The ayyars, carrying the wounded Indrajit Singh, made their way far from that place, while poor Kishori was carried off by the wicked Agniddatt to his own house. Witnessing all this, Tilottama slipped away and entered a room inside the garden. She saw that the door to the tunnel was open, and the key was lying on the ground nearby. She picked up the key and, closing the door behind her, proceeded through the tunnel to Madhavi. Madhavi's condition at this moment was dire. She was certain that the Diwan Sahib's secret must have been completely exposed, and, terrified, she was convinced that there was no hope left for her. For, through long neglect, the Diwan Sahib had managed to seize control over all the people and the army.

As soon as Tilottama arrived, she said to Madhavi—

Tilottama: "What are you thinking now, and why do you weep? I warned you before not to get entangled in these affairs; the outcome would not be good! Virendra Singh's ayyars..."

Like a calamity, whoever they pursue, they utterly destroy; but you did not heed my words, and now you have come to see such a day.

Madhavi: None of Virendra Singh's spies came. Indrajit Singh forcibly snatched the key from my hand and left; I could do nothing.

Tilottama: After all, what could you have done to them?

Madhavi: What has become of them now?

Tilottama: They fought their way out, sending hundreds of your men to the abode of Yama. Kishori was taken away by your Diwan Sahib. Once Kishori fell into his hands, what need had he to fight further? Even the birds of the sky would descend at the sight of Kishori's beauty—what, then, is Diwan Sahib in comparison? Now that wretch must be scheming to kill you completely, become king in full right, and make Kishori his queen. What can you do against him now?

Madhavi: Alas, my ill deeds have brought me to ruin. There is no kingdom left in my fate. Now it seems I shall wander from door to door, like a beggar woman, seeking alms.

Tilottama: Yes, even if you somehow escape from here with your life, you may yet survive by begging. Otherwise, there is no hope at all.

Madhavi: Would Diwan Sahib truly treat me with such heartlessness?

Tilottama: If you trust him, then stay and see what becomes of you. But as for me, I will not remain here a moment longer!

Madhavi: If only Kishori had not fallen into his hands, I would still have had some hope, and could have found some excuse. But now...

With this, Madhavi began to weep bitterly, until she was overtaken by sobs and, falling at Tilottama's feet, she said:

"Tilottama, I swear that from this day forth I shall not act against your commands."

Tilottama: If that is so, then I too swear that I shall restore you to this very station, and take such revenge on Virendra Singh's spies and Diwan Sahib that they will remember it always.

Madhavi: Certainly, I shall obey your orders and do whatever you say.

Tilottama: Very well, then tonight let us leave this place. Whatever wealth and valuables you can gather, take them with you!

Madhavi: Very well! I am ready—go whenever you wish. But tell me, what will become of my companions and friends here?

Tilottama: Whoever keeps bad company must suffer its consequences, and so shall they. How far can I concern myself with them?

He cares for nothing else.

When Diwan Agnidatt fled with Kishori, he went straight into his own house. He was so enchanted by Kishori's beauty that he lost all sense of himself. Whether the soldiers had arrested Indrajit Singh and his spies or not, or what had become of everyone because of them—he cared not in the least. In truth, he did not even recognize Indrajit Singh.

As for poor Kishori, her condition was such, and she was tearing at her hair and weeping so bitterly, that it is enough to say: if she remained in this state for two days more, she would not survive. Crying, "Ah, Indrajit Singh! Ah, Indrajit Singh!" she would give up her life.

In Diwan Sahib's house lived his wife and an unmarried girl of Kishori's age, named Kamini, who was as beautiful as she was good-natured. Diwan Sahib's wife, too, was of good character and conduct, but she was always distressed by her husband's wicked nature and cruel behavior, and out of fear, never dared to object to anything he did. Even so, every eight or ten days, she would inevitably suffer a beating at Agnidatt's hands.

Entrusting poor Kishori to his wife and daughter, instructing them not only to keep her safe but also to comfort and console her, Diwan Sahib went outside and sat in his office, pondering how he might persuade Kishori. Who was this woman, whose daughter was she, and who were the people with her? Why had they come here and caused such an uproar? From their manner and dress, they seemed to be spies, but what reason had brought them here? Lost in such thoughts, Agnidatt did not even find time to bathe that day. The whole day passed in wandering here and there, disposing of the corpses, and conducting investigations, but he could not discover the truth of the affair. Yes, the palace guards did say this much: "For the past two or three days, Tilottama had been giving us strict instructions, and had ordered that when you hear the sound of the bomb I fire, you must immediately be on alert and arrest anyone you see coming."

Now Diwan Sahib's suspicions fell upon Madhavi and Tilottama, and after much deliberation, he concluded that these two certainly knew of this affair from the beginning, but there must be some special reason for hiding this secret from him.

After the lamps were lit, Agnidatt returned home. Instead of going to Kishori, he called his wife