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The steps were built of brick to resemble stone, very broad and clean. On either side grew an aged bakul tree. Beneath these trees sat Kunda Nandini, alone in the darkening evening, gazing at the reflection of the sky and stars in the clear water. Here and there lotus flowers could be dimly seen.
He might be walking there now; Kunda could not go away without seeing if it were so. But the garden was walled in, and unless the inner door was open there was no entrance. Going thither, Kunda found the door open, and, stepping boldly in, hid herself within the boughs of a bakul tree growing in the midst.
The cool wind blowing over the talao caused the water slightly to wet the lotus flowers, gave the reflected sky an appearance of trembling, and murmured in the leaves above Kunda Nandini's head. The scent of the flowers of the bakul tree pervaded the air, mingled with that of jasmine and other blossoms.
Gradually Nagendra's wife approaching the bakul tree, saw some one lurking within its branches. Not recognizing Kunda, Surja Mukhi said, "Who are you?" Kunda could not speak for fear; her feet refused to move. At length Surja Mukhi saw who it was, and exclaimed, "Is it not Kunda?"
The cuckoo, proud bird, concealing his dark colour in the tufts of the bakul tree, triumphed over every one with his song. In the middle of the garden stood a creeper-covered arbour of white stone, surrounded by flowering shrubs. Kunda Nandini, looking forth from the bakul tree, saw not Nagendra's tall and god-like form.
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