It has been three days since Bhaironsingh left for Rajgriha. No news has yet arrived from there, and in this anxious state, Prince Indrajitsingh lies awake on his bed in his chamber, unable to sleep even at midnight. The imagined image of Kishori appears again and again before his eyes, only to vanish each time. This brings him even greater sorrow. Distressed, he sighs deeply and sits up. Sometimes, when his restlessness becomes unbearable, he leaves the bed and begins to pace the room.

In this condition, Indrajitsingh was pacing inside his chamber when a guard peeked in, saw him walking, and withdrew. After a while, the guard came and stood by the door, hoping that the prince would notice him and ask something, so that he might speak. But the prince was lost in his own thoughts, entirely unaware.

What happened was that someone was peering towards them, or perhaps standing there in the hope that they would look his way and ask something. At last, the soldier deliberately opened one leaf of the door in such a manner that it made a sound. At the same moment, the prince turned and looked at him, and with a gesture, asked what it was.

King Surendrasingh, Virendrasingh, Indrajitsingh, and Anandsingh had all given strict orders that, even if there was no opportunity to inform them of anything else, if any ayyār arrived and said, "I am an ayyār and wish to meet right now," then no matter how inopportune the time, they must be informed at once. There was no restriction for their own ayyārs; even if they entered the palace at an untimely hour or went wherever they pleased, they were shown the same hospitality and respect in the palace as would be shown to a fifteen-year-old boy. The ayyārs themselves were a perfect example of this privilege.

The soldier folded his hands and said, "An ayyār has arrived and wishes to present something right now!" The prince replied, "Brighten the lights and bring him here at once." After a short while, a handsome youth entered the room, dressed in a close-fitting suit of black velvet, a dagger tucked at his waist, and a rope in his hand.

Indrajitsingh looked at him closely, and at once the color of his face changed. Where he had just seemed downcast, now his face shone with happiness.

Indrajitsingh: "I have recognized you."

The boy: "Why wouldn't you? When you have ayyārs here, each more skilled than the last, and you are always in their company. But this time, I haven't even changed my appearance much."

Indrajitsingh: "Kamla, first tell me—where is Kishori, in what condition is she, and has she been freed from Agnidatt's grasp or not?"

Kamla: "Agnidatt no longer knows anything about her."

Indrajitsingh: "Come here and sit beside us. Tell me everything that has happened. I am not worthy to show my face to her, for I could do nothing."

Kamla (sitting down): "Do not think that way. You