Hemchandra took Mrinalini by the hand and lifted her up. They stood facing one another. After so long, the two met again. That evening, at twilight, by the banks of the Yamuna, beneath the bakul tree scorched by the summer sun, as they watched the reflection of starlight quiver upon the restless waves of the blue river, they had parted with tearful eyes—since that day, this was their first meeting. Summer had passed into monsoon, monsoon into autumn, but how many seasons had truly passed within their hearts—can such time be measured by the calendar of the seasons?

At that midnight hour, by the clear waters of the lake, the two stood face to face. All around, the dense forest, with its thickly clustered garlands of vines and towering trees, stood as a barrier, enclosing their vision. Before them, the blue, cloud-like expanse of the lake stretched wide, adorned with moss, lilies, and lotuses. Overhead, the sky smiled with moon, stars, and clouds. Moonlight smiled everywhere—in the sky, upon the treetops, on the leaves and tendrils, on the steps of the lake, on the blue waters. Nature was motionless, patient, enduring.

Within the palace of that patient nature, Mrinalini and Hemchandra stood face to face.

Were there no words in their language? Had their hearts nothing to say? If their hearts had words to speak, if their language held the sounds, then why did they not speak? In that moment, the eyes alone would utter the heart’s wildest speech. How so? At such a time, there is so much happiness merely in being near one’s beloved that the heart holds no room for any other joy. He who is immersed in that happiness desires no pleasure from words.

At such moments, there are so many things to say that one cannot decide which words to utter first.

Is there any word in human language that can be employed at such a time?

They gazed upon each other’s faces. Hemchandra beheld once more Mrinalini’s face, radiant with love—the certainty born of Hrishikesh’s words began to fade away. In every line of that countenance, purity was inscribed.

Hemchandra kept his eyes fixed upon hers; upon those extraordinary, wide, lotus-defying eyes, mirrors of the soul—gazing upon them, only tears of love flowed! She who possesses such eyes—could she be faithless?

Hemchandra spoke first. He asked, “Mrinalini! How are you?”

Mrinalini could not reply. Her heart was yet unquiet; she tried to answer, but again her eyes brimmed with tears. Her voice was choked, the words would not come.

Hemchandra asked again, “Why have you come?”

Still, Mrinalini could not answer. Hemchandra took her hand and seated her upon the steps, then sat down beside her. Whatever composure remained in Mrinalini’s heart vanished at this gentle touch. Gradually, her head rested of its own accord upon Hemchandra’s shoulder—Mrinalini, though aware, could not truly realize it.

Once more, Mrinalini wept—her tears flooded Hemchandra’s shoulder and chest. Of all the happiness Mrinalini had ever known in