers, eyes, lips, subtle tremors expressed the agony of the bird. As the performance reached its climax, the audience held their breath, such was the intensity of her rendition.

The dance over, Anshu paused for breath. The musicians put aside their instruments to wipe the perspiration from their brows. Overwhelmed with the performance, the connoisseurs began to lay gold coins, jewels and ornaments in front of Ratnaprabha’s seat. With a smile on her lips, Anshu acknowledged the gifts. Just then a heavy pearl necklace, thrown from one side of the hall, fell near Anshu’s feet.

The audience was struck dumb at the magnificence of the pearls. Vinayak, the merchant, who sat nearby, stared wide-eyed. ‘Worth at least one thousand gold pieces,’ he exclaimed.

Heads turned to look at the person who had thrown the necklace. Anshu too noticed Rudradhir, who stood with his chest thrust out in a challenging stance. She had been placing the presents from her admirers in front of Devi Ratnaprabha, but she kept the necklace in her hand, after touching it once to her forehead as a token of acknowledgment.

Even after the audience had dispersed, Rudradhir did not address himself to Anshumala. With a drawn look on his face, he remained in his seat.

Holding the necklace in her hand, Anshu went over to him, a smile of gratitude playing on her lips.

‘Of course you are satisfied today, now that you have received your price,’ Rudradhir said to himself.

‘Your humble servant will remain ever grateful to the Arya for this precious gift, offered as a token of his love for art,’ Anshumala said politely.

Rudradhir smiled nonchalantly.

‘At home in Sagal, you could give hundreds of such gifts,’ Anshumala continued, ‘but here, in a foreign land and in times of difficulty, I would beg of you not to part with something that you may need.’

‘Why, is this small gift not worthy of your acceptance?’ Rudradhir asked, with an edge to his voice. He added harshly, ‘Or is it that no gift is good enough for a person who has taken up the profession of a courtesan?’

‘No Arya,’ Anshumala was still smiling. ‘Your humble servant is obliged to you for your generosity and kind thoughts. She honours these sentiments,’ she said, touching the necklace to her forehead. ‘But I am returning the gift, which is only the outward symbol of those sentiments. From a tray of offerings, the offerings are taken away but the tray is returned. I do this also because you happen to be in a foreign country.’

Suddenly Anshu, with her impudent smile and mannered gestures, took on an aura of innocence in Rudradhir’s eyes. A shiver ran along his spine and a lump came to his throat, which he was unable to swallow. A surge of emotions warmed his body. Putting his hot hand on the cool arm of a smiling Anshu, Rudradhir said in a voice thick with passion, ‘Devi, to me you are still the daughter of a great Brahmin family. Seven years ago, I myself, son of the Acharya and the owner of an estate, went to your parents and asked for your hand. Devi, since you are independent now, Rudradhir is asking for your hand in person from you. He will take back to Sagal what belongs to Sagal, the light that will illuminate every corner of the city.’