Girijaya sang a song:

“Why, friend, what fate is this, to live as if dead? Where has the boy of Braja gone, friend, The hearts of the people of Braja are broken.”

The melody drifted into Hemchandra’s ears. It entered his hearing like a sound heard in a dream.

Girijaya sang again,

“Where has the boy of Braja gone, friend, The hearts of the women of Braja are broken.”

Hemchandra, eager, listened intently.

Girijaya sang once more,

“We have come to the city, forgotten our Madhava, The cowherd girls are now without beauty. Who knows, friend, where our beloved is, Such a lover, a beggar for beauty.”

Hemchandra said, “What is this! Manoroma, that is Girijaya’s voice! I am going.” Saying this, Hemchandra leapt from his bed.

Girijaya continued to sing,

“Before, I did not understand, I was deceived by beauty, My heart became a flute at his feet. Now, friend, in the waters of Yamuna, I will cast this body, Let another friend drink the poison.”

Hemchandra appeared before Girijaya. In an anxious voice he said,

“Girijaya! What is this, Girijaya! You here? Why are you here? When did you come to this land?” Girijaya said, “I have been coming here for many days.” Saying this, she began to sing again, “What creeper of the forest, entwining my neck, Shall I bind, With fresh tamala branches, I shall fashion a noose.”

Hemchandra said, “Why have you come to this land?” Girijaya replied, “Begging is my livelihood. I have come to the capital, hoping to receive more alms— What creeper of the forest, entwining my neck, Shall I bind, With fresh tamala branches, I shall fashion a noose.”

Hemchandra, paying no heed to the song, said, “How is Mrinalini? Have you seen her?” Girijaya began to sing, “No—Shyam, Shyam, Shyam, Shyam, I chant the name of Shyam, Let this body be destroyed.”

Hemchandra said, “Enough of your songs. Answer my question. How is Mrinalini? Have you seen her?” Girijaya said, “I have not seen Mrinalini. If this song does not please you, I shall sing another— ‘Will the longing of that life be fulfilled in this? Or, through birth after birth, will this desire of mine be satisfied?’”

Hemchandra said, “Girijaya, I beg you—stop singing, and tell me news of Mrinalini.” G: What shall I say? H: Why have you not seen Mrinalini? G: She is not in the city of Gauda. H: Why? Where has she gone? G: To Mathura. H: To Mathura? With whom did she go to Mathura? How— Gone? Why did she go?

Giri: Her father somehow found her whereabouts, sent people, and took her away. Perhaps her marriage is at hand. Perhaps he has taken her to give her in marriage.

He: What? For what purpose?

Giri: Mrinalini’s father has taken her away to arrange her marriage.

Hemchandra turned his face away. Girijaya could not see that face; nor could she see that the wound on Hemchandra’s shoulder had burst open again, soaking the bandages in blood. Unaware, she sang as before:

“O Fate, listen to my plea, if you grant me birth again, Let me be born a woman once more. I shall cast off shame and fear, fulfill this longing of mine, I’ll drain the ocean, seize its gems, wear them day and night.”

Hemchandra turned his face away. He said, “Girijaya, your news is auspicious. It is for the best.”

Saying this, Hemchandra re-entered the house. It was as if the sky had fallen upon Girijaya’s head. She had thought to test Hemchandra by falsely speaking of Mrinalini’s marriage. She had imagined that, hearing of Mrinalini’s impending marriage, Hemchandra would be greatly distressed, would grow angry. But no, nothing of the sort happened. Then Girijaya struck her forehead and thought, “Alas, what have I done! Why did I spread this needless falsehood? Hemchandra seems happy—he said the news is auspicious. Now what will become of the lady?”

Why Hemchandra said, “Your news is auspicious,” Girijaya—being but a beggar-woman—could not comprehend. The same Hemchandra who, in wrath for Mrinalini’s sake, had once been ready to raise arms against his own revered teacher, now felt that unconquerable anger surge within his heart. Overwhelmed by wounded pride, seized by an uncontrollable surge of anger, Hemchandra said to Girijaya, “Your news is auspicious!” Girijaya could not comprehend this. She thought, This is the sixth sign. No one offered her alms; nor did she wait for charity; “Her shackles are broken,” she concluded, and turned towards home.