Still feeling uncomfortable, Divya let down her hair, spread it on the pillow and said, ‘There are dozens of maidservants in his palace. Can’t there be a place for me?’

Chhaya could no longer hold back her sobs. It was impossible for her to answer. Muffling her mouth with a corner of her shawl, and covering her face, she huddled up on the floor against Divya’s bed, feeling as if her heart would burst. She remained for long in that position. Fearing that her sobs and cries might add to her mistress’s grief, she did not look into her face to see if she was asleep or awake. At last she dozed off. The cold wind blowing through the vents, made her clasp her arms round her knees, and like a dog attached to its master through bonds of love, lay down on the floor by her mistress’s bed.

When she woke up, it was already broad daylight. Ashamed of having slept so long, she sat up. The bright, cheering rays of a frosty winter sun lit up Divya’s pale face. She was in a deep sleep, breathing evenly. Careful lest she should wake her up, Chhaya tiptoed out of the room and made for Dhriti Sharma’s quarters across the lawns to tell her mother of Divya’s anguish.

Dhriti Sharma’s young wife, Moksha, was passing through the travail of her first childbirth and, therefore, Dhata, the experienced midwife, was in constant attendance. In the fresh light of the early morning, drops of dew glistened on the grass and the arbours. To the depressed Chhaya it seemed as though, like her mistress and herself, nature too had been shedding tears all night.

Moksha’s condition was serious. Mahadevi and the other ladies of the household, Amita, Tara and Uma, had gathered in the chambers of Dhriti Sharma. Outside, Dhriti Sharma was anxiously discussing something with Vinay Sharma. Dhata was holding Moksha in her arms, attempting to comfort her as each convulsion of pain gripped her. Wrapped in a silken shawl, Mahadevi sat on a low stool nearby. The young matrons, unconcerned with Moksha’s pain, were deeply engrossed in conversation, as though glad to use this occasion to exchange gossip.

‘And what have you to say about Divya’s so-called indisposition? All the symptoms point to pregnancy,’ Chhaya heard Amita say, in a secretive tone, yet loud enough to be heard easily.

Chhaya had bowed her head to touch the floor in salutation to Mahadevi, when these words fell on her ears like a thunderbolt. She raised her eyes, and saw that Mahadevi had forgotten to acknowledge her salutations and was staring hard at Amita’s face with her old lustreless eyes, her mouth agape.

Holding her breath, Chhaya quickly returned to Divya’s room. Her mistress lay peacefully asleep as before, her rounded bosom rising and falling with her quiet breathing. In her agitation, Chhaya went round Divya’s bed and stared at her face. She had no heart to awaken her. Yet how could she keep from her this terrible news?