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.
King (to himself). He is of one family with me! Then could my thought be true? (Aloud.) But this is the custom of Puru’s 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 boy’s 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 mother’s name. (He reflects.) No, it is wrong to concern myself with one who may be another’s wife. (Enter the first woman, with the clay peacock.) First woman. Look, All-tamer. Here is the bird, the shakunta. Isn’t 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: “See how pretty the peacock is.” That is all.
King (to himself). His mother’s 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, don’t, don’t! (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. Marichi’s 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 boy’s 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-tamer’s 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;
Before my eyes
My love I see.
Eclipse flees far;
Light follows soon;
The loving star
Draws to the moon.
Shakuntala. Victory, victo- (Tears choke her utterance.) King.
The tears would choke you, sweet, in vain;
My soul with victory is fed,
Because I see your face again
No jewels, but the lips are red.
Boy. Who is he, mother?
Shakuntala. Ask fate, my child. (She weeps.) King.
Dear, graceful wife, forget;
Let the sin vanish;
Strangely did madness strive
Reason to banish.
Thus blindness works in men,
Love’s joy to shake;
Spurning a garland, lest
It prove a snake. (He falls at her feet.)
Shakuntala. Rise, my dear husband. Surely, it was some old sin of mine that broke my happiness - though it has turned again to happiness.
Otherwise, how could you, dear, have acted so? You are so kind. (The king rises.) But what brought back the memory of your suffering wife?
King. I will tell you when I have plucked out the dart of sorrow.
‘Twas madness, sweet, that could let slip
A tear to burden your dear lip;
On graceful lashes seen to-day,
I wipe it, and our grief, away. (He does so.)
Shakuntala (sees more clearly and discovers the ring). My husband, it is the ring!
King. Yes. And when a miracle recovered it, my memory returned.
Shakuntala. That was why it was so impossible for me to win your confidence.
King. Then let the vine receive her flower, as earnest of her union with spring.
Shakuntala. I do not trust it. I would rather you wore it. (Enter Matali) Matali. I congratulate you, O King, on reunion with your wife and on seeing the face of your son.
King. My desires bear sweeter fruit because fulfilled through a friend.
Matali, was not this matter known to Indra?
Matali (smiling). What is hidden from the gods? Come. Marichi’s holy son, Kashyapa, wishes to see you.
King. My dear wife, bring our son. I could not appear without you before the holy one.
Shakuntala. I am ashamed to go before such parents with my husband.
King. It is the custom in times of festival. Come. (They walk about.
Kashyapa appears seated, with Aditi.)
Kashyapa (looking at the king). Aditi,
‘Tis King Dushyanta, he who goes before
Your son in battle, and who rules the earth,
Whose bow makes Indra’s weapon seem no more