But Pratool knew he could not hope to exploit Divya in this way; childbirth would deprive her of much of her charms for a long time to come. And if her child was taken away from her, she might not even survive the loss. Slaves can be tamed with the whip and through starvation, but in some situations force is of no avail. Pratool, therefore, decided to remain content with the ornaments that he had taken from Divya and to sell her off in Mathurapuri.

Pratool met another slave dealer, Bhoodhar, in Mathurapuri. He spoke to him about the problems he faced in travel, and offered to sell him an extremely beautiful, though pregnant, slave-girl from Kashmir. ‘I purchased the girl—Dara is her name—from a noble’s palace in Pushpapur for a hundred and fifty gold pieces,’ Pratool said. ‘I can easily sell her to the royal palace of Magadh for four hundred, but there is the inconvenience of travel and the girl is of a delicate constitution.’

Bhoodhar had a good look at Dara and offered to buy her for twenty pieces of gold.

‘What?’ Pratool protested, his eyes wide open in amazement at this barefaced unfairness. ‘Can’t you see the curve of her fine limbs? That smooth, pale complexion like a champa flower? What if it is a little faded because of her pregnancy? Don’t you see that for the price of one you are getting two people? And for how long will her complexion remain faded? A ruby remains a ruby even though it may be covered with dust.’ Then, putting his mouth to Bhoodhars ear, Pratool whispered, ‘Look at her eyes and her face; the marks of a thoroughbred. How is she inferior to any princess? I can tell you, four months hence, you will receive five hundred pieces of gold for her.’

‘Yes, yes, I can see how she looks,’ replied Bhoodhar, stroking his greying moustache. ‘I don’t deal in cattle and horses, I deal in human beings. I can see her bloodlines. She has been brought up on a soft bed. It’s obvious that she’s a Brahmin girl, and it’s her first pregnancy too. On top of that, she’s still weak after a long journey. But she has only to miss her footing once and my twenty gold coins will go down the drain.’

And whispering into Pratool’s ear, Bhoodhar said again, ‘Friend, gone are the days of the low-born rulers, Ajatshatru and Vrihadrath. It is Pushya Mitra, the Brahmin, who is ruling in Magadh now, and the governor of Shursen is the dreaded Ravi Sharma. If some Brahmin falls for her beauty and declares her to be a member of his family, then I am done for. I will spend my last days in prison and the state officials will torture me until they leave me just a bag of bones. Anyway, it’s unwise to take her to Magadh; you’ll be running a grave risk.’

Dara, the slave, had hardly recovered from the travails of childbirth when fate sent her to a new master.