The highway was brightly lit and Dhata told the bearers to take the palanquin home by some other route.

The bearers left the brightly lit main street, with shops and houses crowded with people and took to a dark lane, which passed through a poorer district. The lane was almost deserted, as the business of the day had ceased with sunset. The bearers had no torches and had to shout as they went along, ‘Look out! Clear the way! Step aside!’ to the strollers who were walking right in the middle of the road.

Suddenly, someone was heard calling, ‘Who’s there who wants us to get off the road?’

Right in the middle of the dark, narrow alleyway, a shadowy figure stood with head erect and his chest thrust out. In his outstretched right hand he held a bowl of wine and with his left hand he beat his chest again and again, as though challenging someone. Two more men, with wine bowls in their hands, swayed on unsteady legs on either side of him.

‘Captain Vrik … here’s a p-pretty damsel … a palanquin-riding p-prostitute!’ shouted one of them with glee.

The palanquin-bearers pricked up their ears. ‘Matals!¹ A band of matals! There will be trouble!’ they whispered to one another.

Dhata too shrank within herself with fear, but admonished them in a firm voice, ‘Leave the road for the palanquin of the noble lady to pass, matal!’

Instead of withdrawing, the matals, attracted by the female voice, moved towards the palanquin. Tottering under the influence of wine, they yelled lustily, ‘Friend Vrik … a … p-pretty girl … pretty!’

Twirling his long moustache with his left hand, Vrik said, ‘Vrik was only looking for you, my pretty, after drinking a few bowls of wine … And you refused to take him in your arms because he had no money, eh?’

A shiver ran through Divya’s body. Dhata rebuked the man more harshly than before, ‘Matal, make way for the palanquin of the noble lady!’

Emboldened by Dhata’s voice, Divya too called, ‘Leave the path, citizen!’

‘Matal? Who is a matal?’ Vrik shouted back. ‘Captain Vrik drinks good wine, high-class wine, in the company of friends and then sleeps with high-class prostitutes.’

‘Matal, you will pay dearly for your insolence to the high-born lady!’ Dhata’s voice shook with fear.

Vrik, with his friends, advanced towards the palanquin and said jeeringly, ‘Ha, ha, the high-born! … Money alone is high-born! Who dares call the soldiers of Commander Prithusen low-born? These soldiers bared their breast to the swords of the enemy. What does a woman’s family matter? A woman takes the family name of the man who enjoys her. Vrik has put his heel on the throats of the high-born nobles of Darva and has snatched a hundred gold pieces from them.’

He gulped a mouthful of wine. ‘That money is not yet spent. Vrik has enjoyed the high-born beauties of Darva, trembling in their own silver bedsteads! Tell me your price, high-born woman! Even if you are Vasumitra or Mallika, the power of my gold will disarm your sword-carrying doorkeepers. You will yourself come begging for my favour. Pretty one, my mouth does not smell of cheap meraya. It has the sweet odour of wine made of the finest grapes, as sweet as the scent of your body after you are bathed and sprayed with perfume.’