After a brief interval, during which the audience relaxed a little, Madulika presented a dance titled ‘The Maiden Keeping her Tryst’, which she had specially prepared for the occasion. This was followed by Kusumsena’s rendering of ‘Urvashi’s Love Plaint’ and finally Divya stepped forward to present ‘The Swan’s Surrender’. Since a fortnight, Devi Mallika had been preparing Divya for the dance, while training the musicians in the intricate modulations of the musical accompaniments.

Divya was dressed in a white costume resembling the plumage of a swan. Her diaphanous stole hung on her soft, shapely arms, like the wings of marali, the swan maiden. Her searching eyes looked anxious and perplexed. Thrilled at her beloved’s presence, the marali, flapping her wings in impetuous enthusiasm, rushed in the direction of the swan’s call. But hardly had she gone a few steps when she got caught in the net of a hunter.

The swan continued to call. Each note made the imprisoned marali restless and desperate. She struggled with all her might to free herself. But despair and helplessness were her only rewards. Still she struggled, in a bid to throw off her bindings. But to no avail. The call of the swan, once so thrilling and provocative, now became a source of intense suffering to her. She would feebly raise her head every time the call was heard, and merely flutter her wings in helplessness.

The swan then appeared on the stage, played by Devi Mallika herself. Ignoring the net in which the marali was held, the male glided into it, getting trapped. The marali was overwhelmed. In the ecstatic moment of reunion, they forgot their captivity in sweet abandon. A brood of young swans, born of this union, flew out in different directions.

The sky rang with the enthusiastic applause of the audience. The roof of the marquee shook and the flames of the torches trembled. From among the audience, a Buddhist monk, dressed in russet robes, stood up with his hand raised and cried, ‘May the wise ones see and understand. Caught in the throes of maya, the individual has a false sense of happiness.’

Devi Mallika stood near her seat acknowledging the ovation of the audience. She looked at the bhikshu without much interest. The members of the Council, the distinguished guests and others, all turned their eyes towards him.

In the ensuing silence, a loud voice was heard, ‘Even when the individual has a false sense of sorrow, the eternal activity of life continues in much the same way. Renunciation is nothing but self-deception by the timid. Life moves on; this is the irrevocable and indubitable truth.’

The arena echoed with laughter. The person who had thus replied was none other than young Marish, the master sculptor of Sagal—son of the trader Pushyakant—who had been censured for his public profession of atheistic and immoral views.

After consultation with Devi Mallika and the Council, the President awarded the title of Daughter of Saraswati to Divya, the great-granddaughter of the Chief Justice of the Republic. In turn, Divya presented the flower coronet to young Prithusen, the best swordsman. Both the prizewinners, in their distinctive costumes, looked the embodiment of their respective arts.