‘What are you saying, child?’ Dhata repeated, clasping Divya to her heart, her tears wetting Divya’s hair. ‘Will you pass your life on the roads and in the streets? You have never so much as touched a pot or a pan with your hand; your feet have never trodden on the ground; you have never experienced heat or cold—and you will work as a drudge? My precious one, the world is full of ruffians and dangerous people. How can you live alone in the street or the desolate forest?’

‘What way out is there for me, Amma?’ Divya asked. ‘I don’t have to fear anyone. And who is there that I am afraid of? To be afraid of Vrik, the matal? I was not afraid of Prithusen. Why should I be afraid of Vrik? What is a woman, after all? Vrik was right, Amma. All men are alike, so far as women are concerned—tough and unbending Rudradhir, sensitive Prithusen, the outspoken Marish and Vrik the matal. Who can a woman depend upon, when she is born to serve merely as an object of enjoyment? She will continue to be merely an object of pleasure. My great-grandfather, my grand-uncle wanted to marry me off to Rudradhir. I, of my own accord, surrendered myself to Prithusen, and this is the result. What is the way out for me, Amma?’

Holding Divya close to her breast, Dhata went on weeping silently. Then, her voice cracked with tears and broken by sobs, she said, ‘My child, my mistress, how can I let you go alone in this world inhabited as it is by wild creatures? My jewel, your servant will follow you about like a shadow. For a girl as tender as you are, childbirth will be an ordeal. The servant’s place is always with her mistress. How can I leave you in misfortune and suffer for this sin in the next life? I’ve seen something of the world; I’ve seen good days and bad; I’ve seen a great deal of craftiness and duplicity. You are very innocent, child. Your mother left you in my care. In your days of difficulty, your Amma will always remain by your side, sheltering you as best as she can.’

Divya and Dhata sat in the garden for an hour or so. Then, when the concert at Vasumitra’s palace was over and the assembly dispersed, they left through the back door, avoiding the palanquin-bearers at the main entrance, and once again plunged into the labyrinth of the dark lanes of the city. Divya finding it difficult to walk because of her delicate condition soon expressed the desire that they should go and spend the night in some inn.

‘Child, without a man to accompany you, it is risky to go to an inn,’ Dhata explained. ‘The state officials may put inconvenient questions to you. Moreover, when the bearers take the empty palanquin back to the palace, a desperate search will begin for you.’

It was nearing midnight and a pall of darkness covered the town. Only occasionally, through windows and from terraces, glimmers could be seen. There was light, however, in front of wine shops and in the prostitutes’ quarters. Divya and Dhata were afraid that they might be recognized. In the darkness, fear of the unknown troubled them. Fear, in fact, surrounded them on all sides—fear of man! At that hour of the night, only men were to be seen on the roads; men such as those who could only bring trouble for women. If there were any women, they were prostitutes. To stop at any place in the street would arouse curiosity and suspicion.