Pashupati dwelt in a lofty mansion, surrounded by many servants in constant attendance. Yet, his palace was darker than a forest. That which brings light to a house—a wife, children, a family—none of these were present in his home.

After his conversation with Shantashil that day, all these thoughts returned to Pashupati’s mind. He mused, “Perhaps, after all these years, this dark palace will finally be illuminated—if Jagadamba is gracious, then Manoroma will dispel this darkness.”

Thus pondering, before retiring for the night, Pashupati entered the temple of the Goddess to perform his customary salutations and prayers to the Eight-Armed One. Upon entering, he found Manoroma seated there.

Pashupati said, “Manoroma, when did you arrive?”

Manoroma was stringing a garland with the flowers left over from the worship, but without a thread. She gave no reply. Pashupati said, “Speak with me while you are here; as long as you are present, I forget all my sorrows.”

Manoroma lifted her face and gazed at him. She looked at Pashupati’s face, and after a moment said, “I came to tell you something, but now I cannot recall what it was.”

Pashupati said, “Try to remember. I am waiting.”

Pashupati sat and remained there. Manoroma resumed stringing the garland.

After a long while, Pashupati said, “I too have something to say; listen attentively. All my life, I have only acquired knowledge—pursued learning, earned wealth. I have not fulfilled the duties of family life. I have only done what I loved; I had no affection for marriage, so I did not marry. But from the moment you crossed my path, Manoroma’s attainment has become my sole meditation.” For that gain, I have undertaken this dreadful vow. If the Goddess Jagadishwari shows me her favor, within a few days I shall gain the kingdom and marry you. As for the obstacle that you are a widow, I can refute it with scriptural evidence. But there is a second obstacle: you are a Kulina maiden, Janardana Sharma is the foremost of the Kulinas, and I am a Shrotriya.”

Whether Manoroma was listening to these words or not was doubtful. Pashupati saw that Manoroma had lost herself in thought. Pashupati loved Manoroma when she was a simple, unspoiled girl—he feared her now, matured and sharp-witted as she was. Yet today, he was not satisfied with her altered mood. Nevertheless, making another attempt, Pashupati said, “But it is neither custom nor scripture that is at stake; the destruction of a lineage does not destroy religion or cause loss of caste. If I can marry you without his knowledge, what harm is there? If you consent, it can be done. Later, even if your grandfather comes to know, the marriage cannot be undone.”

Manoroma gave no reply. Whether she had heard any of it was uncertain. A black cat had come and sat beside her; she was trying to put a string of beads around its neck. As she tried, the necklace came undone. Then Manoroma tore a lock of hair from her own head and began to restring the beads with it.

Receiving no answer, Pashupati silently gazed, spellbound, at the exquisite movement of Manoroma’s fingers among the flowers of the necklace.