King (after meditating a moment). Help me, my friend.
Clown. But, man, this isn’t 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. “Stay,” one cried,
Her father’s 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!
Clown. Well, I don’t 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. Don’t 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: “But how long will you remember us, dear?”
Clown. And then you said -
King. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to her -
Clown. Well, what?
King.
Count every day one letter of my name;
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 carp’s 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 I - I 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; love’s brightness shed
O’er 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 o’er 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 Himalaya’s sacred ranges, where
The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear
Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high,
A doe that on the buck’s 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 o’er 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.