Devi Ratnaprabha, together with Anshumala and other pupils, state officials, feudatory chiefs and business magnates, was present at the city gate to receive her teacher. As Mallika’s chariot, its flag with the emblem of a crocodile flying, appeared in a cloud of dust, the sound of conch shells and other instruments filled the air and shouts of joy rose to the sky.

As Devi Mallika alighted from her chariot, Ratnaprabha welcomed her and performed the arati ceremony by moving a golden tray, laden with one hundred and one lighted lamps, in a circle round her teacher and presented her with a platter filled with jewels.

Smiling, Devi Mallika declined the offer. ‘Daughter, a devotee of art does not desire jewels which shine with borrowed light. To her, only those jewels are precious which emit their own light. Today I have come to ask for such a jewel. Give it to me either as a present or as charity.’

For a moment, Ratnaprabha stood lost in thought. The gentry and the citizens looked on in surprise. Then, with bowed head and joined hands, she replied, ‘Mother, you have only to command. Whatever I am, and whatever I possess, have been bestowed upon me by Goddess Saraswati through your grace.’ Kneeling on the ground, she placed her forehead at Mallika’s feet.

Mallika put her hand on Ratnaprabha’s pearl-decked hair and blessed her, ‘Daughter of the Goddess of Art, may you enjoy forever the blessings of knowledge, renown and wealth. Your teacher has come to ask you, to give her in charity, her pupil’s pupil—Anshumala.’

Hearing Mallika’s words, Ratnaprabha stood up. Taking Anshumala by the hand, she pulled her forward and sat her at the feet of Mallika, and in a voice choked with emotion, said, ‘Mother, she too was bestowed by you. Who but Goddess Saraswati herself is capable of conferring a boon like her?’

A shout of joy rent the air. People cheered on all sides. Conch shells and the triumphal drums began to play. In the midst of that tumult, lifting Anshumala’s head, Mallika looked at the face of the one for whom she had yearned for so long.

For a few moments, she stood transfixed. Her breath came in short gasps. Suddenly, her eyes welled with tears. Holding Anshumala tightly to her breast, Mallika cried out, ‘Divya! Divya! My child, the child of my soul!’

To give up Anshumala was, for Ratnaprabha, like giving up everything. But just as a mother sending away her daughter after marriage lends to the pangs of separation a festive look, in the same way, Ratnaprabha handed over her friend, her sister, her daughter Anshumala to Devi Mallika, in the hope and confidence of a brighter future for her protégée.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she went as far as the city gate to bid farewell to Anshumala. Huge crowds gathered on all sides. The entire population of Mathurapuri was saddened by its separation from Anshumala, but it had the satisfaction of fulfilling the wish of the foremost Laureate of Art, Devi Mallika. Anshumala’s chariot was filled with jewels and ornaments presented by her admirers and the lovers of her artistry.