Out of regard for his father, Prithusen made no reply, but began to feel all the more restless at heart. Divya would appear before him in many enchanting images: Divya dancing, her arms weaving sinuous gestures, her full bosom heaving above her slender waist, her shapely, supple thighs, showing under a tightly wound silken sari, her soft, oval face, her curved red lips, her sensitive nostrils, her large, trusting eyes; Divya on the day of their first meeting, her easy amiability; Divya with her eyes moist at finding him restless and impatient; Divya putting her head on his chest and murmuring words of reassurance. How his heart would throb at the touch of her limbs, her devotion and surrender on the night of his departure for the battle front! And his whole body would quiver with desire.

He yearned for Divya’s company, but then like a wave that breaks against the shore and then recedes, his mind, frustrated by his helplessness, would drift off to other things. ‘Why has she become indifferent to me? Was there such callousness behind that tenderness and grace! Her charm and softness, then, were as meaningless as the beauty of the moon reflected in the shallow waters of a stream.’

Seero was very loving towards him, yet he ignored her. Sometimes this indifference would embarrass him. But, then he would tell himself: ‘No, no, Divya must become mine.’ With his eyes on the ceiling he would think again and again of those moments of intimacy, when he was eager and Divya reluctant, and later, when she gave herself up to him, in his moments of extreme agitation. He would recall those times and ask himself: ‘How could she be so fickle?’

His father praised Seero to him, for was she not the granddaughter of the President of the Republic? Prithusen guessed his father’s intentions and one day said despondently, ‘Father, I have pledged my word to the Chief Justice’s great-granddaughter and I love her deeply. It is not possible for me to think of any other woman.’

The old magnate’s hand paused in the act of combing his beard. The furrows on his forehead deepened, tightly set in determination, but a smile still played on his lips. Turning to Chir, the attendant slave, who was fanning them with a large palmyra leaf, he said, ‘Let Vak take your place now.’

Vak, another slave in the household, was both deaf and dumb. He was kept to act as an attendant whenever confidential discussions took place. Prithusen sensed that his father proposed to discuss the subject seriously. He decided to remain firm in his resolve.

As the magnate talked, a smile continued to flicker in his eyes and on his lips, ‘My son, with young men, passion for women is always strong. But passion is one thing, and life quite another. Life is like a vessel full of water, whereas passion is like the bubbles that rise in it. To achieve success in life, it sometimes becomes necessary to suppress passion, similar to a medicine that may be unpalatable, but still has to be taken in the interest of health. You have abundant means at your disposal, and can pay court to any number of pretty women for the satisfaction of your desires. But let marriage be an instrument for the achievement of success and power. It is power alone that gives a man the right to enjoy and desire.’