It did not take Prithusen long to recover his health completely, but his mind was still troubled. He would sit in the visitors’ hall staring vacantly into thin air, at other times in the interior of the palace, looking sad and disconsolate. He showed no particular enthusiasm when Seero came to him. Seero found Prithusen’s solemn bearing even more attractive. On her insistence he went out with her in a palanquin, once to Mallika’s palace and another time to the palace of the President. There was only one question weighing on his mind: Would he be able to have Divya even after marrying Seero?

He brooded long and hard over the question and then, with a resolve in mind, began to show interest in Seero and pay attention to her. One day, in an emotional outburst, he took Seero into his arms and begged her to accept Divya as a co-wife.

Seero gave a hiss like a startled snake. She wriggled out of his arms and stepped away from him. Her full red lips curled and twisted; hot tears of rage welled from her eyes.

Later on, clinging to Prithusen’s shoulder, her face streaked with the tears and kohl from her eyelashes, Seero expressed her contempt for the custom that permitted the Aryans of Jambu Dweep to have more than one wife, ‘Among the Aryans, a woman is only a slave and an object of enjoyment. I cannot share my beloved with anyone else. I want to be the only queen of the heart of my beloved and the sole mistress of my household.’

Prithusen recalled his father’s arguments and brooded long over the question. He began to regard all women with indifference, as unpleasant intrusions into the serious business of life. He was steeling his mind for the struggle ahead, and his father’s advice appeared to be a sound guideline, reflecting intelligence, foresight and much experience.

He felt that he was a mere pawn in Seero’s love game, and love, all of a sudden, seemed to be nothing more than a charade. He compared his own situation with that of the helpless and beautiful slave-girls in the households of rich nobles, who were treated merely as instruments for the satisfaction of their lust.

Divya had left Prithusen’s side in a mood of utter despair. Neither had she had a good look at him, nor exchanged a single word. ‘It will take another two or three months for him to recover,’ she said to herself, numb with apprehension. ‘What will become of me?’ Ever since Prithusen’s triumphant return, the subject of Divya’s marriage was being broached in the Chief Justice’s house as an unpleasant but unavoidable topic. Chhaya would bring her news of this. In the chambers of Pandit Vishnu Sharma and her uncle, Prabuddha Sharma, Prithusen’s family background would be discussed; her other grand-uncle, Bhrigu Sharma, adopted an attitude of cold neutrality. Mahadevi was indifferent, though she kept quiet because of the grandsire’s approval. Divya was only too willing to accept all the opposition and ill will and regard it as a blessing, but little could be done while Prithusen was on his sick bed.