In a distant quarter of the city of Lakshmanavati, Hemchandra was residing at the house of the merchant Sarvadhan. At the entrance of the merchant’s house stood an Ashoka tree. In the afternoon, seated beneath it, Hemchandra was idly cutting a blooming branch of the Ashoka with his dagger, breaking it into pieces, and glancing again and again towards the road, as if awaiting someone. The one he awaited did not come. The servant Digvijay arrived; Hemchandra said to him, “Digvijay, the beggar woman has not come yet today. I am growing very anxious. Go, seek her out.”

“At once, my lord,” said Digvijay, and set out in search of Girijaya. On the royal road of the city, he met Girijaya.

Girijaya said, “Who is that—Digvijay?” Digvijay, annoyed, replied, “My name is Digvijay.”

Gi: Well, Digvijay—tell me, which direction are you setting out to conquer today?

Di: Yours.

Gi: Am I a direction, then? You have no knowledge of real conquest.

Di: How could you be otherwise—you are darkness itself. Now come, the master has summoned you.

Gi: Why?

Di: Perhaps he wishes to marry you to me.

Gi: Why, could you find no one else to burn your face in shame?

Di: No. That task must fall to you alone. Now come.

Gi: I am always ready for others’ sake. Very well, let us go.

So saying, Girijaya set off with Digvijay. Digvijay, pointing out Hemchandra sitting beneath the Ashoka tree, went off elsewhere. Hemchandra, lost in thought, was softly singing,

“On the blossoming lotus, on the banks of the Yamuna, so much thirst remains—”

From behind, Girijaya sang,

“O moon-faced one, O sweet night, my longing is not fulfilled.”

Seeing Girijaya, Hemchandra’s face brightened. He said, “Ah, Girijaya! Has your longing been fulfilled?”

Gi: Whose longing? Yours or mine?

He: My longing. If mine is fulfilled, so too will yours be.

Gi: And how will your longing be fulfilled? People say a king’s desires are never satisfied.

He: My wish is very small.

Gi: If ever I meet Mrinalini, I shall tell her this myself.

Hemchandra grew sorrowful. He said, “So, even today you have not found any trace of Mrinalini? In which neighborhood were you singing today?”

Gi: In many neighborhoods—but must I recount my wanderings to you every day? Will you give? Speak of something else.

Hemchandra sighed and said, “I see that fate has turned away from me. Very well, I shall go searching again tomorrow.”

Girijaya then offered her respects and, feigning departure, began to make preparations to leave. As she was about to go, Hemchandra said to her, “Girijaya, you are not smiling, but your eyes are smiling. Did anyone say anything to you today after hearing your song?”

Gi. Who would say anything? One woman came chasing after me to beat me—she said, ‘Because of the Mathura maiden, Shyamsundar has a headache now.’

Hemchandra let out a deep sigh and, in a faint voice, as if speaking to himself, began to say,