When Manoroma and Hemchandra entered the house, Mrinalini bade them farewell and Girijaya began to circle the garden house. Wherever she found a window open, she cautiously raised her face and peered inside. In one room, she saw Hemchandra lying in bed; she saw Manoroma seated upon his couch.

Girijaya seated herself beneath that window. It was through this very window, on the previous night, that the Yavana had appeared to Hemchandra.

Girijaya’s intention in sitting beneath the window was to secretly overhear whatever conversation might occur between Hemchandra and Manoroma. But Hemchandra had fallen asleep; there was no conversation at all. Sitting alone and silent beneath the window, Girijaya felt a great discomfort. She could not speak, could not laugh, could not mock—her tongue itched with longing, and she thought to herself, “Where is that sinful Digvijaya? If only I could find him, I could at least open my mouth and be at ease.” But Digvijaya was engaged in his master’s affairs within the house—she could not find him either.

Thus, for want of another companion, Girijaya began to converse with herself in her mind. If the esteemed reader should feel any curiosity to hear that conversation, I can present it in the form of questions and answers. Girijaya is both the questioner and the respondent.

Q. O girl, who sits there? A. Girijaya, girl.

Q. Why are you here? A. For Mrinalini, girl.

Q. Who is Mrinalini to you? A. No one. Pr.: But why are you so deeply pained for that?

U.: What else do I have to do? What shall I do, wandering about?

Pr.: Why are you here for Mrinalini?

U.: She has a caged bird here.

Pr.: Are you going to catch the bird and take it away?

U.: If the chain is broken, what is the use of catching it? And how could I possibly catch it?

Pr.: Then why are you sitting here?

U.: I am watching to see whether the chain has been broken or not.

Pr.: What difference does it make whether it is broken or not?

U.: Mrinalini weeps secretly for that bird every night—who knows how much she will cry tonight. If I can bring her good news, much sorrow will be spared.

Pr.: And if the chain has been broken?

U.: I will tell Mrinalini that the bird has escaped—when you hear the name of Radha-Krishna, go and catch another wild bird from the forest. Give up hope for the tamed bird. But do not leave the cage empty.

Pr.: Oh, beggar’s daughter! You speak just as your heart desires! What if Mrinalini, in anger, breaks the cage?

U.: You are right, friend. She might do just that. Nothing can be said for certain.

Pr.: Then why do you sit here, burning in the sun?

U.: I have a terrible headache, that’s why. Look at that girl sitting inside the house—she is mute—otherwise, why does she not speak even now? Why is a woman’s mouth still shut?