Randhir had to keep his anger in check and his head clear to come up with the best strategy to go after her. The sentry had reported her absence immediately, but she was a stranger in town and was largely unfamiliar with her surroundings. Besides she had picked the worst possible timing to make a run for it, the full moon night in the region was a time for licentious revelry where salacious men prowled the streets on the lookout for whatever gratification they could manage to commandeer, often too drunk to distinguish between a willing bazaar girl and an unwitting damsel in distress. The residents of the town emulated their rulers closely, the magnificent palaces and mansions where the royals and the nobles lived had been designed for pleasure-seeking where the choicest of hand-picked beauties, both willing and enslaved, pleased their masters in any manner they desired, notwithstanding the numerous wives. What applied to the lofty also applied to the man on the street, pleasure was the end and the means did not matter.

He kept his eyes peeled; scanning every inch of the ground he covered, looking for any clue that could lead to her presence. He dismounted briefly and touched Pawan on his shoulder gently, trying to enlist help from his keen sense of sight and smell as he repeated her name a few times till the horse flared his nostrils and moved his ears in response. A rider and his horse may develop a deep bond based on trust and understanding, helping them communicates with each other. As Randhir got back atop him he slackened the reins slightly prodding the horse to try and track her down. He tried to keep calm but his anxiety was rising slowly, what if any miscreants got to her before he did? The very thought tormented him, unsure about what condition he would find her in, if he did find her at all. He chose not to ask anybody about her, feeling uneasy about letting it known that a defenceless girl was missing on the streets at night. There was also guilt of having provoked her and driven her to embark upon this recklessness. He knew he could never forgive himself if something happened to her tonight and he prayed hard for divine intervention.

She did not know what she was feeling. It had happened before, she had seen other women come close to him, but this was the first time that he embraced the dancing girl after he had spotted her on the serai roof, making his rejection of her obvious. She felt as if her body was on fire, her heart beat rapidly, her first instinct was to run, run in the hope of finding solace from his callous act, his betrayal. She felt delirious; she simply let her feet carry her to some place where if it was possible she would turn the clock back to the time before she met him. The recent memory was breaking her into pieces; she did not care about where she was going or what the consequences would be. All she knew was that if she found the rapids of a foaming river she would plunge herself in to help find release from the pain that was tearing her apart. She could tell that the sentry at the gate was confused to see her rush out like a crazy, possessed woman but his sense of modesty prevented him from restraining her physically and taking advantage of his hesitation she bolted out into the nowhere.

She could barely see ahead of her, she hardly heard the jeers that greeted her from the street corners or feel the masculine arms that tried to grab her. She knew she was running through the market streets leading towards the grand palace in the city centre. Suddenly she heard the chiming of temple bells and she turned in that direction. She could now see the open doors of the temple and she was about to make her way in when someone grabbed her roughly and a palm sealed her mouth. Her body trembled at the sudden assault; she tried to fight them off but she was dragged by him and a companion into a dark alley where she was thrown down roughly on some sort of a platform and then she saw the lust in his eyes, making his intention obvious. As he uncovered her face she tried to scream but found herself frozen in terror, she raised her arms in defence when he slapped her across her cheek causing a stinging pain and making her eyes tear up. His companion bared his teeth and placed himself above her head, holding up her arms by gripping them firmly by the wrists. The realisation of her situation struck and she fainted, unable to react or to prevent the inevitable. He threw her odhni aside and tried to hitch up the voluminous skirt of her ghagra to begin what he intended, hardly able to believe his luck.

Was it fate, was it his strong will to find her safe or was it the powerful sixth sense of Pawan which led him to where his worst nightmare was about to unfold, he would never know. The sight ahead filled him with a murderous rage. He dismounted and grabbed the man who was trying to take advantage of the girl, whirling him around and punching him hard on his face, drawing blood. The other man brandished a knife and swiped blindly at Randhir, managing to strike him just under his chin. Filled with ire Randhir send him flinging across with a kick on his groin. As he drew the sword from his hilt he ran toward the two men who had enough sense in them to break into a run and vanish in the back alley. Randhir turned around and rearranged her skirt when he realised that she had passed out. He checked her pulse and breath, only to find her forehead burning with fever. He picked her up, mounted his horse and rode back as quickly as he could, not realising the blood from his cut had pooled itself on the top of her exposed head smearing her scalp like a vermilion stain as he struggled to keep the deadweight of her body steady on the saddle to prevent her from falling. In a few minutes he had reached, where an anxious Samsher and the other guards awaited his return.

Dismounting with her he whispered instructions to Samsher and carried her to the privacy of his own chamber, putting her down carefully on his bed and bolting the door. It was a full hour after she had been missing that he managed to locate her; there was no way to tell what had happened with her until he ascertained it. His heart sank as he lit enough lamps and placed them close to him so he could observe her minutely. With trembling hands he started to undo her blouse, surveying her but finding no obvious marks on the torso. Telling himself that he was doing this only to be sure she was fine he lifted up her ghagra and spread her legs apart to examine her for any obvious signs of blood or sperm. There were none, no visual indications of a forced entry through either orifice, no contusions, lesions or lacerations. He held his breath before making the final assessment, and breathed a sigh of relief to find her maidenhead intact, no harm done. He heard soft knocking on the door and rose to rearrange her clothing before unlocking the door. It was Samsher with a trusted helper, entering with urns of warm and cool water and some wash cloths.

Randhir sponged her face and arms, mopped up the dried blood from her scalp, then placed strips of cloth soaked in cool water and squeezed out, over her forehead and neck as he continued to sponge the exposed parts of her body, asking the helper to fan her. Samsher went to get a room ready for her in the Zenana apartments after which Randhir carried her there, placing her on the fresh bed, and asking a pair of maids to continue sponging and fanning her, also to give her sugared water as soon as she was conscious. He asked Samsher to wake her father up and to tell him she had sleep-walked to the mansion in her fevered delirium, requesting him to move the women in his camp from the serai to the mansion to accompany her so she may get adequate rest and recover before they resumed the journey in a couple of days, taking care not to mention anything more that had happened. Samsher went forth to do as he was told and Randhir went on to wash and take care of his own wound. He was unsure how her father was going to react but he did not care, her well-being mattered above everything else.