The members of the Council looked at each other while the crowd looked at the nobles. The President remained standing on the platform.

Addressing the audience once again, he said, ‘I would like the Council to give its decision in the matter. Shall I take it that the Council will give me a chance to rectify my mistake?’

Noticing that many people nodded their heads in agreement, the President went on, ‘I, Mithrodus, President of the Republic of Madra, do hereby accept the rectification in the judgement given by me as the Commander-in-Chief. If any honourable member has any objection, he may speak up.’

He then resumed his seat. A hush fell over the Council, as an indistinct hum arose from the audience, indicating approval of the President’s action.

Once again the trumpet rang out, and the sound of numerous musical instruments—the lute, veena,¹ flute, kettledrums, cymbals and tambourine—filled the air; the dance and music performances were about to begin. When the instruments were tuned, Mallika, surrounded by her large troupe of pupils, looking resplendent like the moon among the stars, sang the prelude in a voice that would have been the envy of a nightingale. As the prelude came to an end, her pupils joined in, and the marquee resounded with their song. Devi Mallika conducted their choral cadence with arms as graceful as lotus stems. The crowd seemed borne aloft on the waves of music. Even when the raga came to an end, the crowd sat silent and transfixed like Sheshnaag, the thousand-headed serpent.

The orchestra started to play the shataji raga. At a sign from Mallika, Madulika began to sing. She was followed by Kusumsena, Divya and Vasumitra the dancer, accompanied by her group. The audience sat on in quiet, collective enchantment.

Devi Mallika rose from her seat, and in a voice ringing with gratitude, said, ‘With the permission of the distinguished and appreciative audience, we would now like to end the music event and move on to the dance contest.’

Released from the spell cast by the music, the audience breathed more easily. The torches had dimmed, but the people were so lost in the music that they did not notice the failing light. The torch-bearers found time to replenish the oil and the stage was again filled with bright light. The instruments broke into a different tune. Flanked on both sides by her pupils, Mallika stepped to the front of the stage. The eyes of the spectators were riveted on her. She started her recital with the raas¹ dance. It seemed as though a constellation of stars had begun to swirl. The next dance was of an allegorical nature, with Mallika as Indra, the Lord of Rain, and her pupils enacting the role of the rain-thirsty earth, the plants and the living creatures of the world.

The pupils prayed for rain by adopting different dance postures, making their Lord the centre of their devotion. In the beginning Indra remained unmoved. But soon, their supplications enhanced by their grace and beauty, aroused such irresistible compassion that Indra relented and burst into rain showers. Mother Earth and her children were satiated. The spectators, surrendering their senses to the magical spell of art, sat with their mouths open, silent and still.