"Tell me what you consider to be the age of beauty in woman. You will
say after forty, because your Brahmini is a year or two more than
that. The girl Kunda, whose history I have given you, is thirteen. On
looking at her, it seems as if that were the age of beauty. The
sweetness and simplicity that precede the budding-time of youth are
never seen afterwards. This Kunda's simplicity is astonishing; she
understands nothing. To-day she even wished to run into the streets to
play with the boys. On being forbidden, she was much frightened, and
desisted. Kamal is teaching her, and says she shows much aptitude in
learning, but she does not understand other things. For instance, her
large blue eyes--eyes swimming ever like the autumn lotus in clear
water--these two eyes may be fixed upon my face, but they say nothing.
I lose my senses gazing on them; I cannot explain better. You will
laugh at this history of my mental stability; but if I could place you
in front of those eyes, I should see what your firmness is worth. Up
to this time I have been unable to determine what those eyes are like.
I have not seen them look twice the same; I think there are no other
such eyes in the world, they seem as if they scarcely saw the things
of earth, but were ever seeking something in space. It is not that
Kunda is faultlessly beautiful. Her features, if compared with those
of many others, would not be highly praised; yet I think I never saw
such rare beauty. It is as if there were in Kunda Nandini something
not of this world, as though she were not made of flesh and blood, but
of moonbeams and the scent of flowers. Nothing presents itself to my
mind at this moment to which to liken her. Incomparable being! her
whole person seems to breathe peace. If in some clear pool you have
observed the sheen produced by the rays of the autumn moon, you have
seen something resembling her. I can think of no other simile."

Surja Mukhi's reply to Nagendra's letter came in a few days. It was