The mutual passion of the lovers, encouraged by their respective confidants, is naturally increased.
Madhava thus addresses Makaranda,
"It is strange, most strange! wherever I turn, the same loved charms appear on every side. Her beauteous face gleams as brightly as the golden bud of the young lotus. Alas! my friend, this fascination spreads over all my senses. A feverish flame consumes my strength. My heart is all on fire. My mind is tossed with doubt. Every faculty is absorbed in one fond thought.
I cease to be myself or conscious of the thing I am.
Malati thus addresses Lavangika:—
"Love spreads through every vein like subtlest poison and, like fire that brightens in the breeze, consumes this feeble frame. Resistless fever preys on each fibre. Its fury is fatal. No one can help me. Neither father nor mother nor Lavangika can save me. Life is distasteful to me.
Repeatedly recurring to the anguish of my heart, I lose all fortitude and in my grief become capricious and unjust. Forgive me. Let the full moon blaze in the mighty sky. Let love rage on. Death screens me from his fury."
In the meantime, the king makes the long-expected demand and the minister Bhurivasu returns the following ambiguous answer:—
"Your Majesty may dispose of your daughter as your Majesty pleases."
[This answer is used in a double sense:—