King. Raivataka, summon the general.
Door-keeper. Yes, your Majesty. (He goes out, then returns with the general.) Follow me, sir. There is his Majesty, listening to our conversation. Draw near, sir.
General (observing the king, to himself). Hunting is declared to be a sin, yet it brings nothing but good to the king. See!
He does not heed the cruel sting
Of his recoiling, twanging string;
The mid-day sun, the dripping sweat
Affect him not, nor make him fret;
His form, though sinewy and spare,
Is most symmetrically fair;
No mountain-elephant could be
More filled with vital strength than he.
(He approaches.) Victory to your Majesty! The forest is full of deer-tracks, and beasts of prey cannot be far off. What better occupation could we have?
King. Bhadrasena, my enthusiasm is broken. Madhavya has been preaching against hunting.
General (aside to the clown). Stick to it, friend Madhavya. I will humour the king a moment. (Aloud.) Your Majesty, he is a chattering idiot. Your Majesty may judge by his own case whether hunting is an evil. Consider: The hunter’s form grows sinewy, strong, and light;
He learns, from beasts of prey, how wrath and fright Affect the mind; his skill he loves to measure
With moving targets. ‘Tis life’s chiefest pleasure.
Clown (angrily). Get out! Get out with your strenuous life! The king has come to his senses. But you, you son of a slave-wench, can go chasing 19
from forest to forest, till you fall into the jaws of some old bear that is looking for a deer or a jackal.
King. Bhadrasena, I cannot take your advice, because I am in the vicinity of a hermitage. So for to-day
The horn•d buffalo may shake
The turbid water of the lake;
Shade-seeking deer may chew the cud,
Boars trample swamp-grass in the mud;
The bow I bend in hunting, may
Enjoy a listless holiday.
General. Yes, your Majesty.
King. Send back the archers who have gone ahead. And forbid the soldiers to vex the hermitage, or even to approach it. Remember: There lurks a hidden fire in each
Religious hermit-bower;
Cool sun-stones kindle if assailed
By any foreign power.
General. Yes, your Majesty.
Clown. Now will you get out with your strenuous life? (Exit general.) King (to his attendants). Lay aside your hunting dress. And you, Raivataka, return to your post of duty.
Raivataka. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)
Clown. You have got rid of the vermin. Now be seated on this flat stone, over which the trees spread their canopy of shade. I can’t sit down till you do.
King. Lead the way.
Clown. Follow me. (They walk about and sit down.) King. Friend Madhavya, you do not know what vision is. You have not seen the fairest of all objects.
Clown. I see you, right in front of me.
King. Yes, every one thinks himself beautiful. But I was speaking of Shakuntala, the ornament of the hermitage.
Clown (to himself). I mustn’t add fuel to the flame. (Aloud.) But you can’t have her because she is a hermit-girl. What is the use of seeing her?
King. Fool!
And is it selfish longing then,
That draws our souls on high
Through eyes that have forgot to wink,
As the new moon climbs the sky?
Besides, Dushyanta’s thoughts dwell on no forbidden object.
Clown. Well, tell me about her.
King.
Sprung from a nymph of heaven
Wanton and gay,
Who spurned the blessing given,
Going her way;
By the stern hermit taken
In her most need:
So fell the blossom shaken,
Flower on a weed.
Clown (laughing). You are like a man who gets tired of good dates and longs for sour tamarind. All the pearls of the palace are yours, and you want this girl!
King. My friend, you have not seen her, or you could not talk so.
Clown. She must be charming if she surprises you.
King. Oh, my friend, she needs not many words.
She is God’s vision, of pure thought
Composed in His creative mind;
His reveries of beauty wrought
The peerless pearl of womankind.
So plays my fancy when I see
How great is God, how lovely she.
Clown. How the women must hate her!
King. This too is in my thought.
She seems a flower whose fragrance none has tasted, A gem uncut by workman’s tool,
A branch no desecrating hands have wasted,
Fresh honey, beautifully cool.
No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty,
Her blameless loveliness and worth,
Unless he has fulfilled man’s perfect duty -
And is there such a one on earth?
Clown. Marry her quick, then, before the poor girl falls into the hands of some oily-headed hermit.
King. She is dependent on her father, and he is not here.
Clown. But how does she feel toward you?
King. My friend, hermit-girls are by their very nature timid. And yet When I was near, she could not look at me;
She smiled - but not to me - and half denied it;
She would not show her love for modesty,
Yet did not try so very hard to hide it.
Clown. Did you want her to climb into your lap the first time she saw you?
King. But when she went away with her friends, she almost showed that she loved me.
When she had hardly left my side,
“I cannot walk,” the maiden cried,
And turned her face, and feigned to free
The dress not caught upon the tree.
Clown. She has given you some memories to chew on. I suppose that is why you are so in love with the pious grove.
King. My friend, think of some pretext under which we may return to the hermitage.
Clown. What pretext do you need? Aren’t you the king?
King. What of that?
Clown. Collect the taxes on the hermits’ rice.
King. Fool! It is a very different tax which these hermits pay - one that outweighs heaps of gems.
The wealth we take from common men,
Wastes while we cherish;
These share with us such holiness
As ne’er can perish.
Voices behind the scenes. Ah, we have found him.
King (listening). The voices are grave and tranquil. These must be hermits. (Enter the door-keeper.)
Door-keeper. Victory, O King. There are two hermit youths at the gate.
King. Bid them enter at once.
Door-keeper. Yes, your Majesty. (He goes out, then returns with the youths.) Follow me.
First youth (looking at the king). A majestic presence, yet it inspires confidence. Nor is this wonderful in a king who is half a saint. For to him The splendid palace serves as hermitage;
His royal government, courageous, sage,
Adds daily to his merit; it is given
To him to win applause from choirs of heaven
Whose anthems to his glory rise and swell,
Proclaiming him a king, and saint as well.
Second youth. My friend, is this Dushyanta, friend of Indra?