 |
KING.
I am certainly very much perplexed. For here,
Two different duties are required of me In widely distant places; how can I In my own person satisfy them both? Thus is my mind distracted, and impelled In opposite directions like a stream That, driven back by rocks, still rushes on, Forming two currents in its eddying course.
[Reflecting.]
Friend MaṬHavya, as you were my playfellow in childhood, the Queen has already received you like a second son; go you, then, back to her, and tell her of my solemn engagement to assist these holy men. You can supply my place in the ceremony, and act the part of a son to the Queen.
MAṬHAVYA.
With the greatest pleasure in the world; but don't suppose that I am really coward enough to have the slightest fear of those trumpery demons.
KING.
Oh! of course not; a great Brahman like you could not possibly give way to such weakness.
MAṬHAVYA.
You must let me travel in a manner suitable to the King's younger brother.
KING.
Yes, I shall send my retinue with you, that there may be no farther disturbance in this sacred forest.
MAṬHAVYA, [With a strut.
Already I feel quite like a young prince.
KING. [Aside.
This is a giddy fellow, and in all probability he will let out the truth about my present pursuit to the women of the palace. What is to be done? I must say something to deceive him.
[Aloud to MAṬHAVYA, taking him by the hand.]
Dear friend, I am going to the hermitage wholly and solely out of respect for its pious inhabitants, and not because I have really any liking for Sakoontala, the hermit's daughter. Observe:—
What suitable communion could there be Between a monarch and a rustic girl? I did but feign an idle passion, friend, Take not in earnest what was said in jest.
MAṬHAVYA.
Don't distress yourself; I quite understand.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *
PRELUDE TO ACT III.
SCENE.—The Hermitage.
Enter a YOUNG BRAHMAN carrying bundles of kuSa-grass for the use of the sacrificing priest.
YOUNG BRAHMAN.
How wonderful is the power of King Dushyanta! No sooner did he enter our hermitage, than we were able to proceed with our sacrificial rites, unmolested by the evil demons.
No need to fix the arrow to the bow; The mighty monarch sounds the quivering string, And, by the thunder of his arms dismayed, Our demon foes are scattered to the wind.
I must now, therefore, make haste and deliver to the sacrificing priests these bundles of Kusa-grass, to be strewn round the altar.
[Walking and looking about; then addressing some one off the stage.]
Why, Priyamvada, for whose use are you carrying that ointment of Usira-root and those lotus-leaves with fibres attached to them?
[Listening for her answer.]
What Say you?—that Sakoontala is suffering from fever produced by exposure to the sun, and that this ointment is to cool her burning frame? Nurse her with care, then, Priyamvada, for she is cherished by our reverend Superior as the very breath of his nostrils[46]. I, for my part, will contrive that soothing waters, hallowed in the sacrifice, he administered to her by the hands of Gautami.
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE.—The Sacred Grove.
Enter KING DUSHYANTA, with the air of one in love.
KING. [Sighing thoughtfully.
The holy sage possesses magic power In virtue of his penance; she, his ward, Under the shadow of his tutelage, Rests in security, I know it well; Yet sooner shall the rushing cataract In foaming eddies re-ascend the steep, Than my fond heart turn back from its pursuit.
God of love! God of the flowery shafts [47]! we lovers are cruelly deceived by thee, and by the Moon, however deserving of confidence you may both appear.
For not to us do these thine arrows seem Pointed with tender flowerets; not to us Doth the pale Moon irradiate the earth With beams of silver fraught with cooling dews; But on our fevered frames the moon-beams fall Like darts of fire, and every flower-tipt shaft Of Kama[47], as it probes our throbbing hearts, Seems to be barbed with hardest adamant.
Adorable god of love! hast thou no pity for me?
[In a tone of anguish.]
How can thy arrows be so sharp when they are pointed with flowers? Ah! I know the reason:
E'en now in thine unbodied essence lurks The fire of Siva's anger[48], like the flame That ever hidden in the secret depths Of ocean, smoulders there unseen[49]. How else Could'st thou, all immaterial as thou art, Inflame our hearts thus fiercely?—thou, whose form Was scorched to ashes by a sudden flash From the offended god's terrific eye.
Yet, methinks,
Welcome this anguish, welcome to my heart These rankling wounds inflicted by the god, Who on his scutcheon bears the monster-fish[50] Slain by his prowess; welcome death itself, So that, commissioned by the lord of love, This fair one be my executioner. Adorable divinity! Can I by no reproaches excite your commiseration? Have I not daily offered at thy shrine Innumerable vows, the only food Of thine ethereal essence? Are my prayers Thus to be slighted? Is it meet that thou Should'st aim thy shafts at thy true votary's heart, Drawing thy bow-string even to thy ear?
[Pacing up and down in a melancholy manner.]
Now that the holy men have completed their rites, and have no more need of my services, how shall I dispel my melancholy?
[Sighing.]
I have but one resource. Oh for another sight of the Idol of my soul! I will seek her.
[Glancing at the sun.]
In all probability, as the sun's heat is now at its height, Sakoontala is passing her time under the shade of the bowers on the banks of the Malini, attended by her maidens. I will go and look for her there.
[Walking and looking about.]
I suspect the fair one has but just passed by this avenue of young trees.
Here, as she tripped along, her fingers plucked The opening buds; these lacerated plants, Shorn of their fairest blossoms by her hand, Seem like dismembered trunks, whose recent wounds Are still unclosed; while from the bleeding socket Of many a severed stalk, the milky juice Still slowly trickles, and betrays her path.
[Feeling a breeze.]
What a delicious breeze meets me in this spot!
Here may the zephyr, fragrant with the scent Of lotuses, and laden with the spray Caught from the waters of the rippling stream, Fold in its close embrace my fevered limbs.
[Walking and looking about.]
She must be somewhere in the neighbourhood of this arbour of overhanging creepers enclosed by plantations of cane;
[Looking down.]
For at the entrance here I plainly see A line of footsteps printed in the sand. Here are the fresh impressions of her feet; Their well-known outline faintly marked in front, More deeply towards the heel; betokening The graceful undulation of her gait[51].
I will peep through those branches.
[Walking and looking. With transport.]
Ah! now my eyes are gratified by an entrancing sight. Yonder is the beloved of my heart reclining on a rock strewn with flowers, and attended by her two friends. How fortunate! Concealed behind the leaves, I will listen to their conversation, without raising their suspicions.
[Stands concealed, and gazes at them.
SAKOONTALA and her two attendants, holding fans in their hands, are discovered as described.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
[Fanning her. In a tone of affection.
Dearest Sakoontala, is the breeze raised by these broad lotus-leaves refreshing to you?
SAKOONTALA.
Dear friends, why should you trouble yourselves to fan me?
[PRIYAMVADA and ANASUYA look sorrowfully at one another.
KING.
Sakoontala seems indeed to be seriously ill.
[Thoughtfully.]
Can it be the intensity of the heat that has affected her? or does my heart suggest the true cause of her malady?
[Gazing at her passionately.]
Why should I doubt it?
The maiden's spotless bosom is o'erspread With cooling balsam; on her slender arm Her only bracelet, twined with lotus-stalks, Hangs loose and withered; her recumbent form Betokens languor. Ne'er could noon-day sun Inflict such fair disorder on a maid— No, love, and love alone, is here to blame.
PRIYAMVADA. [Aside to ANASUYA.
I have observed, Anasuya, that Sakoontala has been indisposed ever since her first interview with King Dushyanta. Depend upon it, her ailment is to be traced to that source.
ANASUYA.
The same suspicion, dear, has crossed my mind. But I will at once ask her and ascertain the truth.
[Aloud.]
Dear Sakoontala, I am about to put a question to you. Your indisposition is really very serious.
SAKOONTALA. [Half rising from her couch.
What were you going to ask?
ANASUYA.
We know very little about love-matters, dear Sakoontala; but for all that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to be something similar to that of the lovers we have heard about in romances. Tell us frankly what is the cause of your disorder. It is useless to apply a remedy, until the disease be understood.
KING.
Anasuya bears me out in my suspicion.
SAKOONTALA. [Aside.
I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashly disclose my passion to these young girls.
PRIYAMVADA.
What Anasuya says, dear Sakoontala, is very just. Why give so little heed to your ailment? Every day you are becoming thinner; though I must confess your complexion is still as beautiful as ever.
KING.
Priyamvada speaks most truly.
Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom Loses its fulness; e'en her slender waist Grows more attenuate; her face is wan, Her shoulders droop;—as when the vernal blasts Sear the young blossoms of the Madhavi[52], Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change. Yet in its sadness, fascinating still, Inflicted by the mighty lord of love On the fair figure of the hermit's daughter.
SAKOONTALA.
Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of my malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
Nay, this is the very point about which we are so solicitous. Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of half its poignancy.
KING.
Pressed by the partners of her joys and griefs, Her much beloved companions, to reveal The cherished secret locked within her breast, She needs must utter it; although her looks Encourage me to hope, my bosom throbs As anxiously I listen for her answer.
SAKOONTALA.
Know then, dear friends, that from the first moment the illustrious Prince who is the guardian of our sacred grove presented himself to my sight—
[Stops short, and appears confused.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
Say on, dear Sakoontala, say on.
SAKOONTALA.
Ever since that happy moment, my heart's affections have been fixed upon him, and my energies of mind and body have all deserted me, as you see.
KING. [With rapture.
Her own lips have uttered the words I most longed to hear.
Love lit the flame, and Love himself allays My burning fever, as when gathering clouds Rise o'er the earth in summer's dazzling noon, And grateful showers dispel the morning heat.
SAKOONTALA.
You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some means by which I may find favour with the King, or you will have ere long to assist at my funeral.
KING.
Enough! These words remove all my doubts.
PRIYAMVADA. [Aside to ANASUYA.
She is far gone in love, dear Anasuya, and no time ought to be lost. Since she has fixed her affections on a monarch who is the ornament of Puru's line, we need not hesitate for a moment to express our approval.
ANASUYA.
I quite agree with you.
PRIYAMVADA. [Aloud.
We wish you joy, dear Sakoontala. Your affections are fixed on an object in every respect worthy of you,. The noblest river will unite itself to the ocean, and the lovely Madhavi-creeper clings naturally to the Mango, the only tree capable of supporting it.
KING.
Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Visakha pines to be united with the Moon[53]?
ANASUYA.
By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend the accomplishment of her heart's desire both speedily and secretly?
PRIYAMVADA.
The latter point is all we have to think about. As to 'speedily,' I look upon the whole affair as already settled.
ANASUYA.
How so?
PRIYAMVADA.
Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by the tender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he has become the last few days, as if he had been lying awake thinking of her?
KING. [Looking at himself.
Quite true! I certainly am becoming thin from want of sleep:
As night by night in anxious thought I raise This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head, My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams, Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist. Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain; So easily it spans the fleshless limb That e'en the rough and corrugated skin, Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall[54].
PRIYAMVADA.
An idea strikes me, Anasuya. Let Sakoontala write a love-letter; I will conceal it in a flower, and contrive to drop it in the King's path. He will surely mistake it for the remains of some sacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick it up.
ANASUYA.
A very ingenious device! It my entire approval; but what says Sakoontala?
SAKOONTALA.
I must consider before I can consent to it.
PRIYAMVADA.
Could, you not, dear Sakoontala, think of some pretty composition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your love?
SAKOONTALA.
Well, I will do my best; but my heart trembles when I think of the chances of a refusal.
KING. [With rapture.
Too timid maid, here stands the man from whom Thou fearest a repulse; supremely blessed To call thee all his own. Well might he doubt His title to thy love; but how could'st thou Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him?
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
You undervalue your own merits, dear Sakoontala. What man in his senses would intercept with the skirt of his robe the bright rays of the autumnal moon, which alone can allay the fever of his body?
SAKOONTALA. [Smiling.
Then it seems I must do as I am bid.
[Sits down and appears to be thinking.
KING.
How charming she looks! My very eyes forget to wink, jealous of losing even for an instant a sight so enchanting.
How beautiful the movement of her brow, As through her mind love's tender fancies flow! And, as she weighs her thoughts, how sweet to trace The ardent passion mantling in her face!
SAKOONTALA.
Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have no writing-materials at hand.
PRIYAMVADA.
Write the letters with your nail on this lotus-leaf, which is smooth as a parrot's breast.
SAKOONTALA. [After writing the verse.
Listen, dear friends, and tell me whether the ideas are appropriately expressed.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
We are all attention.
SAKOONTALA. [Reads.
I know not the secret thy bosom conceals, Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight; But sad is the tale that my fever reveals, Of the love that consumes me by day and by night.
KING. [Advancing hastily towards her.
Nay, Love does but warm thee, fair maiden,—thy frame Only droops like the bud in the glare of the noon; But me he consumes with a pitiless flame, As the beams of the day-star destroy the pale moon.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
[Looking at him joyfully and rising to salute him.
Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presents itself!
[SAKOONTALA makes an effort to rise.
KING.
Nay, trouble not thyself, dear maiden.
Move not to do me homage; let thy limbs Still softly rest upon their flowery couch; And gather fragrance from the lotus-stalks, Bruised by the fevered contact of thy frame.
ANASUYA.
Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which our friend is reposing.
[The KING sits down. SAKOONTALA is confused.
PRIYAMVADA.
Any one may see at a glance that you are deeply attached to each other. But the affection I have for my friend prompts me to say something of which you hardly require to be informed.
KING.
Do not hesitate to speak out, my good girl. If you omit to say what is in your mind, you may be sorry for it afterwards.
PRIYAMVADA.
Is it not your special office as a King to remove the suffering of your subjects who are in trouble?
KING.
Such is my duty, most assuredly.
PRIYAMVADA.
Know, then, that our dear friend has been brought to her present state of suffering entirely through love for you. Her life is in your hands; take pity on her and restore her to health.
KING.
Excellent maiden, our attachment is mutual. It is I who am the most honoured by it.
SAKOONTALA. [Looking at PRIYAMVADA.
What do you mean by detaining the King, who must be anxious to return to his royal consorts after so long a separation?
KING.
Sweet maiden, banish from thy mind the thought That I could love another. Thou dost reign Supreme, without a rival, in my heart, And I am thine alone; disown me not, Else must I die a second deadlier death, Killed by thy words, as erst by Kama's[47] shafts.
ANASUYA.
Kind Sir, we have heard it said that kings have many favourite consorts. You must not, then, by your behaviour towards our dear friend, give her relations cause to sorrow for her.
KING.
Listen, gentle maiden, while in a few words I quiet your anxiety.
Though many beauteous forms my palace grace, Henceforth two things alone will I esteem The glory of my royal dynasty— My sea-girt realm, and this most lovely maid.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
We are satisfied by your assurances.
PRIYAMVADA. [Glancing on one side.
See, Anasuya, there is our favourite little fawn running about in great distress, and turning its eyes in every direction as if looking for its mother; come, let us help the little thing to find her. [Both move away.
SAKOONTALA.
Dear friends, dear friends, leave me not alone and unprotected. Why need you both go?
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
Unprotected! when the Protector of the world is at your side.
[Exeunt.
SAKOONTALA.
What! have they both really left me?
KING.
Distress not thyself, sweet maiden. Thy adorer is at hand to wait upon thee.
Oh let me tend thee, fair one, in the place Of thy dear friends; and with broad lotus fans Raise cooling breezes to refresh thy frame; Or shall I rather, with caressing touch, Allay the fever of thy limbs, and soothe Thy aching feet, beauteous as blushing lilies?
SAKOONTALA.
Nay, touch me not. I will not incur the censure of those whom I am bound to respect.
[Rises and attempts to go.
KING.
Fair one, the heat of noon has not yet subsided, and thy body is still feeble.
How canst thou quit thy fragrant couch of flowers, And from thy throbbing bosom cast aside Its covering of lotus-leaves, to brave With weak and fainting limbs the noon-day heat?
[Forces her to turn back.
SAKOONTALA.
Infringe not the rules of decorum, mighty descendant of Puru. Remember, though I love you, I have no power to dispose of myself.
KING.
Why this fear of offending your relations, timid maid? When your venerable foster-father hears of it, he will not find fault with you. He knows that the law permits us to be united without consulting him.
In Indra's heaven, so at least 'tis said, No nuptial rites prevail[55], nor is the bride Led to the altar by her future lord; But all in secret does the bridegroom plight His troth, and each unto the other vow Mutual allegiance. Such espousals, too, Are authorised on earth, and many daughters Of royal saints thus wedded to their lords Have still received their father's benison.
SAKOONTALA.
Leave me, leave me; I must take counsel with my female friends.
KING.
I will leave thee when—
SAKOONTALA.
When?
KING.
When I have gently stolen from thy lips Their yet untasted nectar, to allay The raging of my thirst, e'en as the bee Sips the fresh honey from the opening bud.
[_Attempts to raise her face_. SAKOONTALA tries to prevent him_.
A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.
The loving birds, doomed by fate to nightly separation[56], must bid farewell to each other, for evening is at hand.
SAKOONTALA. [In confusion.
Great Prince, I hear the voice of the matron Gautami. She is coming this way to inquire after my health. Hasten and conceal yourself behind the branches.
KING.
I will. [Conceals himself.
Enter GAUTAMI with a vase in her hand, preceded by two attendants.
ATTENDANTS.
This way, most venerable Gautami.
GAUTAMI. [Approaching SAKOONTALA.
My child, is the fever of thy limbs allayed?
SAKOONTALA.
Venerable mother, there is certainly a change for the better.
GAUTAMI.
Let me sprinkle you with this holy water, and all your ailments will depart.
[_Sprinkling_ SAKOONTALA on the head_.]
The day is closing, my child; come, let us go to the cottage.
[They all move away.
SAKOONTALA. [Aside.
Oh my heart! thou didst fear to taste of happiness when it was within thy reach. Now that the object of thy desires is torn from thee, how bitter will be thy remorse, how distracting thine anguish!
[Moving on a few steps and stopping. Aloud.]
Farewell! bower of creepers, sweet soother of my sufferings, farewell! may I soon again be happy under thy shade.
[Exit reluctantly with the others.
KING.
[Returning to his former seat in the arbour. Sighing.
Alas! how many are the obstacles to the accomplishment of our wishes!
Albeit she did coyly turn away Her glowing cheek, and with her fingers guard Her pouting lips, that murmured a denial In faltering accents, she did yield herself A sweet reluctant captive to my will. As eagerly I raised her lovely face; But ere with gentle force I stole the kiss, Too envious Fate did mar my daring purpose.
Whither now shall I betake myself? I will tarry for a brief space in this bower of creepers, so endeared to me by the presence of my beloved Sakoontala.
[Looking round.
Here printed on the flowery couch I see The fair impression of her slender limbs; Here is the sweet confession of her love, Traced with her nail upon the lotus-leaf; And yonder are the withered lily-stalks That graced her wrist. While all around I view Things that recall her image, can I quit This bower, e'en though its living be fled?
A VOICE IN THE AIR.
Great King,
Scarce is our evening sacrifice begun, When evil demons, lurid as the clouds That gather round the dying orb of day, Cluster in hideous troops, obscene and dread, About our altars, casting far and near Terrific shadows, while the sacred fire Sheds a pale lustre o'er their ghostly shapes.
KING.
I come to the rescue, I come.
[Exit.
* * * * *
PRELUDE TO ACT IV.
SCENE.—The Garden of the Hermitage.
_Enter_ PRIYAMVADA and ANASUYA in the act of gathering flowers_.
ANASUYA.
Although, dear Priyamvada, it rejoices my heart to think that Sakoontala has been happily united to a husband in every respect worthy of her, by the form of marriage prevalent among Indra's celestial musicians, nevertheless, I cannot help feeling somewhat uneasy in my mind.
PRIYAMVADA.
How so?
ANASUYA.
You know that the pious King was gratefully dismissed by the hermits on the successful termination of their sacrificial rites. He has now returned to his capital, leaving Sakoontala under our care; and it may be doubted whether, in the society of his royal consorts, he will not forget all that has taken place in this hermitage of ours.
PRIYAMVADA.
On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are not so destitute of all honourable feeling. I confess, however, that there is one point about which I am rather anxious. What, think you, will Father Kanwa say when he hears what has occurred?
ANASUYA.
In my opinion, he will approve the marriage.
PRIYAMVADA.
What makes you think so?
ANASUYA.
From the first, it was always his fixed purpose to bestow the maiden on a husband worthy of her; and since heaven has given her such a husband, his wishes have been realized without any trouble to himself.
PRIYAMVADA. [Looking at the flower-basket.
We have gathered flowers enough for the sacred offering, dear Anasuya.
ANASUYA.
Well, then, let us now gather more, that we may have wherewith to propitiate the guardian-deity of our dear Sakoontala.
PRIYAMVADA.
By all means.
[They continue gathering.
A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.
Ho there! See you not that I am here!
ANASUYA.
That must be the voice of a guest announcing his arrival.
PRIYAMVADA.
Surely, Sakoontala is not absent from the cottage.
[Aside.]
Her heart at least is absent, I fear.
ANASUYA.
Come along, come along; we have gathered flowers enough.
[They move away.
THE SAME VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.
Woe to thee, maiden, for daring to slight a guest like me!
Shall I stand here unwelcomed—even I, A very mine of penitential merit, Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid, Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts Upon the cherished object of thy love, While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then— He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive To waken his remembrance of the past; He shall disown thee, even as the sot, Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies The words he uttered in his revellings.
PRIYAMVADA.
Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred. Sakoontala, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest whom she was bound to treat with respect.
[Looking behind the scenes.]
Ah! yes; I see; and no less a person than the great sage Durvasas[57], who is known to be most irascible. He it is that has just cursed her, and is now retiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if nothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire.
ANASUYA.
Go quickly, dear Priyamvada, throw yourself at his feet, and persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering[59] for him, with water and refreshments.
PRIYAMVADA.
I will.
[Exit.
ANASUYA.
[Advancing hastily a few steps and stumbling.
Alas! alas! this comes of being in a hurry. My foot has slipped, and my basket of flowers has fallen from my hand.
[Stays to gather them up.
PRIYAMVADA. [Re-entering
Well, dear Anasuya, I have done my best; but what living being could succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained, ill-tempered old fellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little.
ANASUYA [Smiling.
Even a little was much for him. Say on.
PRIYAMVADA.
When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in these words: 'Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this first offence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant of the respect due to your saintly character and exalted rank.'
ANASUYA
And what did he reply?
PRIYAMVADA.
'My word must not be falsified; but, at the sight of the ring of recognition the spell shall cease.' So saying, he disappeared.
ANASUYA.
Oh! then we may breathe again; for, now I think of it, the King himself, at his departure, fastened on Sakoontala's finger, as a token of remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved. She has, therefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her own command.
PRIYAMVADA.
Come, dear Anasuya, let us proceed with our religious duties.
[They walk round.
PRIYAMVADA. [Looking off the stage.
See, Anasuya, there sits our dear friend, motionless as a statue, resting her face on her left hand, her whole mind absorbed in thinking of her absent husband. She can pay no attention to herself, much less to a stranger.
ANASUYA.
Priyamvada, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spare our dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate to bear much emotion.
PRIYAMVADA.
I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender jasmine with hot water?
ACT IV.
Scene.—_The Neighbourhood of the Hermitage.
Enter one of_ Kanwa's Pupils _just arisen from his couch at the dawn of day_.
PUPIL.
My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from his pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I have therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark.
[Walking and looking about.]
Oh! the dawn has already broken.
Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon, Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers, Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills; While in the east, preceded by the Dawn, His blushing charioteer[59], the glorious Sun Begins his course, and far into the gloom Casts the first radiance of his orient beams. Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set, And set to rise again; symbols divine Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes.
And now,
While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower Of the night-loving lotus[60] sheds her leave In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought But the sweet memory of her loveliness To my bereaved sight; e'en as the bride Disconsolately mourns her absent lord, And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief.
ANASUYA. [Entering abruptly.
Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Sakoontala very improperly.
PUPIL.
Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to offer the burnt oblation.
[Exit.
ANASUYA.
I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go about my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost their power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is to blame for having induced our dear friend, in the innocence of her heart, to confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of Durvasas may he already taking effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise account for the King's strange conduct, in allowing so long a time to elapse without even a letter; and that, too, after so many promises and protestations. I cannot think what to do unless we send him the ring which was to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere hermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father Kanwa has just returned from his pilgrimage; and how am I to inform him of Sakoontala's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of becoming soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt that Sakoontala had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is to be done?
PRIYAMVADA. [Entering; joyfully.
Quick! quick! Anasuya! come and assist in the joyful preparations for Sakoontala's departure to her husband's palace.
ANASUYA.
My dear girl, what can you mean?
PRIYAMVADA.
Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to Sakoontala, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably—
ANASUYA.
Well, well; go on.
PRIYAMVADA.
She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground with shame, when Father Kanwa entered, and, embracing her, of his own accord offered her his congratulations. 'I give thee joy, my child,' he said, 'we have had an auspicious omen. The priest who offered the oblation dropped it into the very centre of the sacred fire [81], though thick smoke obstructed his vision. Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an object of compassion. This very day I purpose sending thee, under the charge of certain trusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall deliver thee into the hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge to the keeping of a wise and faithful student.'
ANASUYA.
Who, then, informed the holy father of what passed in his absence?
PRIYAMVADA.
As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire, an invisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains.
ANASUYA. [With astonishment.
Indeed! pray repeat it.
PRIYAMVADA. [Repeating the verse.
Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory, As in the sacred tree the mystic fire [62]; Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story, And may the son immortalize the sire.
ANASUYA. [Embracing PRIYAMVADA.
Oh, my dear Priyamvada, what delightful news! I am pleased beyond measure; yet when I think that we are to lose our dear Sakoontala this very day, a feeling of melancholy mingles with my joy.
PRIYAMVADA.
We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her departure. Let the dear creature only be made happy at any cost.
ANASUYA.
Yes, yes, Priyamvada, it shall be so; and now to prepare the bridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, and some time since, I deposited a beautiful garland of KeSara flowers in a cocoa-nut box, and suspended it on a bough of yonder mango-tree. Be good enough to stretch out your hand and take it down, while I compound unguents and perfumes with this consecrated paste and these blades of sacred grass.
PRIYAMVADA.
Very well.
[Exit ANASUYA. PRIYAMVADA takes down the flowers.
A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.
Gautami, bid Sarngarava and the others hold themselves in readiness to escort Sakoontala.
PRIYAMVADA. [Listening.
Quick, quick, Anasuya! They are calling the hermits who are to go with Sakoontala to Hastinapur[83].
ANASUYA. [Re-entering with the perfumed unguents in her hand.
Come along then, Priyamvada; I am ready to go with you.
[They walk away.
PRIYAMVADA. [Looking.
See! there sits Sakoontala, her locks arranged even at this early hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage are congratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, while they present her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecrated wild-rice. Let us join them.
[They approach.
SAKOONTALA is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupied in the manner described.
FIRST WOMAN. [To SAKOONTALA.
My child, may'st thou receive the title of 'Chief-queen,' and may thy husband delight to honour thee above all others!
SECOND WOMAN.
My child, may'st thou be the mother of a hero!
THIRD WOMAN.
My child, may'st thou be highly honoured by thy lord!
[_Exeunt all the women, excepting_ GAUTAMI, after blessing_ SAKOONTALA.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [Approaching.
Dear Sakoontala, we are come to assist you at your toilet, and may a blessing attend it!
SAKOONTALA.
Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
[Taking the baskets containing the bridal decorations, and sitting down.
Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us dress you. We must first rub your limbs with these perfumed unguents.
SAKOONTALA.
I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now that I am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I shall never be dressed by you again.
[Bursts into tears.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
Weep not, dearest; tears are out of season on such a happy occasion.
[They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her.
PRIYAMVADA.
Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments, which our hermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as it deserves.
Enter TWO YOUNG HERMITS, bearing costly presents.
BOTH HERMITS.
Here are ornaments suitable for a queen.
[The women look at them in astonishment.
GAUTAMI
Why, Narada, my son, whence came these?
FIRST HERMIT.
You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa.
GAUTAMI.
Did he create them by the power of his own mind?
SECOND HERMIT.
Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage ordered us to collect flowers for Sakoontala from the forest-trees; and we went to the wood for that purpose, when
Straightway depending from a neighbouring tree Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure And spotless as a moonbeam—mystic pledge Of bridal happiness; another tree Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain The lady's feet [135]; and other branches near Glistened with rare and costly ornaments. While, 'mid the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs, Vying in beauty with the opening buds, Presented us with sylvan offerings.
PRIYAMVADA. [Looking at SAKOONTALA.
The wood-nymphs have done you honour, indeed. This favour doubtless signifies that you are soon to be received as a happy wife into your husband's house, and are from this time forward to become the partner of his royal fortunes.
[SAKOONTALA appears abashed.
FIRST HERMIT.
Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions. Let us go and inform him of the favour we have received from the deities who preside over our trees.
SECOND HERMIT.
By all means.
[Exeunt.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA
Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such splendid decorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Our knowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose the ornaments as we have seen them in pictures.
SAKOONTALA
Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have perfect confidence In your taste.
[They commence dressing her.
Enter KANWA, having just finished his ablutions.
KANWA.
This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart Is heavy with its grief; the streams of sorrow, Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice, I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise Within my soul. If such the force of grief In an old hermit parted from his nursling, What anguish must the stricken parent feel— Bereft for ever of an only daughter.
[Advances towards SAKOONTALA
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
Now, dearest Sakoontala, we have finished decorating you. You have only to put on the two linen mantles.
[SAKOONTALA rises and puts them on.
GAUTAMI.
Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to fold thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do him reverence.
SAKOONTALA [Reverently.
My father, I salute you.
KANWA.
My daughter,
May'st thou be highly honoured by thy lord, E'en as Yayati Sarmishtha adored[64]! And, as she bore him Puru, so may'st thou Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!
GAUTAMI.
Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if she already possessed the boon it confers.
KANWA.
Now come this way, my child, and walk reverently round these sacrificial fires.
[They all walk round.
KANWA.
[Repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda.
Holy flames, that gleam around Every altar's hallowed ground; Holy flames, whose frequent food Is the consecrated wood, And for whose encircling bed, Sacred Kusa-grass is spread [65]; Holy flames, that waft to heaven Sweet oblations daily given, Mortal guilt to purge away, Hear, oh hear me, when I pray— Purify my child this day!
Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey.
[Looking on one side.]
Where are thy attendants. Sarngarava and the others?
YOUNG HERMIT. [Entering.
Here we are, most venerable father.
KANWA.
Lead the way for thy sister.
SARNGARAVA.
Come, Sakoontala, let us proceed.
[All move away.
KANWA.
Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage! Sakoontala ne'er moistened in the stream Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured Its purest water on your thirsty roots; And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love She robbed you not e'en of a single flower. Her highest joy was ever to behold The early glory of your opening buds; Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell. This very day she quits her father's home, To seek the palace of her wedded lord.
[The note of a Koil[66] is heard.
Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees, Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note Of the melodious Koil[66]? they dismiss Their dear Sakoontala with loving wishes.
VOICES IN THE AIR.
Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees, While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze; Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread, Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread; Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay, For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way.
[All listen with astonishment.
GAUTAMI.
Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with the affection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thy happiness. Take thou leave of them reverentially.
SAKOONTALA.
[Bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her friend.
Eager as I am, dear Priyamvada, to see my husband once more, yet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting for ever the home of my girlhood.
PRIYAMVADA.
You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness of parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove seems to share your anguish.
In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn Ceases its dance[67]; the very trees around Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground.
SAKOONTALA. [Recollecting herself.
My father, let me, before I go, bid adieu to my pet jasmine, the Moonlight of the Grove[68]. I love the plant almost as a sister.
KANWA.
Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for the creeper. Here it is on the right.
SAKOONTALA. [Approaching the jasmine.
My beloved jasmine! most brilliant of climbing plants, how sweet it is to see thee cling thus fondly to thy husband, the mango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining arms for a moment in this direction to embrace thy sister; she is going far away, and may never see thee again.
KANWA.
Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart Has ever been to wed thee to a man That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won. To him thou goest, and about his neck Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now Thy favourite jasmine twines its loving arms Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it To its protector—e'en as I consign Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf.
Proceed on thy journey, my child.
SAKOONTALA. [To PRIYAMVADA and ANASUYA.
To you, my sweet companions, I leave it as a keepsake. Take charge of it when I am gone.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [Bursting into tears.
And to whose charge do you leave us, dearest? Who will care for us when you are gone?
KANWA.
For shame, Anasuya! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer your friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation?
[All move on.
SAKOONTALA.
My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the hermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of the little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget to send me word when she becomes a mother.
KANWA.
I will not forget it.
SAKOONTALA. [Feeling herself drawn back.
What can this be, fastened to my dress?
[Turns round.
KANWA.
My daughter,
It is the little fawn, thy foster-child, Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well How with a mother's tenderness and love Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice From thine own hand didst daily nourish it; And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm. The grateful nursling clings to its protectress, Mutely imploring leave to follow her.
SAKOONTALA.
My poor little fawn! dost thou ask to follow an ungrateful wretch who hesitates not to desert her companions! When thy mother died, soon after thy birth, I supplied her place, and reared thee with my own hand; and now that thy second mother is about to leave thee, who will care for thee? My father, be thou a mother to her. My child, go back, and be a daughter to my father.
[Moves on, weeping.
KANWA.
Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true— True to thyself and me; the path of life Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth, And all must feel the steepness of the way; Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on.
SARNGARAVA.
Venerable Sire! the sacred precept is:—'Accompany thy friend as far as the margin of the first stream.' Here, then, we are arrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give us your final instructions and return.
KANWA.
Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this fig-tree[69].
[They do so.
KANWA [Aside.
I must think of some appropriate message to send to his Majesty King Dushyanta.
[Reflects. .
SAKOONTALA. [Aside to ANASUYA.
See, see, dear Anasuya, the poor female Chakravaka-bird[70], whom cruel fate dooms to nightly separation from her mate, calls to him in mournful notes from the other side of the stream, though he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves of the water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she was lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words.
ANASUYA
Say not so, dearest:
Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy She hails the morning light that brings her mate Back to her side. The agony of parting Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge Is blunted by the hope of future meeting.
KANWA.
Sarngarava! when you have introduced Sakoontala into the presence of the King, you must give him this message from me:—
SARNGARAVA
Let me hear it, venerable father.
KANWA.
This is it:—
Most puissant prince! we here present before thee One thou art bound to cherish and receive As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone As thine own queen—worthy of equal love With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire, We claim of thee as justice due to us, In virtue of our holy character, In virtue of thine honourable rank, In virtue of the pure spontaneous love That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her, Without consent or privity of us. We ask no more—the rest we freely leave To thy just feeling and to destiny.
SARNGARAVA.
A most suitable message! I will take care to deliver it correctly.
KANWA.
And, now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits, though we live secluded from the world are not ignorant of worldly matters.
SARNGARAVA.
No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects.
KANWA.
Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's palace, and art admitted into his family,
Honour thy betters; ever be respectful To those above thee; and, should others share Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey to jealousy; but ever be a friend, A loving friend, to those who rival thee In his affections. Should thy wedded lord Treat thee with harshness, thou most never be Harsh in return, but patient and submissive; Be to thy menials courteous, and to all Placed under thee, considerate and kind; Be never self-indulgent, but avoid Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles, Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse.
What thinks Gautami of this advice?
GAUTAMI.
An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it well to heart, my daughter.
KANWA.
Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy companions, and then we leave thee.
SAKOONTALA.
My father, must Priyamvada and Anasuya really return with you? They are very dear to me.
KANWA.
Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in marriage to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to accompany thee to such a public place. But Gautami shall be thy companion.
SAKOONTALA. [Embracing him.
Removed from thy bosom, my beloved father, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in the western mountains[71], how shall I be able to support life in a foreign soil?
KANWA.
Daughter, thy fears are groundless.
Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares Befitting his imperial dignity Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss Of bearing him a son—a noble boy, Bright as the day-star, shall transport thy soul With new delights, and little shalt thou reck Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now At parting from thy father and thy friends.
[SAKOONTALA throws herself at her foster-father's feet.
KANWA.
Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be realized!
SAKOONTALA [Approaching her friends.
Come, my two loved companions, embrace me both of you together.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [Embracing her.
Dear Sakoontala, remember, if the King should by any chance be slow in recognizing you, you have only to show him this ring, on which his own name is engraved.
SAKOONTALA.
The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
There is no real cause for fear, dearest. Excessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists.
SAKOONTALA.
Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the heavens.
SAKOONTALA. [Looking towards the hermitage.
Dear father, when shall I ever see this hallowed grove again?
KANWA.
I will tell thee; listen:—
When thou hast passed a long and blissful life As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared With all the earth his ever-watchful care; And hast beheld thine own heroic son, Matchless in arms, united to a bride In happy wedlock; when his aged sire, Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned The helm of state; then, weary of the world, Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek The calm seclusion of thy former home[72]; There amid holy scenes to be at peace, Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.
GAUTAMI.
Come, my child, the favourable time for our journey is fast passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to move homewards, or these last words will never end.
KANWA.
Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be interrupted.
SAKOONTALA. [Again embracing her foster-father.
Beloved father, thy frame is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not, allow thyself to sorrow too much on my account.
KANWA. [Sighing.
How, O my child, shall my bereaved heart Forget its bitterness, when, day by day, Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants Reared by thy care, or sprang from hallowed grain Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door— A frequent offering to our household gods[73]?
Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.
[Exit SAKOONTALA with her escort.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [Gazing after SAKOONTALA.
Alas! alas! she is gone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view.
KANWA. [Sighing.
Well, Anasuya, your sister has departed. Moderate your grief, both of you, and follow me, I go back to the hermitage.
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.
Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert without Sakoontala. How can we ever return to it?
KANWA.
It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it in this light.
[Walking pensively on.]
As for me, I am quite surprised at myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house, my mind is easy; for, indeed,
A daughter is a loan—a precious jewel Lent to a parent till her husband claim her. And now that to her rightful lord and master I have delivered her, my burdened soul Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *
ACT V.
SCENE.—A Room in the Palace.
The King DUSHYANTA and the Jester MAṬHAVYA are discovered seated.
MAṬHAVYA. [Listening.
Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Some one is singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadika is practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.
KING.
Hush! Let me listen.
A VOICE SINGS BEHIND THE SCENES.
How often hither didst thou rove, Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek; Oh! leave not, then, thy early love, The lily's honeyed lip to seek.
KING.
A most impassioned strain, truly!
MAṬHAVYA.
Do you understand the meaning of the words?
KING. [Smiling.
She means to reprove me, because I once paid her great attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumati. Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadika from me that I take her delicate reproof as it is intended.
MAṬHAVYA.
Very well.
[Rising from his seat.]
But stay—I don't much relish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are that she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a jelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the seductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.
KING.
Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her my message.
MAṬHAVYA.
What must be must be, I suppose.
[Exit.
KING. [Aside.
Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar sensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn after some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but
Not seldom In our happy hours of ease, When thought is still, the sight of some fair form, Or mournful fall of music breathing low, Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul With a mysterious sadness, and a sense Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be That the dim memory of events long past, Or friendships formed in other states of being[74], Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?
[Remains pensive and sad.
Enter the CHAMBERLAIN[75], named VATAYANA.
CHAMBERLAIN.
Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained!
Even this wand betrays the lapse of years; In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge And symbol of my office; now it serves As a support to prop my tottering steps.
Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an immediate audience. Certainly, his Majesty ought not to neglect a matter of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain the world, and he must not expect much repose; because—
Onward, for ever onward, in his car The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course, Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds. And, ever moving, speeds the rushing Wind Through boundless space, filling the universe With his life-giving breezes. Day and night, The King of Serpents on his thousand heads[76] Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so, Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings, Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.
I will therefore deliver my message.
[Walking on and looking about.]
Ah! here comes the King.
His subjects are his children; through the day, Like a fond father, to supply their wants, Incessantly he labours; wearied now, The monarch seeks seclusion and repose; E'en as the prince of elephants defies The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.
[Approaching.]
Victory to the King! So please your Majesty, some hermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here, bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from the sage Kanwa and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands.
KING. [Respectfully.
A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?
CHAMBERLAIN.
Even so, my liege.
KING.
Tell my domestic priest Somarata to receive the hermits with due honour, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable for the reception of such holy guests.
CHAMBERLAIN.
Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed.
[Exit.
KING. [Rising and addressing his WARDER.
Vetravati, lead the way to the chamber of the consecrated fire[77].
WARDER.
This way, Sire.
KING.
[Walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of Government.
People are generally contented and happy when they have gained their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of their aspirations than all their troubles begin.
'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end And object of ambition is to rest; Success doth only mitigate the fever Of anxious expectation; soon the fear Of losing what we have, the constant care Of guarding it, doth weary. Ceaseless toil Must be the lot of him who with his hands Supports the canopy that shields his subjects.
TWO HERALDS[78]. [Behind the scenes.
May the King be victorious!
FIRST HERALD.
Honour to him who labours day by day For the world's weal, forgetful of his own; Like some tall tree that with its stately head Endures the solar beam, while underneath It yields refreshing shelter to the weary.
SECOND HERALD.
Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor Hail him a faithful friend—a loving kinsman.
KING.
Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed me.
[Walks on.
WARDER.
Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder stands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred enclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and beautiful. Ascend, Sire.
KING. [Leans on the shoulders of his attendants and ascends_.
Vetravati, what can possibly be the message that the venerable Kanwa has sent me by these hermits?
Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed By demons, or some evil has befallen The innocent herds, their favourites, that graze Within the precincts of the hermitage, Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving.
WARDER.
If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to take an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are therefore come to offer homage to your majesty.
Enter the HERMITS leading SAKOONTALA, attended by GAUTAMI; and in advance of them, the CHAMBERLAIN and the DOMESTIC PRIEST.
CHAMBERLAIN.
This way, reverend Sirs, this way.
SARNGARAVA
O Saradwata,
'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace, Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people, Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found, Refrain from evil courses; still to me, A lonely hermit reared in solitude, This throng appears bewildering, and I seem To look upon a burning house, whose inmates Are running to and fro in wild dismay.
SARADWATA.
It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital should affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar.
As one just bathed beholds the man polluted; As one late purified, the yet impure; As one awake looks on the yet unawakened; Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall, So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.
SAKOONTALA.
[Feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid [79], and suspecting a bad omen.
Alas! what means this throbbing of my right eyelid?
GAUTAMI.
Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities of thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune!
[Walks on.
PRIEST.
[Pointing to the King.
Most reverend Sirs, there stands the protector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four conditions of the priesthood[80]. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is waiting for you. Behold him!
SARNGARAVA
Great Brahman, we are happy in thinking that the King's power is exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We have not come as petitioners—we have the fullest confidence in the generosity of his nature.
The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit; High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds Suspend their stately course, and, hanging low, Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth; And such is true benevolence; the good Are never rendered arrogant by riches.
WARDER.
So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of the hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver.
KING. [Looking at SAKOONTALA.
But the lady there—
Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil? Among the sombre hermits she appears Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves.
WARDER.
So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no conjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she deserves to be looked at more closely.
KING.
True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife[120].
SAKOONTALA. [Placing her hand on her bosom. Aside.
O my heart, why this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage.
PRIEST. [Advancing.
These holy men have been received with all due honour. One of them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual superior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it?
KING.
I am all attention.
HERMITS. [Extending their hands.
Victory to the King!
KING.
Accept my respectful greeting.
HERMITS.
May the desires of your soul be accomplished!
KING.
I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your religious rites.
HERMITS.
Who dares disturb our penitential rites When thou art our protector? Can the night Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?
KING.
Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title—'Defender of the Just.' I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world is interested in his well-being.
HERMITS.
Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He bade us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this message.
KING.
Let me hear his commands.
SARNGARAVA.
He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction to the marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his daughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because,
By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious Of noble husbands; and Sakoontala, Virtue herself in human form revealed. Great Brahma hath in equal yoke united A bride unto a husband worthy of her; Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions[81].
Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child, receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction with thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an occasion.
GAUTAMI.
So please your Majesty, I would add a few words; but why should I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind has never been allowed me?
She took no counsel with her kindred; thou Didst not confer with thine, but all alone Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife. Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you.
SAKOONTALA [Aside.
Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.
KING.
What strange proposal is this?
SAKOONTALA [Aside.
His words are like fire to me.
SARNGARAVA
What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou art well acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that
A wife, however virtuous and discreet, If she live separate from her wedded lord, Though under shelter of her parent's roof, Is marked for vile suspicion. Let her dwell Beside her husband, though he hold her not In his affection. So her kinsmen will it.
KING.
Do you really mean to assert that I ever married this lady?
SAKOONTALA. [Despondingly. Aside.
O my heart, thy worst misgivings are confirmed.
SARNGARAVA.
Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of justice, because he repents of his engagements?
KING.
I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication.
SARNGARAVA.
Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, except in men intoxicated by power.
KING.
Is that remark aimed at me?
GAUTAMI.
Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a little space. Thy husband will then recognize thee.
[Removes her veil.
KING.
[Gazing at SAKOONTALA. Aside.
What charms are here revealed before mine eyes! Truly no blemish mars the symmetry Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe She is my wedded wife; and like a bee That circles round the flower whose nectared cup Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.
[Remains wrapped in thought.
WARDER.
How admirably does our royal master's behaviour prove his regard for justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?
SARNGARAVA.
Great King, why art thou silent?
KING.
Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I possibly give you when I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is soon to become a mother?
SAKOONTALA
[Aside.
Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in question by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions of wedded happiness?
SARNGARAVA.
Beware!
Beware how thou insult the holy Sage! Remember how he generously allowed Thy secret union with his foster-child; And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure, He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.
SARADWATA.
Sarngarava, speak to him no more. Sakoontala, our part is performed; we have said all we have to say, and the King has replied in the manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing evidence of thy marriage.
SAKOONTALA. [Aside.
Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One thing is clear—I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood.
[Aloud.]
My revered husband—
[Stops short.]
But no—I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble descendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.
KING.
[Stopping his ears.
I will hear no more. Be such a crime far from my thoughts!
What evil spirit can possess thee, lady, That thou dost seek to sully my good name By base aspersions, like a swollen torrent, That, leaping from its narrow bed, o'erthrows The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?
SAKOONTALA.
If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.
KING.
An excellent idea!
SAKOONTALA.
[Feeling for the ring.
Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no ring on my finger!
[Looks with anguish at GAUTAMI.
GAUTAMI.
The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of offering homage to the holy water of Sachi's sacred pool, near Sakravatara[82].
KING. [Smiling.
People may well talk of the readiness of woman's invention! Here is an instance of it.
SAKOONTALA.
Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention another circumstance, which may yet convince thee.
KING.
By all means let me hear it at once.
SAKOONTALA.
One day, while we were seated in a jasmine-bower, thou didst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a recent shower in the cup of a lotus-blossom—
KING.
I am listening; proceed.
SAKOONTALA.
At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with soft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature, saying fondly:—'Drink first, gentle fawn.' But she could not be induced to drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards, when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence. Then, with a smile, thou didst say;—'Every creature confides naturally in its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have learnt to trust each other.'
KING.
Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of duty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words.
GAUTAMI.
Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up in a hermitage, and has never learnt deceit.
KING.
Holy matron,
E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex Is marked by inborn subtlety—much more In beings gifted with intelligence. The wily Koil[83], ere towards the sky She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs To other nests, and artfully consigns The rearing of her little ones to strangers.
SAKOONTALA. [Angrily.
Dishonourable man, thou judgest of others by thine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and standest alone—a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion—like a deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.
KING. [Aside.
Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me almost doubt whether I am in the right. For indeed,
When I had vainly searched my memory, And so with stern severity denied The fabled story of our secret loves, Her brows, that met before in graceful curves, Like the arched weapon of the god of love, Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.
[Aloud.]
My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well known to all. I comprehend not your meaning.
SAKOONTALA.
Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having in the innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince of Puru's race, entrusted my honour to a man whose mouth distils honey, while his heart is full of poison.
[Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears.
SARNGARAVA.
Thus it is that burning remorse must ever follow rash actions which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's self to blame.
Not hastily should marriage be contracted, And specially in secret. Many a time, In hearts that know not each the other's fancies, Fond love is changed into most bitter hate.
KING.
How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me, that you heap such accusations on me?
SARNGARAVA. [Sarcastically.
That would be too absurd, certainly. You have heard the proverb:—
Hold in contempt the innocent words of those Who from their infancy have known no guile; But trust the treacherous counsels of the man Who makes a very science of deceit.
KING.
Most veracious Brahman, grant that you are in the right, what end would be gained by betraying this lady?
SARNGARAVA.
Ruin.
KING.
No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to ruin others or himself.
SARADWATA.
This altercation is idle, Sarngarava. We have executed the commission of our preceptor; come, let us return.
[To the KING.
Sakoontala is certainly thy bride; Receive her or reject her, she is thine. Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure— The husband o'er the wife is absolute.
Go on before us, Gautami.
[They move away.
SAKOONTALA.
What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this perfidious man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and lamentations?
[Attempts to follow them.
GAUTAMI. [Stopping.
My son Sarngarava, see! Sakoontala is following us, and with tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what will she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?
SARNGARAVA.
[Turning angrily towards her.
Wilful woman, dost thou seek to be independent of thy lord?
[SAKOONTALA trembles with fear.
Sakoontala!
If thou art really what the King proclaims thee, How can thy father e'er receive thee back Into his house and home? but if thy conscience Be witness to thy purity of soul, E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it. When ranked among the number of his household.
Thy duty therefore is to stay. As for us, we must return immediately.
KING.
Deceive not this lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations.
The moon expands the lotus of the night, The rising sun awakes the lily; each Is with his own contented. Even so The virtuous man is master of his passions, And from another's wife averts his gaze[120].
SARNGARAVA.
Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee oblivious of thy marriage with Sakoontala, whence this fear of losing thy character for constancy and virtue?
KING. [To his domestic PRIEST.
You must counsel me, revered Sir, as to my course of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less sin?
Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded. Or this designing woman speak untruly, I know not. Tell me, must I rather be The base disowner of my wedded wife, Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?
PRIEST. [After deliberation.
You must take an intermediate course.
KING.
What course, revered Sir? Tell me at once.
PRIEST.
I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this: Soothsayers have predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now, if the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of empire in the lines of his hand[84], you must admit her immediately into your royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to send her back as soon as possible to her father.
KING. I bow to the decision of my spiritual advisor.
PRIEST.
Daughter, follow me.
SAKOONTALA.
O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!
[Exit SAKOONTALA weeping, with the PRIEST and the HERMITS. The KING remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his recollection.
A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.
A miracle! a miracle!
KING.
[Listening.
What has happened now?
PRIEST. [Entering with an air of astonishment.
Great Prince, a stupendous prodigy has just occurred.
KING.
What is it?
PRIEST.
May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had departed, Sakoontala, her eyes all bathed in tears, with outstretched arms, bewailed her cruel fate—
KING.
Well, well, what happened then?
PRIEST.
When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended from the skies, Near the nymph's pool, and bore her up to heaven.
[All remain motionless with astonishment.
KING.
My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to do with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our conjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose.
PRIEST.
[Looking at the KING.
Be it so. Victory to the King!
[Exit.
KING.
Vetravati, I am tired out; lead the way to the bedchamber.
WARDER.
This way, Sire.
[They move away.
KING.
Do what I will, I cannot call to mind That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter; Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange How painfully my agitated heart Bears witness to the truth of her assertion, And makes me credit her against my judgment.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *
PRELUDE TO ACT VI.
SCENE.—A Street.
Enter the King's brother-in-law as SUPERINTENDENT of the city police; and with him TWO CONSTABLES, dragging a poor FISHERMAN, who has his hands tied behind his back.
BOTH THE CONSTABLES. [Striking the prisoner.
Take that for a rascally thief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah, where you found this ring—aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, here is the royal name engraved on the setting of the jewel.
FISHERMAN. [With a gesture of alarm.
Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did not steal it; indeed I did not.
FIRST CONSTABLE.
Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine Brahman, and made you a present of it?
FISHERMAN.
Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at Sakravatara—
SECOND CONSTABLE.
Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of your birth and parentage?
SUPERINTENDENT. [To one of the CONSTABLES.
Suchaka, let the fellow tell his own story from the beginning. Don't interrupt him.
BOTH CONSTABLES.
As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say what you've got to say.
FISHERMAN.
You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by catching fish with nets, hooks, and the like.
SUPERINTENDENT. [Laughing.
A most refined occupation, certainly[85]!
FISHERMAN.
Blame me not for it, master,
The father's occupation, though despised By others, casts no shame upon the son, And he should not forsake it[86]. Is the priest Who kills the animal for sacrifice Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a low-born man May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted.
SUPERINTENDENT.
Well, well; go on with your story.
FISHERMAN.
One day I was cutting open a large carp[87] I had just hooked, when the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I find in the fish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I was offering it for sale, I was seized by your honours. Now you know everything. Whether you kill me, or whether you let me go, this is the true account of how the ring came into my possession.
SUPERINTENDENT. [To one of the CONSTABLES.
Well, Januka, the rascal emits such a fishy odour that I have no doubt of his being a fisherman; but we must inquire a little more closely into this queer story about the finding of the ring. Come, we'll take him before the King's household.
BOTH CONSTABLES.
Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse.
[All move on.
SUPERINTENDENT.
Now attend, Suchaka; keep your guard here at the gate; and hark ye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape, while I go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ring before the King in person. I will soon return and let you know his commands.
BOTH CONSTABLES.
Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favour in the King's sight.
[Exit SUPERINTENDENT. FIRST CONSTABLE.
[After an interval.
I say, Januka, the Superintendent is a long time away.
SECOND CONSTABLE.
Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks must bide the proper opportunity.
FIRST CONSTABLE.
Januka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at this royal victim here. We must kill him with all the honours, you know. I long to begin binding the flowers round his head[88].
[Pretends to strike a blow at the FISHERMAN.
FISHERMAN.
Your Honour surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel death.
SECOND CONSTABLE.
There's our Superintendent at last, I declare. See! he is coming towards us with a paper in his hand. We shall soon know the King's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to become food for the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry cur.
SUPERINTENDENT.
[Entering.
Ho, there, Suchaka! set the fisherman at liberty, I tell you. His story about the ring is all correct. SUCHAKA.
Oh! very good, Sir; as you please.
SECOND CONSTABLE.
The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is in the land of the living.
[Releases him.
FISHERMAN.
[Bowing to the SUPERINTENDENT.
Now, master, what think you of my way of getting a livelihood?
SUPERINTENDENT.
Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you with this purse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of the ring.
[Gives him the money.
FISHERMAN.
[Taking it and bowing.
His Majesty does me too great honour.
SUCHAKA.
You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the gallows to seat you on his state elephant.
JANUKA.
Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he would never have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin.
SUPERINTENDENT.
I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as a memorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it was shown to him he became much agitated, though in general he conceals his feelings. SUCHAKA.
Then you must have done a great service—
JANUKA.
Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife.
[Looks enviously at the FISHERMAN.
FISHERMAN.
Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve to purchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me your good-will.
JANUKA.
Well, now, that's just as it should be.
SUPERINTENDENT.
My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I begin to feel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendship over a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop, and we'll drink your health.
ALL.
By all means.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *
ACT VI.
SCENE.—_The Garden of a Palace.
The nymph_ SANUMATI _is seen descending in a celestial car_.
SANUMATI.
Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at the nymph's pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform their ablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how it fares with King Dushyanta. My connexion with the nymph Menaka has made her daughter Sakoontala dearer to me than my own flesh and blood; and Menaka it was who charged me with this errand on her daughter's behalf.
[Looking round in all directions.]
How is it that I see no preparations in the King's household for celebrating the great vernal festival[89]? I could easily discover the reason by my divine faculty of meditation[134]; but respect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How then shall I arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will become invisible, and place myself near those two maidens who are tending the plants in the garden.
[Descends and takes her station.
Enter a MAIDEN, who stops in front of a mango-tree, and gazes at the blossom. Another MAIDEN is seen behind her.
FIRST MAIDEN.
Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied radiance of thy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail, Sweet mango, soul of this enchanting season.
SECOND MAIDEN.
Parabhritika, what are you saying there to yourself?
FIRST MAIDEN.
Dear Madhukarika, am I not named after the Koil[90]? and does not the Koil sing for joy at the first appearance of the mango-blossom?
SECOND MAIDEN. [Approaching hastily, with transport.
What! is spring really come?
FIRST MAIDEN.
Yes, indeed, Madhukarika, and with it the season of joy, love, and song.
SECOND MAIDEN.
Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stead on tiptoe and pluck a blossom, of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to the god of love. |
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