Kamal was very mischievous.  When Nagendra had turned away, she snatched up Kunda in her arms and ran off with her.  A tub of not very hot water stood in an adjoining room, and suddenly Kamal threw Kunda into it.  Kunda was quite frightened.  Then Kamal, laughing, took some scented soap and proceeded to wash Kunda.  An attendant, seeing Kamal thus employed, bustled up, saying, “I will do it!  I will do it!” but Kamal, sprinkling some of the hot water over the woman, sent her running away.  Kamal having bathed and rubbed Kunda, she appeared like a dew-washed lotus.  Then Kamal, having robed her in a beautiful white garment, dressed her hair with scented oil, and decorated her with ornaments, said to her:  “Now go and salute the Dada Babu (elder brother), and return, but mind you do not thus to the master of the house:  if he should see you he will want to marry you.”

Nagendra Natha wrote Kunda’s history to Surja Mukhi.  Also when writing to an intimate friend of his living at a distance, named Hara Deb Ghosal, he spoke of Kunda in the following terms: 

“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.”