Every few seconds Prithusen would steal a glance at Rudradhir and the other elders of the Brahmin community, who sat around Sarvarth, the great feudatory chief. They were constantly on his mind. As he had taken Amrita’s hand into his, a suspicious gesture had caught his eye. Rudradhir’s younger brother, Vasudhir, was infuriated and was about to object to his dancing with Amrita, but at a sign from his brother he fell silent. For a moment, every nerve of Prithusen’s body became alert, and this alertness dispelled the fumes of drink in his head.

With fatigue and drink, Amrita was dancing slowly. But Prithusen was quite content. It was not so much the enjoyment of the dance as the mute acceptance of the situation by Acharya Rudradhir and the other high-caste nobles that gave him the utmost satisfaction. ‘There was a time,’ he mused as he danced, ‘when in an attempt to lend a shoulder to the palanquin of a high-born girl, this very Rudradhir had insulted me. And today, right before his eyes, his sister has come to me of her own accord, and with her head on my chest and my arms round her, is dancing happily, and Rudradhir cannot so much as open his mouth. Such is the authority that power brings.’ Drugged with the sense of power, he smiled. He even made it a point to show Rudradhir that his sister was dancing in his arms. The sense of satisfaction that he experienced came not so much from his contact with Amrita’s body, as from the pride of power.

Zola was dancing with Dhriti Sharma, but she constantly followed Prithusen with her eyes. As soon as the round was over, she released herself from Dhriti Sharma’s arms and moved towards Prithusen. She threw herself down on his mattress, breathless with fatigue, reclining against a cushion. On seeing that he had become the centre of attraction for the high-born ladies, Prithusen’s heart again filled with a sense of pride.

Under the influence of drink, the guests began to show signs of listlessness. Mallika’s slave-girls, however, continued to be prompt in serving bowl after bowl of wine. Prithusen felt proud of the fact that he received the most attention. Mallika herself had offered wine to him twice. This honour was reserved only for the highest nobles.

After the slave-girls had wiped their foreheads and sprinkled perfume on them, a number of guests, including some of the ladies of the nobility, feeling languid and tired, chose to sit against the cushions sipping their wine. Others went into the garden to find a corner to rest amidst the malati creepers.

When the orchestra began to play again, Prithusen gently touched Zola, who sat by his side, lazily reclining against him. Zola did not move. Prithusen bent down a little and looked into her eyes. She was not fit to dance any more. Prithusen too did not get up to dance. Mallika sent one of her slave-girls with two fresh bowls of cold wine to them. They thanked Mallika heartily, accepted the bowls of wine, and with their eyes resting on the dancers, snuggled closely together.