Loyalty.
At the extreme end of the village of Madhabpur, there stands a red building, rearing its stately head in the midst of a garden. A girl could be frequently seen on its balconies, which boasted of beautiful stone balustrades. In the early morning she would stand on the eastern balcony looking towards the river with her face resting on her two slender and white hands. The pure fair complexion used to take on a rosy tinge from the red blush of dawn. If I call her simply a girl, she is not fully described. It was hard to tell her age. Her large grey eyes carried in their depths the sorrow of centuries. Her carriage was slow like one of advanced years, but her slight willowy figure was that of a young girl.
Before the break of day, at the first note of birds, the slender figure of Sunanda was to be seen advancing towards the bathing place of the river, which flowed by the red house. As she returned after her bath, her wet dress clinging to her young body and leaving the impress of her wet feet on every step of the Ghat, she might easily have been mistaken for a Naiad. Water-drops fell from her body like a shower of pearls and her wet hair clung to her marble white arms as the fibres of the water-moss cling to the stalks of lotuses. Her lips were not bright red, but soft pink like the heart of the mother of pearl. Yet what it was that caused this water-goddess to leave her mysterious watery kingdom and sigh out her grief in a secluded corner of this hard earth, remained hidden from the world.
The laughter and song of Sunanda filled the old palace the whole day. Her face did not lack the light of merriment though it reminded everyone of a lily drenched with tears. Her friends not unfrequently asked her, "Can you tell us, dear, where you find such a store of
