When Mohammad Ali had gone out of sight, another man approached the secret door and softly asked, “May I enter?”

Pashupati replied, “Enter.”

A spy entered. Bowing low, he received Pashupati’s blessing, who then asked, “How calm you look! Is there good news?”

The spy replied, “Please ask your questions one by one—I shall present all the news in order.”

Pashupati: Did you go to the place where the Yavanas are encamped?

Spy: No one can go there.

Pashupati: Why not?

Spy: The forest is very dense, impenetrable.

Pashupati: Why did you not go, cutting through the trees with an axe?

Spy: There is the menace of tigers and bears.

Pashupati: Why did you not go armed?

Spy: The woodcutters who entered the forest, slaying tigers and bears, have all perished at the hands of the Yavanas—not one has returned.

Pashupati: Then why did you come back?

Spy: If I had not, who would have brought you this news?

Pashupati smiled and said, “You alone would have come.”

Shantashil, bowing, said, “It is I who have come to deliver the news.”

Pashupati, delighted, inquired, “How did you manage to go?”

Shanta: First, I procured a turban, weapons, and Turkish attire. I fastened them and arranged them upon my back. Then, mingling with the woodcutters, I entered the forest path. Later, when the Yavanas caught sight of the woodcutters and sought to slay them, I slipped away and changed my disguise behind a tree. Thereafter, as a Muslim, I wandered freely throughout the Yavana camp.

Pashu: Praiseworthy indeed. How many Yavana soldiers did you see?

Shanta: As many as that vast forest could contain. I believe there must be twenty-five thousand.

Pashupati, furrowing his brow, remained silent for a while, then asked, “Did you hear any of their conversations?”

Shanta: I heard much—but I could not report any of it to you.

Pashu: Why not?

Shanta: I am not learned in the Yavana tongue.

Pashupati smiled. Shantashil then said, “I fear danger from the fact that Muhammad Ali came here.”

Pashupati, startled, asked, “Why?”

Shanta: He could not have come unnoticed. Some have come to know of his arrival.

Pashupati, deeply anxious, said, “How do you know this?”

Shantashil replied, “As I was coming to pay my respects to you, I saw that a man, armed for battle, was hiding at the gate. From my conversation with him, I understood that he had seen Muhammad Ali enter this city and was waiting for him. In the darkness, I could not recognize him.” Pashu. And then?

Shanta. Then I locked him up in the picture gallery and came here.

Pashupati began to praise the thief-catcher, and said, “Tomorrow morning, we shall decide what is to be done with that man. For tonight, let him remain imprisoned. Now, you have another task to fulfill. The Yavana commander desires to see the severed head of the Magadha prince tonight. You must procure it at once.”

Shanta. The task is not at all easy. The prince is no ant or fly.

Pashu. I am not asking you to go into battle alone. Take some men with you and attack his house.

Shanta. What will people say?

Pashu. People will say that bandits killed him and fled.

Shanta. As you command, I go.

Pashupati rewarded Shantashil and bade him farewell. Then, he entered the inner chambers of his house, where, in a temple adorned with exquisite and intricate carvings, stood the eight-armed image of the goddess. Approaching the idol, he prostrated himself in full obeisance. Rising, he joined his hands in devotion and, praising his chosen deity, spoke thus:

“Mother! Protector of the world! I have plunged into a shoreless sea—watch over me, Mother! Deliver me. Never shall I, for any reason, sell my motherland, who is as a mother to me, to the god-hating Yavana. My only sinful intent is that I wish to be king in place of the feeble old monarch. Just as a thorn is removed by another thorn and then both are cast away, so shall I, with the help of the Yavana, seize the kingdom, and then, with the help of the kingdom, destroy the Yavana. Is this sin, Mother? If it is, I shall atone for it by ensuring the happiness of my subjects for the rest of my life. Mother of the universe! Be gracious and grant my desire.”

Saying this, Pashupati once again prostrated himself in full obeisance. Having offered his reverence, he rose from the ground—turning to proceed towards his bedchamber, he looked back and beheld—

A vision unparalleled—

Standing across the threshold, filling the doorway, was a young woman, radiant as a living idol, the very embodiment of life itself.

At first, Pashupati was startled—he shivered with surprise. But in the next moment, his heart swelled with joy, like the surging waters of an exuberant sea.

The maiden spoke in a voice sweeter than the music of the vina, “Pashupati!”

Pashupati saw—it was Manoroma.