At dawn, Hemchandra set out in search of Madhavacharya. Girijaya came and sat beside Mrinalini. Girijaya had shared in Mrinalini’s sorrows, and with a sympathetic heart had listened to all her tales of woe in times of distress. Why, then, should she not be a sharer of happiness in these days of joy? Why, with the same warmth of heart, should she not now listen to tales of happiness? Girijaya was a beggar-woman, Mrinalini the daughter of a great noble— between them lay a vast social gulf. Yet in days of sorrow, Girijaya had been Mrinalini’s only friend; in such times, there is no difference between a beggar-woman and a princess. And so, today, Girijaya became the inheritor of Mrinalini’s heart’s happiness.

The conversation that followed filled Girijaya with wonder and delight. She asked Mrinalini, “But why did you never reveal such things before?”

Mrinalini: All this time, the prince forbade me to speak, so I kept silent. Now he has given me leave to tell it, and so I do.

Girijaya: Lady! Will you not tell me everything? I would be greatly satisfied to hear it all.

Then Mrinalini began to speak: “My father was a wealthy merchant, a follower of the Buddhist faith. He was exceedingly rich and a favorite of the king of Mathura— I was close friends with the princess of Mathura.

“One day, I went boating on the Yamuna with the princess. Suddenly, a fierce storm and rain arose, and the boat sank in the water. The princess and many others were saved by the guards and boatmen— He was saved. I was swept away by the current. By a stroke of fate, a prince was boating at that very moment. I did not know him then—he was Hemchandra. He too, fearing the storm, was steering his boat toward the shore. Seeing my hair floating in the water, he himself leapt in and pulled me out. At that time, I was unconscious! Hemchandra did not know who I was. He had come to Mathura on a pilgrimage. He took me to his house and nursed me back to health. When I regained consciousness, he inquired about my identity and made arrangements to send me back to my father’s home. But for three days the storm and rain did not cease. The weather was so dreadful that no one could step outside. Thus, for three days, we both had to remain in the same house. We came to know each other—not just our family backgrounds, but the depths of each other’s hearts. At that time, I was only fifteen years old. Yet even at that tender age, I became his devoted servant. In that soft youth, I could not comprehend everything. I began to see Hemchandra as a deity. Whatever he said seemed to me like the word of scripture. He said, “Marry.” Therefore, I felt it was my bounden duty. On the fourth day, seeing the calamity abate, we fasted; Digvijay made arrangements. The prince’s family priest had accompanied him on his pilgrimage, and he performed our marriage rites.

G: Who gave you away in marriage?

M: There was an elderly kinswoman of mine named Arundhati. She was my mother’s niece. She had raised me from childhood. She loved me dearly; she bore all my mischiefs with patience. I mentioned her name. By some stratagem, Digvijay sent word to her in the city and cunningly brought her to Hemchandra’s house. Arundhati believed I had drowned in the Yamuna. Seeing me alive, she was so overjoyed— He was no longer displeased by anything. Whatever I said, he accepted without objection. He himself gave away his daughter in marriage.

After the wedding, I went to my father’s house with my aunt. I spoke the truth about everything, concealing only the matter of the marriage. No one knew of this union except for myself, Hemchandra, Digvijay, the family priest, and Aunt Arundhati. Today, you have come to know.

Gi: Does Madhavacharya not know?

Mr: No, had he known, it would have been disastrous. The King of Magadha would surely have heard of it. My father is a Buddhist, and the King of Magadha is a sworn enemy of the Buddhists.

Gi: Well, if your father believed you to be a maiden until now, why did he not arrange your marriage despite your age?

Mr: It is not my father’s fault. He tried very hard, but it is exceedingly difficult to find a suitable Buddhist groom, for the Buddhist faith has nearly vanished. My father wanted a Buddhist son-in-law, but he also wanted a worthy one. Such a match was found, but only after my marriage. The wedding date was set, and all preparations were made. But at that time, I fell ill with a fever. The groom married elsewhere.

Gi: Did you fall ill on purpose?

Mr: Yes, deliberately. There is a well in our garden whose water no one touches. Bathing in or drinking from it always brings on a fever. One night, I secretly bathed in that water.

Gi: If another match had been arranged, would you have done the same?

Mr: Is there any doubt? Otherwise, I would have run away to Hemchandra.

Gi: From Mathura to Magadha is a month’s journey. How could you, a woman, escape with anyone’s help?

Mr: To meet me, Hemchandra had opened a shop in Mathura and was known there as Ratnadas the merchant. He would come once a year to trade. When he— He was not present there, but Digvijay kept his shop at that place. Digvijay had been ordered that he must act precisely as I commanded, whenever I commanded it. Therefore, I was not without support.

When the conversation ended, Girijaya said, “Lady! I have committed a grave offense. You must forgive me. I am prepared to perform whatever penance is appropriate for it.”

Mrinalini asked, “What grave deed have you done?”

Girijaya replied, “I did not know that Digvijay was your well-wisher. I thought he