Where Hemchandra had left her, wounded by the blow of the stone steps—Mrinalini still remained there. She had no more desire to return to the world. There was no skin left—it had become the same everywhere. Night turned to morning, Garjaya said many things, but Mrinalini gave no reply; she sat with her head bowed. When the time for bathing and eating arrived, Girijaya led her down to the water and bathed her. After bathing, Mrinalini, still in her damp clothes, sat in the same place. Girijaya herself grew hungry—but she could not make Mrinalini get up, nor could she muster the courage to urge her repeatedly. So she collected some fruits from the nearby forest and offered them to Mrinalini for her meal. Mrinalini merely touched them. Girijaya ate the offerings herself—yet, compelled by hunger, she did not abandon Mrinalini.

Thus, the sun of the east reached the mid-sky, and from the mid-sky it traveled west. Evening fell. Girijaya saw that even then, Mrinalini showed no sign of returning home. Girijaya became especially restless. She had stayed awake the previous night—this night, too, seemed destined for wakefulness. Girijaya said nothing—she gathered leaves and branches and made her own bed upon the steps. Understanding her intention, Mrinalini said, “Go inside and sleep.”

Girijaya was delighted to hear Mrinalini speak. She said, “Let us go together.”

Mrinalini replied, “I am going.”

Giri: I shall wait until then. What harm if a beggar woman lies here for a while? But I dare to say—since your bond with the prince has ended in this life—why should we suffer the cold of Kartik any longer?

Mr.: Girijaya—my bond with Hemchandra will not end in this life. I was his servant yesterday—I am his servant still today.

Girijaya grew very angry—she sat up. “What, mistress! Even now you say—you are the servant of that heretic! If you—” Her maidservant—“Then I shall take my leave—there is no further need for me here.”

Mrinalini: “Girijaya—if Hemchandra has caused you distress, you may criticize him elsewhere. Hemchandra has never wronged me—why should I tolerate his defamation? He is a prince—my husband; do not call him a heretic.”

Girijaya grew even more indignant. She began tearing apart the carefully arranged bed of leaves, scattering them in disarray. She said, “Not call him a heretic?—Shall I not say it once?” (With these words, she flung several leafy branches into the water with a flourish.) “Shall I not say it once?—I shall say it ten times!” (She threw more leaves.) “A hundred times!” (More leaves cast away.) “A thousand times I shall say it.”

Thus, all the leaves ended up in the water. Girijaya continued, “Shall I not call him a heretic? For what fault of yours did he rebuke you so harshly?”

Mrinalini: “It was my own fault—I could not explain everything to him properly—I said one thing for another.”

Girijaya: “Mistress! Press my forehead and see.”

Mrinalini touched her brow.

Girijaya: “What do you feel?”

Mrinalini: “Pain.”

Girijaya: “Why is that?”

Mrinalini: “I do not remember.”

Girijaya: “You rested your head on Hemchandra’s body—he cast you off and left. You fell and struck your head on the ground.”

Mrinalini pondered for a moment—she could recall nothing. She said, “I do not think so; perhaps I simply fell on my own.”

Girijaya became distracted. She said, “Mistress! In this world, you are happy.”

Mrinalini: “Why?” G: You are not angry, are you?

Mrinalini: I am happy—but not for that reason.

G: Then for what?

Mrinalini: I have seen Hemchandra.