Hemlata's mother was beaten, but not in fair fight. She was crushed by fate, not by man. She accepted the defeat and retired without a complaint, but the last link which had chained her to this earth was snapped. She lived in Debipur as the revered mistress of a proud and ancient House, but her thoughts were those of the next world, and her heart was with her God.

Preparations were made for wedding festivities such as Debipur had not seen for a generation. The town was decorated with flags and festoons. Platforms were erected in street corners for musicians. Plantain trees with jars of water were placed on road sides, and arches were constructed for the bridegroom's procession to pass through. Cartloads of vegetables and sweets were brought to feed the poor, and bales of cloth were purchased for distribution among them. Streets were swept and watered for the feasting, for thousands would be fed in the streets and in the fields.

There was an incessant noise of music from sunrise to sunset for days before the wedding. Villagers poured in to take part in the rejoicings. All comers were welcome, all would be fed and clothed.

The evening came. Sirish, dressed in silks, came in a litter with silver decorations, borne by sixteen stalwart men. Thousands of men and women lined the streets to see the young bridegroom, and the illumination was like daylight. A flourish of trumpets announced his arrival; all was bustle in the bride's house.

The ceremony was performed in presence of the assembled guests, the most honoured in the land. The sacrificial fire was lighted, and the veiled bride