An hour of daylight remains. Kishori is sitting in her usual garden—the one whose description we have given above—upon the roof of a chamber, leaning against a pillow, surrounded by seven or eight companions, gazing up at the sky with a melancholy air. The fragrant gusts of wind try to cheer her, but she is so lost in her own thoughts that she has no awareness of the world around her. In the west, the sky is tinged with crimson. Dark clouds are rising upwards, in which, moment by moment, various shapes appear and, before one's eyes, change and vanish. Just now, that patch of cloud looked like a mountain peak; suddenly, the form of a lion appeared upon it. Look, the lion's neck stretched so long that it clearly became the shape of a camel, and in the blink of an eye, it took the form of an elephant, showing its trunk. Behind it, the figure of a soldier holding a gun appeared, but before he could lower his weapon, he himself dissolved into smoke and spread out.

Who knows how many people are delighting in this play of the clouds at this very moment, but Kishori's heart only beats faster as she watches. At times, her head feels as heavy as a mountain; sometimes the face of Madhavi the enchantress comes to mind; sometimes she remembers the mischiefs of Bakar Ali the ostrich-keeper; sometimes the memory of her father, always ready to take a life with gun in hand, torments her.

Several days have passed since Kamla left; she has not yet returned. This worry has made Kishori all the more sorrowful. Slowly, evening falls. Her companions remain seated close by, but apart from sighing deeply, Kishori speaks to no one, and they too remain silent, not daring to break the hush.

As night advances, the clouds gather thickly, and a storm begins to blow. Kishori descends from the rooftop and goes to lie down inside the chamber, upon her bed beneath the mosquito net. After a short while, the curtain of the main door is drawn aside, and Kamla appears, in her true form.

Kishori was growing despondent at Kamla's delay. The moment she saw her, she rose from the bed, stepped forward, embraced Kamla, and seated her beside herself on the cushion. After exchanging greetings, their conversation began—

Kishori: Tell me, sister, what all have you accomplished in these days? Did you meet with him or not?

Kamla: Why wouldn't I meet him? After all, that was the very purpose of my going!

Kishori: Did he ask about me at all?

Kamla: He is ready to lay down his life for you—would he not even inquire after your well-being? In just a day or two, you shall meet him yourself.

Kishori (happily): Truly! Swear to me by my own life, do not lie to me!

Kamla: Do you really believe I would lie to you?

Kishori: No, no, I don't think that at all, but I