First mango-twig, so pink, so green,
First living breath of spring,
You are sacrificed as soon as seen,
A festival offering.
Second maid. What are you chirping about to yourself, little cuckoo?
First maid. Why, little bee, you know that the cuckoo goes crazy with delight when she sees the mango-blossom.
Second maid (joyfully). Oh, has the spring really come?
First maid. Yes, little bee. And this is the time when you too buzz about in crazy joy.
Second maid. Hold me, dear, while I stand on tiptoe and offer this blossom to Love, the divine.
First maid. If I do, you must give me half the reward of the offering.
Second maid. That goes without saying, dear. We two are one. (She leans on her friend and takes the mango blossom.) Oh, see! The mango-blossom hasn’t opened, but it has broken the sheath, so it is fragrant. (She brings her hands together.) I worship mighty Love.
O mango-twig I give to Love
As arrow for his bow,
Most sovereign of his arrows five,
Strike maiden-targets low.
(She throws the twig. Enter the chamberlain.)
Chamberlain (angrily). Stop, silly girl. The king has strictly forbidden the spring festival. Do you dare pluck the mango-blossoms?
The two maids (frightened). Forgive us, sir. We did not know.
Chamberlain. What! You have not heard the king’s command, which is obeyed even by the trees of spring and the creatures that dwell in them.
See!
The mango branches are in bloom,
Yet pollen does not form;
The cuckoo’s song sticks in his throat,
Although the days are warm;
The amaranth-bud is formed, and yet
Its power of growth is gone;
The love-god timidly puts by
The arrow he has drawn.
Mishrakeshi. There is no doubt of it. This good king has wonderful power.
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 everybody’s mouth. Why should I not tell it? (Aloud.) Have you heard the gossip concerning Shakuntala’s rejection?
The two maids. Yes, sir. The king’s 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 Majesty’s 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
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 love’s laments,
And wakened now, awakens but to weeping,
To bitter grief, and tears of penitence.
Mishrakeshi. That is the poor girl’s 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 citizens’ 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 memory’s 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 Love’s 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 girl’s picture.
Then I shall be able to tell her how deep her husband’s 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 didn’t 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.