“Samudra Kumari! Do you remember me…?”

“Ponniyin Selva! What kind of question is this! At whom are you asking, ‘Do you remember?’ After mingling and growing close for thousands and thousands of years, is it fitting to ask, ‘Do you remember?’ Or is it that you yourself have forgotten? How many ages have you climbed into my little boat? In the sea, in that endless ocean, amidst the boundless surging waves, have you forgotten all those joyous journeys we took together in my small boat? When suddenly, darkness surrounded us on all sides, did you forget how we stood side by side, holding each other’s hands for a long time, giving each other courage? When the terrifying storm winds blew, when the mountainous waves struck our boat, lifting us to the sky in one moment and plunging us into the abyss the next, in those days of wild turmoil, did you forget how we stood together, supporting each other, and braved that terrible storm and triumphed over it? Do you not remember the time when we soared and soared, flying through the vast sky? Did you forget how you leapt up to the stars, plucked them, and adorned my hair with them as ornaments? Did you also forget how you brought the full moon close to my face and said, ‘Here, look at your golden face in this silver mirror!’?

And another time, when you dived into the deep sea; my heart trembled in fear; but after a while, you emerged with pearls and corals in both hands, strung them into garlands, and placed them around my neck! Even if you have forgotten, how could I ever forget? O King! In the twilight hours, on the blue-hued banks of the lakes, where the branches, heavy with clusters of flowers, bent down to form a decorated canopy, on mats of fresh green grass, how many, how many, countless days did we spend gazing into each other’s faces—can all that ever be forgotten? In those moments, a hundred pairs of cuckoos sat on the branches and sang their melodies, thousands and tens of thousands of bees circled around humming, and millions of butterflies, beating their many-colored wings, danced in delight—could I ever forget any of that? In how many births could I forget? Yet you looked at me and asked, ‘Do you remember?’—is it right to ask so? I remember, my lord, I remember it all so well!…”

Her foolish, innocent heart leapt and fluttered, longing to say all this.

But from her coral lips came only two softly murmured words: “I remember!”

“Ah! Samudrakumari, you have opened your mouth and spoken! In this wondrous island of Lanka, in how many pillared halls of the palaces are there statues of beautiful divine maidens carved upon the columns! For a moment, I thought you too might be such a sculpted form. Fortunately, you have opened your mouth and spoken. Say a few more words! How much I have longed to hear your sweet