Smouldering Embers Abdullah, Fatehsinh and their men went ahead to stop the charge of Sursinh and his men while Manchatura stayed back with a chosen few to protect Kumud Sundari. He was alert to the slightest danger, his eyes were focused on the battle and yet he observed all four directions. His body felt reinvigorated, his mind sharp, his forehead was furrowed as his eyes scanned the scene like a telescope, his white moustache twitched in anticipation—he looked like a lion ready to leap upon his prey. He held the reins of his horse in one hand and fidgeted with his sword with the other. As brave old Manchatura prepared himself for battle, his legs impatiently awaited the signal to nudge his horse into action. Kumud Sundari raised the curtain of her carriage time and again. She closely watched her grandfather’s changing expressions and from them tried to gauge the fate of the battle. Manchatura was so engrossed that he did not relate any news of the battle to Kumud. The soldiers guarding her tensely also did not talk among themselves. The driver of the carriage sat alert, holding the reins firmly, ready to move at a word. His bullocks, which could run as fast as horses, sensed the tension and were ready to gallop. But right now it was futile to move the carriage forward or backward, so they watched and waited. The men, whose energies were completely focussed on the outlaws, could think of nothing else. At that moment, weary, alone, aggrieved by Pramaddhan, Kumud’s heart, too, turned an outlaw—it wandered restlessly in search of solace; it accompanied Chandrakant in search of Sarasvatichandra through this dangerous terrain; it trembled at the thought of the ignominy that evil Kalika would have heaped on her at her in-laws’ house. It was as if Kumud were in a double bind: caught by the outlaws and defeated by the machinations of Pramaddhan and Krishna Kalika, her heart sought a way out. Time and again, she would impatiently lift the curtains to look outside and lower them again to withdraw inside and weep. She stared blankly at the canopy of her carriage, read Vanleela’s note again and again, gazed at the trees, listened to the waters of the Subhadra rushing past. She imagined the cool depths of the river, looked vacantly at the pillars of the stone bridge and sighed, and yet, she regained her composure from time to time. Sarasvatichandra! Where are you in this perilous terrain? Why must you suffer so? Have you, like Dhruv, felt slighted? What faith moves you to this penance? Are you enthused by the aspirations of a Robinson Crusoe? Or are you like Emperor Babar who sang poems in the forest when he lost his empire? You once wrote: My path is as unbridled as kites that fly Like them, I too shall soar A kite is attached to a string, and thus grounded, but you do not want even that. Neither above nor below Is