shakuntala_ryder.pdf part 4

First maid. A few days ago, sir, we were sent to his Majesty by his brother-in-law Mitravasu to decorate the garden. That is why we have heard nothing of this affair. Chamberlain. You must not do so again. The two maids. But we are curious. If we girls may know about it, pray tell us, sir. Why did his Majesty forbid the spring festival? Mishrakeshi. Kings are fond of celebrations. There must be some good reason. Chamberlain (to himself). It is in everybodyÕs mouth. Why should I not tell it? (Aloud.) Have you heard the gossip concerning ShakuntalaÕs rejection? The two maids. Yes, sir. The kingÕs brother-in-law told us, up to the point where the ring was recovered. Chamberlain. There is little more to tell. When his Majesty saw the ring, he remembered that he had indeed contracted a secret marriage with Shakuntala, and had rejected her under a delusion. And then he fell a prey to remorse. He hates the things he loved; he intermits The daily audience, nor in judgment sits; Spends sleepless nights in tossing on his bed; At times, when he by courtesy is led To address a lady, speaks another name, Then stands for minutes, sunk in helpless shame. Mishrakeshi. I am glad to hear it. Chamberlain. His MajestyÕs sorrow has forbidden the festival. The two maids. It is only right. A voice behind the scenes. Follow me. Chamberlain (listening). Ah, his Majesty approaches. Go, and attend to your duties. (Exeunt the two maids. Enter the king, wearing a dress indicative of remorse; the clown, and the portress.) Chamberlain (observing the king). A beautiful figure charms in whatever state. Thus, his Majesty is pleasing even in his sorrow. For All ornament is laid aside; he wears One golden bracelet on his wasted arm; His lip is scorched by sighs; and sleepless cares Redden his eyes. Yet all can work no harm 67.

On that magnificent beauty, wasting, but Gaining in brilliance, like a diamond cut. Mishrakeshi (observing the king). No wonder Shakuntala pines for him, even though he dishonoured her by his rejection of her. King (walks about slowly, sunk in thought). Alas! My smitten heart, that once lay sleeping, Heard in its dreams my fawn-eyed loveÕs laments, And wakened now, awakens but to weeping, To bitter grief, and tears of penitence. Mishrakeshi. That is the poor girlÕs fate. Clown (to himself). He has got his Shakuntala-sickness again. I wish I knew how to cure him. Chamberlain (advancing). Victory to your Majesty. I have examined the garden. Your Majesty may visit its retreats. King. Vetravati, tell the minister Pishuna in my name that a sleepless night prevents me from mounting the throne of judgment. He is to investigate the citizensÕ business and send me a memorandum. Portress. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.) King. And you, Parvatayana, return to your post of duty. Chamberlain. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.) Clown. You have got rid of the vermin. Now amuse yourself in this garden. It is delightful with the passing of the cold weather. King (sighing). My friend, the proverb makes no mistake. Misfortune finds the weak spot. See! No sooner did the darkness lift That clouded memoryÕs power, Than the god of love prepared his bow And shot the mango-flower. No sooner did the ring recall My banished maiden dear, No sooner do I vainly weep For her, than spring is here. Clown. Wait a minute, man. I will destroy LoveÕs arrow with my stick. (He raises his stick and strikes at the mango branch.) 68.

King (smiling). Enough! I see your pious power. My friend, where shall I sit now to comfort my eyes with the vines? They remind me somehow of her. Clown. Well, you told one of the maids, the clever painter, that you would spend this hour in the bower of spring creepers. And you asked her to bring you there the picture of the lady Shakuntala which you painted on a tablet. King. It is my only consolation. Lead the way to the bower of spring-creepers. Clown. Follow me. (They walk about. Mishrakeshi follows.) Here is the bower of spring-creepers, with its jewelled benches. Its loneliness seems to bid you a silent welcome. Let us go in and sit down. (They do so.) Mishrakeshi. I will hide among the vines and see the dear girlÕs picture. Then I shall be able to tell her how deep her husbandÕs love is. (She hides.) King (sighing). I remember it all now, my friend. I told you how I first met Shakuntala. It is true, you were not with me when I rejected her. But I had told you of her at the first. Had you forgotten, as I did? Mishrakeshi. This shows that a king should not be separated a single moment from some intimate friend. Clown. No, I didnÕt forget. But when you had told the whole story, you said it was a joke and there was nothing in it. And I was fool enough to believe you. No, this is the work of fate. Mishrakeshi. It must be. King (after meditating a moment). Help me, my friend. Clown. But, man, this isnÕt right at all. A good man never lets grief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest. King. My friend, I am quite forlorn. I keep thinking of her pitiful state when I rejected her. Thus: When I denied her, then she tried To join her people. ÒStay,Ó one cried, Her fatherÕs representative. She stopped, she turned, she could but give A tear-dimmed glance to heartless me That arrow burns me poisonously. Mishrakeshi. How his fault distresses him! 69.

Clown. Well, I donÕt doubt it was some heavenly being that carried her away. King. Who else would dare to touch a faithful wife? Her friends told me that Menaka was her mother. My heart persuades me that it was she, or companions of hers, who carried Shakuntala away. Mishrakeshi. His madness was wonderful, not his awakening reason. Clown. But in that case, you ought to take heart. You will meet her again. King. How so? Clown. Why, a mother or a father cannot long bear to see a daughter separated from her husband. King. My friend, And was it phantom, madness, dream, Or fatal retribution stern? My hopes fell down a precipice And never, never will return. Clown. DonÕt talk that way. Why, the ring shows that incredible meetings do happen. King (looking at the ring). This ring deserves pity. It has fallen from a heaven hard to earn. Your virtue, ring, like mine, Is proved to be but small; Her pink-nailed finger sweet You clasped. How could you fall? Mishrakeshi. If it were worn on any other hand, it would deserve pity. My dear girl, you are far away. I am the only one to hear these delightful words. Clown. Tell me how you put the ring on her finger. Mishrakeshi. He speaks as if prompted by my curiosity. King. Listen, my friend. When I left the pious grove for the city, my darling wept and said: ÒBut how long will you remember us, dear?Ó Clown. And then you saidÑ King. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to herÑ Clown. Well, what? King. Count every day one letter of my name; 70.

Before you reach the end, dear, Will come to lead you to my palace halls A guide whom I shall send, dear. Then, through my madness, it fell out cruelly. Mishrakeshi. It was too charming an agreement to be frustrated by fate. Clown. But how did it get into a carpÕs mouth, as if it had been a fish-hook? King. While she was worshipping the Ganges at Shachitirtha, it fell. Clown. I see. Mishrakeshi. That is why the virtuous king doubted his marriage with poor Shakuntala. Yet such love does not ask for a token. How could it have been? King. Well, I can only reproach this ring. Clown (smiling). And I will reproach this stick of mine. Why are you crooked when I am straight? King (not hearing him). How could you fail to linger On her soft, tapering finger, And in the water fall? And yet Things lifeless know not beauty; But IÑI scorned my duty, The sweetest task of all. Mishrakeshi. He has given the answer which I had ready. Clown. But that is no reason why I should starve to death. King (not heeding). O my darling, my heart burns with repentance because I abandoned you without reason. Take pity on me. Let me see you again. (Enter a maid with a tablet.) Maid. Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (She produces the tablet.) King (gazing at it). It is a beautiful picture. See! A graceful arch of brows above great eyes; Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red As red karkandhu-fruit; loveÕs brightness shed 71.

OÕer all her face in bursts of liquid charm The picture speaks, with living beauty warm. Clown (looking at it). The sketch is full of sweet meaning. My eyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface. What more can I say? I expect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it. Mishrakeshi. The king is a clever painter. I seem to see the dear girl before me. King. My friend, What in the picture is not fair, Is badly done; Yet something of her beauty there, I feel, is won. Mishrakeshi. This is natural, when love is increased by remorse. King (sighing). I treated her with scorn and loathing ever; Now oÕer her pictured charms my heart will burst: A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river, And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst. Clown. There are three figures in the picture, and they are all beautiful. Which one is the lady Shakuntala? Mishrakeshi. The poor fellow never saw her beauty. His eyes are useless, for she never came before them. King. Which one do you think? Clown (observing closely). I think it is this one, leaning against the creeper which she has just sprinkled. Her face is hot and the flowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened. Her arms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she seems a little fatigued. This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the others are her friends. King. You are good at guessing. Besides, here are proofs of my love. See where discolorations faint Of loving handling tell; And here the swelling of the paint Shows where my sad tears fell. Chaturika, I have not finished the background. Go, get the brushes. Maid. Please hold the picture, Madhavya, while I am gone. King. I will hold it. (He does so. Exit maid.) 72.

Clown. What are you going to add? Mishrakeshi. Surely, every spot that the dear girl loved. King. Listen, my friend. The stream of Malini, and on its sands The swan-pairs resting; holy foot-hill lands Of great HimalayaÕs sacred ranges, where The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high, A doe that on the buckÕs horn rubs her eye. Clown (aside). To hear him talk, I should think he was going to fill up the picture with heavy-bearded hermits. King. And another ornament that Shakuntala loved I have forgotten to paint. Clown. What? Mishrakeshi. Something natural for a girl living in the forest. King. The siris-blossom, fastened oÕer her ear, Whose stamens brush her cheek; The lotus-chain like autumn moonlight soft Upon her bosom meek. Clown. But why does she cover her face with fingers lovely as the pink water-lily? She seems frightened. (He looks more closely.) I see. Here is a bold, bad bee. He steals honey, and so he flies to her lotus-face. King. Drive him away. Clown. It is your affair to punish evil-doers. King. True. O welcome guest of the flowering vine, why do you waste your time in buzzing here? Your faithful, loving queen, Perched on a flower, athirst, Is waiting for you still, Nor tastes the honey first. Mishrakeshi. A gentlemanly way to drive him off! Clown. This kind are obstinate, even when you warn them. King (angrily). Will you not obey my command? Then listen: ÕTis sweet as virgin blossoms on a tree, The lip I kissed in love-feasts tenderly; 73.

Sting that dear lip, O bee, with cruel power, And you shall be imprisoned in a flower. Clown. Well, he doesnÕt seem afraid of your dreadful punishment. (Laughing. To himself.) The man is crazy, and I am just as bad, from associating with him. King. Will he not go, though I warn him? Mishrakeshi. Love works a curious change even in a brave man. Clown (aloud). It is only a picture, man. King. A picture? Mishrakeshi. I too understand it now. But to him, thoughts are real experiences. King. You have done an ill-natured thing. When I was happy in the sight, And when my heart was warm, You brought sad memories back, and made My love a painted form. (He sheds a tear.) Mishrakeshi. Fate plays strangely with him. King. My friend, how can I endure a grief that has no respite? I cannot sleep at night And meet her dreaming; I cannot see the sketch While tears are streaming. Mishrakeshi. My friend, you have indeed atoned-and in her friendÕs presence-for the pain you caused by rejecting dear Shakuntala. (Enter the maid Chaturika.) Maid. Your Majesty, I was coming back with the box of paint-brushesÑ King. Well? Maid. I met Queen Vasumati with the maid Pingalika. And the queen snatched the box from me, saying: ÒI will take it to the king myself.Ó Clown. How did you escape? Maid. The queenÕs dress caught on a vine. And while her maid was setting her free, I excused myself in a hurry. A voice behind the scenes. Follow me, your Majesty. 74.

Clown (listening). Man, the she-tiger of the palace is making a spring on her prey. She means to make one mouthful of the maid. King. My friend, the queen has come because she feels touched in her honour. You had better take care of this picture. Clown. ÒAnd yourself,Ó you might add. (He takes the picture and rises.) If you get out of the trap alive, call for me at the Cloud Balcony. And I will hide the thing there so that nothing but a pigeon could find it. (Exit on the run.) Mishrakeshi. Though his heart is given to another, he is courteous to his early flame. He is a constant friend. (Enter the portress with a document.) Portress. Victory to your Majesty. King. Vetravati, did you not meet Queen Vasumati? Portress. Yes, your Majesty. But she turned back when she saw that I carried a document. King. The queen knows times and seasons. She will not interrupt business. Portress. Your Majesty, the minister sends word that in the press of various business he has attended to only one citizenÕs suit. This he has reduced to writing for your MajestyÕs perusal. King. Give me the document. (The portress does so.) King (reads). ÒBe it known to his Majesty. A seafaring merchant named Dhanavriddhi has been lost in a shipwreck. He is childless, and his property, amounting to several millions, reverts to the crown. Will his Majesty take action?Ó (Sadly.) It is dreadful to be childless. Vetravati, he had great riches. There must be several wives. Let inquiry be made. There may be a wife who is with child. Portress. We have this moment heard that a merchantÕs daughter of Saketa is his wife. And she is soon to become a mother. King. The child shall receive the inheritance. Go, inform the minister. Portress. Yes, your Majesty. (She starts to go.) King. Wait a moment. Portress (turning back). Yes, your Majesty. King. After all, what does it matter whether he have issue or not? Let King Dushyanta be proclaimed To every sad soul kin That mourns a kinsman loved and lost, 75.

Yet did not plunge in sin. Portress. The proclamation shall be made. (She goes out and soon returns.) Your Majesty, the royal proclamation was welcomed by the populace as is a timely shower. King (sighing deeply). Thus, when issue fails, wealth passes, on the death of the head of the family, to a stranger. When I die, it will be so with the glory of PuruÕs line. Portress. Heaven avert the omen! King. Alas! I despised the happiness that offered itself to me. Mishrakeshi. Without doubt, he has dear Shakuntala in mind when he thus reproaches himself. King. Could I forsake the virtuous wife Who held my best, my future life And cherished it for glorious birth, As does the seed-receiving earth? Mishrakeshi. She will not long be forsaken. Maid (to the portress). Mistress, the ministerÕs report has doubled our lordÕs remorse. Go to the Cloud Balcony and bring Madhavya to dispel his grief. Portress. A good suggestion. (Exit.) King. Alas! The ancestors of Dushyanta are in a doubtful case. For I am childless, and they do not know, When I am gone, what child of theirs will bring The scriptural oblation; and their tears Already mingle with my offering. Mishrakeshi. He is screened from the light, and is in darkness. Maid. Do not give way to grief, your Majesty. You are in the prime of your years, and the birth of a son to one of your other wives will make you blameless before your ancestors. (To herself.) He does not heed me. The proper medicine is needed for any disease. King (betraying his sorrow). Surely, The royal line that flowed A river pure and grand, Dies in the childless king, Like streams in desert sand. (He swoons.) 76.

Maid (in distress). Oh, sir, come to yourself. Mishrakeshi. Shall I make him happy now? No, I heard the mother of the gods consoling Shakuntala. She said that the gods, impatient for the sacrifice, would soon cause him to welcome his true wife. I must delay no longer. I will comfort dear Shakuntala with my tidings. (Exit through the air.) A voice behind the scenes. Help, help! King (comes to himself and listens). It sounds as if Madhavya were in distress. Maid. Your Majesty, I hope that Pingalika and the other maids did not catch poor Madhavya with the picture in his hands. King. Go, Chaturika. Reprove the queen in my name for not controlling her servants. Maid. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.) The voice. Help, help! King. The BrahmanÕs voice seems really changed by fear. Who waits without? (Enter the chamberlain.) Chamberlain. Your Majesty commands? King. See why poor Madhavya is screaming so. Chamberlain. I will see. (He goes out, and returns trembling.) King. Parvatayana, I hope it is nothing very dreadful. Chamberlain. I hope not. King. Then why do you tremble so? For Why should the trembling, born Of age, increasing, seize Your limbs and bid them shake Like fig-leaves in the breeze? Chamberlain. Save your friend, O King! King. From what? Chamberlain. From great danger. King. Speak plainly, man. Chamberlain. On the Cloud Balcony, open to the four winds of heavenÑ King. What has happened there? Chamberlain. While he was resting on its height, 77.

Which palace peacocks in their flight Can hardly reach, he seemed to be Snatched upÑby what, we could not see. King (rising quickly). My very palace is invaded by evil creatures. To be a king, is to be a disappointed man. The moral stumblings of mine own, The daily slips, are scarcely known; Who then that rules a kingdom, can Guide every deed of every man? The voice. Hurry, hurry! King (hears the voice and quickens his steps). Have no fear, my friend. The voice. Have no fear! When something has got me by the back of the neck and is trying to break my bones like a piece of sugar-cane! King (looks about). A bow! a bow! (Enter a Greek woman with a bow.) Greek woman. A bow and arrows, your Majesty. And here are the finger-guards. (The king takes the bow and arrows.) Another voice behind the scenes. Writhe, while I drink the red blood flowing clear And kill you, as a tiger kills a deer; Let King Dushyanta grasp his bow; but how Can all his kingly valour save you now? King (angrily). He scorns me too! In one moment, miserable demon, you shall die. (Stringing his bow.) Where is the stairway, Parvatayana? Chamberlain. Here, your Majesty. (All make haste.) King (looking about). There is no one here. The ClownÕs voice. Save me, save me! I see you, if you canÕt see me. I am a mouse in the claws of the cat. I am done for. King. You are proud of your invisibility. But shall not my arrow see you? Stand still. Do not hope to escape by clinging to my friend. My arrow, flying when the bow is bent, Shall slay the wretch and spare the innocent; When milk is mixed with water in a cup, Swans leave the water, and the milk drink up. (He takes aim. Enter Matali and the clown.) Matali. O King, as Indra, king of the gods, commands, Seek foes among the evil powers alone; 78.

For them your bow should bend; Not cruel shafts, but glances soft and kind Should fall upon a friend. King (hastily withdrawing the arrow). It is Matali. Welcome to the charioteer of heavenÕs king. Clown. Well! He came within an inch of butchering me. And you welcome him. Matali (smiling). Hear, O King, for what purpose Indra sends me to you. King. I am all attention. Matali. There is a host of demons who call themselves InvincibleÑthe brood of Kalanemi. King. So Narada has told me. Matali. HeavenÕs king is powerless; you shall smite His foes in battle soon; Darkness that overcomes the day, Is scattered by the moon. Take your bow at once, enter my heavenly chariot, and set forth for victory. King. I am grateful for the honour which Indra shows me. But why did you act thus toward Madhavya? Matali. I will tell you. I saw that you were overpowered by some inner sorrow, and acted thus to rouse you. For The spurn•d snake will swell his hood; Fire blazes when Õtis stirred; Brave men are roused to fighting mood By some insulting word. King. Friend Madhavya, I must obey the bidding of heavenÕs king. Go, acquaint the minister Pishuna with the matter, and add these words of mine: Your wisdom only shall control The kingdom for a time; My bow is strung; a distant goal Calls me, and tasks sublime. Clown. Very well. (Exit.) 79.

Matali. Enter the chariot. (The king does so. Exeunt omnes.) 80.

ACT VII (Enter, in a chariot that flies through the air, the king and Matali.) King. Matali, though I have done what Indra commanded, I think myself an unprofitable servant, when I remember his most gracious welcome. Matali. O King, know that each considers himself the otherÕs debtor. For You count the service given Small by the welcome paid, Which to the king of heaven Seems mean for such brave aid. King. Ah, no! For the honour given me at parting went far beyond imagination. Before the gods, he seated me beside him on his throne. And then He smiled, because his son JayantaÕs heart Beat quicker, by the self-same wish oppressed, And placed about my neck the heavenly wreath Still fragrant from the sandal on his breast. Matali. But what do you not deserve from heavenÕs king? Remember: Twice, from peace-loving IndraÕs sway The demon-thorn was plucked away: First, by Man-lionÕs crooked claws; Again, by your smooth shafts to-day. King. This merely proves IndraÕs majesty. Remember: All servants owe success in enterprise To honour paid before the great deedÕs done; Could dawn defeat the darkness otherwise 81.

Than resting on the chariot of the sun? Matali. The feeling becomes you. (After a little.) See, O King! Your glory has the happiness of being published abroad in heaven. With colours used by nymphs of heaven To make their beauty shine, Gods write upon the surface given Of many a magic vine, As worth their song, the simple story Of those brave deeds that made your glory. King. Matali, when I passed before, I was intent on fighting the demons, and did not observe this region. Tell me. In which path of the winds are we? Matali. It is the windpath sanctified By holy VishnuÕs second stride; Which, freed from dust of passion, ever Upholds the threefold heavenly river; And, driving them with reins of light, Guides the stars in wheeling flight. King. That is why serenity pervades me, body and soul. (He observes the path taken by the chariot.) It seems that we have descended into the region of the clouds. Matali. How do you perceive it? King. Plovers that fly from mountain-caves, Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves, And chariot-wheels that drip with spray A path oÕer pregnant clouds betray. Matali. You are right. And in a moment you will be in the world over which you bear rule. King (looking down). Matali, our quick descent gives the world of men a mysterious look. For The plains appear to melt and fall From mountain peaks that grow more tall; The trunks of trees no longer hide Nor in their leafy nests abide; 82.

The river network now is clear, For smaller streams at last appear: It seems as if some being threw The world to me, for clearer view. Matali. You are a good observer, O King. (He looks down, awe-struck.) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. King. Matali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and into the western sea? It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset. Matali. O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy centaurs. Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers. See! The ancient sage, MarichiÕs son, Child of the Uncreated One, Father of superhuman life, Dwells here austerely with his wife. King (reverently). I must not neglect the happy chance. I cannot go farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one. Matali. It is a worthy thought, O King. (The chariot descends.) We have come down to earth. King (astonished). Matali, The wheels are mute on whirling rim; Unstirred, the dust is lying there; We do not bump the earth, but skim: Still, still we seem to fly through air. Matali. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra. King. In which direction lies the hermitage of MarichiÕs son? Matali (pointing). See! Where stands the hermit, horridly austere, Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sere; Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown About him, standing post-like and alone; Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest, The dead skin of a serpent on his breast: So long he stood unmoved, insensate there That birds build nests within his mat of hair. King (gazing). All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so terribly. 83.

Matali (checking the chariot). We have entered the hermitage of the ancient sage, whose wife Aditi tends the coral-trees. King. Here is deeper contentment than in heaven. I seem plunged in a pool of nectar. Matali (stopping the chariot). Descend, O King. King (descending). But how will you fare? Matali. The chariot obeys the word of command. I too will descend. (He does so.) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest hermits lead their self-denying life. King. I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what they might enjoy. Their appetites are fed with air Where grows whatever is most fair; They bathe religiously in pools Which golden lily-pollen cools; They pray within a jewelled home, Are chaste where nymphs of heaven roam: They mortify desire and sin With things that others fast to win. Matali. The desires of the great aspire high. (He walks about and speaks to some one not visible.) Ancient Shakalya, how is MarichiÕs holy son occupied? (He listens.) What do you say? That he is explaining to Aditi, in answer to her question, the duties of a faithful wife? My matter must await a fitter time. (He turns to the king.) Wait here, O King, in the shade of the ashoka tree, till I have announced your coming to the sire of Indra. King. Very well. (Exit Matali. The kingÕs arm throbs, a happy omen.) I dare not hope for what I pray; Why thrillÑin vain? For heavenly bliss once thrown away Turns into pain. A voice behind the scenes. DonÕt! You mustnÕt be so foolhardy. Oh, you are always the same. King (listening). No naughtiness could feel at home in this spot. Who draws such a rebuke upon himself? (He looks towards the sound. In surprise.) It is a child, but no child in strength. And two hermit-women are trying to control him. 84.

He drags a struggling lion cub, The lionessÕ milk half-sucked, half-missed, Towzles his mane, and tries to drub Him tame with small, imperious fist. (Enter a small boy, as described, and two hermit-women.) Boy. Open your mouth, cub. I want to count your teeth. First woman. Naughty boy, why do you torment our pets? They are like children to us. Your energy seems to take the form of striking something. No wonder the hermits call you All-tamer. King. Why should my heart go out to this boy as if he were my own son? (He reflects.) No doubt my childless state makes me sentimental. Second woman. The lioness will spring at you if you donÕt let her baby go. Boy (smiling). Oh, IÕm dreadfully scared. (He bites his lip.) King (in surprise). The boy is seed of fire Which, when it grows, will burn; A tiny spark that soon To awful flame may turn. First woman. Let the little lion go, dear. I will give you another plaything. Boy. Where is it? Give it to me. (He stretches out his hand.) King (looking at the hand.) He has one of the imperial birthmarks! For Between the eager fingers grow The close-knit webs together drawn, Like some lone lily opening slow To meet the kindling blush of dawn. Second woman. Suvrata, we canÕt make him stop by talking. Go. In my cottage you will find a painted clay peacock that belongs to the hermit-boy Mankanaka. Bring him that. First woman. I will. (Exit.) Boy. Meanwhile IÕll play with this one. Hermit-woman (looks and laughs). Let him go. King. My heart goes out to this wilful child. (Sighing.) They show their little buds of teeth In peals of causeless laughter; 85.

They hide their trustful heads beneath Your heart. And stumbling after Come sweet, unmeaning sounds that sing To you. The father warms And loves the very dirt they bring Upon their little forms. Hermit-woman (shaking her finger). WonÕt you mind me? (She looks about.) Which one of the hermit-boys is here? (She sees the king.) Oh, sir, please come here and free this lion cub. The little rascal is tormenting him, and I canÕt make him let go. King. Very well. (He approaches, smiling.) O little son of a great sage! Your conduct in this place apart, Is most unfit; ÕTwould grieve your fatherÕs pious heart And trouble it. To animals he is as good As good can be; You spoil it, like a black snakeÕs brood In sandal tree. Hermit-woman. But, sir, he is not the son of a hermit. King. So it would seem, both from his looks and his actions. But in this spot, I had no suspicion of anything else. (He loosens the boyÕs hold on the cub, and touching him, says to himself.) It makes me thrill to touch the boy, The strangerÕs son, to me unknown; What measureless content must fill The man who calls the child his own! Hermit-woman (looking at the two). Wonderful! wonderful! King. Why do you say that, mother? Hermit-woman. I am astonished to see how much the boy looks like you, sir. You are not related. Besides, he is a perverse little creature and he does not know you. Yet he takes no dislike to you. King (caressing the boy). Mother, if he is not the son of a hermit, what is his family? Hermit-woman. The family of Puru. 86.

King (to himself). He is of one family with me! Then could my thought be true? (Aloud.) But this is the custom of PuruÕs line: In glittering palaces they dwell While men, and rule the country well; Then make the grove their home in age, And die in austere hermitage. But how could human beings, of their own mere motion, attain this spot? Hermit-woman. You are quite right, sir. But the boyÕs mother was related to a nymph, and she bore her son in the pious grove of the father of the gods. King (to himself). Ah, a second ground for hope. (Aloud.) What was the name of the good king whose wife she was? Hermit-woman. Who would speak his name? He rejected his true wife. King (to himself). This story points at me. Suppose I ask the boy for his motherÕs name. (He reflects.) No, it is wrong to concern myself with one who may be anotherÕs wife. (Enter the first woman, with the clay peacock.) First woman. Look, All-tamer. Here is the bird, the shakunta. IsnÕt the shakunta lovely? Boy (looks about). Where is my mamma? (The two women burst out laughing.) First woman. It sounded like her name, and deceived him. He loves his mother. Second woman. She said: ÒSee how pretty the peacock is.Ó That is all. King (to himself). His motherÕs name is Shakuntala! But names are alike. I trust this hope may not prove a disappointment in the end, like a mirage. Boy. I like this little peacock, sister. Can it fly? (He seizes the toy.) First woman (looks at the boy. Anxiously). Oh, the amulet is not on his wrist. King. Do not be anxious, mother. It fell while he was struggling with the lion cub. (He starts to pick it up.) The two women. Oh, donÕt, donÕt! (They look at him.) He has touched it! (Astonished, they lay their hands on their bosoms, and look at each other.) King. Why did you try to prevent me? First woman. Listen, your Majesty. This is a divine and most potent charm, called the Invincible. MarichiÕs holy son gave it to the baby when 87.

the birth-ceremony was performed. If it falls on the ground, no one may touch it except the boyÕs parents or the boy himself. King. And if another touch it? First woman. It becomes a serpent and stings him. King. Did you ever see this happen to any one else? Both women. More than once. King (joyfully). Then why may I not welcome my hopes fulfilled at last? (He embraces the boy.) Second woman. Come, Suvrata. Shakuntala is busy with her religious duties. We must go and tell her what has happened. (Exeunt ambo.) Boy. Let me go. I want to see my mother. King. My son, you shall go with me to greet your mother. Boy. Dushyanta is my father, not you. King (smiling). You show I am right by contradicting me. (Enter Shakuntala, wearing her hair in a single braid.) Shakuntala (doubtfully). I have heard that All-tamerÕs amulet did not change when it should have done so. But I do not trust my own happiness. Yet perhaps it is as Mishrakeshi told me. (She walks about.) King (looking at Shakuntala. With plaintive joy). It is she. It is Shakuntala. The pale, worn face, the careless dress, The single braid, Show her still true, me pitiless, The long vow paid. Shakuntala (seeing the king pale with remorse. Doubtfully). It is not my husband. Who is the man that soils my boy with his caresses? The amulet should protect him. Boy (running to his mother). Mother, he is a man that belongs to other people. And he calls me his son. King. My darling, the cruelty I showed you has turned to happiness. Will you not recognise me? Shakuntala (to herself). Oh, my heart, believe it. Fate struck hard, but its envy is gone and pity takes its place. It is my husband. King. Black madness flies; Comes memory; 88.