In the afternoon, Madhavacharya returned. He brought news that the religious authority had declared—the Yavana army has indeed arrived, but hearing rumors of rebellion in their previously conquered lands, the Yavana general is now inclined toward peace. Tomorrow, they will send an envoy. Until the envoy arrives, no preparations for war are being made. This After delivering the news, Madhavacharya said, “This wretched king will be ruined by the counsel of that usurper of religion.”

It was doubtful whether these words reached Hemchandra’s ears. Seeing him so distraught, Madhavacharya took his leave.

At dusk, Manoroma entered Hemchandra’s house. Seeing Hemchandra, she said, “Brother! Why are you like this today?”

Hemchandra: Like what?

Manoroma: Your face is as dark as the monsoon sky; filled with anger like the Ganges in the month of Bhadra. Why do you frown so? Why do your eyes not blink—wait, let me see—yes, there are tears in your eyes; have you been crying?

Hemchandra looked at Manoroma’s face; then lowered his gaze; then again looked up towards the high window; then once more fixed his eyes upon Manoroma’s face. Manoroma understood that the movement of his gaze had no purpose. When words rise to the lips but cannot be spoken, the eyes behave thus. Manoroma said, “Hemchandra, why are you so troubled? What has happened?”

Hemchandra replied, “Nothing.”

At first, Manoroma said nothing—then, of her own accord, she began to speak softly, “Nothing—you will not tell me! Shame! Shame! Will you nurture a serpent in your breast?” As she spoke, a single tear rolled from Manoroma’s eye;—then, suddenly looking at Hemchandra’s face, she said, “Why will you not tell me? Am I not your sister?”

In the expression of Manoroma’s face, in her calm gaze, there was such care, such gentleness, such sympathy, that Hemchandra’s heart melted. He said, “The pain I bear is not to be spoken of to a sister.”

Manoroma said, “Then I am not your sister.”

Hemchandra did not reply at all. Yet, full of hope, Manoroma kept her eyes fixed on his face. She said, “I am nothing to you.” Hem: My sorrow, sister, is unspeakable—not only to you, but to all others as well.

Hemchandra’s voice was filled with compassion, deeply imbued with personal anguish; its resonance struck deep within Manoroma’s soul. At that very moment, his tone changed, sparks of fire leapt from his eyes—biting his lip, Hemchandra said, “What is my sorrow? It is nothing at all. Mistaking a gem, I clasped a deadly serpent to my neck; now I have cast it away.”

Once again, Manoroma gazed at Hemchandra with unwavering eyes. Gradually, an exceedingly sweet, deeply sorrowful smile appeared on her face. The maiden grew bold. As if crowned with a radiance brighter than the sun’s own rays, the goddess of inspiration herself seemed to appear.

Manoroma said, “I understand. You loved without understanding, and now you suffer the consequences.”

Hem: I loved.

Hemchandra used the past tense instead of the present. Instantly, silent tears welled up and flowed over his face.

Manoroma grew annoyed. She said, “Shame! Shame! Deceit! He who deceives others is but a cheat. But he who deceives himself is utterly ruined.” In her irritation, Manoroma began to twist her locks around her champak-like fingers.

Hemchandra was astonished. He asked, “What deceit have I committed?”

Manoroma replied, “Did you love? You still love. If not, why do you weep? What, has your affection vanished simply because the object of your love has become guilty? Who has taught you such consolation?”

As she spoke, the mature seriousness of Manoroma’s countenance suddenly blossomed like a radiant lotus, becoming even more expressive; her eyes shone with greater brilliance, her voice grew clearer, trembling with eagerness. She continued, “This is nothing but the pride of men who boast of their valor. Can pride extinguish fire? Will you dam this flood with a wall of sand?” You may be able to restrain the force of the Ganges, yet you will never be able to restrain the surge of love by thinking your beloved a sinner. Ah, Krishna! All men are deceivers!”

Hemchandra, astonished, thought to himself, “Once I considered her a mere child!”

Manorama continued, “Have you heard the Puranas? I have listened to them from a learned scholar, along with their deeper meanings. It is written that Bhagiratha brought down the Ganges; a proud, intoxicated elephant, attempting to restrain her current, was swept away. What does this mean? The Ganges is the stream of love; it springs from the lotus feet of the Lord of the Universe, it is pure in this world—he who bathes in it becomes virtuous. She, who dwells in the matted locks of the conqueror of death—even he who can conquer death must bear love upon his brow. I am telling you exactly as I have heard. The arrogant elephant is the incarnation of pride. It is swept away by the current of love. Love at first follows a single path, but at the right moment, it branches into a hundred streams; when love becomes innate, it fills a hundred vessels—at last, it merges in the ocean, dissolving into all living beings in the world.”

H: “What did your advisor say, that love knows no worthy or unworthy recipient? Must one love even the sinful?”

M: “One must love even the sinful. Love knows no worthy or unworthy. Love all, and when love is born, give it a cherished place; for love is priceless. Brother, who does not love the good? But he who, forgetting himself, loves the wicked—him I love most dearly. But then, I am mad.”

Hemchandra, astonished, said, “Manorama, who taught you all this? Your advisor must be a supernatural being.”

Manorama, lowering her face, said, “He is all-knowing, but—”

H: “But what?” M. He is like fire—he gives light, but he also burns.

Manorama lowered her face for a moment and remained silent.

Hemchandra said, “Manorama, seeing your face and hearing your words, I feel that you too