The two friends were conversing thus, when suddenly, the sweet strains of a melodious song, uttered in a gentle voice, reached their ears.

“O dweller of Mathura, O sweetly smiling one, O darkly playful one—!” Mrinalini said, “Friend, where is that singing coming from?”

Manimalini replied, “They are singing in the outer house!”

The singer began to sing—

“Tell me, maiden, forsaking your home, Why do you wander, O exiled one?”

Mrinalini: Friend! Do you know who is singing?

Manimalini: It must be some beggar woman.

Again the song floated in—

“Beloved of Vrindavan, enchanter of the milkmaids, Why have you abandoned us, O Shyamsundar? From land to land you roam, O dark one, Will you not return for us?”

Mrinalini said urgently, “Friend! Friend! Call her inside the house.”

Manimalini went to call the singer. Meanwhile, the song continued—

“On blooming lotuses, by the banks of the Yamuna, My thirst grows ever more. O moon-faced one, go, O night of honey, My longing is not quenched. That night—remember—”

At that moment, Manimalini brought her inside the house. Entering the inner chambers, she resumed her song as before—

“That night—remember—tell me, beautiful one, Where shall we meet again? Listen as you go, the flute is playing, Alone in the forest, it calls.” Mrinalini said to her, “Your voice is divine, sing the song once more.”

The singer was sixteen years old. A maiden of sixteen, short in stature, and dark-skinned. She was truly of a dusky hue. But that did not mean that if a bee alighted on her skin it would be invisible, or that if she smeared herself with ink it would seem as if she had bathed in water, or if she bathed in water it would appear as if she had smeared herself with ink—nothing of the sort. The kind of dusky complexion that, if found in one’s own household, is called ‘shyam’ (dark and lovely), but if seen in another’s house, is called ‘pitch-black’—such was her complexion. Yet, whatever her color, the beggar-girl was not ugly. Her limbs were clean, well-formed, and lustrous; her face was radiant, her eyes large, lively, and full of laughter; the pupils were deep black, beside one of which was a tiny mole. Her lips were small, tinged with red, and within shone two rows of teeth, clear and spotless as buds of kunda flowers. Her hair was fine, gathered in a captivating braid at the nape of her neck, adorned with a garland of jasmine. With the bloom of youth, her body had taken on a beautiful form, as if some sculptor had carved a statue from black stone. Her attire was exceedingly simple, yet clean—not soiled with dust or dirt. Her body was not entirely unadorned, yet the ornaments she wore were indeed befitting a beggar. On her wrist was a brass bangle, around her neck a wooden rosary, a tiny stud on her nose, and a small dot of sandalwood between her brows.

Obediently, as before, she