First youth. It is.
Second youth.
Nor is it wonderful that one whose arm
Might bolt a city gate, should keep from harm
The whole broad earth dark-belted by the sea;
For when the gods in heaven with demons fight,
Dushyanta’s bow and Indra’s weapon bright
Are their reliance for the victory.
The two youths (approaching). Victory, O King!
King (rising). I salute you.
The two youths. All hail! (They offer fruit.) King (receiving it and bowing low). May I know the reason of your coming?
The two youths. The hermits have learned that you are here, and they request -
King. They command rather.
The two youths. The powers of evil disturb our pious life in the absence of the hermit-father. We therefore ask that you will remain a few nights with your charioteer to protect the hermitage.
King. I shall be most happy to do so.
Clown (to the king). You rather seem to like being collared this way.
King. Raivataka, tell my charioteer to drive up, and to bring the bow and arrows.
Raivataka. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)
The two youths.
Thou art a worthy scion of
The kings who ruled our nation
And found, defending those in need,
Their truest consecration.
King. Pray go before. And I will follow straightway.
The two youths. Victory, O King! (Exeunt.) King. Madhavya, have you no curiosity to see Shakuntala?
Clown. I did have an unending curiosity, but this talk about the powers of evil has put an end to it.
King. Do not fear. You will be with me.
Clown. I’ll stick close to your chariot-wheel. (Enter the door-keeper.) Door-keeper. Your Majesty, the chariot is ready, and awaits your departure to victory. But one Karabhaka has come from the city, a messenger from the queen-mother.
King (respectfully). Sent by my mother?
Door-keeper. Yes.
King. Let him enter.
Door-keeper (goes out and returns with Karabhaka). Karabhaka, here is his Majesty. You may draw near.
Karabhaka (approaching and bowing low). Victory to your Majesty. The queen-mother sends her commands -
King. What are her commands?
Karabhaka. She plans to end a fasting ceremony on the fourth day from to-day. And on that occasion her dear son must not fail to wait upon her.
King. On the one side is my duty to the hermits, on the other my mother’s command. Neither may be disregarded. What is to be done?
Clown (laughing). Stay half-way between, like Trishanku.
King. In truth, I am perplexed.
Two inconsistent duties sever
My mind with cruel shock,
As when the current of a river
Is split upon a rock.
(He reflects.) My friend, the queen-mother has always felt toward you as toward a son. Do you return, tell her what duty keeps me here, and yourself perform the offices of a son.
Clown. You don’t think I am afraid of the devils?
King (smiling). O mighty Brahman, who could suspect it?
Clown. But I want to travel like a prince.
King. I will send all the soldiers with you, for the pious grove must not be disturbed.
Clown (strutting). Aha! Look at the heir-apparent!
King (to himself). The fellow is a chatterbox. He might betray my longing to the ladies of the palace. Good, then! (He takes the clown by the hand. Aloud.) Friend Madhavya, my reverence for the hermits draws me to the hermitage. Do not think that I am really in love with the hermit-girl. Just think:
A king, and a girl of the calm hermit-grove,
Bred with the fawns, and a stranger to love!
Then do not imagine a serious quest;
The light words I uttered were spoken in jest.
Clown. Oh, I understand that well enough.
(Exeunt ambo.)
ACT III - The Love-Making
(Enter a pupil, with sacred grass for the sacrifice.) Pupil (with meditative astonishment). How great is the power of King Dushyanta! Since his arrival our rites have been undisturbed.
He does not need to bend the bow;
For every evil thing,
Awaiting not the arrow, flees
From the twanging of the string.
Well, I will take this sacred grass to the priests, to strew the altar. (He walks and looks about, then speaks to some one not visible.) Priyamvada, for whom are you carrying this cuscus-salve and the fibrous lotus-leaves? (He listens.) What do you say? That Shakuntala has become seriously ill from the heat, and that these things are to relieve her suffering? Give her the best of care, Priyamvada. She is the very life of the hermit-father. And I will give Gautami the holy water for her. (Exit. Enter the lovelorn king.) King (with a meditative sigh).
I know that stern religion’s power
Keeps guardian watch my maiden o’er;
Yet all my heart flows straight to her
Like water to the valley-floor.
Oh, mighty Love, thine arrows are made of flowers. How can they be so sharp? (He recalls something.) Ah, I understand.
Shiva’s devouring wrath still burns in thee,
As burns the eternal fire beneath the sea;
Else how couldst thou, thyself long since consumed, Kindle the fire that flames so ruthlessly?
Indeed, the moon and thou inspire confidence, only to deceive the host of lovers.
Thy shafts are blossoms; coolness streams
From moon-rays: thus the poets sing;
But to the lovelorn, falsehood seems
To lurk in such imagining;
The moon darts fire from frosty beams;
Thy flowery arrows cut and sting.
And yet
If Love will trouble her
Whose great eyes madden me,
I greet him unafraid,
Though wounded ceaselessly.
O mighty god, wilt thou not show me mercy after such reproaches?
With tenderness unending
I cherished thee when small,
In vain - thy bow is bending;
On me thine arrows fall.
My care for thee to such a plight
Has brought me; and it serves me right.
I have driven off the powers of evil, and the hermits have dismissed me.
Where shall I go now to rest from my weariness? (He sighs.) There is no rest for me except in seeing her whom I love. (He looks up.) She usually spends these hours of midday heat with her friends on the vine wreathed banks of the Malini. I will go there. (He walks and looks about.) I believe the slender maiden has just passed through this corridor of young trees. For
The stems from which she gathered flowers
Are still unhealed;
The sap where twigs were broken off
Is uncongealed.
(He feels a breeze stirring.) This is a pleasant spot, with the wind among the trees.
Limbs that love’s fever seizes,
Their fervent welcome pay
To lotus-fragrant breezes
That bear the river-spray.
(He studies the ground.) Ah, Shakuntala must be in this reedy bower. For In white sand at the door
Fresh footprints appear,
The toe lightly outlined,
The heel deep and clear.