Pashupati gazed upon her with insatiable eyes. As he gazed, he beheld in the ocean of Manoroma’s beauty a wondrous majesty. Just as, in the radiant array of the sun’s fierce rays, the smiling expanse of water gradually reveals itself through the drifting clouds... As Krishna’s countenance grew grave, so too, as Pashupati gazed upon her, did the delicate and charming face of Manoroma begin to assume a solemnity. The girlish expression of gentle magnanimity faded away. In its place, an extraordinary brilliance appeared, accompanied by a gravity rare even in the boldest years of youth. Her intellect emerged, veiling her innocence.

Pashupati said, “Manorama, why have you come at such a late hour?—What is this? Why do you wear this expression tonight?”

Manorama replied, “What expression do you see in me?”

Pashupati: “You have two forms—one, the joyful, innocent girl—why did you not come in that form? That is the form that soothes my heart. But this form of yours—solemn, radiant, brilliant, sharp-witted—when I see this, I become afraid. Then I know that you are bound by some firm resolve. Why have you come to frighten me in this form tonight?”

Manorama: “Pashupati, what are you doing, keeping awake so late?”

Pashupati: “I was busy with affairs of state—but you—”

Manorama: “Pashupati, again? Affairs of state or your own affairs?”

Pashupati: “Call it my own affairs. Whether it be affairs of state or my own, when am I not busy? Why do you ask me this tonight?”

Manorama: “I have heard everything.”

Pashupati: “What have you heard?”

Manorama: “Your counsel with the Yavana—your counsel with Shantashil—I heard everything, standing by the door.”

Pashupati’s face became as clouded as the sky before a storm. He remained lost in thought for a long while, then said, “It is just as well. I would have told you everything—now you have heard it beforehand. Is there anything you do not know?”

Manorama: “Pashupati, will you abandon me?”

Pashupati: “Why, Manorama? It is for you that I have held these counsels.” At this moment, I am a royal servant; I cannot act as I wish. Now, if I marry a widow— I shall be cast out by society; but when I myself become king, who will dare to reject me? Just as Ballal Sen established a new system of Kulinism, so too shall I introduce a new custom of widow remarriage.

Manorama sighed deeply and said, “Pashupati, all that is but a dream for me. If you become king, my dream will be shattered. I shall never be your queen.”

P: Why, Manorama?

M: Why? If you ascend the throne, will you still love me? The kingdom will then hold the foremost place in your heart!—then you will neglect me. If you do not love me—then why should I be bound in the fetters of your wifehood?

P: Why do you harbor such thoughts? First you—then the kingdom. It shall always be thus with me.

M: If, as king, you do that—if you love your queen more than your kingdom—then you will not be able to rule. You will lose your throne. A henpecked king cannot keep his kingdom.

Pashupati gazed at Manorama’s face with eyes full of admiration; he said, “He who has such a Saraswati at his side, what has he to fear? If need be, so be it. For your sake, I shall renounce the kingdom.”

M: Then why do you seek the throne? What is the point of accepting it only to renounce it?

P: To win your hand.

M: Abandon that hope. If you gain the kingdom, I shall never be your wife.

P: Why, Manorama! What wrong have I done?

M: You are a traitor—how can I ever revere a traitor? How could I? How could I ever love a traitor?

Pashupati: Why, in what way am I a traitor?

Manorama: You are plotting to dethrone your benefactor and lord; you are contemplating the murder of a prince who has sought your protection—are these not the deeds of a traitor? He who has broken faith with his master, why would he not be faithless to his wife as well?

Pashupati remained silent. Manorama began to speak again, “Pashupati, I beg you, abandon this wicked intention.”

Pashupati stood as before, his head bowed. Both his desire for the throne and his longing to win Manorama weighed heavily upon him. Yet, if he pursued the throne, he would lose Manorama’s love. That too was unbearable. Caught between these two perils, a grave restlessness arose in his heart. The firmness of his resolve began to waver. “If only I could have Manorama, even a life of begging would be sweet—what need have I for a kingdom?” Again and again, such thoughts stirred within him. But then another thought would arise: “But if I do that, there will be public scorn, disgrace in society, the ruin of my caste; I shall be despised by all. How could I endure such a fate?” Pashupati remained silent; he could not utter a single word in reply.

Receiving no answer, Manorama continued, “Listen, Pashupati, you have not answered me. I am leaving. But I vow this: in this life, I shall never again meet with a traitor.”

Saying this, Manorama turned away. Pashupati broke down in tears.

Suddenly, Manorama returned. She came back and took Pashupati’s hand in hers. Pashupati looked into her face. He saw that the proud, radiant goddess Saraswati, with her furrowed brow and flashing eyes, was gone; that divine presence had vanished. Now, a tender, delicate maiden held his hand and wept with him. Manorama said, “Pashupati, why are you crying?”

Pashupati, wiping the tears from his eyes, replied, “Because of your words.”

M. Why, what have I said?

P. You were about to abandon me.

M. I shall never do so again.

P. Will you be my queen consort?

M. I will.

The ocean of Pashupati’s joy surged forth. Both sat gazing at each other through tear-filled eyes. Suddenly, like