She sat up, throwing the silken cover from her. ‘Listen, Chhaya, what is the time now?’

Chhaya had followed her mistress to the bedchamber. She was still weaving her garlands, reclining against Divya’s bedpost. Her eyes rested on the flowers, but she was lost in her own thoughts. Hearing her name called so abruptly, she roused herself with a start, and looked out of the door. She said, ‘It is nearly sunset, my lady. Shall I dress you now?’

‘No. Well, yes … you may,’ Divya replied, absent-mindedly, her eyes half-closed, her chin resting on the palm of her hand.

‘My lady, will you be so kind as to permit me to accompany you to the reception hall? I shall carry the offerings,’ Chhaya said, an appeal in her eyes.

‘You’re really shameless,’ said Divya, heaving a deep sigh and getting out of bed. ‘Go to the doorkeeper and tell him to get the chariot ready.’

Without waiting for the chariot to be brought to the gate, Divya left the interior of the palace and passing by the reception hall, went straight towards the main gate.

‘Tell Mahadevi that I am going to Devi Mallika’s,’ she told Chhaya, as the latter followed her carrying a silken shawl and a few garlands on her arm.

On her way to the main gate, Divya met Taruk, an aged, dim-eyed servant.

‘I hope you are in good health, Uncle?’ she asked smiling, feeling his intent gaze upon her.

‘May you live long, Mistress,’ stammered Taruk, his voice breaking with affection, as he recognized Divya. ‘May you reign supreme in your father-in-law’s house. It is many days since I set eyes on you. In which direction are you going?’

‘I am going to Devi Mallika’s, Uncle.’

Stepping close to Divya and gazing intently into her face, his eyes feeble with age, Taruk said, ‘My little mistress is looking very tired and depressed. Is it because she has kept away from dance and music for a long time?’

Divya did not know what to say. Glancing towards the reception hall she said abruptly, ‘Where’s Chhaya, I wonder?’ Then her eyes fell on Chhaya who stood concealed behind a vine arbour. Bahul, the chief-slave was with her, standing close to her. Turning her eyes away from them, she said, ‘Why is the chariot so late in coming, Uncle?’

‘Shall I go and find out at the gate, Mistress?’

Without answering or looking behind her, Divya proceeded towards the gate. Chhaya hastened after her and in order to help her mistress onto the chariot, she gathered and held Divya’s flowing garments as she climbed in.

The road was uneven and the horses galloped at top speed, the chariot swaying from side to side. ‘You must be happy at heart, my lady, that you are going to Devi Mallika’s after such a long interval,’ Chhaya said, trying to divert Divya from her listlessness. Lost in her own thoughts Divya took Chhaya’s words as a link in the chain of her own, and as though talking to herself, said, ‘Yes, but I don’t know whether he will be there or not.’