Pashupati, the spiritual leader of Gauda, was an extraordinary man; he was the second lord of Gauda. The king was aged, and, as is the way with old age, had become dependent on others’ counsel, and— He had become negligent in matters of state, and thus the true burden of the Gaur kingdom had been entrusted to the chief minister and religious authority, Pashupati. In wealth and splendor, Pashupati had become the equal of the king of Gaur himself.

Pashupati was about thirty-five years of age. He was exceedingly handsome to behold. His body was tall, his chest broad, and his entire frame was beautifully proportioned, with bone and flesh in perfect harmony. His complexion resembled molten gold; his forehead was broad, a veritable temple of intellectual power. His nose was long and prominent, his eyes small but possessed of an extraordinary brilliance. The radiance of his face spoke of profound wisdom, and the cares of daily affairs had lent his features a certain sternness. Yet, for all that, there was no man in the royal court whose beauty could rival his. People said there was no one in all of Gaur as learned and discerning as he.

Pashupati was a Brahmin by birth, but no one knew for certain where his birthplace was. It was said that his father had been a poor Brahmin who made his living by teaching the scriptures.

Pashupati had attained the highest post in the kingdom of Gaur solely by the power of his own intellect and learning.

In his youth, Pashupati had lived in Kashi with his father, studying the scriptures. There, a Bengali Brahmin named Keshav resided. Keshav had an eight-year-old daughter named Haimavati. Pashupati was married to her. But by a twist of fate, on the very night of the wedding, after giving away his daughter, Keshav vanished with her. No trace of them was ever found. From that day, Pashupati had been deprived of conjugal life. For various reasons, he had not taken a second wife to this day. Now he dwelt in a lofty mansion, fit for a royal palace, but for want of the light that springs from a wife’s gaze, that high mansion was shrouded in darkness.

Tonight, in a secluded chamber of that lofty mansion, Pashupati sat alone in the light of a lamp. Just behind this room lay a mango grove. There is a secret gate for leaving the mango grove. At that gate, someone knocked softly in the dead of night. From within the house, Pashupati opened the door, and a man entered the house. He was a Muslim. Hemchandra had seen him earlier through the window.

Pashupati then asked him to sit on a separate seat and requested to see a token of trust. The Muslim showed the token. Pashupati said in Sanskrit, “I understand you are a trusted confidant of the Turkic commander. Therefore, you are also trusted by me. Your name is Muhammad Ali, is it not? Now, please reveal the