Divya recalled that on the previous night, the Acharya’s son, Rudradhir, had drawn his sword for the honour of being one of the bearers of her palanquin. Rudradhir had often been seen in the reception room of the palace, or at the evening gatherings. He always found the presence of Marish insufferable and would inject his conversation with bitterness. Her great-grandfather shut his eyes to this. Her grand-uncle, Vishnu Sharma, disgusted with Marish’s impertinence, would remain silent, and a smile of amusement would begin to play on the face of her uncle, Prabuddha Sharma. In his arrogant indifference, Marish would just laugh. Divya was both annoyed and curious at the antagonism between Rudradhir and Marish.

Rudradhir had been married two years earlier, but had later developed an infatuation for Divya. Though she held the Acharya’s family in great regard, Divya was not pleased at the prospect of becoming a mere second wife. Absorbed in such reflections, she waited for the evening.

A maidservant approached her and said, ‘Grandsire has asked for you, my lady.’ When Divya went to meet her great-grandfather the old sage fondly put his hand on Divya’s head and said, ‘Shrambak, the doorkeeper, informs me that someone has come to meet me in a chariot, and is presently waiting at the gate. I am somewhat tired after the strain of working late into the night. Can you go and receive this visitor and enquire from him the purpose of his visit?’

Divya proceeded directly to the reception room, followed by a maidservant carrying the welcome offerings and tambool¹ on a silver platter. A tall, well-built Kshatriya youth, fair-complexioned like a Greek noble, but with eyes dark like those of a Brahmin, entered through the main gate, looking solemn and serious. He was dressed rather carelessly in expensive silken clothes. Divya did not take long to recognize him. He was none other than Prithusen, the champion swordsman of the previous night’s contest.

Divya greeted the youth by holding her palms together and touching her forehead. ‘Pray, come in,’ she said, and taking the platter from the maidservant’s hand, offered it to the visitor, ‘Please, Arya, partake of these.’

The visitor, looking distraught, acknowledged the greeting and before accepting the offering, said, ‘Gentle lady, I am Prithusen, son of Prestha, the merchant. I have come to beg for justice at the hands of the Chief Justice.’

From a cage hanging in the entrance of the reception room, a mynah cried out, ‘Men of firm resolve never stray from the path of justice!’

The hospitable smile on Divya’s face broadened into laughter at the words of the garrulous bird. ‘Pray, do partake of the offering,’ she said reassuringly to the visitor. ‘You will not have to return disappointed from the House of Justice. Even the unlettered mynah bears testimony to this.’

‘I have complete faith in the assurance given by you,’ said Prithusen in a voice tinged with humility. Sitting down on a seat indicated by Divya, he took the betel nut from the platter.