‘Call Amma,’ she said, turning to Chhaya, ‘I am going to the palace of Prestha.’

Though the palace resounded with joy and excitement, the Chief Justice and Mahadevi had shut themselves up in their rooms, lost in anxious and dreadful thoughts. In the confusion caused by rejoicing on one side and anxiety and apprehension on the other, Divya, without informing anyone, covered the shame of her condition under a silken shawl and taking Dhata with her, set out in a palanquin for the palace of Prestha. Preparing herself for the worst, she prayed silently to the gods that Seero should not be present in the palace when she arrived. If this prayer was granted, she was ready to wash Seero’s feet for the rest of her life, like a common slave.

When she saw the palanquin of the Chief Justice’s great-granddaughter after such a long time, the Greek female doorkeeper of the inner quarters of the palace, holding a sword in her hand, respectfully bowed to Divya and said, ‘The Arya is at this time in the pleasure grove with Seero, the President’s granddaughter.’

Divya was dumbfounded. There was no point in going back. But how long could she go on waiting at the gate, and to what purpose? ‘Let the Arya know of my arrival,’ she said.

Divya sat in her palanquin waiting for an answer, like one in a daze.

The answer brought by the maidservant was conveyed to Divya by the Greek doorkeeper, ‘The Arya begs to be excused. Because of indisposition he regrets his inability to have the pleasure of receiving you.’

Divya’s ears heard the answer but her mind did not accept it. Still in shock, she stared at the doorkeeper, waiting for an answer. She was unable to think of anything to say. The tiny flame of hope which she had carried with such care, sheltering it from the winds that blew on all sides, had been extinguished by a mere puff of wind. Her eyes were wide open but they saw nothing.

Noticing Divya’s expressionless eyes riveted on the door leading to the inner palace, the worldly-wise Dhata was filled with apprehension. She ordered the bearers to take back the palanquin, lest some discourtesy be shown to Divya. It was only when the palanquin had reached the main road that Divya came to her senses. The realization of her situation brought a fresh flood of tears to her eyes. Dhata immediately lowered the curtains of the palanquin; she did not want passers-by to witness a high-born girl crying on the highway.

This action had its effect on Divya. She remembered the day when, on the evening of the Festival of Spring, she had been crowned the Daughter of Saraswati and had proudly been carried on the shoulders of the high-born young men. ‘Has it come to this that I should seek shelter behind closed curtains?’ she said to herself. Heedless of the tears that flowed down her cheeks she threw open the curtains, and wiping her eyes with a corner of her shawl, lifted her head proudly.