Hindu literature : Comprising The Book of good counsels, Nala and Damayanti, The Ramayana, and Sakoontala-18

PRIEST [pointing to the King].—Most reverend sirs, there stands the

protector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four

orders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is

waiting for you. Behold him!

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Great Bráhman, 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 Śakoontalá].—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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [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

honor. 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.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—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 Śakoontalá

Virtue herself in human form revealed.

Great Brahmá 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.

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.

GAUTAMÍ.—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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [aside].—Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.

KING.—What strange proposal is this?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [aside].—His words are fire to me.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—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 mark 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?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [despondingly. Aside].—O my heart, thy worst misgivings

are confirmed.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—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.

SÁRNGARAVA.—Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, excepting in

men intoxicated by power.

KING.—Is that remark aimed at me?

GAUTAMÍ.—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 Śakoontalá. 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 behavior 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?

SÁRNGARAVA.—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?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [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?

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—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.

ŚÁRADWATA.—Śárngarava, speak to him no more. Śakoontalá, our part is

performed; we have said all we had 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [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, overthrows

The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend

Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—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!

ŚAKOONTALÁ [feeling for the ring].—Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no

ring on my finger!

[Looks with anguish at Gautamí.

GAUTAMÍ.—The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of

offering homage to the holy water of Śachí's sacred pool, near

Śakrávatára.

KING [smiling].—People may well talk of the readiness of woman's

invention! Here is an instance of it.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—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.

GAUTAMÍ.—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 Köil, 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [angrily].—Dishonorable 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—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, intrusted my honor to a man whose mouth distils honey,

while his heart is full of poison.

[Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Thus is it 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?

ŚÁRNGARAVA [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 Bráhman, grant that you are in the right, what end

would be gained by betraying this lady?

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Ruin.

KING.—No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to

ruin others or himself.

ŚÁRADWATA.—This altercation is idle, Śárngarava. We have executed the

commission of our preceptor; come, let us return. [To the King.

Śakoontalá 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, Gautamí. [They move away.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—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.

GAUTAMÍ [stopping].—My son Śárngarava, see, Śakoontalá 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?

ŚÁRNGARAVA [turning angrily towards her].—Wilful woman, dost thou

seek to be independent of thy lord?

[Śakoontalá trembles with fear.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Śakoontalá!

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 the 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.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.—Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee

oblivious of thy marriage with Śakoontalá, whence this fear of losing

thy character for constancy and virtue?

KING [to the 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, 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 adviser.

PRIEST.—Daughter, follow me.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.—O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!

[Exit Śakoontalá 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,

Śakoontalá, 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 nymphs' 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.—Vetravatí, I am tired out; lead the way to the bed-chamber.

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 SIXTH

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

Bráhman, and made you a present of it?

FISHERMAN.—Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at

Śakrávatára———

SECOND CONSTABLE.—Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of

your birth and parentage?

SUPERINTENDENT [to one of the Constables].—Súchaka, 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!

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. Is the priest

Who kills the animal for sacrifice

Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a lowborn 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 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 honors. 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, Jánuka, the rascal

emits such a fishy odor 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, Súchaka; keep you 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.

CONSTABLE.—Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favor in the

King's sight!

[Exit Superintendent.

FIRST CONSTABLE [after an interval].—I say, Jánuka, 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.—Jánuka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at

this royal victim here. We must kill him with all the honors, you know.

I long to begin binding the flowers round his head.

[Pretends to strike a blow at the fisherman.

FISHERMAN.—Your honor surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel

death.

SECOND CONSTABLE [looking].—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, Súchaka! set the fisherman at

liberty, I tell you. His story about the ring is all correct.

SÚCHAKA.—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

honor.

SÚCHAKA.—You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the

gallows to seat you on his state elephant.

JÁNUKA.—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.

SÚCHAKA.—Then you must have done a great service———

JÁNUKA.—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.

JÁNUKA.—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 SIXTH

Scene.—The Garden of the Palace

The nymph Sánumatí is seen descending in a celestial car.

SÁNUMATÍ.—Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at

the nymphs' 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 connection with the nymph Menaká has made her

daughter Śakoontalá dearer to me than my own flesh and blood; and Menaká

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? I could easily discover the reason by my divine faculty of

meditation; 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.—Parabaitiká, what are you saying there to yourself?

FIRST MAIDEN.—Dear Madhukariká, am I not named after the Köil? and

does not the Köil 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, Madhukariká, and with it the season of joy,

love, and song.

SECOND MAIDEN.—Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stand on tip-toe and

pluck a blossom of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to

the god of love.

FIRST MAIDEN.—Provided you let me have half the reward which the god

will bestow in return.

SECOND MAIDEN.—To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we

not one in heart and soul, though divided in body? [Leans on her friend

and plucks a mango-blossom.] Ah! here is a bud just bursting into

flower. It diffuses a delicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded.

[Joining her hands reverentially.

God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers

Dost point thy five unerring shafts; to thee

I dedicate this blossom; let it serve

To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark

Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved.

[Throws down a mango-blossom.

CHAMBERLAIN [entering in a hurried manner, angrily].—Hold there,

thoughtless woman. What are you about breaking off those mango-blossoms,

when the King has forbidden the celebration of the spring festival?

BOTH MAIDENS [alarmed].—Pardon us, kind sir, we have heard nothing of

it.

CHAMBERLAIN.—You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants

and shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show more

respect to the King's order than you do.

Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded,

Gather no down upon their tender crests;

The flower still lingers in the amaranth,

Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Köil,

Though winter's chilly dews be overpast,

Suspends the liquid volume of his song

Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed,

Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver.

BOTH MAIDENS.—The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed.

FIRST MAIDEN.—It is but a few days since Mitrávasu, the king's

brother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole

of our sojourn here, we have been intrusted with the charge of the royal

pleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and heard

nothing of the order until you informed us of it.

CHAMBERLAIN.—Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue

your preparations.

BOTH MAIDENS.—But tell us, kind sir, why has the King prohibited the

usual festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may.

SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments.

There must be some good reason for the prohibition.

CHAMBERLAIN.—The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of

it! Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of Śakoontalá reached

your ears yet?

BOTH MAIDENS.—Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's

brother-in-law, as far, at least, as the discovery of the ring.

CHAMBERLAIN.—Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the

King's memory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed,

"Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with Śakoontalá.

When I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection." Ever since that

moment, he has yielded himself a prey to the bitterest remorse.

He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects

The daily homage of his ministers.

On his lone couch he tosses to and fro,

Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets

The ladies of his palace, and would fain

Address them with politeness, he confounds

Their names; or, calling them "Śakoontalá,"

Is straightway silent and abashed with shame.

SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—To me this account is delightful.

CHAMBERLAIN.—In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that

the festival has been prohibited.

BOTH MAIDENS.—Perfectly right.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—The King! the King! This way, Sire, this

way.

CHAMBERLAIN [listening].—Oh! here comes his majesty in this

direction. Pass on, maidens; attend to your duties.

BOTH MAIDENS.—We will, sir. [Exeunt.

Enter King Dushyanta, dressed in deep mourning, attended by his Jester,

Máthavya, and preceded by Vetravatí.

CHAMBERLAIN [gazing at the King].—Well, noble forms are certainly

pleasing, under all varieties of outward circumstances. The King's

person is as charming as ever, notwithstanding his sorrow of mind.

Though but a single golden bracelet spans

His wasted arm; though costly ornaments

Have given place to penitential weeds;

Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips,

And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care

And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye;

Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre,

Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem

Committed to some cunning polisher,

Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance.

SÁNUMATÍ [aside. Looking at the King].—Now that I have seen him, I

can well understand why Śakoontalá should pine after such a man, in

spite of his disdainful rejection of her.

KING [walking slowly up and down, in deep thought].—

When fatal lethargy overwhelmed my soul,

My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain:—

And now when I would fain in slumber deep

Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me.

SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—My poor Śakoontalá's sufferings are very similar.

MÁTHAVYA [aside].—He is taken with another attack of this odious

Śakoontalá fever. How shall we ever cure him?

CHAMBERLAIN [approaching].—Victory to the King! Great Prince, the

royal pleasure-grounds have been put in order. Your Majesty can resort

to them for exercise and amusement whenever you think proper.

KING.—Vetravatí, tell the worthy Piśuna, my prime minister, from me,

that I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on the

judgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought before the

tribunal he must give it his best attention, and inform me of the

circumstances by letter.

VETRAVATÍ.—Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [Exit.

KING [to the Chamberlain].—And you, Vátáyana, may go about your own

affairs.

CHAMBERLAIN.—I will, Sire. [Exit.

MÁTHAVYA.—Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows,

you can enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-grounds without

interruption.

KING.—Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage—"When affliction has a

mind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere"—and it is verified in

me.

Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud

That darkened its remembrance of the past,

When lo! the heart-born deity of love

With yonder blossom of the mango barbs

His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast.

MÁTHAVYA.—Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master Káma's

arrow with a cut of my cane.

[Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom.

KING [smiling].—That will do. I see very well the god of Love is not

a match for a Bráhman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down,

that I may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, which seem

to remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved?

MÁTHAVYA.—Do you not remember? you told Chaturiká you should pass the

heat of the day in the jasmine bower; and commanded her to bring the

likeness of your queen Śakoontalá, sketched with your own hand.

KING.—True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the way

to the arbor.

MÁTHAVYA.—This way, Sire.

[Both move on, followed by Sánumatí.

MÁTHAVYA.—Here we are at the jasmine bower. Look, it has a marble seat,

and seems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers. You

have only to enter and sit down. [Both enter and seat themselves.

SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—I will lean against these young jasmines. I can

easily, from behind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then

hasten to inform her of her husband's ardent affection.

[Stands leaning against the creepers.

KING.—Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my union

with Śakoontalá present themselves to my recollection at this moment!

But tell me now how it was that, between the time of my leaving her in

the hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her, you never breathed her

name to me! True, you were not by my side when I disowned her; but I had

confided to you the story of my love and you were acquainted with every

particular. Did it pass out of your mind as it did out of mine?

MÁTHAVYA.—No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you had

finished telling me about it, you added that I was not to take the story

in earnest, for that you were not really in love with a country girl,

but were only jesting; and I was dull and thick-headed enough to believe

you. But so fate decreed, and there is no help for it.

SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—Exactly.