Whoever he was, both
Nagendra and Kamal Mani consented to Surja Mukhi's proposal. Therefore
it was resolved that when Nagendra went home Kunda Nandini should
accompany him. Every one consented with delight, and Kamal also
prepared some ornaments. How blind is man to the future! Some years
later there came a day when Nagendra and Kamal Mani bowed to the dust,
and, striking their foreheads in grief, murmured: "In how evil a
moment did we find Kunda Nandini! in how evil an hour did we agree to
Surja Mukhi's letter!" Now Kamal Mani, Surja Mukhi, and Nagendra,
together have sowed the poison seed; later they will all repent it
with wailing.

Causing his boat to be got ready, Nagendra returned to Govindpur with
Kunda Nandini. Kunda had almost forgotten her dream; while journeying
with Nagendra it recurred to her memory, but thinking of his
benevolent face and kindly character, Kunda could not believe that
any harm would come to her from him. In like manner there are many
insects who, seeing a destructive flame, enter therein.

CHAPTER IV.

TARA CHARAN.

The Poet Kalidas was supplied with flowers by a _Malini_ (flower-girl).
He, being a poor Brahmin, could not pay for the flowers, but in place
of that he used to read some of his own verses to the _Malini_. One day
there bloomed in the _Malini's_ tank a lily of unparalleled beauty.
Plucking it, the _Malini_ offered it to Kalidas. As a reward the poet
read to her some verses from the _Megha Duta_ (Cloud Messenger). That
poem is an ocean of wit, but every one knows that its opening lines
are tasteless. The _Malini_ did not relish them, and being annoyed she
rose to go.

The poet asked: "Oh! friend _Malini_, are you going?"

"Your verses have no flavour," replied the _Malini_.

"_Malini_! you will never reach heaven."

"Why so?"

"There is a staircase to heaven. By ascending millions of steps heaven
is reached. My poem has also a staircase; these tasteless verses are
the steps. If you can't climb these few steps, how will you ascend the
heavenly ladder?"

The _Malini_ then, in fear of losing heaven through the Brahmin's
curse, listened to the _Megha Duta_ from beginning to end. She admired
the poem; and next day, binding a wreath of flowers in the name of
Cupid, she crowned the poet's temples therewith.

This ordinary poem of mine is not heaven; neither has it a staircase
of a million steps. Its flavour is faint and the steps are few. These
few tasteless cha