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Sakoontala or The Lost Ring - An Indian Drama

Kalidasa

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Title: Sakoontala or The Lost Ring

An Indian Drama

Author: Kalidasa

Release Date: April 27, 2004 [EBook #12169]

Language: English

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[S']AKOONTALA

OR THE LOST RING

AN INDIAN DRAMA

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE

FROM THE SANSKRIT OF KALIDASA

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SIR MONIER MONIER-WILLIAMS, K.C.I.E.

M.A., D.C.L., LL.D., PH.D.

BODEN PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT, HON. FELLOW OF UNIVERSITY

AND LATE FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD

PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION.

The fact that the following translation (first published in 1855) of

India's most celebrated drama has gone through seven editions, might

reasonably have absolved me from the duty of revising it.

Three years ago, however, I heard that Sir John Lubbock had thought

'[S']akoontala' worthy of a place among the hundred best books of the

world, and had adopted my version of the original. I therefore

undertook to go through every line and once again compare the

translation with the Sanskrit, in the hope that I might be able to

give a few finishing touches to a performance which, although it had

been before the public for about forty years, was certainly not

perfect. The act of revision was a labour of love, and I can honestly

say that I did my best to make my representation of Kalidasa's

immortal work as true and trustworthy as possible.

Another edition is now called for, but after a severely critical

examination of every word, I have only detected a few minor

unimportant points--and those only in the Introduction and Notes--in

which any alteration appeared to be desirable. Indeed it is probable

that the possessors of previous editions will scarcely perceive that

any alterations have been made anywhere.

Occasionally in the process of comparison a misgiving has troubled me,

and I have felt inclined to accuse myself of having taken, in some

cases, too great liberties with the Sanskrit original. But in the end

I have acquiesced in my first and still abiding conviction that a

literal translation (such as that which I have given in the notes of

my edition of the Sanskrit text) might have commended itself to

Oriental students, but would not have given a true idea of the beauty

of India's most cherished drama to general readers, whose minds are

cast in a European mould, and who require a translator to clothe

Oriental ideas, as far as practicable, in a dress conformable to

European canons of taste.

And most assuredly such a translation would never have adapted itself

to actual representation on a modern stage as readily as it now

appears that my free version has done. It has gratified me exceedingly

to find that youthful English-speaking Indians--cultured young men

educated at the Universities of Calcutta, Madras and Bombay--have acted

the [S']akoontala, in the very words of my translation with the greatest

success before appreciative audiences in various parts of India.

And lest any one in this country should be sceptical as to the

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possibility of interesting a modern audience in a play written

possibly as early as the third or fourth century of our era (see p.

xvi), I here append an extract from a letter received by me in 1893

from Mr. V. Padmanabha Aiyar, B.A., resident at Karamanai, Trivandrum,

Travancore.

'SIVEN COIL STREET, TRIVANDRUM,

_'May 1, 1893_.

'The members of the "Karamanai Young Men's Mutual Improvement Society"

acted your translation of "[S']akoontala" on the 3rd and 5th of

September last year, in the Government Museum Theatre, Trivandrum.

'It was acted in two parts. On the first day Acts I to IV were acted,

and on the second the remaining three Acts.

'All our chief native officials and many Europeans and their ladies

honoured the occasion with their presence. We acted it a second time

at the special request of H.H. the Second Prince of Travancore, in the

Palace of His Highness' mother, the Junior Ranee.

'The public were kind enough to pronounce it a success. In many cases

the applause given was not so much for the acting as for the beauty of

your translation. The Hindus have a great liking for this play, and

not one of the enlightened Hindu community will fail to acknowledge

your translation to be a very perfect one. Our object in acting Hindu

plays is to bring home to the Hindus the good lessons that our ancient

authors are able to teach us. If there is one lesson in these days

more than another which familiarity with the fountains of Western

literature constantly forces upon the mind, it is that our age is

turning its back on time-honoured creeds and dogmas. We are hurrying

forward to a chaos in which all our existing beliefs, nay even the

fundamental axioms of morality, may in the end be submerged; and as

the general tenor of Indian thought among the educated community is to

reject everything that is old, and equally blindly to absorb

everything new, it becomes more and more an urgent question whether

any great intellectual or moral revolution, which has no foundations

in the past, can produce lasting benefits to the people.

'"I desire no future that will break the ties of the past" is what

George Eliot has said, and so it is highly necessary that the Hindus

should know something of their former greatness.

'The songs in [S']akoontala, one in the Prologue and another in the

beginning of the fifth Act, very easily adapted themselves to Hindu

tunes.'

Towards the end of his letter Mr. Aiyar intimated that he himself took

the part of Ma[T.]Havya. He also mentioned that a few modifications and

additions were introduced into some of the scenes.

In a subsequent letter received from Mr. Keshava Aiyar, the Secretary

of the Society, I was informed that my version of the Play was acted

again at Trivandrum in 1894.

These descriptions of the successful representation of the [S']akoontala

in Travancore justified me in expressing a hope that, as Kalidasa has

been called the Shakespeare of India, so the most renowned of his

three dramatic works might, with a few manifestly necessary

modifications, be some day represented, with equal success, before

English-speaking audiences in other parts of the world and especially

here in England. This hope has been realized, and quite recently my

translation has been successfully acted by amateur actors before a

London audience.

I venture, therefore, to add the expression of a further hope that

with the daily growth of interest in Oriental literature, and now that

the [S']akoontala forms one of Sir John Lubbock's literary series, it

may be more extensively read by the Rulers of India in all parts of

the Empire. Those who study it attentively cannot fail to become

better acquainted with the customs and habits of thought, past and

present, of the people committed to their sway.

And it cannot be too often repeated that our duty towards our great

Dependency requires us to do something more than merely rule justly.

We may impart high education, we may make good laws, we may administer

impartial justice, we may make roads, lay down railroads and

telegraphs, stimulate trade, accomplish amazing engineering

feats--like that lately achieved at Periyar--increase the wealth and

develop the resources of our vast Eastern territories; but unless we

seek to understand the inhabitants, unless we think it worth while to

study their ancient literatures, their religious ideas, and

time-honoured institutions, unless we find in them something to admire

and respect, we can never expect any reciprocity of esteem and respect

on their part--we can never look forward to a time when the present

partition-wall, which obstructs the free Interchange of social

relations between European and Asiatic races, will be entirely

removed.

MONIER MONIER-WILLIAMS, _December, 1898_.

INTRODUCTION

About a century has elapsed since the great English Orientalist, Sir

William Jones, astonished the learned world by the discovery of a

Sanskrit Dramatic Literature. He has himself given us the history of

this discovery. It appears that, on his arrival in Bengal, he was very

solicitous to procure access to certain books called Nataks, of which

he had read in one of the 'Lettres Edifiantes et Curieuses' written by

the Jesuit Missionaries of China. But, although he sought information

by consulting both Brahmans and Europeans, he was wholly unable for

some time to satisfy his curiosity as to the nature of these books. It

was reported to him that they were not histories, as he had hoped, but

that they abounded with fables, and consisted of conversations in

prose and verse held before ancient Rajas, in their public assemblies.

Others, again, asserted that they were discourses on dancing, music,

and poetry. At length, a sensible Brahman, conversant with European

manners, removed all his doubts, and gave him no less delight than

surprise, by telling him that the English nation had compositions of

the same sort, which were publicly represented at Calcutta in the cold

season, and bore the name of 'plays.' The same Brahman, when asked

which of these Nataks was most universally esteemed, answered without

hesitation, '[S']akoontala.'

It may readily be imagined with what interest, the keen Orientalist

received this communication; with what rapidity he followed up the

clue; and, when at length his zeal was rewarded by actual possession

of a MS. copy of one of these dramas, with what avidity he proceeded

to explore the treasures which for eighteen hundred years had remained

as unknown to the European world as the gold-fields of Australia.

The earliest Sanskrit drama with which we are acquainted, the

'Clay-cart,' translated by my predecessor in the Boden Chair at

Oxford, Professor H.H. Wilson, is attributed to a regal author, King

[S']udraka, the date of whose reign cannot be fixed with any certainty,

though some have assigned it to the first or second century B.C.

Considering that the nations of Europe can scarcely be said to have

possessed a dramatic literature before the fourteenth or fifteenth

century of the present era, the great age of the Hindu plays would of

itself be a most interesting and attractive circumstance, even if

their poetical merit were not of a very high order. But when to the

antiquity of these productions is added their extreme beauty and

excellence as literary compositions, and when we also take into

account their value as representations of the early condition of Hindu

society--which, notwithstanding the lapse of two thousand years, has

in many particulars obeyed the law of unchangeableness ever stamped on

the manners and customs of the East--we are led to wonder that the

study of the Indian drama has not commended itself in a greater degree

to the attention of Europeans, and especially of Englishmen. The

English student, at least, is bound by considerations of duty, as well

as curiosity, to make himself acquainted with a subject which

elucidates and explains the condition of the millions of Hindus who

owe allegiance to his own Sovereign, and are governed by English laws.

Of all the Indian dramatists, indeed of all Indian poets, the most

celebrated is Kalidasa, the writer of the present play. The late

Professor Lassen thought it probable that he flourished about the

middle of the third century after Christ. Professor Kielhorn of

Goettingen has proved that the composer of the Mandasor Inscription

(A.D. 472) knew Kalidasa's Ritusamhara. Hence it may be inferred that

Lassen was not far wrong[1]. Possibly some King named Vikramaditya

received Kalidasa at his Court, and honoured him by his patronage

about that time. Little, however, is known of the circumstances of his

life. There is certainly no satisfactory evidence to be adduced in

support of the tradition current in India that he lived in the time

of the _great_ King Vikramaditya I., whose capital was Ujjayini, now

Oujein.

From the absence of historical literature in India, our knowledge of

the state of Hindustan between the incursion of Alexander and the

Muhammadan conquest is very slight. But it is ascertained with

tolerable accuracy that, after the invasion of the kingdoms of Bactria

and Afghanistan, the Tartars or Scythians (called by the Hindus

'[S']akas') overran the north-western provinces of India, and retained

possession of them. The great Vikramaditya or Vikramarka succeeded in

driving back the barbaric hordes beyond the Indus, and so consolidated

his empire that it extended over the whole of Northern Hindustan. His

name is even now cherished among the Hindus with pride and affection.

His victory over the Scythians is believed to have taken place about

B.C. 57. At any rate this is the starting-point of the Vikrama (also

called the Malava and in later times the Samvat) era, one of the

epochs from which the Hindus still continue to count. There is good

authority for affirming that the reign of this Vikramarka or

Vikramaditya was equal in brilliancy to that of any monarch in any

age. He was a liberal patron of science and literature, and gave

splendid encouragement to poets, philologists, astronomers, and

mathematicians. Nine illustrious men of genius are said to have

adorned his Court, and to have been supported by his bounty. They were

called the 'Nine Gems'; and a not unnatural tradition, which, however,

must be considered untrustworthy, included Kalidasa among the Nine.

To Kalidasa (as to another celebrated Indian Dramatist, Bhavabhuti,

who probably flourished in the eighth century) only three plays are

attributed; and of these the '[S']akoontala' (here translated) has

acquired the greatest celebrity [2].

Indeed, the popularity of this play with the natives of India exceeds

that of any other dramatic, and probably of any other poetical

composition [3]. But it is not in India alone that the '[S']akoontala' is

known and admired. Its excellence is now recognized in every

literary circle throughout the continent of Europe; and its beauties,

if not yet universally known and appreciated, are at least

acknowledged by many learned men in every country of the civilized

world. The four well-known lines of Goethe, so often quoted in

relation to the Indian drama, may here be repeated:

'Willst du die Bluethe des fruehen, die Fruechte des

spaeteren Jahres,

Willst du was reizt und entzueckt, willst du was saettigt

und naehrt,

Willst du den Himmel, die Erde, mit einem Namen

begreifen:

Nenn' ich, [S']akoontala, Dich, und so ist Alles gesagt.'

'Would'st thou the young year's blossoms and the fruits

of its decline,

And all by which the soul is charmed, enraptured,

feasted, fed?

Would'st thou the Earth and Heaven itself in one sole

name combine?

I name thee, O [S']akoontala! and all at once is said.'

_E.B. Eastwick_.

Augustus William von Schlegel, in his first Lecture on Dramatic

Literature, says: 'Among the Indians, the people from whom perhaps all

the cultivation of the human race has been derived, plays were known

long before they could have experienced any foreign influence. It has

lately been made known in Europe that they have a rich dramatic

literature, which ascends back for more than two thousand years. The

only specimen of their plays (Nataks) hitherto known to us is the

delightful [S']akoontala, which, notwithstanding the colouring of a

foreign clime, bears in its general structure a striking resemblance

to our romantic drama.'

Alexander von Humboldt, in treating of Indian poetry, observes:

'Kalidasa, the celebrated author of the [S']akoontala, is a masterly

describer of the influence which Nature exercises upon the minds of

lovers. This great poet flourished at the splendid court of

Vikramaditya, and was, therefore, cotemporary with Virgil and Horace.

Tenderness in the expression of feeling, and richness of creative

fancy, have assigned to him his lofty place among the poets of all

nations'.

These considerations induced me, in 1853, to compile and publish an

edition of the text of the '[S']akoontala' from various original MSS.,

with English translations of the metrical passages, and explanatory

notes. A second edition of this work has since been published by the

Delegates of the Oxford University Press. To the notes of that edition

I must refer all students of Sanskrit literature who desire a close

and literal translation of the present drama, and in the Preface will

be found an account of various other editions and translations.

The following pages contain a _free_ translation, and the first

English version in prose and metre, of the purest recension of the

most celebrated drama of the Shakespeare of India.

The need felt by the British public for some such translation as I

have here offered can scarcely be questioned. A great people, who,

through their empire in India, command the destinies of the Eastern

world, ought surely to be conversant with the most popular of Indian

dramas, in which the customs of the Hindus, their opinions,

prejudices, and fables, their religious rites, daily occupations and

amusements, are reflected as in a mirror. Nor is the prose translation

of Sir W. Jones (excellent though it be) adapted to meet the

requirements of modern times. That translation was unfortunately made

from corrupt manuscripts (the best that could then be procured), in

which the bold phraseology of Kalidasa has been occasionally weakened,

his delicate expressions of refined love clothed in an unbecoming

dress, and his ideas, grand in their simplicity, diluted by repetition

or amplification. It is, moreover, altogether unfurnished with

explanatory annotations. The present translation, on the contrary,

while representing the purest version of the drama, has abundant

notes, sufficient to answer the exigencies of the non-oriental

scholar.

It may be remarked that in every Sanskrit play the women and inferior

characters speak a kind of provincial dialect or _patois_, called

Prakrit--bearing the relation to Sanskrit that Italian bears to Latin,

or that the spoken Latin of the age of Cicero bore to the highly

polished Latin in which he delivered his Orations. Even the heroine of

the drama is made to speak in the vernacular dialect. The hero, on the

other hand, and all the higher male characters, speak in Sanskrit; and

as if to invest them with greater dignity, half of what they say is in

verse. Indeed the prose part of their speeches is often very

commonplace, being only introductory to the lofty sentiment of the

poetry that follows. Thus, if the whole composition be compared to a

web, the prose will correspond to the warp, or that part which is

extended lengthwise in the loom, while the metrical portion will

answer to the cross-threads which constitute the woof.

The original verses are written in a great variety of Sanskrit metres.

For example, the first thirty-four verses of '[S']akoontala' exhibit

eleven different varieties of metre. No English metrical system could

give any idea of the almost infinite resources of Sanskrit in this

respect. Nor have I attempted it. Blank verse has been employed by me

in my translation, as more in unison with the character of our own

dramatic writings, and rhyming stanzas have only been admitted when

the subject-matter seemed to call for such a change. Perhaps the chief

consideration that induced me to adopt this mode of metrical

translation was, that the free and unfettered character of the verse

enabled me to preserve more of the freshness and vigour of the

original. If the poetical ideas of Kalidasa have not been expressed in

language as musical as his own, I have at least done my best to avoid

diluting them by unwarrantable paraphrases or additions. If the

English verses are prosaic, I have the satisfaction of knowing that by

resisting the allurements of rhyme, I have done all in my power to

avoid substituting a fictitious and meagre poem of my own for the

grand, yet simple and chaste creation of Kalidasa.

The unrestricted liberty of employing hypermetrical lines of eleven

syllables, sanctioned by the highest authority in dramatic

composition, has, I think, facilitated the attainment of this object.

One of our own poets has said in relation to such lines: 'Let it be

remembered that they supply us with another cadence; that they add, as

it were, a string to the instrument; and--by enabling the poet to

relax at pleasure, to rise and fall with his subject--contribute what

most is wanted, compass and variety. They are nearest to the flow of

an unstudied eloquence, and should therefore be used in the drama[4].'

Shakespeare does not scruple to avail himself of this licence four or

five times in succession, as in the well-known passage beginning--

'To be or not to be, that is the question';

and even Milton uses the same freedom once or twice in every page.

The poetical merit of Kalidasa's '[S']akoontala' is so universally

admitted that any remarks on this head would be superfluous. I will

merely observe that, in the opinion of learned natives, the Fourth

Act, which describes the departure of [S']akoontala from the hermitage,

contains the most obvious beauties; and that no one can read this Act,

nor indeed any part of the play, without being struck with the

richness and elevation of its author's genius, the exuberance and glow

of his fancy, his ardent love of the beautiful, his deep sympathy with

Nature and Nature's loveliest scenes, his profound knowledge of the

human heart, his delicate appreciation of its most refined feelings,

his familiarity with its conflicting sentiments and emotions. But in

proportion to the acknowledged excellence of Kalidasa's composition,

and in proportion to my own increasing admiration of its beauties, is

the diffidence I feel lest I may have failed to infuse any of the

poetry of the original into the present version. Translation of poetry

must, at the best, resemble the process of pouring a highly volatile

and evanescent spirit from one receptacle into another. The original

fluid will always suffer a certain amount of waste and evaporation.

The English reader will at least be inclined to wonder at the

analogies which a thoroughly Eastern play offers to our own dramatic

compositions written many centuries later. The dexterity with which

the plot is arranged and conducted, the ingenuity with which the

incidents are connected, the skill with which the characters are

delineated and contrasted with each other, the boldness and felicity

of the diction, are scarcely unworthy of the great dramatists of

European countries. Nor does the parallel fail in the management of

the business of the stage, in minute directions to the actors, and

various scenic artifices. The asides and aparts, the exits and the

entrances, the manner, attitude, and gait of the speakers, the tone of

voice with which they are to deliver themselves, the tears, the

smiles, and the laughter, are as regularly indicated as in a modern

drama.

In reference to the constitution and structure of the play here

translated, a few general remarks on the dramatic system of the Hindus

may be needed[5].

Dramatic poetry is said to have been invented by the sage Bharata,

who lived at a very remote period of Indian history, and was the

author of a system of music. The drama of these early times was

probably nothing more than the Indian Nach-dance (Nautch) of the

present day. It was a species of rude pantomime, in which dancing and

movements of the body were accompanied by mute gestures of the hands

and face, or by singing and music. Subsequently, dialogue was added,

and the art of theatrical representation was brought to great

perfection. Elaborate treatises were written which laid down minute

regulations for the construction and conduct of plays, and subjected

dramatic composition to highly artificial rules of poetical and

rhetorical style. For example, the Sahitya-darpana divides Sanskrit

plays into two great classes, the Rupaka or principal dramas, and the

Uparupaka or minor dramas. At the head of the ten species of Rupaka

stands the Nataka, of which the '[S']akoontala' is an example. It should

consist of from five to ten Acts; it should have a celebrated story

for its plot; it should represent heroic or godlike characters and

good deeds; it should be written in an elaborate style, and be full of

noble sentiments. Moreover, it should be composed like the end of a

cow's tail; so that each of the Acts be gradually shorter.

In India, as in Greece, scenic entertainments took place at religious

festivals, and on solemn public occasions. Kalidasa's '[S']akoontala'

seems to have been acted at the commencement of the summer season--a

period peculiarly sacred to Kama-deva, the Indian god of love. We are

told that it was enacted before an audience 'consisting chiefly of men

of education and discernment.' As the greater part of every play was

written in Sanskrit, which, although spoken by the learned in every

part of India even at the present day, was certainly not the

vernacular language of the country at the time when the Hindu dramas

were performed, few spectators would be present who were not of the

educated classes. This circumstance is in accordance with the

constitution of Hindu society, whereby the productions of literature

as well as the offices of state, were reserved for the privileged

castes[6].

Every Sanskrit play opens with a prologue, or, to speak more

correctly, an introduction, designed to prepare the way for the

entrance of the _dramatis personae_. The prologue commences with a

benediction or prayer (pronounced by a Brahman, or if the

stage-manager happened to be of the Brahmanical caste, by the manager

himself), in which the poet invokes the favour of the national deity

in behalf of the audience. The blessing is generally followed by a

dialogue between the manager and one or two of the actors, in which an

account is given of the author of the drama, a complimentary tribute

is paid to the critical acumen of the spectators, and such a reference

is made to past occurrences or present circumstances as may be

necessary for the elucidation of the plot. At the conclusion of the

prologue, the manager, by some abrupt exclamation, adroitly introduces

one of the dramatic personages, and the real performance commences.

The play, being thus opened, is carried forward in scenes and Acts;

each scene being marked by the entrance of one character and the exit

of another, as in the French drama. The _dramatis personae_ were

divided into three classes--the inferior characters (nicha), who were

said to speak Prakrit in a monotonous accentless tone of voice

(anudattoktya); the middling (madhyama), and the superior (pradhana),

who were said to speak Sanskrit with accent, emphasis, and expression

(udattoktya). In general, the stage is never left vacant till the end

of an Act, nor does any change of locality take place until then. The

commencement of a new Act is often marked, like the commencement of

the piece, by an introductory monologue or dialogue spoken by one or

more of the _dramatis personae_, and called Vishkambha or Prave[S']aka.

In this scene allusion is frequently made to events supposed to have

occurred in the interval of the Acts, and the audience is the better

prepared to take up the thread of the story, which is then skilfully

carried on to the concluding scene. The piece closes, as it began,

with a prayer for national plenty and prosperity, addressed to the

favourite deity, and spoken by one of the principal personages of the

drama.

Although, in the conduct of the plot, and the delineation of

character, Hindu dramatists show considerable skill, yet they do not

appear to have been remarkable for much fertility of invention. Love,

according to Hindu notions, is the subject of most of their dramas.

The hero, who is generally a king, and already the husband of a wife

or wives (for a wife or two more or less is no encumbrance in Indian

plays), is suddenly smitten with the charms of a lovely woman,

sometimes a nymph, or, as in the case of [S']akoontala, the daughter of

a nymph by a mortal father. The heroine is required to be equally

impressible, and the first tender glance from the hero's eye reaches

her heart. With true feminine delicacy, however, she locks the secret

of her passion in her own breast, and by her coyness and reserve keeps

her lover for a long period in the agonies of suspense. The hero,

being reduced to a proper state of desperation, is harassed by other

difficulties. Either the celestial nature of the nymph is in the way

of their union, or he doubts the legality of the match, or he fears

his own unworthiness, or he is hampered by the angry jealousy of a

previous wife. In short, doubts, obstacles, and delays make great

havoc of both hero and heroine. They give way to melancholy, indulge

in amorous rhapsodies, and become very emaciated. So far, it must be

confessed, the story is decidedly dull, and its chain, however, does

not commence until the Fourth Act, when the union of the heroine with

King Dushyanta, and her acceptance of the marriage-ring as a token of

recognition, are supposed to have taken place. Then follows the King's

departure and temporary desertion of his bride; the curse pronounced

on [S']akoontala by the choleric Sage; the monarch's consequent loss of

memory; the bride's journey to the palace of her husband; the

mysterious disappearance of the marriage-token; the public repudiation

of [S']akoontala; her miraculous assumption to closes, as it began, with

a prayer for national plenty and prosperity, addressed to the

favourite deity, and spoken by one of the principal personages of the

drama.

Although, in the conduct of the plot, and the delineation of

character, Hindu dramatists show considerable skill, yet they do not

appear to have been remarkable for much fertility of invention. Love,

according to Hindu notions, is the subject of most of their dramas.

The hero, who is generally a king, and already the husband of a wife

or wives (for a wife or two more or less is no encumbrance in Indian

plays), is suddenly smitten with the charms of a lovely woman,

sometimes a nymph, or, as in the case of [S']akoontala, the daughter of a

nymph by a mortal father. The heroine is required to be equally

impressible, and the first tender glance from the hero's eye reaches

her heart. With true feminine delicacy, however, she locks the secret

of her passion in her own breast, and by her coyness and reserve keeps

her lover for a long period in the agonies of suspense. The hero,

being reduced to a proper state of desperation, is harassed by other

difficulties. Either the celestial nature of the nymph is in the way

of their union, or he doubts the legality of the match, or he his own

unworthiness, or he is hampered by the angry jealousy of a previous

wife. In short, doubts, obstacles, and delays make great havoc of both

hero and heroine. They give way to melancholy, indulge in amorous

rhapsodies, and become very emaciated. So far, it must be confessed,

the story is decidedly dull, and its pathos, notwithstanding the

occasional grandeur and beauty of the imagery, often verges on the

ridiculous.

But, by way of relief, an element of life is generally introduced in

the character of the Vidushaka, or Jester, who is the constant

companion of the hero; and in the young maidens, who are the

confidential friends of the heroine, and soon become possessed of her

secret. By a curious regulation, the Jester is always a Brahman, and

therefore of a caste superior to the king himself; yet his business is

to excite mirth by being ridiculous in person, age, and attire. He is

sometimes represented as grey-haired, hump-backed, lame, and ugly. In

fact, he is a species of buffoon, who is allowed full liberty of

speech, being himself a universal butt. His attempts at wit, which are

rarely very successful, and his allusions to the pleasures of the

table, of which he is a confessed votary, are absurdly contrasted with

the sententious solemnity of the despairing hero, crossed in the

prosecution of his love-suit. His clumsy interference in the intrigues

of his friend only serves to augment his difficulties, and occasions

many an awkward dilemma. On the other hand, the shrewdness of the

heroine's confidantes never seems to fail them under the most trying

circumstances; while their sly jokes and innuendos, their love of fun,

their girlish sympathy with the progress of the love affair, their

warm affection for their friend, heighten the interest of the plot,

and contribute not a little to vary its monotony.

Fortunately, in the '[S']akoontala' the story is diversified and the

interest well sustained by a chain of stirring incidents. The first

link of the chain, however, does not commence until the Fourth Act,

when the union of the heroine with King Dushyanta, and her acceptance

of the marriage-ring as a token of recognition, are supposed to have

taken place. Then follows the King's departure and temporary desertion

of his bride; the curse pronounced on [S']akoontala by the choleric Sage;

the monarch's consequent loss of memory; the bride's journey to the

palace of her husband; the mysterious disappearance of the

marriage-token; the public repudiation of [S']akoontala; her miraculous

assumption to a celestial asylum; the unexpected discovery of the ring

by a poor fisherman; the King's agony on recovering his recollection;

his aerial voyage in the car of Indra; his strange meeting with the

refractory child in the groves of Kasyapa; the boy's battle with the

young lion; the search for the amulet, by which the King is proved to

be his father; the return of [S']akoontala, and the happy reunion of the

lovers;--all these form a connected series of moving and interesting

incidents. The feelings of the audience are wrought up to a pitch of

great intensity; and whatever emotions of terror, grief, or pity may

have been excited, are properly tranquillized by the happy termination

of the story.

Indeed, if a calamitous conclusion be necessary to constitute a

tragedy, the Hindu dramas are never tragedies. They are mixed

compositions, in which joy and sorrow, happiness and misery, are woven

in a mingled web--tragi-comic representations, in which good and evil,

right and wrong, truth and falsehood, are allowed to blend in

confusion during the first Acts of the drama. But, in the last Act,

harmony is always restored, order succeeds to disorder, tranquillity

to agitation; and the mind of the spectator, no longer perplexed by

the apparent ascendency of evil, is soothed, and purified, and made to

acquiesce in the moral lesson deducible from the plot.

The play of '[S']akoontala,' as Sir W. Jones observes, must have been

very popular when it was first performed. The Indian empire was then

in its palmy days, and the vanity of the natives would be flattered by

the introduction of those kings and heroes who were supposed to have

laid the foundation of its greatness and magnificence, and whose were

connected with all that was sacred and holy in their religion,

Dushyanta, the hero of the drama, according to Indian legends, was one

of the descendants of the Moon, or in other words, belonged to the

Lunar dynasty of Indian princes; and, if any dependence may be placed

on Hindu chronology, he must have lived in the twenty-first or

twenty-second generation after the Flood. Puru, his most celebrated

ancestor, was the sixth in descent from the Moon's son Budha, who

married a daughter of the good King Satya-vrata, preserved by Vishnu

in the Ark at the time of the Deluge. The son of Dushyanta, by

[S']akoontala, was Bharata, from whom India is still called by the

natives Bharata-varsha. After him came Samvarana, Kuru, Santanu,

Bhishma, and Vyasa. The latter was the father of Dhritarashtra and

Pandu, the quarrels of whose sons form the subject of the great

Sanskrit epic poem called Maha-bharata, a poem with parts of which the

audience would be familiar, and in which they would feel the greatest

pride. Indeed the whole story of [S']akoontala is told in the

Maha-bharata. The pedigree of [S']akoontala, the heroine of the drama,

was no less interesting, and calculated to awaken the religious

sympathies of Indian spectators. She was the daughter of the

celebrated Vi[s']wamitra, a name associated with many remarkable

circumstances in Hindu mythology and history. His genealogy and the

principal events of his life are narrated in the Ramayana, the first

of the two epic poems which were to the Hindus what the Iliad and the

Odyssey were to the Greeks. He was originally of the regal caste; and,

having raised himself to the rank of a Brahman by the length and

rigour of his penance, he became the preceptor of Ramachandra, who

was the hero of the Ramayana, and one of the incarnations of the god

Vishnu. With such an antecedent interest in the particulars of the

story, the audience could not fail to bring a sharpened appetite, and

a self-satisfied frame of mind, to the performance of the play.

Although in the following translation it has been thought expedient to

conform to modern usage, by indicating at the head of each Act the

scene in which it is laid, yet it is proper to apprise the English

reader that in scenery and scenic apparatus the Hindu drama, must have

been very defective. No directions as to changes of scene are given in

the original text of the play. This is the more curious, as there are

numerous stage directions, which prove that in respect of dresses and

decorations the resources of the Indian theatre were sufficiently

ample.

It is probable that a curtain suspended across the stage, and divided

in the centre, answered all the purposes of scenes. Behind the curtain

was the space or room called _nepathya_, where the decorations were

kept, where the actors attired themselves, and remained in readiness

before entering the stage, and whither they withdrew on leaving it.

When an actor was to enter hurriedly, he was directed to do so 'with a

toss of the curtain.'

The machinery and paraphernalia of the Indian theatre were also very

limited, contrasting in this respect unfavourably with the ancient

Greek theatre, which appears to have comprehended nearly all that

modern ingenuity has devised. Nevertheless, seats, thrones, weapons,

and chariots, were certainly introduced, and as the intercourse

between the inhabitants of heaven and earth was very frequent, it is

not improbable that there may have been aerial contrivances to

represent the chariots of celestial beings, as on the Greek stage. It

is plain, however, from the frequent occurrence of the word

_natayitwa_, 'gesticulating,' 'acting,' that much had to be supplied

by the imagination of the spectator, assisted by the gesticulations of

the actors.

For further information relative to the dramatic system of the Hindus,

the reader is referred to the notes appended to the present

translation. It is hoped that they will be found sufficient to explain

every allusion that might otherwise be unintelligible to the English

reader.

MONIER MONIER-WILLIAMS.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: In the Aihole Inscription (edited by Dr. Fleet) of the

Western Chalukya King Pulike[S']in II, dated [S']aka 556=A.D. 634-35,

actual mention is made of Kalidasa and Bharavi by name, and Professor

Kielhorn has informed me that he found a verse from the Raghu-van[S']a

quoted in an inscription dated A.D. 602.]

[Footnote 2: As to the other two, the most celebrated, called

Vikramorva[S']i, has been excellently translated by Professors H.H.

Wilson and E.B. Cowell, and the Malavikagnimitra, by Professor Weber,

the eminent Orientalist of Berlin.]

[Footnote 3: The following is an extract from, the _Bombay Times_ of

February 3, 1855. It is given _literatim_, and the orthographical

errors and mutilation of the story prove that in those days a good and

complete version of India's most celebrated drama was not obtainable.

'HINDU DRAMA. 'SATURDAY, 3D FEBRUARY 1855.

'An outline of the play to be performed at the Theatre this night.

'After a short discourse between the Sutradhar (the chief actor) and

the Vidushaka (the clown), Surswati (the Goddess of learning) will

appear. Sutradhar will call his wife (Nati), and they will determine

on performing the play of Shakuntala. They both will sing songs

together, after which Nati will go away. The play will then regularly

commence. Dushanta Rajah will appear in the Court, and order his

Pradhan (the Minister) to make preparations for a hunting excursion.

The Rajah, sitting in his carriage, will pursue a stag, the stag will

disappear, upon which Dushanta will ask his coachman the cause

thereof, this being known, the Rajah in his carriage will proceed

farther, when they will see the stag again, upon which he will aim an

arrow at the stag. The stag will run and reach the retirement of

Waikhanas Rushi. The sage will come out of his hut and remonstrate

with the Rajah against his killing the harmless animal. The Rajah will

obey the injunctions of the sage, who will pronounce benedictions upon

him. According to the Rushi's instructions, he will prepare to proceed

to the residence of another sage named Kunwa. Bidding each other

farewell, the Rushi will go to procure material for his religious

ceremonies. After reaching Kunwa's place, and commanding his coachman

to groom the horses, the Rajah will walk forth to the sage's hut.

Observing on his way thither Shakuntala with her fellow mates watering

the trees, he will hide himself behind a tree. Shakuntala will praise

to her mates the beauty of the Keshar tree. Charmed with overhearing

her discourse, Dushanta will try to find out her descent. Shakuntala

will be very much teased by a Bhramar (fly) hovering about her face.

The Rajah will then come forward and ask the cause of the disturbed

state of her mind. After a mutual exchange of polite respect they all

take their seats beneath a shady tree, Dushanta will inform her of his

country and descent, whereupon they will all go to the Rushi's hut.

'Here there is a pause. A pleasing farce will then be performed.'

I have already stated that the '[S']akoontala' in the words of my own

translation has been since performed at Bombay and recently at

Trivandrum, the capital of Travancore (see Preface to this edition, p.

vii, &c).]

[Footnote 4: Rogers' Italy, note to line 23.]

[Footnote 5: The admirable Essay by Professor H.H. Wilson, prefixed to

his Hindu Theatre, is the principal source of the information which I

have here given.]

[Footnote 6: Wilson's Hindu Theatre, p. xii.]

RULES FOR THE PRONUNCIATION OF

THE PROPER NAMES.

Observe, that in order to secure the correct pronunciation of the

title of this Drama, 'Sakuntala' has been spelt '[S']akoontala,' the

_u_ of [S']akuntala being pronounced like the _u_ in the English

word _rule_.

The vowel _a_ must invariably be pronounced with a dull sound,

like the _a_ in _organ_, or the _u_ in _gun, sun. Dushyanta_ must

therefore be pronounced as if written _Dooshyunta_. The long

vowel _a_ is pronounced like the _a_ in _last, cart_; _i_ like

the _i_ in _pin, sin_; _i_ like the _i_ in _marine_; _e_ like the

_e_ in _prey_; _o_ like the _o_ in _so_; _ai_ like the _ai_ in

_aisle_; _au_ like _au_ in the German word _haus_, or like the

_ou_ in _our_.

The consonants are generally pronounced as in English, but _g_

has always the sound of _g_ in _gun, give_, never of _g_ in

_gin_. S with the accent over it (s), has the sound of _s_ in

_sure_, or of the last _s_ in _session_.

* * * * *

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

* * * * *

DUSHYANTA, _King of India_.

MA[T.]HAVYA, _the jester, friend, and companion of the King_.

KANWA, _chief of the hermits, foster-father of_ [S']AKOONTALA.

[S']ARNGARAVA,}

} _two Brahmans, belonging to the hermitage of KANWA_.

[S']ARADWATA, }

MITRAVASU, _brother-in-law of the King, and superintendent of the

city police_.

JANUKA _and_ SUCHAKA, _two constables_.

VATAYANA, _the chamberlain or attendant on the women's

apartments_.

SOMARATA, _the domestic priest_.

KARABHAKA, _a messenger of the queen-mother_.

RAIVATIKA, _the warder or doorkeeper_.

MATALI, _charioteer of Indra_.

SARVA-DAMANA, _afterwards_ BHARATA, _a little boy, son

of_ DUSHYANTA by [S']AKOONTALA.

KA[S']YAPA, _a divine sage, progenitor of men and gods, son of_

MARICHI, _and grandson of_ BRAHMA.

[S']AKOONTALA, _daughter of the sage_ VI[S']WAMITRA _and the

nymph_ MENAKA, _foster-child of the hermit_ KANWA.

PRIYAMVADA _and_ ANASUYA, _female attendants, companions

of_ [S']AKOONTALA.

GAUTAMI, _a holy matron, Superior of the female inhabitants

of the hermitage_.

VASUMATI, _the Queen of_ DUSHYANTA.

SANUMATI, _a nymph, friend of_ [S']AKOONTALA.

TARALIKA, _personal attendant of the Queen_.

CHATURIKA, _personal attendant of the King_.

VETRAVATI, _female warder or doorkeeper_.

PARABHRITIKA} _and_

MADHUKARIKA,} _maidens in charge of the royal gardens_.

SUVRATA, _a nurse_.

ADITI, _wife of_ KA[S']YAPA; _granddaughter of_ BRAHMA

_through her father_ DAKSHA.

CHARIOTEER, FISHERMAN, OFFICERS, AND HERMITS.

[S']AKOONTALA; OR, THE LOST RING.

PROLOGUE.

BENEDICTION.

I[S']a preserve you [1]! he who is revealed

In these eight forms[2] by man perceptible--

Water, of all creation's works the first;

The Fire that bears on high the sacrifice

Presented with solemnity to heaven;

The Priest, the holy offerer of gifts;

The Sun and Moon, those two majestic orbs,

Eternal marshallers of day and night;

The subtle Ether, vehicle of sound,

Diffused throughout the boundless universe;

The Earth, by sages called 'The place of birth

Of all material essences and things';

And Air, which giveth life to all that breathe.

STAGE-MANAGER.

[_After the recitation of the benediction_.]

[_Looking toward the living-room_.]

Lady, when you have finished attiring yourself, come this way.

ACTRESS.

[_Entering_.]

Here I am, Sir; what are your commands?

STAGE-MANAGER.

We are here before the eyes of an audience of educated and

discerning men[3]; and have to represent in their presence a new

drama composed by Kalidasa, called '[S']akoontala; or, the Lost

Ring[4].' Let the whole company exert themselves to do justice to

their several parts.

ACTRESS.

You, Sir, have so judiciously managed the cast of the characters,

that nothing will be defective in the acting.

STAGE-MANAGER.

Lady, I will tell you the exact state of the case,

No skill in acting can I deem complete,

Till from the wise the actor gain applause;

Know that the heart e'en of the truly skilful,

Shrinks from too boastful confidence in self.

ACTRESS. [_Modestly_.]

You judge correctly And now, what are your commands?

STAGE-MANAGER.

What can you do better than engage the attention of the audience

by some captivating melody?

ACTRESS.

Which among the seasons shall I select as the subject of my song?

STAGE-MANAGER.

You surely ought to give the preference to the present Summer

season[5] that has but recently commenced, a season so rich in

enjoyment. For now

Unceasing are the charms of halcyon days,

When the cool bath exhilarates the frame;

When sylvan gales are laden with the scent

Of fragrant Patalas[6]; when soothing sleep

Creeps softly on beneath the deepening shade;

And when, at last, the dulcet calm of eve

Entrancing steals o'er every yielding sense.

ACTRESS.

I will:--

[_Sings_.]

Fond maids, the chosen of their hearts to please,

Entwine their ears with sweet [S']irisha flowers[7],

Whose fragrant lips attract the kiss of bees

That softly murmur through the summer hours.

STAGE-MANAGER.

Charmingly sung! The audience are motionless as statues, their

souls riveted by the enchanting strain. What subject shall we

select for representation, that we may ensure a continuance

of their favour?

ACTRESS.

Why not the same, Sir, announced by you at first? Let the drama

called '[S']akoontala; or, the Lost Ring,' be the subject of our

dramatic performance.

STAGE-MANAGER.

Rightly reminded! For the moment I had forgotten it.

Your song's transporting melody decoyed

My thoughts, and rapt with ecstasy my soul;

As now the bounding antelope allures

The King Dushyanta[8] on the chase intent.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT I.

SCENE-_A Forest_.

_Enter King_ DUSHYANTA, _armed with a bow and arrow, in a

chariot, chasing an antelope, attended by his_ CHARIOTEER.

CHARIOTEER.

[_Looking at the deer, and then at the_ KING.

Great Prince,

When on the antelope I bend my gaze,

And on your Majesty, whose mighty bow

Has its string firmly braced; before my eyes

The god that wields the trident[9] seems revealed.

Chasing the deer that flies from him in vain.

KING.

Charioteer, this fleet antelope has drawn us far from my

attendants. See! there he runs:

Aye and anon his graceful neck he bends

To cast a glance at the pursuing car;

And dreading now the swift-descending shaft,

Contracts into itself his slender frame;

About his path, in scattered fragments strewn,

The half-chewed grass falls from his panting mouth;

See! in his airy bounds he seems to fly,

And leaves no trace upon th' elastic turf.

[_With astonishment_.]

How now! swift as is our pursuit, I scarce can see him.

CHARIOTEER.

Sire, the ground here is full of hollows; I have therefore drawn

in the reins and checked the speed of the chariot. Hence the deer

has somewhat gained upon us. Now that we are passing over level

ground, we shall have no difficulty in overtaking him.

KING.

Loosen the reins, then.

CHARIOTEER.

The King is obeyed.

[_Drives the chariot at full speed_.]

Great Prince, see I see!

Responsive to the slackened rein, the steeds,

Chafing with eager rivalry, career

With emulative fleetness o'er the plain;

Their necks outstretched, their waving plumes, that late

Fluttered above their brows, are motionless[10];

Their sprightly ears, but now erect, bent low;

Themselves unsullied by the circling dust,

That vainly follows on their rapid course.

KING. [_Joyously_.

In good sooth, the horses seem as if they would outstrip the

steeds of Indra and the Sun[11].

That which but now showed to my view minute

Quickly assumes dimension; that which seemed

A moment since disjoined in diverse parts,

Looks suddenly like one compacted whole;

That which is really crooked in its shape

In the far distance left, grows regular;

Wondrous the chariot's speed, that in a breath,

Makes the near distant and the distant near.

Now, Charioteer, see me kill the deer.

[_Takes aim_.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Hold, O King! this deer belongs to our hermitage.

Kill it not! kill it not!

CHARIOTEER. [_Listening and looking_.

Great King, some hermits have stationed themselves so as to

screen the antelope at the very moment of its coming within range

of your arrow.

KING. [_Hastily_.

Then stop the horses.

CHARIOTEER.

I obey.

[_Stops the chariot_.

_Enter a_ HERMIT, _and two others with him_.]

HERMIT. [_Raising his hand_.

This deer, O King, belongs to our hermitage. Kill

it not! kill it not!

Now heaven forbid this barbed shaft descend

Upon the fragile body of a fawn,

Like fire upon a heap of tender flowers!

Can thy steel bolts no meeter quarry find

Than the warm life-blood of a harmless deer?

Restore, great Prince, thy weapon to its quiver.

More it becomes thy arms to shield the weak,

Than to bring anguish on the innocent.

KING.

'Tis done.

[_Replaces the arrow in its quiver_.

HERMIT.

Worthy is this action of a Prince, the light of Puru's race[12].

Well does this act befit a Prince like thee,

Right worthy is it of thine ancestry.

Thy guerdon be a son of peerless worth,

Whose wide dominion shall embrace the earth.

BOTH THE OTHER HERMITS. [_Raising their hands_.

May heaven indeed grant thee a son, a sovereign of the earth from

sea to sea!

KING.

[_Bowing_.

I accept with gratitude a Brahman's benediction.

HERMIT.

We came hither, mighty Prince, to collect sacrificial wood. Here

on the banks of the Malini you may perceive the hermitage of the

great sage Kanwa[13]. If other duties require not your presence,

deign to enter and accept our hospitality.

When you behold our penitential rites

Performed without impediment by saints

Rich only in devotion, then with pride

Will you reflect:--Such are the holy men

Who call me Guardian; such the men for whom

To wield the bow I bare my nervous arm,

Scarred by the motion of the glancing string.

KING.

Is the Chief of your Society now at home?

HERMIT.

No; he has gone to Soma-tirtha[14] to propitiate Destiny, which

threatens his daughter [S']akoontala with some calamity; but he has

commissioned her in his absence to entertain all guests with

hospitality.

KING.

Good! I will pay her a visit. She will make me acquainted with

the mighty sage's acts of penance and devotion.

HERMIT.

And we will depart on our errand.

[_Exit with his companions_.

KING.

Charioteer, urge on the horses. We will at least purify our souls

by a sight of this hallowed retreat.

CHARIOTEER.

Your Majesty is obeyed.

[_Drives the chariot with great velocity_.

KING. [_Looking all about him_.

Charioteer, even without being told, I should have known that

these were the precincts of a grove consecrated to penitential

rites.

CHARIOTEER.

How so?

KING.

Do not you observe?

Beneath the trees, whose hollow trunks afford

Secure retreat to many a nestling brood

Of parrots, scattered grains of rice lie strewn.

Lo! here and there are seen the polished slabs

That serve to bruise the fruit of Ingudi[15].

The gentle roe-deer, taught to trust in man,

Unstartled hear our voices. On the paths

Appear the traces of bark-woven vests[16]

Borne dripping from the limpid fount of waters.

And mark!

Laved are the roots of trees by deep canals [17],

Whose glassy waters tremble in the breeze;

The sprouting verdure of the leaves is dimmed

By dusky wreaths of upward curling smoke

From burnt oblations; and on new-mown lawns

Around our car graze leisurely the fawns.

CHARIOTEER.

I observe it all.

KING. [_Advancing a little further_.

The inhabitants of this sacred retreat must not be disturbed.

Stay the chariot, that I may alight.

CHARIOTEER.

The reins are held in. Your Majesty may descend.

KING. [_Alighting_.

Charioteer, groves devoted to penance must be entered in humble

attire. Take these ornaments.

[_Delivers his ornaments and bow to CHARIOTEER_.]

Charioteer, see that the horses are watered, and attend to them

until I return from visiting the inhabitants of the hermitage.

CHARIOTEER.

I Will.

[_Exit_.

KING. [_Walking and looking about_.

Here is the entrance to the hermitage. I will now go in.

[_Entering and feeling a throbbing sensation in his arm_.

Serenest peace is in this calm retreat,

By passion's breath unruffled; what portends

My throbbing arm[18]? Why should it whisper here

Of happy love? Yet everywhere around us

Stand the closed portals of events unknown.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

This way, my dear companions; this way.

KING. [_Listening_.

Hark! I hear voices to the right of yonder grove

of trees. I will walk in that direction.

[_Walking and looking about_.]

Ah! here are the maidens of the hermitage coming this way to

water the shrubs, carrying water-pots proportioned to their

strength.

[_Gazing at them_.]

How graceful they look!

In palaces such charms are rarely ours;

The woodland plants outshine the garden flowers.

I will conceal myself in this shade and watch them.

[_Stands gazing at them_.

_Enter [S']AKOONTALA, with her two female companions, employed in

the manner described_.

[S']AKOONTALA

This way, my dear companions; this way.

ANASUYA.

Dear [S']akoontala, one would think that father Kanwa had more

affection for the shrubs of the hermitage even than for you,

seeing he assigns to you, who are yourself as delicate as the

fresh-blown jasmine, the task of filling with water the trenches

which encircle their roots.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Dear Anasuya, although I am charged by my good father with this

duty, yet I cannot regard it as a task. I really feel a sisterly

love for these plants.

[_Continues watering the shrubs_.

KING.

Can this be the daughter of Kanwa? The saintly man, though

descended from the great Kasyapa, must be very deficient in

judgment to habituate such a maiden to the life of a recluse.

The sage who would this form of artless grace

Inure to penance, thoughtlessly attempts

To cleave in twain the hard acacia's stem[19]

With the soft edge of a blue lotus-leaf.

Well! concealed behind this tree, I will watch her without

raising her suspicions.

[_Conceals himself_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Good Anasuya, Priyamvada has drawn this bark-dress too tightly

about my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little.

ANASUYA.

I will. [_Loosens it_.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Smiling_.

Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather your own blooming

youthfulness which imparts fulness to your bosom.

KING.

A most just observation!

This youthful form, whose bosom's swelling charms

By the bark's knotted tissue are concealed,

Like some fair bud close folded in its sheath,

Gives not to view the blooming of its beauty.

But what am I saying? In real truth this bark-dress,

though ill-suited to her figure, sets it off like an ornament.

The lotus[20] with the [S']aivala[21] entwined

Is not a whit less brilliant; dusky spots

Heighten the lustre of the cold-rayed moon;

This lovely maiden in her dress of bark

Seems all the lovelier. E'en the meanest garb

Gives to true beauty fresh attractiveness.

[S']AKOONTALA. [Looking before her.

Yon Ke[S']ara-tree[22] beckons to me with its young shoots, which,

as the breeze waves them to and fro, appear like slender fingers.

I will go and attend to it.

[_Walks towards it_.

PRIYAMVADA.

Dear [S']akoontala, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Why so?

PRIYAMVADA

The Ke[S']ara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its stem,

appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvada

('Speaker of flattering things').

KING.

What Priyamvada says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true.

Verily,

Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud;

Her graceful arms are as the twining stalks;

And her whole form is radiant with the glow

Of youthful beauty, as the tree with bloom.

ANASUYA.

See, dear [S']akoontala, here is the young jasmine, which you

named 'the Moonlight of the Grove,' the self-elected wife of the

mango-tree. Have you forgotten it?

[S']AKOONTALA.

Rather will I forget myself.

[_Approaching the plant and looking at it_.]

How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper and the

mango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The fresh

blossoms of the jasmine resemble the bloom of a young bride, and

the newly-formed shoots of the mango appear to make it her

natural protector.

[_Continues gazing at it_.

PRIYAMVADA.

Do you know, my Anasuya, why [S']akoontala gazes so intently at the

jasmine?

ANASUYA.

No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me.

PRIYAMVADA.

She is wishing that as the jasmine is united to a suitable tree,

so, in like manner, she may obtain a husband worthy of her.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your own mind.

[_Continues watering the flowers_.

KING.

Would that my union with her were permissible[23]! and yet I

hardly dare hope that the maiden is sprung from a caste different

from that of the Head of the hermitage. But away with doubt:

That she is free to wed a warrior-king

My heart attests. For, in conflicting doubts,

The secret promptings of the good man's soul

Are an unerring index of the truth.

However, come what may, I will ascertain the fact.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_In a flurry_.

Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of the water, has left the

young jasmine, and is trying to settle on my face.

[_Attempts to drive it away_.

KING. [_Gazing at her ardently_.

Beautiful! there is something charming even in her repulse.

Where'er the bee his eager onset plies,

Now here, now there, she darts her kindling eyes;

What love hath yet to teach, fear teaches now,

The furtive glances and the frowning brow.

[_In a tone of envy_.

Ah, happy bee! how boldly dost thou try

To steal the lustre from her sparkling eye;

And in thy circling movements hover near,

To murmur tender secrets in her ear;

Or, as she coyly waves her hand, to sip

Voluptuous nectar from her lower lip!

While rising doubts my heart's fond hopes destroy,

Thou dost the fulness of her charms enjoy.

[S']AKOONTALA.

This impertinent bee will not rest quiet. I must move elsewhere.

[_Moving a few steps off, and casting a glance around_.]

How now! he is following me here. Help! my dear friends, help!

deliver me from the attacks of this troublesome insect.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

How can we deliver you? Call Dushyanta to your aid. The sacred

groves are under the King's special protection.

KING.

An excellent opportunity for me to show myself.

Fear not--

[_Checks himself when the words are half-uttered; Aside_.]

But stay, if I introduce myself in this manner, they will know me

to be the King. Be it so, I will accost them, nevertheless.

[S']AKOONTALA.

[_Moving a step or two further off_.

What! it still persists in following me.

KING. [_Advancing hastily_.

When mighty Puru's offspring sways the earth,

And o'er the wayward holds his threatening rod,

Who dares molest the gentle maids that keep

Their holy vigils here in Kanwa's grove?

[_All look at the_ KING, _and all are embarrassed_.

ANASUYA.

Kind Sir, no outrage has been committed; only our dear friend

here was teased by the attacks of a troublesome bee.

[_Points to_ [S']AKOONTALA.

KING. [_Turning to_ [S']AKOONTALA.

I trust all is well with your devotional rites[24]?

[[S']AKOONTALA _stands confused and silent_.]

ANASUYA.

All is well indeed, now that we are honoured by the reception of

a distinguished guest. Dear [S']akoontala, go, bring from the

hermitage an offering of flowers, rice, and fruit. This water

that we have brought with us will serve to bathe our guest's

feet[25].

KING.

The rites of hospitality are already performed; your truly kind

words are the best offering I can receive.

PRIYAMVADA.

At least be good enough, gentle Sir, to sit down awhile, and rest

yourself on this seat shaded by the leaves of the Sapta-parna

tree[26].

KING.

You, too, must all be fatigued by your employment.

ANASUYA.

Dear [S']akoontala, there is no impropriety in our sitting by the

side of our guest; come, let us sit down here.

[_All sit down together_.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

How is it that the sight of this made me sensible of emotions

inconsistent with religious vows?

KING. [_Gazing at them all By turns_.

How charmingly your friendship is in keeping with the equality of

your ages and appearance!

PRIYAMVADA. [_Aside to ANASUYA_.

Who can this person be, whose lively yet dignified manner, and

polite conversation, bespeak him a man of high rank?

ANASUYA.

I, too, my dear, am very curious to know. I will ask him myself.

[_Aloud_]

Your kind words, noble Sir, fill me with confidence, and prompt

me to inquire of what regal family our noble guest is the

ornament? what country is now mourning his absence? and what

induced a person so delicately nurtured to expose himself to the

fatigue of visiting this grove of penance?

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

Be not troubled, O my heart, Anasuya is giving utterance to thy

thoughts.

KING. [_Aside_.

How now shall I reply? shall I make myself known, or shall I

still disguise my real rank? I have it; I will answer her thus.

[_Aloud_.] I am the person charged by his Majesty, the descendant

of Puru, with the administration of justice and religion; and am

come to this sacred grove to satisfy myself that the rites of the

hermits are free from obstruction.

ANASUYA.

The hermits, then, and all the members of our religious society,

have now a guardian.

[[S']AKOONTALA _gazes bashfully at the_ KING.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

[_Perceiving the state of her feelings, and of the_ KING'S.

_Aside to_ [S']AKOONTALA.

Dear [S']akoontala, if father Kanwa were but at home to-day--

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Angrily_.

What if he were?

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

He would honour this our distinguished guest with an offering of

the most precious of his possessions.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Go to! you have some silly idea in your minds, I will not listen

to such remarks.

KING.

May I be allowed, in my turn, to ask you maidens a few

particulars respecting your friend?

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Your request, Sir, is an honour.

KING.

The sage Kanwa lives in the constant practice of austerities.

How, then, can this friend of yours be called his daughter?

ANASUYA.

I will explain to you. Sir. You have heard of an illustrious sage

of regal caste, Vi[s']wamitra, whose family name is Kau[S']ika[27].

KING.

I have.

ANASUYA.

Know that he is the real father of our friend. The venerable

Kanwa is only her reputed father. He it was who brought her up,

when she was deserted by her mother.

KING.

'Deserted by her mother!' My curiosity is excited; pray let me

hear the story from the beginning.

ANASUYA.

You shall hear it, Sir. Some time since, this sage of regal

caste, while performing a most severe penance on the banks of the

river Godavari, excited the jealousy and alarm of the gods;

insomuch that they despatched a lovely nymph named Menaka to

interrupt his devotions.

KING.

The inferior gods, I am aware, are jealous[28] of the power which

the practice of excessive devotion confers on mortals.

ANASUYA.

Well, then, it happened that Vi[s']wamitra, gazing on the

bewitching beauty of that nymph at a season when, spring being in

its glory--

[_Stops short, and appears confused_.

KING.

The rest may be easily divined. [S']akoontala, then, is the

offspring of the nymph.

ANASUYA.

Just so.

KING.

It is quite intelligible.

How would a mortal to such charms give birth?

The lightning's radiance flashes not from earth.

[[S']AKOONTALA _remains modestly seated with downcast eyes_.

_Aside_.]

And so my desire has really scope for its indulgence. Yet I am

still distracted by doubts, remembering the pleasantry of her

female companions respecting her wish for a husband.

PRIYAMVADA.

[_Looking with a smile at [S']AKOONTALA, and then turning towards

the KING.]

You seem desirous, Sir, of asking something further.

[[S']AKOONTALA _makes a chiding gesture with her finger_.

KING.

You conjecture truly. I am so eager to hear the particulars of

your friend's history, that I have still another question to ask.

PRIYAMVADA.

Scruple not to do so. Persons who lead the life of hermits may be

questioned unreservedly.

KING.

I wish to ascertain one point respecting your friend.

Will she be bound by solitary vows

Opposed to love, till her espousals only?

Or ever dwell with these her cherished fawns,

Whose eyes, in lustre vying with her own,

Return her gaze of sisterly affection?

PRIYAMVADA.

Hitherto, Sir, she has been engaged in the practice of religious

duties, and has lived in subjection to her foster-father; but it

is now his fixed intention to give her away in marriage to a

husband worthy of her.

KING. [_Aside_.

His intention may be easily carried into effect.

Be hopeful, O my heart, thy harrowing doubts

Are past and gone; that which thou didst believe

To be as unapproachable as fire,

Is found a glittering gem that may be touched.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Pretending anger_.

Anasuya, I shall leave you.

ANASUYA.

Why so?

[S']AKOONTALA.

That I may go and report this impertinent Priyamvada to the

venerable matron, Gautami[29].

ANASUYA.

Surely, dear friend, it would not be right to leave a

distinguished guest before he has received the rites of

hospitality, and quit his presence in this wilful manner.

[[S']AKOONTALA, _without answering a word, moves away_.

KING.

[_Making a movement to arrest her departure, but checking

himself. Aside_.

Ah! a lover's feelings betray themselves by his gestures.

When I would fain have stayed the maid, a sense

Of due decorum checked my bold design;

Though I have stirred not, yet my mien betrays

My eagerness to follow on her steps.

PRIYAMVADA.

[_Holding [S']AKOONTALA back_.

Dear [S']akoontala, it does not become you to go away in this

manner.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Frowning_.

Why not, pray?

PRIYAMVADA.

You are under a promise to water two more shrubs for me. When you

have paid your debt, you shall go, and not before.

[_Forces her to turn back_.

KING.

Spare her this trouble, gentle maiden. The exertion of watering

the shrubs has already fatigued her.

The water-jar has overtasked the strength

Of her slim arms; her shoulders droop, her hands

Are ruddy with the glow of quickened pulses;

E'en now her agitated breath imparts

Unwonted tremor to her heaving breast;

The pearly drops that mar the recent bloom

Of the [S']irisha pendent in her ear,

Gather in clustering circles on her cheek;

Loosed is the fillet of her hair; her hand

Restrains the locks that struggle to be free.

Suffer me, then, thus to discharge the debt for you.

[_Offers a ring to_ PRIYAMVADA. _Both the maidens, reading the

name_ DUSHYANTA _on the seal, look at each other with

surprise_.

KING.

Nay, think not that I am King Dushyanta. I am only the King's

officer, and this is the ring which I have received from him as

my credentials.

PRIYAMVADA.

The greater the reason you ought not to part with the ring from

your finger. I am content to release her from her obligation at

your simple request.

[_With a smile_.]

Now, [S']akoontala, my love, you are at liberty to retire, thanks

to the intercession of this noble stranger, or rather of this

mighty prince.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

My movements are no longer under my own control.

[_Aloud_.

Pray, what authority have you over me, either to send me away or

keep me back?

KING. [_Gazing at_ [S']AKOONTALA. _Aside_.

Would I could ascertain whether she is affected towards me as I

am towards her! At any rate, my hopes are free to indulge

themselves. Because,

Although she mingles not her words with mine,

Yet doth her listening ear drink in my speech;

Although her eye shrinks from my ardent gaze,

No form but mine attracts its timid glances.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

O hermits, be ready to protect the animals belonging to our

hermitage. King Dushyanta, amusing himself with hunting, is near

at hand.

Lo! by the feet of prancing horses raised,

Thick clouds of moving dust, like glittering swarms

Of locusts, in the glow of eventide,

Fall on the branches of our sacred trees

Where hang the dripping vests of woven bark,

Bleached by the waters of the cleansing fountain.

And see!

Scared by the royal chariot in its course,

With headlong haste an elephant invades

The hallowed precincts of our sacred grove;

Himself the terror of the startled deer,

And an embodied hindrance to our rites.

The hedge of creepers clinging to his feet,

Feeble obstruction to his mad career,

Is dragged behind him in a tangled chain;

And with terrific shock one tusk he drives

Into the riven body of a tree,

Sweeping before him all impediments.

KING. [_Aside_.

Out upon it! my retinue are looking for me, and are disturbing

this holy retreat. Well! there is no help for it; I must go and

meet them.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Noble Sir, we are terrified by the accidental disturbance caused

by the wild elephant. Permit us to return to the cottage.

KING. [_Hastily_.

Go, gentle maidens. It shall be our care that no injury happen to

the hermitage.

[_All rise up_.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

After such poor hospitality, we are ashamed to request the honour

of a second visit from you.

KING.

Say not so. The mere sight of you, sweet maidens, has been to me

the best entertainment.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Anasuya, a pointed blade of Ku[s']a-grass [30] has pricked my foot;

and my bark-mantle is caught in the branch of a Kuruvaka-bush[31].

Be so good as to wait for me until I have disentangled it.

[_Exit with her two companions, after making pretexts

for delay, that she may steal glances at the_ KING.

KING.

I have no longer any desire to return to the city. I will

therefore rejoin my attendants, and make them encamp somewhere in

the vicinity of this sacred grove. In good truth, [S']akoontala has

taken such possession of my thoughts, that I cannot turn myself

in any other direction.

My limbs drawn onward leave my heart behind,

Like silken pennon borne against the wind.

* * * * *

ACT II.

SCENE.--_A plain on the skirts of the forest.

Enter the Jester_ [32] MA[T.]HAVYA, _in a melancholy mood_.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Sighing_.

Heigh-ho! what an unlucky fellow I am! worn to a shadow by my

royal friend's sporting propensities. 'Here's a deer!' 'There

goes a boar!' 'Yonder's a tiger!' This is the only burden of our

talk, while in the heat of the meridian sun we toil on from

jungle to jungle, wandering about in the paths of the woods,

where the trees afford us no shelter. Are we thirsty? We have

nothing to drink but the dirty water of some mountain stream

mixed with dry leaves, which give it a most pungent flavour. Are

we hungry? We have nothing to eat but roast game[33], which we

must swallow down at odd times, as best we can. Even at night

there is no peace to be had. Sleeping is out of the question,

with joints all strained by dancing attendance upon my sporting

friend; or if I do happen to doze, I am awakened at the very

earliest dawn by the horrible din of a lot of rascally beaters

and huntsmen, who must needs surround the wood before sunrise,

and deafen me with their clatter. Nor are these my only troubles.

Here's a fresh grievance, like a new boil rising upon an old

one! Yesterday, while we were lagging behind, my royal friend

entered yonder hermitage after a deer; and there, as ill-luck

would have it, caught sight of a beautiful girl, called

[S']akoontala, the hermit's daughter. From that moment, not another

thought about returning to the city! and all last night not a

wink of sleep did he get for thinking of the damsel. What is to

be done? At any rate I will be on the watch for him as soon as he

has finished his toilet.

[_Walking and looking about_.]

Oh! here he comes, attended by the Yavana women[34], with bows in

their hands, wearing garlands of wild flowers. What shall I do? I

have it. I will pretend to stand in the easiest attitude for

resting my bruised and crippled limbs.

[_Stands leaning on a staff_.

_Enter King_ DUSHYANTA, _followed by a retinue, in the manner

described_.

KING.

True, by no easy conquest may I win her,

Yet are my hopes encouraged by her mien,

Love is not yet triumphant; but, methinks,

The hearts of both are ripe for his delights.

[_Smiling_.

Ah! thus does the lover delude himself; judging of the state of

his loved one's feelings by his own desires. But yet,

The stolen glance with half-averted eye,

The hesitating gait, the quick rebuke

Addressed to her companion, who would fain

Have stayed her counterfeit departure; these

Are signs not unpropitious to my suit.

So eagerly the lover feeds his hopes,

Claiming each trivial gesture for his own.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

[_Still in the same attitude_.

Ah, friends, my hands cannot move to greet you with the usual

salutation. I can only just command my lips to wish your Majesty

victory.

KING.

Why, what has paralysed your limbs?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

You might as well ask me how my eye comes to water after you have

poked your finger into it.

KING.

I don't understand you; speak more intelligibly.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Ah, my dear friend, is yonder upright reed transformed into a

crooked plant by its own act, or by the force of the current?

KING.

The current of the river causes it, I suppose.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Ay; just as you are the cause of my crippled limbs.

KING.

How so?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Here are you living the life of a wild man of the woods in a

savage unfrequented region, while your State-affairs are left to

shift for themselves; and as for poor me, I am no longer master

of my own limbs, but have to follow you about day after day in

your chases after wild animals, till my bones are all crippled

and out of joint. Do, my dear friend, let me have one day's rest.

KING. [_Aside_.

This fellow little knows, while he talks in this manner, that my

mind is wholly engrossed by recollections of the hermit's

daughter, and quite as disinclined to the chase as his own.

No longer can I bend my well-braced bow

Against the timid deer; nor e'er again

With well-aimed arrows can I think to harm

These her beloved associates, who enjoy

The privilege of her companionship;

Teaching her tender glances in return.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Looking in the King's face_.

I may as well speak to the winds, for any attention you pay to my

requests. I suppose you have something on your mind, and are

talking it over to yourself.

KING. [_Smiling_.

I was only thinking that I ought not to disregard a friend's

request.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Then may the King live for ever!

[_Moves off_.

KING.

Stay a moment, my dear friend. I have something else to say to

you.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Say on, then.

KING.

When you have rested, you must assist me in another business

which will give you no fatigue.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

In eating something nice, I hope.

KING.

You shall know at some future time.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

No time better than the present.

KING.

What ho, there!

WARDER. [_Entering_.

What are your Majesty's commands?

KING.

O Raivatika, bid the General of the forces attend.

WARDER.

I will, Sire.

[_Exit and re-enters with the_ GENERAL.]

Come forward, General; his Majesty is looking towards you, and

has some order to give you.

GENERAL. [_Looking at the_ KING.

Though hunting is known to produce ill effects, my royal master

has derived only benefit from it. For

Like the majestic elephant that roams

O'er mountain wilds, so does the King display

A stalwart frame, instinct with vigorous life.

His brawny arms and manly chest are scored

By frequent passage of the sounding string;

Unharmed he bears the midday sun; no toil

His mighty spirit daunts; his sturdy limbs,

Stripped of redundant flesh, relinquish nought

Of their robust proportions, but appear

In muscle, nerve, and sinewy fibre cased.

[_Approaching the_ KING.

Victory to the King! We have tracked the wild beasts to their

lairs in the forest. Why delay, when everything is ready?

KING.

My friend Ma[T.]Havya here has been disparaging the

chase, till he has taken away all my relish for it.

GENERAL. [_Aside to_ MA[T.]HAVYA.

Persevere in your opposition, my good fellow; I will sound the

King's real feelings, and humour him accordingly.

[_Aloud_.

The blockhead talks nonsense, and your Majesty in your own person

furnishes the best proof of it. Observe, Sire, the advantage and

pleasure the hunter derives from the chase.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Angrily_.

Away! tempter, away! The King has recovered his senses, and is

himself again. As for you, you may, if you choose, wander about

from forest to forest, till some old bear seizes you by the nose,

and makes a mouthful of you.

KING.

My good General, as we are just now in the neighbourhood of a

consecrated grove, your panegyric upon hunting is somewhat

ill-timed, and I cannot assent to all you have said. For the

present,

All undisturbed the buffaloes shall sport

In yonder pool, and with their ponderous horns

Scatter its tranquil waters, while the deer,

Couched here and there in groups beneath the shade

Of spreading branches, ruminate in peace.

And all securely shall the herd of boars

Feed on the marshy sedge; and thou, my bow,

With slackened string, enjoy a long repose.

GENERAL.

So please your Majesty, it shall be as you desire.

KING.

Recall, then, the beaters who were sent in advance to surround

the forest. My troops must not be allowed to disturb this sacred

retreat, and irritate its pious inhabitants.

Know that within the calm and cold recluse

Lurks unperceived a germ of smothered flame,

All-potent to destroy; a latent fire

That rashly kindled bursts with fury forth;

As in the disc of crystal[35] that remains

Cool to the touch, until the solar ray

Falls on its polished surface, and excites

The burning heat that lies within concealed.

GENERAL.

Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Off with you, you son of a slave! Your nonsense won't go down

here, my fine fellow.

[_Exit_ GENERAL.

KING. [_Looking at his attendants_.

Here, women, take my hunting-dress; and you, Raivatika, keep

guard carefully outside.

ATTENDANTS.

We will, Sire.

[_Exeunt_.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Now that you have got rid of these plagues, who have been buzzing

about us like so many flies, sit down, do, on that stone slab,

with the shade of the tree as your canopy, and I will seat myself

by you quite comfortably.

KING.

Go you, and sit down first.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Come along, then.

[_Both walk on a little way, and seat themselves_.

KING.

Ma[T.]Havya, it may be said of you that you have never beheld

anything worth seeing; for your eyes have not yet looked upon the

loveliest object in creation.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

How can you say so, when I see your Majesty before me at this

moment?

KING.

It is very natural that every one should consider his own friend

perfect; but I was alluding to [S']akoontala, the brightest

ornament of these hallowed groves.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Aside_.

I understand well enough, but I am not going to humour him.

[_Aloud_.

If, as you intimate, she is a hermit's daughter, you cannot

lawfully ask her in marriage. You may as well then dismiss her

from your mind, for any good the mere sight of her can do.

KING.

Think you that a descendant of the mighty Puru could fix his

affections on an unlawful object?

Though, as men say, the offspring of the sage,

The maiden to a nymph celestial owes

Her being, and by her mother left on earth,

Was found and nurtured by the holy man

As his own daughter, in this hermitage.

So, when dissevered from its parent stalk,

Some falling blossom of the jasmine[36], wafted

Upon the sturdy sun-flower, is preserved

By its support from premature decay.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Smiling_.

This passion of yours for a rustic maiden, when you have so many

gems of women at home in your palace, seems to me very like the

fancy of a man who is tired of sweet dates, and longs for sour

tamarinds as a variety.

KING.

You have not seen her, or you would not talk in this fashion.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

I can quite understand it must require something surpassingly

attractive to excite the admiration of such a great man as you.

KING.

I will describe her, my dear friend, in a few words,

Man's all-wise Maker, wishing to create

A faultless form, whose matchless symmetry

Should far transcend Creation's choicest works,

Did call together by his mighty will,

And garner up in his eternal mind,

A bright assemblage of all lovely things;

And then, as in a picture, fashion them

Into one perfect and ideal form--

Such the divine, the wondrous prototype,

Whence her fair shape was moulded into being.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

If that's the case, she must indeed throw all other beauties into

the shade.

KING.

To my mind she really does.

This peerless maid is like a fragrant flower,

Whose perfumed breath has never been diffused;

A tender bud, that no profaning hand

Has dared to sever from its parent stalk;

A gem of priceless water, just released

Pure and unblemished from its glittering bed.

Or may the maiden haply be compared

To sweetest honey, that no mortal lip

Has sipped; or, rather, to the mellowed fruit

Of virtuous actions in some former birth[37],

Now brought to full perfection? Lives the man

Whom bounteous heaven has destined to espouse her?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Make haste, then, to her aid; you have no time to lose, if you

don't wish this fruit of all the virtues to drop into the mouth

of some greasy-headed rustic of devout habits.

KING.

The lady is not her own mistress, and her foster-father is not at

home.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Well, but tell me, did she look at all kindly upon you?

KING.

Maidens brought up in a hermitage are naturally

shy and reserved; but for all that

She did look towards me, though she quick withdrew

Her stealthy glances when she met my gaze;

She smiled upon me sweetly, but disguised

With maiden grace the secret of her smiles.

Coy love was half unveiled; then, sudden checked

By modesty, left half to be divined.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Why, of course, my dear friend, you never could seriously expect

that at the very first sight she would fall over head ears in

love with you, and without more ado come and sit in your lap.

KING.

When we parted from each other, she betrayed

her liking for me by clearer indications, but still with the

utmost modesty.

Scarce had the fair one from my presence passed,

When, suddenly, without apparent cause,

She stopped; and, counterfeiting pain, exclaimed,

'My foot is wounded by this prickly grass,'

Then, glancing at me tenderly, she feigned

Another charming pretext for delay,

Pretending that a bush had caught her robe

And turned as if to disentangle it.

MA[T.]HAVYA

I trust you have laid in a good stock of provisions,

for I see you intend making this consecrated grove your

game-preserve, and will be roaming here in quest of sport for

some time to come.

KING.

You must know, my good fellow, that I have been recognised by

some of the inmates of the hermitage. Now I want the assistance

of your fertile invention, in devising some excuse for going

there again.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

There is but one expedient that I can suggest. You are the King,

are you not?

KING.

What then?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Say you have come for the sixth part of their grain [38], which

they owe you for tribute.

KING.

No, no, foolish man; those hermits pay me a very different kind

of tribute, which I value more than heaps of gold or jewels;

observe,

The tribute which my other subjects bring

Must moulder into dust, but holy men

Present me with a portion of the fruits

Of penitential services and prayers--

A precious and imperishable gift.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

We are fortunate; here is the object of our search.

KING. [_Listening_.

Surely those must be the voices of hermits, to judge by their

deep tones.

WARDER. [_Entering_.

Victory to the King! two young hermits are in waiting outside,

and solicit an audience of your Majesty.

KING.

Introduce them Immediately.

WARDER.

I will, my liege.

[_Goes out, and re-enters with_ TWO YOUNG HERMITS.]

This way, Sirs, this way.

[_Both the_ HERMITS _look at the KING.

FIRST HERMIT.

How majestic is his mien, and yet what confidence it inspires!

But this might be expected in a king, whose character and habits

have earned for him a title only one degree removed from that of

a Sage [39].

In this secluded grove, whose sacred joys

All may participate, he deigns to dwell

Like one of us; and daily treasures up

A store of purest merit for himself,

By the protection of our holy rites.

In his own person wondrously are joined

Both majesty and saintlike holiness;

And often chanted by inspired bards [40],

His hallowed title of 'Imperial Sage'

Ascends in joyous accents to the skies.

SECOND HERMIT.

Bear in mind, Gautama, that this is the great Dushyanta, the

friend of Indra.

FIRST HERMIT.

What of that?

SECOND HERMIT.

Where is the wonder if his nervous arm,

Puissant and massive as the iron bar

That binds a castle-gateway, singly sways

The sceptre of the universal earth,

E'en to its dark-green boundary of waters?

Or if the gods, beholden to his aid

In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell [41],

Should blend his name with Indra's in their songs

Of victory, and gratefully accord

No lower meed of praise to his braced bow,

Than to the thunders of the god of heaven?

BOTH THE HERMITS. [_Approaching_.

Victory to the King!

KING. [_Rising from his seat_.

Hail to you both!

BOTH THE HERMITS.

Heaven bless your Majesty!

[_They offer fruits_.

KING. [_Respectfully receiving the offering_.

Tell me, I pray you, the object of your visit.

BOTH THE HERMITS.

The inhabitants of the hermitage, having heard of your Majesty's

sojourn in our neighbourhood, make this humble petition:--

KING.

What are their commands?

BOTH THE HERMITS.

In the absence of our Superior, the great sage Kanwa, evil demons

are disturbing our sacrificial rites [42]. Deign, therefore,

accompanied by your charioteer, to take up your abode in our

hermitage for a few days.

KING.

I am honoured by your invitation.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Aside_.

Most opportune and convenient, certainly!

KING. [_Smiling_.

Ho, there, Raivatika! Tell the charioteer from me to bring round

the chariot with my bow.

WARDER.

I will, Sire.

[_Exit_.

BOTH THE HERMITS. [_Joyfully_.

Well it becomes the King by acts of grace

To emulate the virtues of his race.

Such acts thy lofty destiny attest;

Thy mission is to succour the distressed.

KING. [_Bowing to the_ HERMITS.

Go first, reverend Sirs, I will follow you immediately.

BOTH THE HERMITS.

May victory attend you!

[_Exeunt_.

KING.

My dear Ma[T.]Havya, are not you full of longing to see

[S']akoontala?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

To tell you the truth, though I was just now brimful of desire to

see her, I have not a drop left since this piece of news about

the demons.

KING.

Never fear; you shall keep close to me for protection.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Well, you must be my guardian-angel, and act the part of a very

Vishnu [43] to me.

WARDER. [_Entering_.

Sire, the chariot is ready, and only waits to conduct you to

victory. But here is a messenger named Karabhaka, just arrived

from your capital, with a message from the Queen, your mother.

KING. [_Respectfully_.

How say you? a messenger from the venerable Queen?

WARDER.

Even so.

KING.

Introduce him at once.

WARDER.

I will, Sire.

[_Goes out and re-enters with_ KARABHAKA.]

Behold the King. Approach.

KARABHAKA.

Victory to the King! The Queen-mother bids me say that in four

days from the present time she intends celebrating a solemn

ceremony for the advancement and preservation of her son. She

expects that your Majesty will honour her with your presence on

that occasion.

KING.

This places me in a dilemma. Here, on the one hand, is the

commission of these holy men to be executed; and, on the other,

the command of my revered parent to be obeyed. Both duties are

too sacred to be neglected. What is to be done?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

You will have to take up an intermediate position between the

two, like King Tri[s']anku [44], who was suspended between heaven

and earth, because the sage Vi[s']wamitra commanded him to mount up

to heaven, and the gods ordered him down again.

KING.

I am certainly very much perplexed. For here,

Two different duties are required of me

In widely distant places; how can I

In my own person satisfy them both?

Thus is my mind distracted, and impelled

In opposite directions like a stream

That, driven back by rocks, still rushes on,

Forming two currents in its eddying course.

[_Reflecting_.]

Friend Ma[T.]Havya, as you were my playfellow in childhood, the

Queen has already received you like a second son; go you, then,

back to her, and tell her of my solemn engagement to assist these

holy men. You can supply my place in the ceremony, and act the

part of a son to the Queen.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

With the greatest pleasure in the world; but don't suppose that

I am really coward enough to have the slightest fear of those

trumpery demons.

KING.

Oh! of course not; a great Brahman like you could not possibly

give way to such weakness.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

You must let me travel in a manner suitable to the King's younger

brother.

KING.

Yes, I shall send my retinue with you, that there may be no

farther disturbance in this sacred forest.

MA[T.]HAVYA, [_With a strut_.

Already I feel quite like a young prince.

KING. [_Aside_.

This is a giddy fellow, and in all probability he will let out

the truth about my present pursuit to the women of the palace.

What is to be done? I must say something to deceive him.

[_Aloud to_ MA[T.]HAVYA, _taking him by the hand_.]

Dear friend, I am going to the hermitage wholly and solely out of

respect for its pious inhabitants, and not because I have really

any liking for [S']akoontala, the hermit's daughter. Observe:--

What suitable communion could there be

Between a monarch and a rustic girl?

I did but feign an idle passion, friend,

Take not in earnest what was said in jest.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Don't distress yourself; I quite understand.

[_Exeunt_.

* * * * *

PRELUDE TO ACT III.

SCENE.--_The Hermitage_.

_Enter a_ YOUNG BRAHMAN _carrying bundles of ku[S']a-grass for the

use of the sacrificing priest_.

YOUNG BRAHMAN.

How wonderful is the power of King Dushyanta! No sooner did he

enter our hermitage, than we were able to proceed with our

sacrificial rites, unmolested by the evil demons.

No need to fix the arrow to the bow;

The mighty monarch sounds the quivering string,

And, by the thunder of his arms dismayed,

Our demon foes are scattered to the wind.

I must now, therefore, make haste and deliver to the sacrificing

priests these bundles of Ku[s']a-grass, to be strewn round the

altar.

[_Walking and looking about; then addressing some one off the

stage_.]

Why, Priyamvada, for whose use are you carrying that ointment of

Usira-root and those lotus-leaves with fibres attached to them?

[_Listening for her answer_.]

What Say you?--that [S']akoontala is suffering from fever produced

by exposure to the sun, and that this ointment is to cool her

burning frame? Nurse her with care, then, Priyamvada, for she is

cherished by our reverend Superior as the very breath of his

nostrils[46]. I, for my part, will contrive that soothing waters,

hallowed in the sacrifice, he administered to her by the hands of

Gautami.

[_Exit_.

ACT III.

SCENE.--_The Sacred Grove_.

_Enter_ KING DUSHYANTA, _with the air of one in love_.

KING. [_Sighing thoughtfully_.

The holy sage possesses magic power

In virtue of his penance; she, his ward,

Under the shadow of his tutelage,

Rests in security, I know it well;

Yet sooner shall the rushing cataract

In foaming eddies re-ascend the steep,

Than my fond heart turn back from its pursuit.

God of love! God of the flowery shafts [47]! we lovers are cruelly

deceived by thee, and by the Moon, however deserving of confidence

you may both appear.

For not to us do these thine arrows seem

Pointed with tender flowerets; not to us

Doth the pale Moon irradiate the earth

With beams of silver fraught with cooling dews;

But on our fevered frames the moon-beams fall

Like darts of fire, and every flower-tipt shaft

Of Kama[47], as it probes our throbbing hearts,

Seems to be barbed with hardest adamant.

Adorable god of love! hast thou no pity for me?

[_In a tone of anguish_.]

How can thy arrows be so sharp when they are pointed with

flowers? Ah! I know the reason:

E'en now in thine unbodied essence lurks

The fire of [S']iva's anger[48], like the flame

That ever hidden in the secret depths

Of ocean, smoulders there unseen[49]. How else

Could'st thou, all immaterial as thou art,

Inflame our hearts thus fiercely?--thou, whose form

Was scorched to ashes by a sudden flash

From the offended god's terrific eye.

Yet, methinks,

Welcome this anguish, welcome to my heart

These rankling wounds inflicted by the god,

Who on his scutcheon bears the monster-fish[50]

Slain by his prowess; welcome death itself,

So that, commissioned by the lord of love,

This fair one be my executioner.

Adorable divinity! Can I by no reproaches excite your commiseration?

Have I not daily offered at thy shrine

Innumerable vows, the only food

Of thine ethereal essence? Are my prayers

Thus to be slighted? Is it meet that thou

Should'st aim thy shafts at thy true votary's heart,

Drawing thy bow-string even to thy ear?

[_Pacing up and down in a melancholy manner_.]

Now that the holy men have completed their rites, and have no

more need of my services, how shall I dispel my melancholy?

[_Sighing_.]

I have but one resource. Oh for another sight of the Idol of my

soul! I will seek her.

[_Glancing at the sun_.]

In all probability, as the sun's heat is now at its height,

[S']akoontala is passing her time under the shade of the bowers on

the banks of the Malini, attended by her maidens. I will go and

look for her there.

[_Walking and looking about_.]

I suspect the fair one has but just passed by this avenue of

young trees.

Here, as she tripped along, her fingers plucked

The opening buds; these lacerated plants,

Shorn of their fairest blossoms by her hand,

Seem like dismembered trunks, whose recent wounds

Are still unclosed; while from the bleeding socket

Of many a severed stalk, the milky juice

Still slowly trickles, and betrays her path.

[_Feeling a breeze_.]

What a delicious breeze meets me in this spot!

Here may the zephyr, fragrant with the scent

Of lotuses, and laden with the spray

Caught from the waters of the rippling stream,

Fold in its close embrace my fevered limbs.

[_Walking and looking about_.]

She must be somewhere in the neighbourhood of this arbour of

overhanging creepers enclosed by plantations of cane;

[_Looking down_.]

For at the entrance here I plainly see

A line of footsteps printed in the sand.

Here are the fresh impressions of her feet;

Their well-known outline faintly marked in front,

More deeply towards the heel; betokening

The graceful undulation of her gait[51].

I will peep through those branches.

[_Walking and looking. With transport_.]

Ah! now my eyes are gratified by an entrancing sight. Yonder is

the beloved of my heart reclining on a rock strewn with flowers,

and attended by her two friends. How fortunate! Concealed behind

the leaves, I will listen to their conversation, without raising

their suspicions.

[_Stands concealed, and gazes at them_.

[S']AKOONTALA _and her two attendants, holding fans in their hands,

are discovered as described_.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

[_Fanning her. In a tone of affection_.

Dearest [S']akoontala, is the breeze raised by these broad

lotus-leaves refreshing to you?

[S']AKOONTALA.

Dear friends, why should you trouble yourselves to fan me?

[PRIYAMVADA _and_ ANASUYA _look sorrowfully at one another_.

KING.

[S']akoontala seems indeed to be seriously ill.

[_Thoughtfully_.]

Can it be the intensity of the heat that has affected her? or

does my heart suggest the true cause of her malady?

[_Gazing at her passionately_.]

Why should I doubt it?

The maiden's spotless bosom is o'erspread

With cooling balsam; on her slender arm

Her only bracelet, twined with lotus-stalks,

Hangs loose and withered; her recumbent form

Betokens languor. Ne'er could noon-day sun

Inflict such fair disorder on a maid--

No, love, and love alone, is here to blame.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Aside to_ ANASUYA.

I have observed, Anasuya, that [S']akoontala has been indisposed

ever since her first interview with King Dushyanta. Depend upon

it, her ailment is to be traced to that source.

ANASUYA.

The same suspicion, dear, has crossed my mind. But I will at once

ask her and ascertain the truth.

[_Aloud_.]

Dear [S']akoontala, I am about to put a question to you. Your

indisposition is really very serious.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Half rising from her couch_.

What were you going to ask?

ANASUYA.

We know very little about love-matters, dear [S']akoontala; but for

all that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to be

something similar to that of the lovers we have heard about in

romances. Tell us frankly what is the cause of your disorder. It

is useless to apply a remedy, until the disease be understood.

KING.

Anasuya bears me out in my suspicion.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashly

disclose my passion to these young girls.

PRIYAMVADA.

What Anasuya says, dear [S']akoontala, is very just. Why give so

little heed to your ailment? Every day you are becoming thinner;

though I must confess your complexion is still as beautiful as

ever.

KING.

Priyamvada speaks most truly.

Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom

Loses its fulness; e'en her slender waist

Grows more attenuate; her face is wan,

Her shoulders droop;--as when the vernal blasts

Sear the young blossoms of the Madhavi[52],

Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change.

Yet in its sadness, fascinating still,

Inflicted by the mighty lord of love

On the fair figure of the hermit's daughter.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of my

malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Nay, this is the very point about which we are so solicitous.

Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of half its

poignancy.

KING.

Pressed by the partners of her joys and griefs,

Her much beloved companions, to reveal

The cherished secret locked within her breast,

She needs must utter it; although her looks

Encourage me to hope, my bosom throbs

As anxiously I listen for her answer.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Know then, dear friends, that from the first moment the

illustrious Prince who is the guardian of our sacred grove

presented himself to my sight--

[_Stops short, and appears confused_.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Say on, dear [S']akoontala, say on.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Ever since that happy moment, my heart's affections have been

fixed upon him, and my energies of mind and body have all

deserted me, as you see.

KING. [_With rapture_.

Her own lips have uttered the words I most longed to hear.

Love lit the flame, and Love himself allays

My burning fever, as when gathering clouds

Rise o'er the earth in summer's dazzling noon,

And grateful showers dispel the morning heat.

[S']AKOONTALA.

You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some means by

which I may find favour with the King, or you will have ere long

to assist at my funeral.

KING.

Enough! These words remove all my doubts.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Aside to_ ANASUYA.

She is far gone in love, dear Anasuya, and no time ought to be

lost. Since she has fixed her affections on a monarch who is the

ornament of Puru's line, we need not hesitate for a moment to

express our approval.

ANASUYA.

I quite agree with you.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Aloud_.

We wish you joy, dear [S']akoontala. Your affections are fixed on an

object in every respect worthy of you,. The noblest river will unite itself

to the ocean, and the lovely Madhavi-creeper clings naturally to the

Mango, the only tree capable of supporting it.

KING.

Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Vi[s']akha pines

to be united with the Moon[53]?

ANASUYA.

By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend the

accomplishment of her heart's desire both speedily and secretly?

PRIYAMVADA.

The latter point is all we have to think about. As to 'speedily,'

I look upon the whole affair as already settled.

ANASUYA.

How so?

PRIYAMVADA.

Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by the

tender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he has

become the last few days, as if he had been lying awake thinking

of her?

KING. [_Looking at himself_.

Quite true! I certainly am becoming thin from want of sleep:

As night by night in anxious thought I raise

This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head,

My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears

That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams,

Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist.

Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain;

So easily it spans the fleshless limb

That e'en the rough and corrugated skin,

Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall[54].

PRIYAMVADA.

An idea strikes me, Anasuya. Let [S']akoontala write a love-letter;

I will conceal it in a flower, and contrive to drop it in the

King's path. He will surely mistake it for the remains of some

sacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick it up.

ANASUYA.

A very ingenious device! It my entire approval; but what says

[S']akoontala?

[S']AKOONTALA.

I must consider before I can consent to it.

PRIYAMVADA.

Could, you not, dear [S']akoontala, think of some pretty

composition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your

love?

[S']AKOONTALA.

Well, I will do my best; but my heart trembles when I think of

the chances of a refusal.

KING. [_With rapture_.

Too timid maid, here stands the man from whom

Thou fearest a repulse; supremely blessed

To call thee all his own. Well might he doubt

His title to thy love; but how could'st thou

Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him?

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

You undervalue your own merits, dear [S']akoontala. What man in his

senses would intercept with the skirt of his robe the bright rays

of the autumnal moon, which alone can allay the fever of his

body?

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Smiling_.

Then it seems I must do as I am bid.

[_Sits down and appears to be thinking_.

KING.

How charming she looks! My very eyes forget to wink, jealous of

losing even for an instant a sight so enchanting.

How beautiful the movement of her brow,

As through her mind love's tender fancies flow!

And, as she weighs her thoughts, how sweet to trace

The ardent passion mantling in her face!

[S']AKOONTALA.

Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have no

writing-materials at hand.

PRIYAMVADA.

Write the letters with your nail on this lotus-leaf, which is

smooth as a parrot's breast.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_After writing the verse_.

Listen, dear friends, and tell me whether the ideas are

appropriately expressed.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

We are all attention.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Reads_.

I know not the secret thy bosom conceals,

Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight;

But sad is the tale that my fever reveals,

Of the love that consumes me by day and by night.

KING. [_Advancing hastily towards her_.

Nay, Love does but warm thee, fair maiden,--thy frame

Only droops like the bud in the glare of the noon;

But me he consumes with a pitiless flame,

As the beams of the day-star destroy the pale moon.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

[_Looking at him joyfully and rising to salute him_.

Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presents

itself!

[[S']AKOONTALA _makes an effort to rise_.

KING.

Nay, trouble not thyself, dear maiden.

Move not to do me homage; let thy limbs

Still softly rest upon their flowery couch;

And gather fragrance from the lotus-stalks,

Bruised by the fevered contact of thy frame.

ANASUYA.

Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which our

friend is reposing.

[_The_ KING _sits down_. [S']AKOONTALA _is confused_.

PRIYAMVADA.

Any one may see at a glance that you are deeply attached to each

other. But the affection I have for my friend prompts me to say

something of which you hardly require to be informed.

KING.

Do not hesitate to speak out, my good girl. If you omit to say

what is in your mind, you may be sorry for it afterwards.

PRIYAMVADA.

Is it not your special office as a King to remove the suffering

of your subjects who are in trouble?

KING.

Such is my duty, most assuredly.

PRIYAMVADA.

Know, then, that our dear friend has been brought to her present

state of suffering entirely through love for you. Her life is in

your hands; take pity on her and restore her to health.

KING.

Excellent maiden, our attachment is mutual. It is I who am the

most honoured by it.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Looking at PRIYAMVADA_.

What do you mean by detaining the King, who must be anxious to

return to his royal consorts after so long a separation?

KING.

Sweet maiden, banish from thy mind the thought

That I could love another. Thou dost reign

Supreme, without a rival, in my heart,

And I am thine alone; disown me not,

Else must I die a second deadlier death,

Killed by thy words, as erst by Kama's[47] shafts.

ANASUYA.

Kind Sir, we have heard it said that kings have many favourite

consorts. You must not, then, by your behaviour towards our dear

friend, give her relations cause to sorrow for her.

KING.

Listen, gentle maiden, while in a few words I quiet your anxiety.

Though many beauteous forms my palace grace,

Henceforth two things alone will I esteem

The glory of my royal dynasty--

My sea-girt realm, and this most lovely maid.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

We are satisfied by your assurances.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Glancing on one side_.

See, Anasuya, there is our favourite little fawn running about in

great distress, and turning its eyes in every direction as if

looking for its mother; come, let us help the little thing to

find her. [_Both move away_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Dear friends, dear friends, leave me not alone and unprotected.

Why need you both go?

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Unprotected! when the Protector of the world is at your side.

[_Exeunt_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

What! have they both really left me?

KING.

Distress not thyself, sweet maiden. Thy adorer is at hand to wait

upon thee.

Oh let me tend thee, fair one, in the place

Of thy dear friends; and with broad lotus fans

Raise cooling breezes to refresh thy frame;

Or shall I rather, with caressing touch,

Allay the fever of thy limbs, and soothe

Thy aching feet, beauteous as blushing lilies?

[S']AKOONTALA.

Nay, touch me not. I will not incur the censure of those whom I

am bound to respect.

[_Rises and attempts to go_.

KING.

Fair one, the heat of noon has not yet subsided, and thy body is

still feeble.

How canst thou quit thy fragrant couch of flowers,

And from thy throbbing bosom cast aside

Its covering of lotus-leaves, to brave

With weak and fainting limbs the noon-day heat?

[_Forces her to turn back_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Infringe not the rules of decorum, mighty descendant of Puru.

Remember, though I love you, I have no power to dispose of

myself.

KING.

Why this fear of offending your relations, timid maid? When your

venerable foster-father hears of it, he will not find fault with

you. He knows that the law permits us to be united without

consulting him.

In Indra's heaven, so at least 'tis said,

No nuptial rites prevail[55], nor is the bride

Led to the altar by her future lord;

But all in secret does the bridegroom plight

His troth, and each unto the other vow

Mutual allegiance. Such espousals, too,

Are authorised on earth, and many daughters

Of royal saints thus wedded to their lords

Have still received their father's benison.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Leave me, leave me; I must take counsel with my female friends.

KING.

I will leave thee when--

[S']AKOONTALA.

When?

KING.

When I have gently stolen from thy lips

Their yet untasted nectar, to allay

The raging of my thirst, e'en as the bee

Sips the fresh honey from the opening bud.

[_Attempts to raise her face_. [S']AKOONTALA tries to

prevent him_.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

The loving birds, doomed by fate to nightly separation[56], must

bid farewell to each other, for evening is at hand.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_In confusion_.

Great Prince, I hear the voice of the matron Gautami. She is

coming this way to inquire after my health. Hasten and conceal

yourself behind the branches.

KING.

I will. [_Conceals himself_.

_Enter_ GAUTAMI _with a vase in her hand, preceded by two

attendants_.

ATTENDANTS.

This way, most venerable Gautami.

GAUTAMI. [_Approaching_ [S']AKOONTALA.

My child, is the fever of thy limbs allayed?

[S']AKOONTALA.

Venerable mother, there is certainly a change for the better.

GAUTAMI.

Let me sprinkle you with this holy water, and all

your ailments will depart.

[_Sprinkling_ [S']AKOONTALA on the head_.]

The day is closing, my child; come, let us go to the cottage.

[_They all move away_.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

Oh my heart! thou didst fear to taste of happiness when it was

within thy reach. Now that the object of thy desires is torn from

thee, how bitter will be thy remorse, how distracting thine

anguish!

[_Moving on a few steps and stopping. Aloud_.]

Farewell! bower of creepers, sweet soother of my sufferings,

farewell! may I soon again be happy under thy shade.

[_Exit reluctantly with the others_.

KING.

[_Returning to his former seat in the arbour. Sighing_.

Alas! how many are the obstacles to the accomplishment of our

wishes!

Albeit she did coyly turn away

Her glowing cheek, and with her fingers guard

Her pouting lips, that murmured a denial

In faltering accents, she did yield herself

A sweet reluctant captive to my will.

As eagerly I raised her lovely face;

But ere with gentle force I stole the kiss,

Too envious Fate did mar my daring purpose.

Whither now shall I betake myself? I will tarry for a brief space

in this bower of creepers, so endeared to me by the presence of

my beloved [S']akoontala.

[_Looking round_.

Here printed on the flowery couch I see

The fair impression of her slender limbs;

Here is the sweet confession of her love,

Traced with her nail upon the lotus-leaf;

And yonder are the withered lily-stalks

That graced her wrist. While all around I view

Things that recall her image, can I quit

This bower, e'en though its living be fled?

A VOICE IN THE AIR.

Great King,

Scarce is our evening sacrifice begun,

When evil demons, lurid as the clouds

That gather round the dying orb of day,

Cluster in hideous troops, obscene and dread,

About our altars, casting far and near

Terrific shadows, while the sacred fire

Sheds a pale lustre o'er their ghostly shapes.

KING.

I come to the rescue, I come.

[_Exit_.

* * * * *

PRELUDE TO ACT IV.

SCENE.--_The Garden of the Hermitage_.

_Enter_ PRIYAMVADA and ANASUYA in the act of gathering flowers_.

ANASUYA.

Although, dear Priyamvada, it rejoices my heart to think that

[S']akoontala has been happily united to a husband in every respect

worthy of her, by the form of marriage prevalent among Indra's

celestial musicians, nevertheless, I cannot help feeling somewhat

uneasy in my mind.

PRIYAMVADA.

How so?

ANASUYA.

You know that the pious King was gratefully dismissed by the

hermits on the successful termination of their sacrificial rites.

He has now returned to his capital, leaving [S']akoontala under our

care; and it may be doubted whether, in the society of his royal

consorts, he will not forget all that has taken place in this

hermitage of ours.

PRIYAMVADA.

On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are not so

destitute of all honourable feeling. I confess, however, that

there is one point about which I am rather anxious. What, think

you, will Father Kanwa say when he hears what has occurred?

ANASUYA.

In my opinion, he will approve the marriage.

PRIYAMVADA.

What makes you think so?

ANASUYA.

From the first, it was always his fixed purpose to bestow the

maiden on a husband worthy of her; and since heaven has given her

such a husband, his wishes have been realized without any trouble

to himself.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Looking at the flower-basket_.

We have gathered flowers enough for the sacred offering, dear

Anasuya.

ANASUYA.

Well, then, let us now gather more, that we may have wherewith to

propitiate the guardian-deity of our dear [S']akoontala.

PRIYAMVADA.

By all means.

[_They continue gathering_.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Ho there! See you not that I am here!

ANASUYA.

That must be the voice of a guest announcing his arrival.

PRIYAMVADA.

Surely, [S']akoontala is not absent from the cottage.

[_Aside_.]

Her heart at least is absent, I fear.

ANASUYA.

Come along, come along; we have gathered flowers

enough.

[_They move away_.

THE SAME VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Woe to thee, maiden, for daring to slight a guest like me!

Shall I stand here unwelcomed--even I,

A very mine of penitential merit,

Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid,

Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties

Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts

Upon the cherished object of thy love,

While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then--

He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he

Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart

Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive

To waken his remembrance of the past;

He shall disown thee, even as the sot,

Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies

The words he uttered in his revellings.

PRIYAMVADA.

Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred.

[S']akoontala, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest

whom she was bound to treat with respect.

[_Looking behind the scenes_.]

Ah! yes; I see; and no less a person than the great sage

Durvasas[57], who is known to be most irascible. He it is that

has just cursed her, and is now retiring with hasty strides,

trembling with passion, and looking as if nothing could turn him.

His wrath is like a consuming fire.

ANASUYA.

Go quickly, dear Priyamvada, throw yourself at his feet, and

persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory

offering[59] for him, with water and refreshments.

PRIYAMVADA.

I will.

[_Exit_.

ANASUYA.

[_Advancing hastily a few steps and stumbling_.

Alas! alas! this comes of being in a hurry. My foot has slipped,

and my basket of flowers has fallen from my hand.

[_Stays to gather them up_.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Re-entering_

Well, dear Anasuya, I have done my best; but what living being

could succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained, ill-tempered old

fellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little.

ANASUYA [_Smiling_.

Even a little was much for him. Say on.

PRIYAMVADA.

When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in these

words: 'Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this first

offence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant of

the respect due to your saintly character and exalted rank.'

ANASUYA

And what did he reply?

PRIYAMVADA.

'My word must not be falsified; but, at the sight of the ring of

recognition the spell shall cease.' So saying, he disappeared.

ANASUYA.

Oh! then we may breathe again; for, now I think of it, the King

himself, at his departure, fastened on [S']akoontala's finger, as a

token of remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved.

She has, therefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her own

command.

PRIYAMVADA.

Come, dear Anasuya, let us proceed with our religious duties.

[_They walk round_.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Looking off the stage_.

See, Anasuya, there sits our dear friend, motionless as a statue,

resting her face on her left hand, her whole mind absorbed in

thinking of her absent husband. She can pay no attention to

herself, much less to a stranger.

ANASUYA.

Priyamvada, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spare

our dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate to

bear much emotion.

PRIYAMVADA.

I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender jasmine

with hot water?

ACT IV.

Scene.--_The Neighbourhood of the Hermitage.

Enter one of_ Kanwa's Pupils _just arisen from his couch at the

dawn of day_.

PUPIL.

My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from

his pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I

have therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark.

[_Walking and looking about_.]

Oh! the dawn has already broken.

Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon,

Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers,

Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills;

While in the east, preceded by the Dawn,

His blushing charioteer[59], the glorious Sun

Begins his course, and far into the gloom

Casts the first radiance of his orient beams.

Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set,

And set to rise again; symbols divine

Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes.

And now,

While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc

Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower

Of the night-loving lotus[60] sheds her leave

In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought

But the sweet memory of her loveliness

To my bereaved sight; e'en as the bride

Disconsolately mourns her absent lord,

And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief.

ANASUYA. [_Entering abruptly_.

Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinking

that King Dushyanta is treating [S']akoontala very improperly.

PUPIL.

Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to

offer the burnt oblation.

[_Exit_.

ANASUYA.

I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go

about my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost

their power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is

to blame for having induced our dear friend, in the innocence of

her heart, to confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly,

however, the imprecation of Durvasas may he already taking

effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise account for the King's strange

conduct, in allowing so long a time to elapse without even a

letter; and that, too, after so many promises and protestations.

I cannot think what to do unless we send him the ring which was

to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere

hermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father

Kanwa has just returned from his pilgrimage; and how am I to

inform him of [S']akoontala's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her

expectation of becoming soon a mother? I never could bring myself

to tell him, even if I felt that [S']akoontala had been in fault,

which she certainly has not. What is to be done?

PRIYAMVADA. [_Entering; joyfully_.

Quick! quick! Anasuya! come and assist in the joyful preparations

for [S']akoontala's departure to her husband's palace.

ANASUYA.

My dear girl, what can you mean?

PRIYAMVADA.

Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to

[S']akoontala, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably--

ANASUYA.

Well, well; go on.

PRIYAMVADA.

She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground with

shame, when Father Kanwa entered, and, embracing her, of his own

accord offered her his congratulations. 'I give thee joy, my

child,' he said, 'we have had an auspicious omen. The priest who

offered the oblation dropped it into the very centre of the

sacred fire [81], though thick smoke obstructed his vision.

Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an object of compassion. This

very day I purpose sending thee, under the charge of certain

trusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall deliver thee into

the hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge to the

keeping of a wise and faithful student.'

ANASUYA.

Who, then, informed the holy father of what passed in his

absence?

PRIYAMVADA.

As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire, an

invisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains.

ANASUYA. [_With astonishment_.

Indeed! pray repeat it.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Repeating the verse_.

Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory,

As in the sacred tree the mystic fire [62];

Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story,

And may the son immortalize the sire.

ANASUYA. [_Embracing_ PRIYAMVADA.

Oh, my dear Priyamvada, what delightful news! I am pleased

beyond measure; yet when I think that we are to lose our dear

[S']akoontala this very day, a feeling of melancholy mingles with

my joy.

PRIYAMVADA.

We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her departure.

Let the dear creature only be made happy at any cost.

ANASUYA.

Yes, yes, Priyamvada, it shall be so; and now to prepare the

bridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, and

some time since, I deposited a beautiful garland of Ke[S']ara

flowers in a cocoa-nut box, and suspended it on a bough of

yonder mango-tree. Be good enough to stretch out your hand and

take it down, while I compound unguents and perfumes with this

consecrated paste and these blades of sacred grass.

PRIYAMVADA.

Very well.

[_Exit_ ANASUYA. PRIYAMVADA _takes down the flowers_.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Gautami, bid [S']arngarava and the others hold themselves in

readiness to escort [S']akoontala.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Listening_.

Quick, quick, Anasuya! They are calling the

hermits who are to go with [S']akoontala to Hastinapur[83].

ANASUYA. [_Re-entering with the perfumed unguents in her

hand_.

Come along then, Priyamvada; I am ready to go with you.

[_They walk away_.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Looking_.

See! there sits [S']akoontala, her locks arranged even at this

early hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage are

congratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, while

they present her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecrated

wild-rice. Let us join them.

[_They approach_.

[S']AKOONTALA _is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupied

in the manner described_.

FIRST WOMAN. [_To_ [S']AKOONTALA.

My child, may'st thou receive the title of 'Chief-queen,' and may

thy husband delight to honour thee above all others!

SECOND WOMAN.

My child, may'st thou be the mother of a hero!

THIRD WOMAN.

My child, may'st thou be highly honoured by thy lord!

[_Exeunt all the women, excepting_ GAUTAMI, after blessing_

[S']AKOONTALA.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [_Approaching_.

Dear [S']akoontala, we are come to assist you at your toilet, and

may a blessing attend it!

[S']AKOONTALA.

Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

[_Taking the baskets containing the bridal decorations, and

sitting down_.

Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us dress you. We must first

rub your limbs with these perfumed unguents.

[S']AKOONTALA.

I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now that I

am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I

shall never be dressed by you again.

[_Bursts into tears_.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Weep not, dearest; tears are out of season on such a happy

occasion.

[_They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her_.

PRIYAMVADA.

Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments, which our

hermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as it

deserves.

_Enter TWO YOUNG HERMITS, bearing costly presents_.

BOTH HERMITS.

Here are ornaments suitable for a queen.

[_The women look at them in astonishment_.

GAUTAMI

Why, Narada, my son, whence came these?

FIRST HERMIT.

You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa.

GAUTAMI.

Did he create them by the power of his own mind?

SECOND HERMIT.

Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage ordered us

to collect flowers for [S']akoontala from the forest-trees; and we

went to the wood for that purpose, when

Straightway depending from a neighbouring tree

Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure

And spotless as a moonbeam--mystic pledge

Of bridal happiness; another tree

Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain

The lady's feet [135]; and other branches near

Glistened with rare and costly ornaments.

While, 'mid the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs,

Vying in beauty with the opening buds,

Presented us with sylvan offerings.

PRIYAMVADA. [_Looking at_ [S']AKOONTALA.

The wood-nymphs have done you honour, indeed. This favour

doubtless signifies that you are soon to be received as a happy

wife into your husband's house, and are from this time forward to

become the partner of his royal fortunes.

[[S']AKOONTALA _appears abashed_.

FIRST HERMIT.

Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions. Let us go

and inform him of the favour we have received from the deities

who preside over our trees.

SECOND HERMIT.

By all means.

[_Exeunt_.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA

Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such splendid

decorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Our

knowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose the

ornaments as we have seen them in pictures.

[S']AKOONTALA

Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have perfect

confidence In your taste.

[_They commence dressing her_.

_Enter_ KANWA, _having just finished his ablutions_.

KANWA.

This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart

Is heavy with its grief; the streams of sorrow,

Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice,

I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed

By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise

Within my soul. If such the force of grief

In an old hermit parted from his nursling,

What anguish must the stricken parent feel--

Bereft for ever of an only daughter.

[_Advances towards_ [S']AKOONTALA

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Now, dearest [S']akoontala, we have finished decorating you. You

have only to put on the two linen mantles.

[[S']AKOONTALA _rises and puts them on_.

GAUTAMI.

Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to fold

thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do

him reverence.

[S']AKOONTALA [_Reverently_.

My father, I salute you.

KANWA.

My daughter,

May'st thou be highly honoured by thy lord,

E'en as Yayati [S']armishtha adored[64]!

And, as she bore him Puru, so may'st thou

Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!

GAUTAMI.

Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if she

already possessed the boon it confers.

KANWA.

Now come this way, my child, and walk reverently

round these sacrificial fires.

[_They all walk round_.

KANWA.

[_Repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda_.

Holy flames, that gleam around

Every altar's hallowed ground;

Holy flames, whose frequent food

Is the consecrated wood,

And for whose encircling bed,

Sacred Ku[s']a-grass is spread [65];

Holy flames, that waft to heaven

Sweet oblations daily given,

Mortal guilt to purge away,

Hear, oh hear me, when I pray--

Purify my child this day!

Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey.

[_Looking on one side_.]

Where are thy attendants. [S']arngarava and the others?

YOUNG HERMIT. [_Entering_.

Here we are, most venerable father.

KANWA.

Lead the way for thy sister.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Come, [S']akoontala, let us proceed.

[_All move away_.

KANWA.

Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage!

[S']akoontala ne'er moistened in the stream

Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured

Its purest water on your thirsty roots;

And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair

With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love

She robbed you not e'en of a single flower.

Her highest joy was ever to behold

The early glory of your opening buds;

Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell.

This very day she quits her father's home,

To seek the palace of her wedded lord.

[_The note of a Koil[66] is heard_.

Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees,

Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note

Of the melodious Koil[66]? they dismiss

Their dear [S']akoontala with loving wishes.

VOICES IN THE AIR.

Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams

Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams

Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees,

While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze;

Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread,

Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread;

Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay,

For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way.

[_All listen with astonishment_.

GAUTAMI.

Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with the

affection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thy

happiness. Take thou leave of them reverentially.

[S']AKOONTALA.

[_Bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her friend_.

Eager as I am, dear Priyamvada, to see my husband once more, yet

my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting for ever the home

of my girlhood.

PRIYAMVADA.

You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness of

parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove

seems to share your anguish.

In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer

Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn

Ceases its dance[67]; the very trees around

Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Recollecting herself_.

My father, let me, before I go, bid adieu to my pet jasmine, the

Moonlight of the Grove[68]. I love the plant almost as a sister.

KANWA.

Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for the

creeper. Here it is on the right.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Approaching the jasmine_.

My beloved jasmine! most brilliant of climbing plants, how sweet

it is to see thee cling thus fondly to thy husband, the

mango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining arms for a moment in

this direction to embrace thy sister; she is going far away, and

may never see thee again.

KANWA.

Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart

Has ever been to wed thee to a man

That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse

Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won.

To him thou goest, and about his neck

Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now

Thy favourite jasmine twines its loving arms

Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it

To its protector--e'en as I consign

Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind

Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf.

Proceed on thy journey, my child.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_To_ PRIYAMVADA _and_ ANASUYA.

To you, my sweet companions, I leave it as a keepsake. Take

charge of it when I am gone.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [_Bursting into tears_.

And to whose charge do you leave us, dearest? Who will care for

us when you are gone?

KANWA.

For shame, Anasuya! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer your

friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation?

[_All move on_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the

hermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of

the little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget

to send me word when she becomes a mother.

KANWA.

I will not forget it.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Feeling herself drawn back_.

What can this be, fastened to my dress?

[_Turns round_.

KANWA.

My daughter,

It is the little fawn, thy foster-child,

Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well

How with a mother's tenderness and love

Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice

From thine own hand didst daily nourish it;

And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn

Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend

The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm.

The grateful nursling clings to its protectress,

Mutely imploring leave to follow her.

[S']AKOONTALA.

My poor little fawn! dost thou ask to follow an ungrateful

wretch who hesitates not to desert her companions! When thy

mother died, soon after thy birth, I supplied her place, and

reared thee with my own hand; and now that thy second mother is

about to leave thee, who will care for thee? My father, be thou a

mother to her. My child, go back, and be a daughter to my father.

[_Moves on, weeping_.

KANWA.

Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear

That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow

And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true--

True to thyself and me; the path of life

Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth,

And all must feel the steepness of the way;

Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Venerable Sire! the sacred precept is:--'Accompany thy friend as

far as the margin of the first stream.' Here, then, we are

arrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give us

your final instructions and return.

KANWA.

Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this

fig-tree[69].

[_They do so_.

KANWA [_Aside_.

I must think of some appropriate message to send to his Majesty

King Dushyanta.

[_Reflects_. .

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside to_ ANASUYA.

See, see, dear Anasuya, the poor female Chakravaka-bird[70], whom

cruel fate dooms to nightly separation from her mate, calls to

him in mournful notes from the other side of the stream, though

he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves of the

water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she

was lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words.

ANASUYA

Say not so, dearest:

Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night

Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy

She hails the morning light that brings her mate

Back to her side. The agony of parting

Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge

Is blunted by the hope of future meeting.

KANWA.

[S']arngarava! when you have introduced [S']akoontala into the

presence of the King, you must give him this message from me:--

[S']ARNGARAVA

Let me hear it, venerable father.

KANWA.

This is it:--

Most puissant prince! we here present before thee

One thou art bound to cherish and receive

As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone

As thine own queen--worthy of equal love

With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire,

We claim of thee as justice due to us,

In virtue of our holy character,

In virtue of thine honourable rank,

In virtue of the pure spontaneous love

That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her,

Without consent or privity of us.

We ask no more--the rest we freely leave

To thy just feeling and to destiny.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

A most suitable message! I will take care to deliver it

correctly.

KANWA.

And, now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits,

though we live secluded from the world are not ignorant of

worldly matters.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects.

KANWA.

Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's

palace, and art admitted into his family,

Honour thy betters; ever be respectful

To those above thee; and, should others share

Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey

to jealousy; but ever be a friend,

A loving friend, to those who rival thee

In his affections. Should thy wedded lord

Treat thee with harshness, thou most never be

Harsh in return, but patient and submissive;

Be to thy menials courteous, and to all

Placed under thee, considerate and kind;

Be never self-indulgent, but avoid

Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles,

Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house

Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse.

What thinks Gautami of this advice?

GAUTAMI.

An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it

well to heart, my daughter.

KANWA.

Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy

companions, and then we leave thee.

[S']AKOONTALA.

My father, must Priyamvada and Anasuya really return with you?

They are very dear to me.

KANWA.

Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in marriage

to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to

accompany thee to such a public place. But Gautami shall be thy

companion.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Embracing him_.

Removed from thy bosom, my beloved father, like a young

tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in the western

mountains[71], how shall I be able to support life in a foreign

soil?

KANWA.

Daughter, thy fears are groundless.

Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank

Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares

Befitting his imperial dignity

Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss

Of bearing him a son--a noble boy,

Bright as the day-star, shall transport thy soul

With new delights, and little shalt thou reck

Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now

At parting from thy father and thy friends.

[[S']AKOONTALA _throws herself at her foster-father's feet_.

KANWA.

Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be

realized!

[S']AKOONTALA [_Approaching her friends_.

Come, my two loved companions, embrace me both of you together.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [_Embracing her_.

Dear [S']akoontala, remember, if the King should by any chance be

slow in recognizing you, you have only to show him this ring, on

which his own name is engraved.

[S']AKOONTALA.

The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

There is no real cause for fear, dearest. Excessive affection is

too apt to suspect evil where none exists.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the heavens.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Looking towards the hermitage_.

Dear father, when shall I ever see this hallowed grove again?

KANWA.

I will tell thee; listen:--

When thou hast passed a long and blissful life

As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared

With all the earth his ever-watchful care;

And hast beheld thine own heroic son,

Matchless in arms, united to a bride

In happy wedlock; when his aged sire,

Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned

The helm of state; then, weary of the world,

Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek

The calm seclusion of thy former home[72];

There amid holy scenes to be at peace,

Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.

GAUTAMI.

Come, my child, the favourable time for our journey is fast

passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first

to move homewards, or these last words will never end.

KANWA.

Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be

interrupted.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Again embracing her foster-father_.

Beloved father, thy frame is much enfeebled by penitential

exercises. Do not, oh! do not, allow thyself to sorrow too much

on my account.

KANWA. [_Sighing_.

How, O my child, shall my bereaved heart

Forget its bitterness, when, day by day,

Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants

Reared by thy care, or sprang from hallowed grain

Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door--

A frequent offering to our household gods[73]?

Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.

[_Exit_ [S']AKOONTALA _with her escort_.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA. [_Gazing after_ [S']AKOONTALA.

Alas! alas! she is gone, and now the trees hide our darling from

our view.

KANWA. [_Sighing_.

Well, Anasuya, your sister has departed. Moderate your grief,

both of you, and follow me, I go back to the hermitage.

PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.

Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert without

[S']akoontala. How can we ever return to it?

KANWA.

It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it

in this light.

[_Walking pensively on_.]

As for me, I am quite surprised at myself. Now that I have fairly

dismissed her to her husband's house, my mind is easy; for,

indeed,

A daughter is a loan--a precious jewel

Lent to a parent till her husband claim her.

And now that to her rightful lord and master

I have delivered her, my burdened soul

Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely.

[_Exeunt_.

* * * * *

ACT V.

SCENE.--_A Room in the Palace_.

_The King_ DUSHYANTA _and the Jester_ MA[T.]HAVYA _are discovered

seated_.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Listening_.

Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweet

sounds proceeding from the music-room. Some one is singing a

charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadika is

practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.

KING.

Hush! Let me listen.

A VOICE SINGS BEHIND THE SCENES.

How often hither didst thou rove,

Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek;

Oh! leave not, then, thy early love,

The lily's honeyed lip to seek.

KING.

A most impassioned strain, truly!

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Do you understand the meaning of the words?

KING. [_Smiling_.

She means to reprove me, because I once paid her great attention,

and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumati. Go, my dear

fellow, and tell Hansapadika from me that I take her delicate

reproof as it is intended.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Very well.

[_Rising from his seat_.]

But stay--I don't much relish being sent to bear the brunt of her

jealousy. The chances are that she will have me seized by the

hair of the head and beaten to a jelly. I would as soon expose

myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the seductions of a lovely

nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.

KING.

Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her

my message.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

What must be must be, I suppose.

[_Exit_.

KING. [_Aside_.

Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar sensation.

A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn after

some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but

Not seldom In our happy hours of ease,

When thought is still, the sight of some fair form,

Or mournful fall of music breathing low,

Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul

With a mysterious sadness, and a sense

Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be

That the dim memory of events long past,

Or friendships formed in other states of being[74],

Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?

[_Remains pensive and sad_.

_Enter the_ CHAMBERLAIN[75], _named_ VATAYANA.

CHAMBERLAIN.

Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained!

Even this wand betrays the lapse of years;

In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge

And symbol of my office; now it serves

As a support to prop my tottering steps.

Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a

deputation of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and

craves an immediate audience. Certainly, his Majesty ought not to

neglect a matter of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him

when he has just risen from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a

monarch's business is to sustain the world, and he must not

expect much repose; because--

Onward, for ever onward, in his car

The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course,

Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds.

And, ever moving, speeds the rushing Wind

Through boundless space, filling the universe

With his life-giving breezes. Day and night,

The King of Serpents on his thousand heads[76]

Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so,

Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings,

Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.

I will therefore deliver my message.

[_Walking on and looking about_.]

Ah! here comes the King.

His subjects are his children; through the day,

Like a fond father, to supply their wants,

Incessantly he labours; wearied now,

The monarch seeks seclusion and repose;

E'en as the prince of elephants defies

The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd

To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs

He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.

[_Approaching_.]

Victory to the King! So please your Majesty, some hermits who

live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here,

bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver

from the sage Kanwa and desire an audience. I await your

Majesty's commands.

KING. [_Respectfully_.

A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?

CHAMBERLAIN.

Even so, my liege.

KING.

Tell my domestic priest Somarata to receive the hermits with due

honour, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself

introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place

suitable for the reception of such holy guests.

CHAMBERLAIN.

Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed.

[_Exit_.

KING. [_Rising and addressing his_ WARDER.

Vetravati, lead the way to the chamber of the consecrated

fire[77].

WARDER.

This way, Sire.

KING.

[_Walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of

Government_.

People are generally contented and happy when they have gained

their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of

their aspirations than all their troubles begin.

'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end

And object of ambition is to rest;

Success doth only mitigate the fever

Of anxious expectation; soon the fear

Of losing what we have, the constant care

Of guarding it, doth weary. Ceaseless toil

Must be the lot of him who with his hands

Supports the canopy that shields his subjects.

TWO HERALDS[78]. [_Behind the scenes_.

May the King be victorious!

FIRST HERALD.

Honour to him who labours day by day

For the world's weal, forgetful of his own;

Like some tall tree that with its stately head

Endures the solar beam, while underneath

It yields refreshing shelter to the weary.

SECOND HERALD.

Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod

And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice

The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects

Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor

Hail him a faithful friend--a loving kinsman.

KING.

Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed

me.

[_Walks on_.

WARDER.

Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder

stands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred

enclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and

beautiful. Ascend, Sire.

KING. [Leans on the shoulders of his attendants and ascends_.

Vetravati, what can possibly be the message that the venerable

Kanwa has sent me by these hermits?

Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed

By demons, or some evil has befallen

The innocent herds, their favourites, that graze

Within the precincts of the hermitage,

Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight

Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms

Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts

Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving.

WARDER.

If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to

take an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are

therefore come to offer homage to your majesty.

_Enter the_ HERMITS _leading_ [S']AKOONTALA, _attended by_ GAUTAMI;

_and in advance of them, the_ CHAMBERLAIN _and the_ DOMESTIC

PRIEST.

CHAMBERLAIN.

This way, reverend Sirs, this way.

[S']ARNGARAVA

O [S']aradwata,

'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace,

Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people,

Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found,

Refrain from evil courses; still to me,

A lonely hermit reared in solitude,

This throng appears bewildering, and I seem

To look upon a burning house, whose inmates

Are running to and fro in wild dismay.

[S']ARADWATA.

It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital should

affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar.

As one just bathed beholds the man polluted;

As one late purified, the yet impure;

As one awake looks on the yet unawakened;

Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall,

So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.

[S']AKOONTALA.

[_Feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid_ [79]_, and

suspecting a bad omen_.

Alas! what means this throbbing of my right eyelid?

GAUTAMI.

Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities of

thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune!

[_Walks on_.

PRIEST.

[_Pointing to the King_.

Most reverend Sirs, there stands the protector of the four

classes of the people; the guardian of the four conditions of the

priesthood[80]. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is

waiting for you. Behold him!

[S']ARNGARAVA

Great Brahman, we are happy in thinking that the King's power is

exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We

have not come as petitioners--we have the fullest confidence in

the generosity of his nature.

The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground

Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit;

High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds

Suspend their stately course, and, hanging low,

Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth;

And such is true benevolence; the good

Are never rendered arrogant by riches.

WARDER.

So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of

the hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver.

KING. [_Looking at [S']AKOONTALA_.

But the lady there--

Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace

Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil?

Among the sombre hermits she appears

Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves.

WARDER.

So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no

conjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she

deserves to be looked at more closely.

KING.

True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife[120].

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Placing her hand on her bosom. Aside_.

O my heart, why this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection,

and take courage.

PRIEST. [_Advancing_.

These holy men have been received with all due honour. One of

them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual superior.

Will your Majesty deign to hear it?

KING.

I am all attention.

HERMITS. [_Extending their hands_.

Victory to the King!

KING.

Accept my respectful greeting.

HERMITS.

May the desires of your soul be accomplished!

KING.

I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your

religious rites.

HERMITS.

Who dares disturb our penitential rites

When thou art our protector? Can the night

Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth

While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?

KING.

Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title--'Defender of the

Just.' I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world

is interested in his well-being.

HERMITS.

Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He bade

us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this

message.

KING.

Let me hear his commands.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction to the

marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his

daughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because,

By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious

Of noble husbands; and [S']akoontala,

Virtue herself in human form revealed.

Great Brahma hath in equal yoke united

A bride unto a husband worthy of her;

Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint

That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions[81].

Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child,

receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction

with thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an

occasion.

GAUTAMI.

So please your Majesty, I would add a few words; but why should

I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind

has never been allowed me?

She took no counsel with her kindred; thou

Didst not confer with thine, but all alone

Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife.

Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you.

[S']AKOONTALA [_Aside_.

Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.

KING.

What strange proposal is this?

[S']AKOONTALA [_Aside_.

His words are like fire to me.

[S']ARNGARAVA

What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou art well

acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that

A wife, however virtuous and discreet,

If she live separate from her wedded lord,

Though under shelter of her parent's roof,

Is marked for vile suspicion. Let her dwell

Beside her husband, though he hold her not

In his affection. So her kinsmen will it.

KING.

Do you really mean to assert that I ever married

this lady?

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Despondingly. Aside_.

O my heart, thy worst misgivings are confirmed.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of justice,

because he repents of his engagements?

KING.

I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, except in men

intoxicated by power.

KING.

Is that remark aimed at me?

GAUTAMI.

Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a little

space. Thy husband will then recognize thee.

[_Removes her veil_.

KING.

[_Gazing at_ [S']AKOONTALA. _Aside_.

What charms are here revealed before mine eyes!

Truly no blemish mars the symmetry

Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe

She is my wedded wife; and like a bee

That circles round the flower whose nectared cup

Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause

Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.

[_Remains wrapped in thought_.

WARDER.

How admirably does our royal master's behaviour prove his regard

for justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good

fortune offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Great King, why art thou silent?

KING.

Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I

think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever

contracted an alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I

possibly give you when I do not believe myself to be her husband,

and I plainly see that she is soon to become a mother?

[S']AKOONTALA

[_Aside_.

Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in question by my own

husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions of

wedded happiness?

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Beware!

Beware how thou insult the holy Sage!

Remember how he generously allowed

Thy secret union with his foster-child;

And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure,

He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather

He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.

[S']ARADWATA.

[S']arngarava, speak to him no more. [S']akoontala,

our part is performed; we have said all we have to

say, and the King has replied in the manner thou

hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing

evidence of thy marriage.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution,

what will it avail to revive old recollections? One thing is

clear--I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood.

[_Aloud_.]

My revered husband--

[_Stops short_.]

But no--I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hast

refused to acknowledge our union. Noble descendant of Puru! It is

not worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disown

her in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnly

plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.

KING.

[_Stopping his ears_.

I will hear no more. Be such a crime far from my thoughts!

What evil spirit can possess thee, lady,

That thou dost seek to sully my good name

By base aspersions, like a swollen torrent,

That, leaping from its narrow bed, o'erthrows

The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend

Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?

[S']AKOONTALA.

If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of another, and

thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thy

recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.

KING.

An excellent idea!

[S']AKOONTALA.

[_Feeling for the ring_.

Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no ring on my finger!

[_Looks with anguish at_ GAUTAMI.

GAUTAMI.

The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of

offering homage to the holy water of [S']achi's sacred pool, near

Sakravatara[82].

KING. [_Smiling_.

People may well talk of the readiness of woman's invention! Here

is an instance of it.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention another

circumstance, which may yet convince thee.

KING.

By all means let me hear it at once.

[S']AKOONTALA.

One day, while we were seated in a jasmine-bower, thou didst pour

into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a recent

shower in the cup of a lotus-blossom--

KING.

I am listening; proceed.

[S']AKOONTALA.

At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with soft,

long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting

the water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little

creature, saying fondly:--'Drink first, gentle fawn.' But she

could not be induced to drink from the hand of a stranger; though

immediately afterwards, when I took the water in my own hand,

she drank with perfect confidence. Then, with a smile, thou didst

say;--'Every creature confides naturally in its own kind. You are

both inhabitants of the same forest, and have learnt to trust

each other.'

KING.

Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of

duty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words.

GAUTAMI.

Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up in a

hermitage, and has never learnt deceit.

KING.

Holy matron,

E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex

Is marked by inborn subtlety--much more

In beings gifted with intelligence.

The wily Koil[83], ere towards the sky

She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs

To other nests, and artfully consigns

The rearing of her little ones to strangers.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Angrily_.

Dishonourable man, thou judgest of others by thine own evil

heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and standest

alone--a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion--like a

deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.

KING. [_Aside_.

Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me almost

doubt whether I am in the right. For indeed,

When I had vainly searched my memory,

And so with stern severity denied

The fabled story of our secret loves,

Her brows, that met before in graceful curves,

Like the arched weapon of the god of love,

Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire

Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.

[_Aloud_.]

My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well known to all. I

comprehend not your meaning.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having in the

innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a

Prince of Puru's race, entrusted my honour to a man whose mouth

distils honey, while his heart is full of poison.

[_Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears_.

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Thus it is that burning remorse must ever follow rash actions

which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's

self to blame.

Not hastily should marriage be contracted,

And specially in secret. Many a time,

In hearts that know not each the other's fancies,

Fond love is changed into most bitter hate.

KING.

How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me,

that you heap such accusations on me?

[S']ARNGARAVA. [_Sarcastically_.

That would be too absurd, certainly. You have heard the

proverb:--

Hold in contempt the innocent words of those

Who from their infancy have known no guile;

But trust the treacherous counsels of the man

Who makes a very science of deceit.

KING.

Most veracious Brahman, grant that you are in the right, what end

would be gained by betraying this lady?

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Ruin.

KING.

No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to

ruin others or himself.

[S']ARADWATA.

This altercation is idle, [S']arngarava. We have executed the

commission of our preceptor; come, let us return.

[_To the_ KING.

[S']akoontala is certainly thy bride;

Receive her or reject her, she is thine.

Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure--

The husband o'er the wife is absolute.

Go on before us, Gautami.

[_They move away_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this perfidious

man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and

lamentations?

[_Attempts to follow them_.

GAUTAMI. [_Stopping_.

My son [S']arngarava, see! [S']akoontala is following us, and with

tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what will

she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?

[S']ARNGARAVA.

[_Turning angrily towards her_.

Wilful woman, dost thou seek to be independent of thy lord?

[[S']AKOONTALA _trembles with fear_.

[S']akoontala!

If thou art really what the King proclaims thee,

How can thy father e'er receive thee back

Into his house and home? but if thy conscience

Be witness to thy purity of soul,

E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot

Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it.

When ranked among the number of his household.

Thy duty therefore is to stay. As for us, we must return

immediately.

KING.

Deceive not this lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations.

The moon expands the lotus of the night,

The rising sun awakes the lily; each

Is with his own contented. Even so

The virtuous man is master of his passions,

And from another's wife averts his gaze[120].

[S']ARNGARAVA.

Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee oblivious of

thy marriage with [S']akoontala, whence this fear of losing thy

character for constancy and virtue?

KING. [_To his domestic_ PRIEST.

You must counsel me, revered Sir, as to my course of action.

Which of the two evils involves the greater or less sin?

Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded.

Or this designing woman speak untruly,

I know not. Tell me, must I rather be

The base disowner of my wedded wife,

Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?

PRIEST. [_After deliberation_.

You must take an intermediate course.

KING.

What course, revered Sir? Tell me at once.

PRIEST.

I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the

birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this:

Soothsayers have predicted that your first-born will have

universal dominion. Now, if the hermit's daughter bring forth a

son with the discus or mark of empire in the lines of his

hand[84], you must admit her immediately into your royal

apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to send

her back as soon as possible to her father.

KING. I bow to the decision of my spiritual advisor.

PRIEST.

Daughter, follow me.

[S']AKOONTALA.

O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!

[_Exit_ [S']AKOONTALA _weeping, with the_ PRIEST _and the_ HERMITS.

_The_ KING _remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse

still clouds his recollection_.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

A miracle! a miracle!

KING.

[_Listening_.

What has happened now?

PRIEST. [_Entering with an air of astonishment_.

Great Prince, a stupendous prodigy has just occurred.

KING.

What is it?

PRIEST.

May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had

departed, [S']akoontala, her eyes all bathed in tears, with

outstretched arms, bewailed her cruel fate--

KING.

Well, well, what happened then?

PRIEST.

When suddenly a shining apparition,

In female shape, descended from the skies,

Near the nymph's pool, and bore her up to heaven.

[_All remain motionless with astonishment_.

KING.

My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to

do with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our

conjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose.

PRIEST.

[_Looking at the_ KING.

Be it so. Victory to the King!

[_Exit_.

KING.

Vetravati, I am tired out; lead the way to the bedchamber.

WARDER.

This way, Sire.

[_They move away_.

KING.

Do what I will, I cannot call to mind

That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter;

Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange

How painfully my agitated heart

Bears witness to the truth of her assertion,

And makes me credit her against my judgment.

[_Exeunt_.

* * * * *

PRELUDE TO ACT VI.

SCENE.--_A Street_.

_Enter the King's brother-in-law as_ SUPERINTENDENT _of the city

police; and with him_ TWO CONSTABLES, _dragging a poor_

FISHERMAN, _who has his hands tied behind his back_.

BOTH THE CONSTABLES. [_Striking the prisoner_.

Take that for a rascally thief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah,

where you found this ring--aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, here

is the royal name engraved on the setting of the jewel.

FISHERMAN. [_With a gesture of alarm_.

Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did not steal it; indeed I did not.

FIRST CONSTABLE.

Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine Brahman, and

made you a present of it?

FISHERMAN.

Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at Sakravatara--

SECOND CONSTABLE.

Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of your birth

and parentage?

SUPERINTENDENT. [_To one of the_ CONSTABLES.

Suchaka, let the fellow tell his own story from the beginning.

Don't interrupt him.

BOTH CONSTABLES.

As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say what you've

got to say.

FISHERMAN.

You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by catching

fish with nets, hooks, and the like.

SUPERINTENDENT. [_Laughing_.

A most refined occupation, certainly[85]!

FISHERMAN.

Blame me not for it, master,

The father's occupation, though despised

By others, casts no shame upon the son,

And he should not forsake it[86]. Is the priest

Who kills the animal for sacrifice

Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a low-born man

May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted.

SUPERINTENDENT.

Well, well; go on with your story.

FISHERMAN.

One day I was cutting open a large carp[87] I had just hooked,

when the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I find

in the fish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I was

offering it for sale, I was seized by your honours. Now you know

everything. Whether you kill me, or whether you let me go, this

is the true account of how the ring came into my possession.

SUPERINTENDENT. [_To one of the_ CONSTABLES.

Well, Januka, the rascal emits such a fishy odour that I have no

doubt of his being a fisherman; but we must inquire a little more

closely into this queer story about the finding of the ring.

Come, we'll take him before the King's household.

BOTH CONSTABLES.

Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse.

[_All move on_.

SUPERINTENDENT.

Now attend, Suchaka; keep your guard here at the gate; and hark

ye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape, while

I go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ring

before the King in person. I will soon return and let you know

his commands.

BOTH CONSTABLES.

Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favour in the

King's sight.

[_Exit_ SUPERINTENDENT. FIRST CONSTABLE.

[_After an interval_.

I say, Januka, the Superintendent is a long time away.

SECOND CONSTABLE.

Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks must bide

the proper opportunity.

FIRST CONSTABLE.

Januka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at this royal

victim here. We must kill him with all the honours, you know. I

long to begin binding the flowers round his head[88].

[_Pretends to strike a blow at the_ FISHERMAN.

FISHERMAN.

Your Honour surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel death.

SECOND CONSTABLE.

There's our Superintendent at last, I declare. See! he is coming

towards us with a paper in his hand. We shall soon know the

King's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to become food

for the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry cur.

SUPERINTENDENT.

[_Entering_.

Ho, there, Suchaka! set the fisherman at liberty, I tell you. His

story about the ring is all correct. SUCHAKA.

Oh! very good, Sir; as you please.

SECOND CONSTABLE.

The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is in the land

of the living.

[_Releases him_.

FISHERMAN.

[_Bowing to the_ SUPERINTENDENT.

Now, master, what think you of my way of getting a livelihood?

SUPERINTENDENT.

Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you with this

purse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of the

ring.

[_Gives him the money_.

FISHERMAN.

[_Taking it and bowing_.

His Majesty does me too great honour.

SUCHAKA.

You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the

gallows to seat you on his state elephant.

JANUKA.

Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he would

never have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin.

SUPERINTENDENT.

I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as a

memorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it was

shown to him he became much agitated, though in general he

conceals his feelings. SUCHAKA.

Then you must have done a great service--

JANUKA.

Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife.

[_Looks enviously at the_ FISHERMAN.

FISHERMAN.

Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve to

purchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me your

good-will.

JANUKA.

Well, now, that's just as it should be.

SUPERINTENDENT.

My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I begin to

feel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendship

over a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop,

and we'll drink your health.

ALL.

By all means.

[_Exeunt_.

* * * * *

ACT VI.

SCENE.--_The Garden of a Palace.

The nymph_ SANUMATI _is seen descending in a celestial car_.

SANUMATI.

Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at the

nymph's pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform their

ablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how it

fares with King Dushyanta. My connexion with the nymph Menaka has

made her daughter [S']akoontala dearer to me than my own flesh and

blood; and Menaka it was who charged me with this errand on her

daughter's behalf.

[_Looking round in all directions_.]

How is it that I see no preparations in the King's household for

celebrating the great vernal festival[89]? I could easily

discover the reason by my divine faculty of meditation[134]; but

respect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How then shall

I arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will become

invisible, and place myself near those two maidens who are

tending the plants in the garden.

[_Descends and takes her station_.

_Enter a_ MAIDEN, _who stops in front of a mango-tree, and gazes

at the blossom. Another_ MAIDEN _is seen behind her_.

FIRST MAIDEN.

Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied radiance of

thy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail,

Sweet mango, soul of this enchanting season.

SECOND MAIDEN.

Parabhritika, what are you saying there to yourself?

FIRST MAIDEN.

Dear Madhukarika, am I not named after the Koil[90]? and does not

the Koil sing for joy at the first appearance of the mango-blossom?

SECOND MAIDEN. [_Approaching hastily, with transport_.

What! is spring really come?

FIRST MAIDEN.

Yes, indeed, Madhukarika, and with it the season of joy, love,

and song.

SECOND MAIDEN.

Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stead on tiptoe and pluck a

blossom, of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to

the god of love.

FIRST MAIDEN.

Provided you let me have half the reward which the god will

bestow in return.

SECOND MAIDEN.

To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we not one in

heart and soul, though divided in body?

[_Leans on her friend and plucks a mango-blossom_.]

Ah! here is a bud just bursting into flower. It diffuses a

delicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded.

[_Joining her hands reverentially_.]

God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers

Dost point thy five unerring shafts[91]; to thee

I dedicate this blossom; let it serve

To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark

Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved.

[_Throws down a mango-blossom_.

CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Entering in a hurried manner, angrily_.

Hold there, thoughtless woman. What are you about, breaking off

those mango-blossoms, when the King has forbidden the celebration

of the spring festival?

BOTH MAIDENS. [_Alarmed_.

Pardon us, kind Sir, we have heard nothing of it.

CHAMBERLAIN.

You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants and

shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show

more respect to the King's order than you do.

Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded,

Gather no down upon their tender crests;

The flower still lingers in the amaranth[92],

Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Koil,

Though winter's chilly dews be overpast,

Suspends the liquid volume of his song

Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed,

Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver.

BOTH MAIDENS.

The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed.

FIRST MAIDEN.

It is but a few days since Mitravasu, the King's brother-in-law,

sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole of our

sojourn here, we have been entrusted with the charge of the royal

pleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and

heard nothing of the order till you informed us of it.

CHAMBERLAIN.

Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue your

preparations.

BOTH MAIDENS.

But tell us, kind Sir, why has the King prohibited the usual

festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments. There must be

some good reason for the prohibition.

CHAMBERLAIN.

The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of it?

Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of [S']akoontala

reached your ears yet?

BOTH MAIDENS.

Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's brother-in-law, as

far, at least, as the discovery of the ring.

CHAMBERLAIN.

Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the King's

memory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed:

'Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with

[S']akoontala. When I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection!'

Ever since that moment, he has yielded himself a prey to the

bitterest remorse.

He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects

The daily homage of his ministers;

On his lone couch he tosses to and fro,

Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets

The ladies of his palace, and would fain

Address them with politeness, he confounds

Their names; or, calling them '[S']akoontala,'

Is straightway silent and abashed with shame.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

To me this account is delightful.

CHAMBERLAIN.

In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that the

festival has been prohibited.

BOTH MAIDENS.

Perfectly right.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

The King! the King! This way, Sire, this way.

CHAMBERLAIN. [_Listening_.

Oh! here comes his Majesty in this direction. Pass on, maidens;

attend to your duties.

BOTH MAIDENS.

We will, sir.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter King_ DUSHYANTA, _dressed in deep mourning, attended his

Jester_, MA[T.]HAVYA, _and preceded by_ VETRAVATI.

CHAMBERLAIN. [_Gazing at the_ KING.

Well, noble forms are certainly pleasing, under all varieties of

outward circumstances. The King's person is as charming as ever,

notwithstanding his sorrow of mind.

Though but a single golden bracelet spans

His wasted arm; though costly ornaments

Have given place to penitential weeds;

Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips,

And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care

And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye;

Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre,

Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem

Committed to some cunning polisher,

Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance.

SANUMATI. [_Aside. Looking at the_ KING.

Now that I have seen him, I can well understand why [S']akoontala

should pine after such a man, in spite of his disdainful

rejection of her.

KING. [_Walking slowly up and down in deep thought_.

When fatal lethargy o'erwhelmed my soul,

My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain;

And now, when I would fain in slumber deep

Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

My poor [S']akoontala's sufferings are very similar.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Aside_.

He is taken with another attack of this odious [S']akoontala-fever.

How shall we ever cure him?

CHAMBERLAIN. [_Approaching_.

Victory to the King! Great Prince, the royal pleasure-grounds

have been put in order. Your Majesty can resort to them for

exercise and amusement whenever you think proper.

KING.

Vetravati, tell the worthy Pi[S']una, my prime minister, from me,

that I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on the

judgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought before

the tribunal, he must give it his best attention, and inform me

of the circumstances by letter.

VETRAVATI.

Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed.

[_Exit_.

KING. [_To the CHAMBERLAIN_.

And you, Vatayana, may go about your own affairs.

CHAMBERLAIN.

I will, Sire.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows, you

can enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-grounds

without interruption.

KING.

Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage:--'When affliction has

a mind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere;' and it is

verified in me.

Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud

That darkened its remembrance of the past,

When lo! the heart-born deity of love

With yonder blossom of the mango barbs

His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master Kama's[47]

arrow with a cut of my cane.

[_Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom_.

KING. [_Smiling_.

That will do. I see very well the god of love is not a match for

a Brahman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down, that

I may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, which

seem to remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Don't you remember? you told your personal attendant, Chaturika,

that you would pass the heat of the day in the jasmine-bower; and

commanded her to bring the likeness of your queen [S']akoontala,

sketched with your own hand.

KING.

True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the way

to the arbour.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

This way, Sire.

[_Both move on, followed by_ SANUMATI.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Here we are at the jasmine-bower. Look, it has a marble seat, and

seems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers.

You have only to enter and sit down.

[_Both enter and seat themselves_.

SANUMATI

[_Aside_.

I will lean against these young jasmines. I can easily, from

behind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then hasten

to inform her of her husband's ardent affection.

[_Stands leaning against the creepers_.

KING.

Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my union

with [S']akoontala present themselves to my recollection at this

moment! But tell me now how it was that, between the time of my

leaving her in the hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her,

you never breathed her name to me? True, you were not by my side

when I disowned her; but I had confided to you the story of my

love, and you were acquainted with every particular. Did it pass

out of your mind as it did out of mine?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you had

finished telling me about it, you added that I was not to take

the story in earnest, for that you were not really in love with a

country girl, but were only jesting; and I was dull and

thick-headed enough to believe you. But so fate decreed, and

there is no help for it.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Exactly.

KING. [_After deep thought_.

My dear friend, suggest some relief for my misery.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness is

unworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves to

uncontrolled grief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in a

gale of wind?

KING.

How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind the

agonized demeanour of the dear one on the occasion of my

disowning her?

When cruelly I spurned her from my presence,

She fain had left me; but the young recluse,

Stern as the Sage, and with authority

As from his saintly master, in a voice

That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay.

Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears,

She cast on me one long reproachful look,

Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following a rash

action. But his anguish only rejoices me.

MA[T.]HAVYA

An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some celestial

being had carried her off to heaven.

KING.

Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a finger on a wife,

the idol of her husband? It is said that Menaka, the nymph of

heaven, gave her birth. The suspicion has certainly crossed my

mind that some of her celestial companions may have taken her to

their own abode.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

His present recollection of every circumstance of her history

does not surprise me so much as his former forgetfulness.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

If that's the case, you will be certain to meet her before long.

KING.

Why?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

No father and mother can endure to see a daughter suffering the

pain of separation from her husband.

KING. Oh! my dear Ma[T.]Havya,

Was it a dream? or did some magic dire,

Dulling my senses with a strange delusion,

O'ercome my spirit? or did destiny,

Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit,

And rob me of their guerdon? It is past,

Whate'er the spell that bound me. Once again

Am I awake, but only to behold

The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof that

what has been lost may be unexpectedly found?

KING. [_Gazing at the ring_.

Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a station not easily

regained, and I offer it my sympathy. O gem,

The punishment we suffer is deserved,

And equal is the merit of our works,

When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy

The thrilling contact of those slender fingers,

Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot!

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Had it found its way to the hand of any other person, then indeed

its fate would have been deplorable.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Pray, how did the ring ever come upon her hand at all?

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

I myself am curious to know.

KING.

You shall hear. When I was leaving my beloved [S']akoontala that I

might return to my own capital, she said to me, with tears in her

eyes: 'How long will it be ere my lord send for me to his palace

and make me his queen?'

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Well, what was your reply?

KING.

Then I placed the ring on her finger, and thus addressed her:--

Repeat each day one letter of the name Engraven on this gem; ere

thou hast reckoned The tale of syllables, my minister Shall come

to lead thee to thy husband's palace.

But, hard-hearted man that I was, I forgot to fulfil my promise,

owing to the infatuation that took possession of me.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

A pleasant arrangement! Fate, however, ordained that the

appointment should not be kept.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

But how did the ring contrive to pass into the stomach of that

carp which the fisherman caught and was cutting up?

KING.

It must have slipped from my [S']akoontala's hand, and fallen into

the stream of the Ganges, while she was offering homage to the

water of [S']achi's holy pool.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Very likely.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Hence it happened, I suppose, that the King, always fearful of

committing the least injustice, came to doubt his marriage with

my poor [S']akoontala. But why should affection so strong as his

stand in need of any token of recognition?

KING.

Let me now address a few words of reproof to this ring.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Aside_.

He is going stark mad, I verily believe.

KING.

Hear me, then dull and undiscerning bauble!

For so it argues thee, that thou could'st leave

The slender fingers of her hand, to sink

Beneath the waters. Yet what marvel is it

That thou should'st lack discernment? let me rather

Heap curses on myself, who, though endowed

With reason, yet rejected her I loved.

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Aside_.

And so, I suppose, I must stand here to be devoured by hunger,

whilst he goes on in this sentimental strain.

KING.

O forsaken one, unjustly banished from my presence, take pity on

thy slave, whose heart is consumed by the fire of remorse, and

return to my sight.

_Enter_ CHATURIKA _hurriedly, with a picture in her hand_.

CHATURIKA.

Here is the Queen's portrait.

[_Shows the picture_.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Excellent, my dear friend, excellent! The imitation of nature is

perfect, and the attitude of the figures is really charming. They

stand out in such bold relief that the eye is quite deceived.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

A most artistic performance! I admire the King's skill, and could

almost believe that [S']akoontala herself was before me.

KING.

I own 'tis not amiss, though it portrays

But feebly her angelic loveliness.

Aught less than perfect is depicted falsely,

And fancy must supply the imperfection.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

A very just remark from a modest man, whose affection is

exaggerated by the keenness of his remorse.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Tell me:--I see three female figures drawn on the canvas, and all

of them beautiful; which of the three is her Majesty [S']akoontala?

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

If he cannot distinguish her from the others, the simpleton might

as well have no eyes in his head.

KING.

Which should you imagine to be intended for her?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

She who is leaning, apparently a little tired, against the stem

of that mango-tree, the tender leaves of which glitter with the

water she has poured upon them. Her arms are gracefully extended;

her face is somewhat flushed with the heat; and a few flowers

have escaped from her hair, which has become unfastened, and hangs

in loose tresses about her neck. That must be the queen

[S']akoontala, and the others, I presume, are her two attendants.

KING.

I congratulate you on your discernment. Behold the proof of my

passion;

My finger, burning with the glow of love[93],

Has left its impress on the painted tablet;

While here and there, alas! a scalding tear

Has fallen on the cheek and dimmed its brightness.

Chaturika, the garden in the background of the picture is only

half-painted. Go, fetch the brush that I may finish it.

CHATURIKA.

Worthy Ma[t.]havya, have the kindness to hold the picture until I

return.

KING.

Nay, I will hold it myself.

[_Takes the picture_.

[_Exit_ CHATURIKA.

My loved one came but lately to my presence

And offered me herself, but in my folly

I spurned the gift, and now I fondly cling

To her mere image; even as a madman

Would pass the waters of the gushing stream,

And thirst for airy vapours of the desert[94].

MA[T.]HAVYA. [_Aside_.

He has been fool enough to forego the reality for the semblance,

the substance for the shadow.

[_Aloud_.]

Tell us, I pray, what else remains to be painted.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

He longs, no doubt, to delineate some favourite spot where my

[S']akoontala delighted to ramble.

KING.

You shall hear:--

I wish to see the Malini portrayed,

Its tranquil course by banks of sand impeded;

Upon the brink a pair of swans; beyond,

The hills adjacent to Himalaya[95],

Studded with deer; and, near the spreading shade

Of some large tree, where 'mid the branches hang

The hermits' vests of bark, a tender doe,

Rubbing its downy forehead on the horn

Of a black antelope, should be depicted.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

[_Aside_.

Pooh! if I were he, I would fill up the vacant

spaces with a lot of grizzly-bearded old hermits.

KING.

My dear Ma[T.]Havya, there is still a part of [S']akoontala's

dress which I purposed to draw, but find I have

omitted.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

What is that?

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Something suitable, I suppose, to the simple attire of a young

and beautiful girl dwelling in a forest.

KING.

A sweet [S']irisha blossom should be twined

Behind her ear[7], its perfumed crest depending

Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom,

A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright

As an autumnal moonbeam, should be traced.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of her

fingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraid

of something? [_Looking more closely_.] Oh! I see; a vagabond

bee, intent on thieving honey from the flowers, has mistaken her

mouth for a rosebud, and is trying to settle upon it.

KING.

A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power over

all offenders.

KING.

Very true. Listen to me, thou favourite guest of flowering plants;

why give thyself the trouble of hovering here?

See where thy partner sits on yonder flower,

And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

A most polite way of warning him off!

MA[T.]HAVYA.

You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about his

business so easily as you think.

KING.

Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me:--

An thou but touch the lips of my beloved,

Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed

In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee

Within the hollow of yon lotus cup,

And there imprison thee for thy presumption.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten him

with such an awful punishment. [_Smiling, aside_.] He is stark mad,

that's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginning

to talk almost as wildly. [_Aloud_.] Look, it is only a painted bee.

KING.

Painted? impossible!

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Even I did not perceive it; how much less should he!

KING.

Oh! my dear friend, why were you so ill-natured as to tell me the

truth?

While all entranced, I gazed upon her picture,

My loved one seemed to live before my eyes

Till every fibre of my being thrilled

With rapturous emotion. Oh! 'twas cruel

To dissipate the day-dream, and transform

The blissful vision to a lifeless image.

[_Sheds tears_.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Separated lovers are very difficult to please; but he seems more

difficult than usual.

KING.

Alas! my dear Ma[T.]Havya, why am I doomed to be the victim of

perpetual disappointment?

Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams,

For slumber night by night forsakes my couch;

And now that I would fain assuage my grief

By gazing on her portrait here before me,

Tears of despairing love obscure my sight.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

You have made ample amends for the wrong you did [S']akoontala in

disowning her.

CHATURIKA. [_Entering_.

Victory to the King! I was coming along with the box of colours

in my hand--

KING.

What now?

CHATURIKA.

When I met the queen Vasumati, attended by Taralika. She insisted

on taking it from me, and declared she would herself deliver it

into your Majesty's hands.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

By what luck did you contrive to escape her?

CHATURIKA.

While her maid was disengaging her mantle, which had caught in

the branch, of a shrub, I ran away.

KING.

Here, my good friend, take the picture and conceal it. My

attentions to the Queen have made her presumptuous. She will be

here in a minute.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Conceal the picture! conceal myself, you mean.

[_Getting up and taking the picture_.]

The Queen has a bitter draught in store for you, which you will

have to swallow, as [S']iva did the poison at the Deluge[96]. When

you are well quit of her, you may send and call me from the

Palace of Clouds[97], where I shall take refuge.

[_Exit, running_.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Although the King's affections are transferred to another object,

yet he respects his previous attachments. I fear his love must be

somewhat fickle.

VETRAVATI. [_Entering with a despatch in her hand_.

Victory to the King!

KING.

Vetravati, did you observe the queen Vasumati coming in this

direction?

VETRAVATI.

I did; but when she saw that I had a despatch in my hand for your

Majesty, she turned back.

KING.

The Queen has too much regard for propriety to interrupt me when

I am engaged with State-affairs.

VETRAVATI.

So please your Majesty, your prime minister begs respectfully to

inform you that he has devoted much time to the settlement of

financial calculations, and only one case of importance has been

submitted by the citizens for his consideration. He has made a

written report of the facts, and requests your Majesty to cast

your eyes over it.

KING.

Hand me the paper.

[_VETRAVATI delivers it_.

[_Reading_.

What have we here? 'A merchant named Dhanamitra, trading by sea,

was lost in a late shipwreck. Though a wealthy trader, he was

childless; and the whole of his immense property becomes by law

forfeited to the king.' So writes the minister. Alas! alas! for

his childlessness! But surely, if he was wealthy, he must have

had many wives. Let an inquiry be made whether any one of them is

expecting to give birth to a child.

VETRAVATI.

They say that his wife, the daughter of the foreman of a guild

belonging to Ayodhya [98], has just completed the ceremonies usual

upon such expectations.

KING.

The unborn child has a title to its father's property. Such is my

decree. Go, bid my minister proclaim it so.

VETRAVATI.

I will, my liege.

[_Going_.

KING.

Stay a moment.

VETRAVATI.

I am at your Majesty's service.

KING.

Let there be no question whether he may or may not have left

offspring; Rather be it proclaimed that whosoe'er Of King

Dushyanta's subjects be bereaved

Of any loved relation, an it be not

That his estates are forfeited for crimes,

Dushyanta will himself to them supply

That kinsman's place in tenderest affection.

VETRAVATI.

It shall be so proclaimed.

[_Exit_ VETRAVATI, _and re-enters after an interval_.

VETRAVATI.

Your Majesty's proclamation was received with acclamations of

joy, like grateful rain at the right season.

KING. [_Drawing a deep sigh_.

So, then, the property of rich men, who have no lineal

descendants, passes over to a stranger at their decease. And

such, alas! must be the fate of the fortunes of the race of Puru

at my death; even as when fertile soil is sown with seed at the

wrong season.

VETRAVATI.

Heaven forbid!

KING.

Fool that I was to reject such happiness when it offered itself

for my acceptance!

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

He may well blame his own folly when he calls to mind his

treatment of my beloved [S']akoontala.

KING.

Ah! woe is me! when I forsook my wife--

My lawful wife--concealed within her breast

There lay my second self, a child unborn,

Hope of my race, e'en as the choicest fruit

Lies hidden in the bosom of the earth.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

There is no fear of your race being cut off for want of a son.

CHATURIKA. [_Aside to_ VETRAVATI.

The affair of the merchant's death has quite upset our royal

master, and caused him sad distress. Would it not be better to

fetch the worthy Ma[t.]havya from the Palace of Clouds to comfort

him?

VETRAVATI.

A very good idea.

[_Exit_.

KING.

Alas! the shades of my forefathers are even now beginning to be

alarmed, lest at my death they may be deprived of their funeral

libations.

No son remains in King Dushyanta's place

To offer sacred homage to the dead

Of Puru's noble line; my ancestors

Must drink these glistening tears, the last libation[99]

A childless man can ever hope to make them.

[_Falls down in an agony of grief_.

CHATURIKA. [_Looking at him in consternation_.

Great King, compose yourself.

SANUMATI. [_Aside_.

Alas! alas! though a bright light is shining near him, he is

involved in the blackest darkness, by reason of the veil that

obscures his sight. I will now reveal all, and put an end to his

misery. But no; I heard the mother of the great Indra[100], when

she was consoling [S']akoontala, say that the gods will soon bring

about a joyful union between husband and wife, being eager for

the sacrifice which will be celebrated in their honour on the

occasion. I must not anticipate the happy moment, but will return

at once to my dear friend and cheer her with an account of what I

have seen and heard. [_Rises aloft and disappears_.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Help! help! to the rescue!

KING.

[_Recovering himself. Listening_.

Ha! I heard a cry of distress, and in Ma[t.]havya's voice too. What

ho there!

VETRAVATI. [_Entering_.

Your friend is in danger; save him, great King.

KING.

Who dares insult the worthy Ma[t.]havya?

VETRAVATI.

Some evil demon, invisible to human eyes, has seized him, and

carried him to one of the turrets of the Palace of Clouds.

KING. [_Rising_.

Impossible! Have evil spirits power over my subjects,

even in nay private apartments? Well, well;--

Daily I seem, less able to avert

Misfortune from myself, and o'er my actions

Less competent to exercise control;

How can I then direct my subjects' ways,

Or shelter them from tyranny and wrong?

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Halloo there! my dear friend; help! help!

KING. [_Advancing with rapid strides_.

Fear nothing--

THE SAME VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Fear nothing, indeed! How can I help fearing when some monster is

twisting back my neck, and is about to snap it as he would a

sugar-cane?

KING. [_Looking round_.

What ho there! my bow!

SLAVE. [_Entering with a bow_.

Behold your bow, Sire, and your arm-guard.

[_The_ KING _snatches up the bow and arrows_.

ANOTHER VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Here, thirsting for thy life-blood, will I slay thee,

As a fierce tiger rends his struggling prey.

Call now thy friend Dushyanta to thy aid;

His bow is mighty to defend the weak;

Yet all its vaunted power shall be as nought.

KING. [_With fury_.

What! dares he defy me to my face? Hold there, monster! Prepare

to die, for your time is come.

[_Stringing his bow_.]

Vetravati, lead the way to the terrace.

VETRAVATI.

This way, Sire.

[_They advance in haste_.

KING. [_Looking on every side_.

How's this? there is nothing to be seen.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Help! Save me! I can see you, though you cannot see me. I am like

a mouse in the claws of a cat; my life is not worth a minute's

purchase.

KING.

Avaunt, monster! You may pride yourself on the

magic that renders you invisible, but my arrow shall

find you out. Thus do I fix a shaft

That shall discern between an impious demon,

And a good Brahman; bearing death to thee,

To him deliverance--even as the swan

Distinguishes the milk from worthless water[101].

[_Takes aim_.

_Enter_ MATALI[102] _holding_ MA[T.]HAVYA, _whom he releases_.

MATALI.

Turn thou thy deadly arrows on the demons;

Such is the will of Indra; let thy bow

Be drawn against the enemies of the gods;

But on thy friends cast only looks of favour.

KING. [_Putting back his arrow_.

What, Matali! Welcome, most noble charioteer of the mighty Indra.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

So, here is a monster who thought as little about slaughtering me

as if I had been a bullock for sacrifice, and you must e'en greet

him with a welcome.

MATALI. [_Smiling_.

Great Prince, hear on what errand Indra sent me into your

presence.

KING.

I am all attention.

MATALI.

There is a race of giants, the descendants of Kalanemi[103], whom

the gods find it difficult to subdue.

KING.

So I have already heard from Narada[104].

MATALI.

Heaven's mighty lord, who deigns to call thee 'friend,'

Appoints thee to the post of highest honour,

As leader of his armies; and commits

The subjugation of this giant brood

To thy resistless arms, e'en as the sun

Leaves the pale moon to dissipate the darkness.

Let your Majesty, therefore, ascend at once the celestial car of

Indra; and, grasping your arms, advance to victory.

KING.

The mighty Indra honours me too highly by such a mark of

distinction. But tell me, what made you act thus towards my poor

friend Ma[T.]Havya?

MATALI.

I will tell you. Perceiving that your Majesty's

spirit was completely broken by some distress of mind

under which you were labouring, I determined to

rouse your energies by moving you to anger. Because

To light a flame, we need but stir the embers;

The cobra, when incensed, extends his head

And springs upon his foe; the bravest men

Display their courage only when provoked.

KING. [_Aside to_ MA[T.]HAVYA.

My dear Ma[T.]Havya, the commands of the great Indra must not be

left unfulfilled. Go you and acquaint my minister, Pi[S']una, with

what has happened, and say to him from me:--

Dushyanta to thy care confides his realm--

Protect with all the vigour of thy mind

The interests of his people; while his bow

Is braced against the enemies of heaven.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

I obey. [_Exit_.

MATALI

Ascend, illustrious Prince.

[_The_ KING _ascends the car_.

[_Exeunt_.

* * * * *

ACT VII.

SCENE.--_The Sky_.

_Enter_ KING DUSHYANTA _and_ MATALI _in the car of Indra, moving

in the air_.

KING.

My good Matali, it appears to me incredible that I can merit such

a mark of distinction for having simply fulfilled the behests of

the great Indra.

MATALI. [_Smiling_.

Great Prince, it seems to me that neither of you is satisfied

with himself.

You underrate the services you have rendered,

And think too highly of the god's reward;

He deems it scarce sufficient recompense

For your heroic deeds on his behalf.

KING.

Nay, Matali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were more

than realised by the honour conferred on me at the moment when I

took my leave. For,

Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast[105]

Of the great Indra, where before it hung,

A garland of the ever-blooming tree

Of Nandana[106] was cast about my neck

By his own hand; while, in the very presence

Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned

Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see

His son Jayanta[107] envious of the honour.

MATALI.

There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does not

deserve at the hands of the immortals. See,

Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour:

For now thy how's unerring shafts (as erst

The Lion-man's terrific claws[108]) have purged

The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul.

KING.

The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty of

Indra.

When mighty gods make men their delegates

In martial enterprise, to them belongs

The palm of victory; and not to mortals.

Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night,

Did not the god of day, whose diadem

Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light,

Place him in front of his effulgent car[11]?

MATALI.

A very just comparison!

[_Driving on_.]

Great King, behold! the glory of thy fame has reached even to the

vault of heaven.

Hark! yonder inmates of the starry sphere

Sing anthems worthy of thy martial deeds,

While with celestial colours they depict

The story of thy victories on scrolls

Formed of the leaves of heaven's immortal trees.

KING.

My good Matali, yesterday, when I ascended the sky, I was so

eager to do battle with the demons, that the road by which we

were travelling towards Indra's heaven escaped my observation.

Tell me, in which path of the seven winds are we now moving?

MATALI.

We journey in the path of Parivaha[109]--

The wind that bears along the triple Ganges[110]

And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll

In their appointed orbits, scattering

Their several rays with equal distribution.

'Tis the same path that once was sanctified

By the divine impression of the foot

Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali,

He spanned the heavens in his second stride[111].

KING.

This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm repose

pervades all my senses.

[_Looking down at the wheels_.]

Ah! Matali, we are descending towards the earth's atmosphere.

MATALI.

What makes you think so?

KING.

The car itself instructs me; we are moving

O'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below us

I see the moisture-loving Chatakas[112]

In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steeds

Of Indra glisten with the lightning's flash;

And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels.

MATALI.

You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch the

ground, and you will be in your own dominions.

KING. [_Looking down_.

How wonderful the appearance of the earth as we rapidly descend!

Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills

Do suddenly uprear their towering heads

Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests

The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stem

Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses,

Rise into elevation, and display

Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters,

Like silver threads, were scarce, but now, discerned,

Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth

Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power.

MATALI.

Well described!

[_Looking with awe_.]

Grand, indeed, and lovely is the spectacle presented by the

earth.

KING.

Tell me, Matali, what is the range of mountains which, like a

bank of clouds illumined by the setting sun, pours down a stream

of gold? On one side its base dips into the eastern ocean, and on

the other side into the western.

MATALI.

Great Prince, it is called 'Golden-peak[113],' and is the abode

of the attendants of the god of wealth. In this spot the highest

forms of penance are wrought out.

There Ka[s']yapa[114], the great progenitor

Of demons and of gods, himself the offspring

Of the divine Marichi, Brahma's son,

With Aditi, his wife, in calm seclusion,

Does holy penance for the good of mortals.

KING.

Then I must not neglect so good an opportunity of obtaining his

blessing. I should much like to visit this venerable personage

and offer him my homage.

MATALI.

By all means. An excellent idea!

[_Guides the car to the earth_.

KING. [_In a tone of wonder_.

How's this?

Our chariot wheels move noiselessly. Around

No clouds of dust arise; no shock betokened

Our contact with the earth; we seem to glide

Above the ground, so lightly do we touch it.

MATALI.

Such is the difference between the car of Indra and that of your

Majesty.

KING.

In which direction, Matali, is Ka[s']yapa's sacred retreat?

MATALI. [_Pointing_.

Where stands yon anchorite, towards the orb

Of the meridian sun, immovable

As a tree's stem, his body half-concealed

By a huge ant-hill. Bound about his breast

No sacred cord is twined[115], but in its stead

A hideous serpent's skin. In place of necklace,

The tendrils of a withered creeper chafe

His wasted neck. His matted hair depends

In thick entanglement about his shoulders,

And birds construct their nests within its folds[116].

KING.

I salute thee, thou man of austere devotion.

MATALI. [_Holding in the reins of the car_.

Great Prince, we are now in the sacred grove of the holy

Ka[s']yapa--the grove that boasts as its ornament one of the five

trees of Indra's heaven, reared by Aditi.

KING.

This sacred retreat is more delightful than heaven itself. I

could almost fancy myself bathing in a pool of nectar.

MATALI. [_Stopping the chariot_.

Descend, mighty Prince.

KING. [_Descending_.

And what will you do, Matali?

MATALI.

The chariot will remain where I have stopped it. We may both

descend.

[_Doing so_.]

This way, great King.

[_Walking on_.]

You see around you the celebrated region where the holiest sages

devote themselves to penitential rites.

KING.

I am filled with awe and wonder as I gaze.

In such a place as this do saints of earth

Long to complete their acts of penance; here,

Beneath the shade of everlasting trees.

Transplanted from the groves of Paradise,

May they inhale the balmy air, and need

No other nourishment[117]; here may they bathe

In fountains sparkling with the golden dust

Of lilies; here, on jewelled slabs of marble,

In meditation rapt, may they recline;

Here, in the presence of celestial nymphs,

E'en passion's voice is powerless to move them.

MATALI.

So true is it that the aspirations of the good and great are ever

soaring upwards.

[_Turning round and speaking off the stage_.]

Tell me, Vriddha-[S']akalya, how is the divine son of Marichi now

engaged? What sayest thou? that he is conversing with Aditi and

some of the wives of the great sages, and that they are

questioning him respecting the duties of a faithful wife?

KING. [_Listening_.

Then we must await the holy father's leisure.

MATALI. [_Looking at the_ KING.

If your Majesty will rest under the shade, at the foot of this

A[s']oka-tree [118], I will seek an opportunity of announcing your

arrival to Indra's reputed father.

KING.

As you think proper.

[_Remains under the tree_.

MATALI.

Great King, I go. [_Exit_.

KING. [_Feeling his arm throb_.

Wherefore this causeless throbbing, O mine arm[18]?

All hope has fled for ever; mock me not

With presages of good, when happiness

Is lost, and nought but misery remains.

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES.

Be not so naughty. Do you begin already to show a refractory

spirit?

KING. [_Listening_.

This is no place for petulance. Who can it be whose behaviour

calls for such a rebuke?

[_Looking in the direction of the sound and smiling_.]

A child, is it? closely attended by two holy women. His

disposition seems anything but child-like. See!

He braves the fury of yon lioness

Suckling its savage offspring, and compels

The angry whelp to leave the half-sucked dug,

Tearing its tender mane in boisterous sport.

_Enter a_ CHILD, _attended by_ TWO WOMEN _of the hermitage, in

the manner described_.

CHILD.

Open your mouth, my young lion, I want to count your teeth.

FIRST ATTENDANT.

You naughty child, why do you tease the animals? Know you not

that we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our own

children? In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, and

are beginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana

('All-taming'), given you by the hermits.

KING.

Strange! My heart inclines towards the boy with almost as much

affection as if he were my own child. What can be the reason? I

suppose my own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons of

others.

SECOND ATTENDANT.

This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not release her

whelp.

CHILD. [_Laughing_.

Oh! indeed! let her come. Much I fear her, to be sure!

[_Pouts his under-lip in defiance_.

KING.

The germ of mighty courage lies concealed

Within this noble infant, like a spark

Beneath the fuel, waiting but a breath

To fan the flame and raise a conflagration.

FIRST ATTENDANT.

Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will give you

something else to play with.

CHILD.

Where is it? Give it me first.

[_Stretches out his hand_.

KING. [_Looking at his hand_.

How's that? His hand exhibits one of those mystic marks[84] which

are the sure prognostic of universal empire. See! His fingers

stretched in eager expectation To grasp the wished-for toy, and

knit together By a close-woven web, in shape resemble A lotus

blossom, whose expanding petals The early dawn has only half

unfolded.

SECOND ATTENDANT.

We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear Suvrata. Be kind

enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a plaything

belonging to Markandeya, one of the hermit's children. It is a

peacock made of china-ware, painted in many colours. Bring it

here for the child.

FIRST ATTENDANT.

Very well. [_Exit_.

CHILD.

No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion.

[_Looks at the_ FEMALE ATTENDANT _and laughs_.

KING.

I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child.

How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire

Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground

The child that asks a refuge in their arms!

And happy are they while with lisping prattle,

In accents sweetly inarticulate,

He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles

Gladdens their hearts[119], revealing to their gaze

His pearly teeth just budding into view.

ATTENDANT.

I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention.

[_Looking off the stage_.]

I wonder whether any of the hermits are about here.

[_ Seeing the_ KING.]

Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and help me to release

the young lion from the clutch of this child who is teasing him

in boyish play?

KING. [_Approaching and smiling_.

Listen to me, thou child of a mighty saint!

Dost thou dare show a wayward spirit here?

Here, in this hallowed region? Take thou heed

Lest, as the serpent's young defiles the sandal[71],

Thou bring dishonour on the holy sage

Thy tender-hearted parent, who delights

To shield from harm the tenants of the wood.

ATTENDANT.

Gentle Sir, I thank you; but he is not the saint's son.

KING.

His behaviour and whole bearing would have led me to doubt it,

had not the place of his abode encouraged the idea.

[_Follows the_ CHILD, _and takes him by the hand, according to

the request of the attendant. Aside_.

I marvel that the touch of this strange child

Should thrill me with delight; if so it be,

How must the fond caresses of a son

Transport the father's soul who gave him being!

ATTENDANT. [_Looking at them both_.

Wonderful! Prodigious!

KING.

What excites your surprise, my good woman?

ATTENDANT.

I am astonished at the striking resemblance between the child and

yourself; and, what is still more extraordinary, he seems to have

taken to you kindly and submissively, though you are a stranger

to him.

KING. [_Fondling the_ CHILD.

If he be not the son of the great sage, of what family does he

come, may I ask?

ATTENDANT.

Of the race of Puru.

KING. [_Aside_.

What! are we, then, descended from the same ancestry? This, no

doubt, accounts for the resemblance she traces between the child

and me. Certainly it has always been an established usage among

the princes of Puru's race,

To dedicate the morning of their days

To the world's weal, in palaces and halls,

'Mid luxury and regal pomp abiding;

Then, in the wane of life, to seek release

From kingly cares, and make the hallowed shade

Of sacred trees their last asylum, where

As hermits they may practise self-abasement,

And bind themselves by rigid vows of penance.

[_Aloud_.]

But how could mortals by their own power gain admission to this

sacred region?

ATTENDANT.

Your remark is just; but your wonder will cease when I tell you

that his mother is the offspring of a celestial nymph, and gave

him birth in the hallowed grove of Ka[s']yapa.

KING. [_Aside_.

Strange that my hopes should be again excited!

[_Aloud_.]

But what, let me ask, was the name of the prince whom she deigned

to honour with her hand?

ATTENDANT.

How could I think of polluting my lips by the mention of a wretch

who had the cruelty to desert his lawful wife?

KING. [_Aside_.

Ha! the description suits me exactly. Would I could bring myself

to inquire the name of the child's mother!

[_Reflecting_.]

But it is against propriety to make too minute inquiries about

the wife of another man[120].

FIRST ATTENDANT.

[_Entering with the china peacock in her hand_.

Sarva-damana, Sarva-damana, see, see, what a beautiful [S']akoonta

(bird).

CHILD. [_Looking round_.

My mother! Where? Let me go to her.

BOTH ATTENDANTS.

He mistook the word [S']akoonta for [S']akoontala. The boy dotes upon

his mother, and she is ever uppermost in his thoughts.

SECOND ATTENDANT.

Nay, my dear child, I said: Look at the beauty of this [S']akoonta.

KING. [_Aside_.

What! is his mother's name [S']akoontala? But the name is not

uncommon among women. Alas! I fear the mere similarity of a name,

like the deceitful vapour of the desert[94], has once more raised

my hopes only to dash them to the ground.

CHILD.

Dear nurse, what a beautiful peacock!

[_Takes the toy_.

FIRST ATTENDANT.

[_Looking at the CHILD. In great distress_.

Alas! alas! I do not see the amulet on his wrist.

KING.

Don't distress yourself. Here it is. It fell off while he was

struggling with the young lion.

[_Stoops to pick it up_.

BOTH ATTENDANTS.

Hold! hold! Touch it not, for your life. How marvellous! He has

actually taken it up without the slightest hesitation.

[_Both raise their hands to their breasts and look at each other

in astonishment_.

KING.

Why did you try to prevent my touching it?

FIRST ATTENDANT.

Listen, great Monarch. This amulet, known as 'The Invincible,'

was given to the boy by the divine son of Marichi, soon after his

birth, when the natal ceremony was performed. Its peculiar virtue

is, that when it falls on the ground, no one except the father or

mother of the child can touch it unhurt.

KING.

And suppose another person touches it?

FIRST ATTENDANT.

Then it instantly becomes a serpent, and bites him.

KING.

Have you ever witnessed the transformation with your own eyes?

BOTH ATTENDANTS.

Over and over again.

KING. [_With rapture. Aside_.

Joy! joy! Are then my dearest hopes to be fulfilled?

[_Embraces the CHILD_.

SECOND ATTENDANT.

Come, my dear Suvrata, we must inform [S']akoontala immediately of

this wonderful event, though we have to interrupt her in the

performance of her religious vows.

[_Exeunt_.

CHILD. [_To the_ KING.

Don't hold me. I want to go to my mother.

KING.

We will go to her together, and give her joy, my son.

CHILD.

Dushyanta is my father, not you.

KING. [_Smiling_.

His contradiction only convinces me the more.

_Enter_ [S']AKOONTALA, _in widow's apparel, with her long hair

twisted into a single braid_.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

I have just heard that Sarva-damana's amulet has retained its

form, though a stranger raised it from the ground. I can hardly

believe in my good fortune. Yet why should not Sanumati's

prediction be verified?

KING.

Alas! can this indeed be my [S']akoontala?

Clad in the weeds of widowhood, her face

Emaciate with fasting, her long hair

Twined in a single braid[121], her whole demeanour

Expressive of her purity of soul;

With patient constancy she thus prolongs

The vow to which my cruelty condemned her.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Gazing at the_ KING, _who is pale with remorse_.

Surely this is not like my husband; yet who can it be that dares

pollute by the pressure of his hand my child, whose amulet should

protect him from a stranger's touch?

CHILD. [_Going to his mother_.

Mother, who is this man that has been kissing me and calling me

his son?

KING.

My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but am

now once more thy fond and affectionate lover. Refuse not to

acknowledge me as thy husband.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

Be of good cheer, my heart. The anger of Destiny is at last

appeased. Heaven regards thee with compassion. But is he in very

truth my husband?

KING.

Behold me, best and loveliest of women,

Delivered from the cloud of fatal darkness

That erst oppressed my memory. Again

Behold us brought together by the grace

Of the great lord of Heaven. So the moon

Shines forth from dim eclipse [122], to blend his rays

With the soft lustre of his Rohini.

[S']AKOONTALA.

May my husband be victorious--

[_She stops short, her voice choked with tears_.

KING.

O fair one, though the utterance of thy prayer

Be lost amid the torrent of thy tears,

Yet does the sight of thy fair countenance

And of thy pallid lips, all unadorned[123]

And colourless in sorrow for my absence,

Make me already more than conqueror.

CHILD.

Mother, who is this man?

[S']AKOONTALA.

My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny.

KING. [_Falling at_ [S']AKOONTALA's _feet_.

Fairest of women, banish from thy mind

The memory of my cruelty; reproach

The fell delusion that o'erpowered my soul,

And blame not me, thy husband; 'tis the curse

Of him in whom the power of darkness[124] reigns,

That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves

For deadly evils. Even though a friend

Should wreathe a garland on a blind man's brow,

Will he not cast it from him as a serpent?

[S']AKOONTALA.

Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own evil

deeds, committed in a former state of being[37], brought down

this judgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever of

a compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly?

[_The_ KING _rises_.]

But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine

unfortunate wife return to thy mind?

KING.

As soon as my heart's anguish is removed, and its wounds are

healed, I will tell thee all.

Oh! let me, fair one, chase away the drop

That still bedews the fringes of thine eye;

And let me thus efface the memory

Of every tear that stained thy velvet cheek,

Unnoticed and unheeded by thy lord,

When in his madness he rejected thee.

[_Wipes away the tear_.

[S']AKOONTALA.

[_Seeing the signet-ring on his finger_.

Ah! my dear husband, is that the Lost Ring?

KING.

Yes; the moment I recovered it my memory was restored.

[S']AKOONTALA.

The ring was to blame in allowing itself to be lost at the very

time when I was anxious to convince my noble husband of the

reality of my marriage.

KING.

Receive it back, as the beautiful twining-plant receives again

its blossom in token of its reunion with the spring.

[S']AKOONTALA.

Nay; I can never more place confidence in it. Let my husband

retain it.

[_Enter_ MATALI.

MATALI.

I congratulate your Majesty. Happy are you in your reunion with

your wife; happy are you in beholding the face of your own son.

KING.

Yes, indeed. My heart's dearest wish has borne sweet fruit. But

tell me, Matali, is this joyful event known to the great Indra?

MATALI. [_Smiling_.

What is unknown to the gods? But come with me, noble Prince, the

divine Ka[s']yapa graciously permits thee to be presented to him.

KING.

[S']akoontala, take our child and lead the way. We will together go

into the presence of the holy Sage.

[S']AKOONTALA.

I shrink from entering the august presence of the great Saint,

even with my husband at my side.

KING.

Nay; on such a joyous occasion it is highly proper. Come, come; I

entreat thee.

[_All advance_.

KA[S']YAPA _is discovered seated on a throne with his wife_ ADITI.

KA[S']YAPA.

[_Gazing at_ DUSHYANTA. _To his wife_.

O Aditi,

This is the mighty hero, King Dushyanta,

Protector of the earth; who, at the head

Of the celestial armies of thy son,

Does battle with the enemies of heaven.

Thanks to his bow, the thunderbolt of Indra

Rests from its work, no more the minister

Of death and desolation to the world,

But a mere symbol of divinity.

ADITI.

He bears in his noble form all the marks of dignity.

MATALI. [_To_ DUSHYANTA

Sire, the venerable progenitors of the celestials are gazing at

your Majesty with as much affection as if you were their son. You

may advance towards them.

KING.

Are these, O Matali, the holy pair,

Offspring of Daksha and divine Marichi,

Children of Brahma's sons[125], by sages deemed

Sole fountain of celestial light, diffused

Through twelve effulgent orbs [114]? Are these the pair

From whom the ruler of the triple world [126],

Sovereign of gods and lord of sacrifice,

Sprang into being? That immortal pair

Whom Vishnu, greater than the Self-existent [127],

Chose for his parents, when, to save mankind,

He took upon himself the shape of mortals?

MATALI.

Even so.

KING. [_Prostrating himself_.

Most august of beings! Dushyanta, content to have fulfilled the

commands of your son Indra, offers you his adoration.

KA[S']YAPA.

My son, long may'st thou live, and happily may'st thou reign over

the earth!

ADITI.

My son, may'st thou ever be invincible in the field of battle!

[S']AKOONTALA.

I also prostrate myself before you, most adorable Beings, and my

child with me.

KA[S']YAPA.

My daughter,

Thy lord resembles Indra, and thy child

Is noble as Jayanta, Indra's son;

I have no worthier blessing left for thee,

May'st thou be faithful as the god's own wife!

ADITI.

My daughter, may'st thou be always the object of thy husband's

fondest love; and may thy son live long to be the joy of both his

parents! Be seated.

[_All sit down in the presence of KA[S']YAPA_.

KA[S']YAPA. [_Regarding each of them by turns_.

Hail to the beautiful [S']akoontala,

Hail to her noble son, and hail to thee,

Illustrious Prince--rare triple combination

Of virtue, wealth, and energy united!

KING.

Most venerable Ka[s']yapa, by your favour all my desires were

accomplished even before I was admitted to your presence. Never

was mortal so honoured that his boon should be granted ere it was

solicited. Because--

Bloom before fruit, the clouds before the rain,

Cause first and then effect, in endless sequence,

Is the unchanging law of constant nature;

But, ere the blessing issued from thy lips,

The wishes of my heart were all fulfilled.

MATALI.

It is thus that the great progenitors of the world confer

favours.

KING.

Most reverend Sage, this thy handmaid was married to me by the

Gandharva ceremony[55], and after a time was conducted to my

palace by her relations. Meanwhile a fatal delusion seized me; I

lost my memory and rejected her, thus committing a grievous

offence against the venerable Kanwa, who is of thy divine race.

Afterwards the sight of this ring restored my faculties, and

brought back to my mind all the circumstances of my union with

his daughter. But my conduct still seems to me incomprehensible;

As foolish as the fancies of a man

Who, when he sees an elephant, denies

That 'tis an elephant; then afterwards,

When its huge bulk moves onward, hesitates;

Yet will not be convinced till it has passed

For ever from his sight, and left behind

No vestige of its presence save its footsteps.

KA[S']YAPA.

My son, cease to think thyself in fault. Even the delusion that

possessed thy mind was not brought about by any act of thine.

Listen to me.

KING.

I am attentive.

KA[S']YAPA.

Know that when the nymph Menaka, the mother of [S']akoontala,

became aware of her daughter's anguish in consequence of the loss

of the ring at the nymph's pool, and of thy subsequent rejection

of her, she brought her and confided her to the care of Aditi.

And I no sooner saw her than I ascertained by my divine faculty

of meditation[134], that thy repudiation of thy poor faithful

wife had been caused entirely by the curse of Durvasas--not by

thine own fault--and that the spell would terminate on the

discovery of the ring.

KING. [_Drawing a deep breath_.

Oh! what a weight is taken off my mind, now that my character is

cleared of reproach.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

Joy! joy! My revered husband did not, then, reject me without

good reason, though I have no recollection of the curse

pronounced upon me. But, in all probability, I unconsciously

brought it upon myself, when I was so distracted on being

separated from my husband soon after our marriage. For I now

remember that my two friends advised me not to fail to show the

ring in case he should have forgotten me.

KA[S']YAPA.

At last, my daughter, thou art happy, and hast gained thy heart's

desire. Indulge, then, no feeling of resentment against thy

consort. See, now,

Though he repulsed thee, 'twas the sage's curse

That clouded his remembrance; 'twas the curse

That made thy tender husband harsh towards thee.

Soon as the spell was broken, and his soul

Delivered from its darkness, in a moment,

Thou didst regain thine empire o'er his heart.

So on the tarnished surface of a mirror

No image is reflected, till the dust,

That dimmed its wonted lustre, is removed.

KING.

Holy father, see here the hope of my royal race.

[_Takes his child by the hand_.

KA[S']YAPA.

Know that he, too, will become the monarch of the

wholes earth. Observe,

Soon, a resistless hero, shall he cross

The trackless ocean, borne above the waves

In an aerial car; and shall subdue

The earth's seven sea-girt isles[128]. Now has he gained,

As the brave tamer of the forest-beasts,

The title Sarva-damana; but then

Mankind shall hail him as King Bharata[129],

And call him the supporter of the world.

KING.

We cannot but entertain the highest hopes of a child for whom

your Highness performed the natal rites.

ADITI.

My revered husband, should not the intelligence be conveyed to

Kanwa, that his daughter's wishes are fulfilled, and her

happiness complete? He is [S']akoontala's foster-father. Menaka,

who is one of my attendants, is her mother, and dearly does she

love her daughter.

[S']AKOONTALA. [_Aside_.

The venerable matron has given utterance to the very wish that

was in my mind.

KA[S']YAPA.

His penances have gained for him the faculty of omniscience, and

the whole scene is already present to his mind's eye.

KING.

Then most assuredly he cannot be very angry with me.

KA[S']YAPA.

Nevertheless, it becomes us to send him intelligence of this

happy event, and hear his reply. What ho there!

PUPIL. [_Entering_.

Holy father, what are your commands?

KA[S']YAPA.

My good Galava, delay not an instant, but hasten through the air

and convey to the venerable Kanwa, from me, the happy news that

the fatal spell has ceased, that Dushyanta's memory is restored,

that his daughter [S']akoontala has a son, and that she is once

more tenderly acknowledged by her husband.

PUPIL.

Your Highness' commands shall be obeyed.

[_Exit_.

KA[S']YAPA.

And now, my dear son, take thy consort and thy child, re-ascend

the car of Indra, and return to thy imperial capital.

KING.

Most holy father, I obey.

KA[S']YAPA.

And accept this blessing--

For countless ages may the god of gods,

Lord of the atmosphere, by copious showers

Secure abundant harvests to thy subjects;

And thou by frequent offerings preserve

The Thunderer's friendship. Thus, by interchange

Of kindly actions may you both confer

Unnumbered benefits on earth and heaven.

KING.

Holy father, I will strive, as far as I am able, to attain this

happiness.

KA[S']YAPA.

What other favour can I bestow on thee, my son?

KING.

What other can I desire? If, however, you permit me to form

another wish, I would humbly beg that the saying of the sage

Bharata[130] be fulfilled:

May kings reign only for their subjects' weal;

May the divine Saraswati[131], the source

Of speech, and goddess of dramatic art,

Be ever honoured by the great and wise;

And may the purple self-existent god[132],

Whose vital Energy[133] pervades all space,

From future transmigrations save my soul.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

NOTES:

1. _I[S']a preserve you_.

That is, 'the Lord,' a name given to the god Siva, when regarded as

supreme. As presiding over dissolution he is associated with Brahma

the Creator, and Vishnu the Preserver; constituting with them the

Hindu Triad. Kalidasa indulges the religious predilections of his

fellow-townsmen by beginning and ending the play with a prayer to

[S']iva, who had a large temple in Ujjayini, the modern Oujein, the city

of Vikramaditya, situated north-eastward from Gujarat.

2. _In these eight forms_.

The worshippers of Siva, who were Pantheists in the sense of

believing that [S']iva was himself all that exists, as well as the

cause of all that is, held that there were eight different

manifestations of their god, called Rudras; and that these had

their types in the eight visible forms enumerated here. The

Hindus reckon five elements. The most subtle is Ether (_akasa_),

supposed to convey sound, which is its peculiar attribute or

property (_guna_). The next element--Air, has for its properties

sound and feeling. The third--Fire, has sound, feeling, and

colour. The fourth--Water, has sound, feeling, colour, and taste.

The fifth--Earth, has all the other properties, with the addition

of smell.

3. _An audience of educated and discerning men_.

Lit. 'An audience, who are chiefly men of education and discernment.'

Few could have been present at these dramatic representations excepting

learned and educated men. The mass of the composition being in Sanskrit,

would not have been intelligible to the vulgar and illiterate.

4. _[S']akoontala; or, The Lost Ring_.

The literal title is '[S']akoontala recognized by the token or

ring.'

5. _The present Summer season_.

Hindu poets divide the year into six seasons of two months each,

viz. I. Spring (Vasanta), beginning about the middle of March;

or, according to some, February. 2. Summer (Grishma). 3. Rains

(Varsha). 4. Autumn (Sarad). 5. Winter (Hemanta). 6. Dews

(Sisira). Practically, however, there are only three seasons in

India, 1. The hot season. 2. The rains. 3. The cold weather. In

Lower Bengal and Behar, the first of these seasons begins in

March, the second in June, and the third in November. The

temperature of the cold season is highly exhilarating, and the

climate is then superior to that of any portion of the English

year. In Calcutta, this season continues for about three months;

in Upper India, for about five; and in the Panjab for about

seven. The rains in Bengal Proper are more violent and protracted

than in Hindustan and the Panjab. In the latter country they last

for hardly more than two months, and even then only fall at

intervals. Plays were acted on solemn and festive occasions, on

lunar holidays, and especially at the changes of the season.

6. _Of fragrant Patalas_.

The Patala or trumpet-flower; _Bignonia suaveolens_.

7. _With sweet [S']irisha flowers_.

The flowers of the _Acacia Sirisha_ were used by the Hindu women

as ear-ornaments.

8. _King Dushyanta_.

For the genealogy of King Dushyanta see Introduction, page

xxxviii.

9. _That wields the trident_.

[S']iva is called Pinakin, that is, 'armed with a trident,' or

according to some, a bow named Pinaka. Siva not being invited to

Daksha's sacrifice, was so indignant, that, with his wife, he

suddenly presented himself, confounded the sacrifice, dispersed

the gods, and chasing Yajna, 'the lord of sacrifice,' who fled in

the form of a deer, overtook and decapitated him.

10. _Their waving plumes, that late

Fluttered above their brows, are motionless._

The Chamari, or chowrie, formed of the white bushy tail of the

Yak, or _Bos grunniens_, was placed as an ornament between the

ears of horses, like the plume of the war-horse of chivalry. The

velocity of the chariot caused it to lose its play, and appear

fixed in one direction, like a flag borne rapidly against the

wind.

11. _The steeds of Indra and the Sun._

That is, the speed of the chariot resembled that of the Wind and

the Sun. Indra was the god of the firmament or atmosphere--the

Jupiter Tonans of Hindu mythology--and presided over the

forty-nine Winds. He has a heaven of his own (Swarga), of which

he is the lord, and, although inferior to the three great deities

of the Hindu Triad (Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva), he is chief of the

secondary gods. The Hindus represent the Sun as seated in a

chariot, drawn by seven green horses, having before him a lovely

youth without legs, who acts as his charioteer, and who is Aruna,

or the Dawn personified.

12. _Puru's race_.

See Dushyanta's pedigree detailed at page xxxviii of the

Introduction.

13. _The great sage Kanwa_.

The sage Kanwa was a descendant of Kasyapa, whom the Hindus

consider to have been the father of the inferior gods, demons,

man, fish, reptiles, and all animals, by his twelve wives. Kanwa

was the chief of a number of devotees, or hermits, who had

constructed a hermitage on the banks of the river Malini, and

surrounded it with gardens and groves, where penitential rites

were performed, and animals were reared for sacrificial purposes,

or for the amusement of the inmates. There is nothing new in

asceticism. The craving after self-righteousness, and the desire

of acquiring merit by self-mortification, is an innate principle

of the human heart, and ineradicable even by Christianity.

Witness the monastic institutions of the Romish Church, of which

Indian penance-groves were the type. The Superior of a modern

Convent is but the antitype of Kanwa; and what is Romanism but

humanity developing itself in some of its most inveterate

propensities?

14. _He has gone to Soma tirtha_.

A place of pilgrimage in the west of India, on the coast of

Gujarat, near the temple of Somanath, or Somnat, made notorious

by its gates, which were brought back from Ghazni by Lord

Ellenborough's orders in 1842, and are now to be seen in the

arsenal at Agra. These places of pilgrimage were generally fixed

on the bank of some sacred stream, or in the vicinity of some

holy spring. The word _tirtha_ is derived from a Sanskrit root,

_tri_, 'to cross,' implying that the river has to be passed

through, either for the washing away of sin, or extrication from

some adverse destiny. Thousands of devotees still flock to the

most celebrated Tirthas on the Ganges, at Benares, Haridwar, etc.

15. _Ingudi_.

A tree, commonly called Ingua, or Jiyaputa, from the fruit of

which oil was extracted, which the devotees used for their lamps

and for ointment. One synonym for this tree is _tapasa-taru_,

'the anchorite's tree.'

16. _Bark-woven vests_.

Dresses made of bark, worn by ascetics, were washed in water, and

then suspended to dry on the branches of trees.

17. _By deep canals_.

It was customary to dig trenches round the roots of trees, to

collect the rain-water.

18. _My throbbing arm_.

A quivering sensation in the right arm was supposed by the Hindus

to prognosticate union with a beautiful woman. Throbbings of the

arm or eyelid, if felt on the right side, were omens of good

fortune in men; if on the left, bad omens. The reverse was true

of women. 19. _The hard acacia's stem_.

The Sami tree, a kind of acacia (_Acacia Suma_), the wood of

which is very hard, and supposed by the Hindus to contain fire.

20. _The lotus_.

This beautiful plant, the varieties of which, white, blue, and

red, are numerous, bears some resemblance to our water-lily. It

is as favourite a subject of allusion and comparison with Hindu

poets as the rose is with Persian.

21. _With the Saivala entwined_.

The [S']aivala (_Vallisneria_) is an aquatic plant, which spreads

itself over ponds, and interweaves itself with the lotus. The

interlacing of its stalks is compared in poetry to braided hair.

22. _Yon Ke[s']ara tree_.

The Ke[s']ara tree (_Mimusops elengi_) is the same as the Bakula,

frequent mention of which is made is some of the Puranas. It

bears a strong-smelling flower, which, according to Sir W. Jones,

is ranked among the flowers of the Hindu paradise. The tree Is

very ornamental in pleasure-grounds.

23. _Would that my union with her were permissible_.

A Brahman might marry a woman of the military or kingly class

next below him, and the female offspring of such a marriage would

belong to a mixed caste, and might be lawfully solicited in

marriage by a man of the military class. But if [S']akoontala were

a pure Brahmani woman, both on the mother's and father's side,

she would be ineligible as the wife of a Kshatriya king.

Dushyanta discovers afterwards that she was, in fact, the

daughter of the great Vi[s']wamitra (see note 27), who was of the

same caste as himself, though her mother was the nymph Menaka.

24. _I trust all is well with your devotional rites_.

This was the regular formula of salutation addressed to persons

engaged in religions exercises.

25. _This water that we have brought with us will serve to bathe

our guest's feet_.

Water for the feet is one of the first things invariably provided

for a guest in all Eastern countries. Compare Genesis xxiv. 32;

Luke vii. 44. If the guest were a Brahman, or a man of rank, a

respectful offering (_argha_) of rice, fruit, and flowers was

next presented. In fact, the rites of hospitality in India were

enforced by very stringent regulations. The observance of them

ranked as one of the five great sacred rites, and no punishment

was thought too severe for one who violated them. If a guest

departed unhonoured from a house, his sins were to be transferred

to the householder, and all the merits of the householder were to

be transferred to him.

26. _Sapta-parna tree_.

A tree having seven leaves on a stalk (_Echites scholaris_).

27. _Vis']wamitra, whose family name is Kausika_.

In the Ramayana, the great sage Vi[s']wamitra (both king and saint),

who raised himself by his austerities from the regal to the

Brahmanical caste, is said to be the son of Gadhi, King of Kanuj,

grandson of Kusanatha, and great-grandson of Kusika or Kusa. On

his accession to the throne, in the room of his father Gadhi, in

the course of a tour through his dominions, he visited the

hermitage of the sage Vasishtha, where the Cow of Plenty, a cow

granting all desires, excited his cupidity. He offered the sage

untold treasures for the cow; but being refused, prepared to take

it by force. A long war ensued between the king and the sage

(symbolical of the struggles between the military and Brahmanical

classes), which ended in the defeat of Vi[s']wamitra, whose vexation

was such, that he devoted himself to austerities, in the hope of

attaining the condition of a Brahman. The Ramayana recounts how,

by gradually increasing the rigour of his penance through

thousands of years, he successively earned the title of Royal

Sage, Sage, Great Sage, and Brahman Sage. It was not till he had

gained this last title that Vasishtha consented to acknowledge

his equality with himself, and ratify his admission into the

Brahmanical state. It was at the time of Vi[s']wamitra's advancement

to the rank of a Sage, and whilst he was still a Kshatriya, that

Indra, jealous of his increasing power, sent the nymph Menaka to

seduce him from his life of mortification and continence. The Ramayana

records his surrender to this temptation, and relates that the nymph

was his companion in the hermitage for ten years, but does not allude

to the birth of [S']akoontala during that period.

28. _The inferior gods, I am aware, are jealous_.

According to the Hindu system, Indra and the other inferior

deities were not the possessors of Swarga, or heaven, by

indefeasible right. They accordingly viewed with jealousy, and

even alarm, any extraordinary persistency by a human being in

acts of penance, as it raised him to a level with themselves;

and, if carried beyond a certain point, enabled him to dispossess

them of Paradise. Indra was therefore the enemy of excessive

self-mortification, and had in his service numerous nymphs who

were called his 'weapons,' and whose business it was to impede by

their seductions the devotion of holy men.

29. _Gautami_.

The name of the matron or Superior of the female part of the

society of hermits. Every association of religious devotees seems

to have included a certain number of women, presided over by an

elderly and venerable matron, whose authority resembled that of

an abbess in a convent of nuns.

30. _Ku[s']a-grass_.

This grass was held sacred by the Hindus, and was abundantly

used in all their religions ceremonies. Its leaves are very long,

and taper to a sharp needle-like point, of which the extreme

acuteness was proverbial; whence the epithet applied to a clever

man, 'sharp as the point of Ku[s']a-grass.' Its botanical name is

_Poa cynosuroides_.

31. _Kuruvaka._

A species of Jhinti or Barleria, with purple flowers, and covered

with sharp prickles.

32. _The Jester_.

See an account of this character in the Introduction, p. xxxiv.

33. _We have nothing to eat but roast game_.

Indian game is often very dry and flavourless.

34. _Attended by the Yavana women_.

Who these women were has not been accurately ascertained. Yavana

is properly Arabia, but is also a name applied to Greece. The

Yavana women were therefore either natives of Arabia, or Greece,

and their business was to attend upon the king, and take charge

of his weapons, especially his bow and arrows. Professor H. H.

Wilson, in his translation of the Vikramorva[s']i, where the same

word occurs (Act V. p. 261), remarks that Tartarian or Bactrian

women may be intended.

35. _In the disc of crystal_.

That is, the sun-gem (_Surya-kanta_, 'beloved by the sun'), a

shining stone resembling crystal. Professor Wilson calls it a

fabulous stone with fabulous properties, and mentions another

stone, the moon-gem (_chandra-kanta_). It may be gathered from

this passage that the sun-stone was a kind of glass lens, and

that the Hindus were not ignorant of the properties of this

instrument at the time when '[S']akoontala' was written.

36. _Some fallen blossoms of the jasmine_.

The jasmine here intended was a kind of double jasmine with a

very delicious perfume, sometimes called 'Arabian jasmine'

(_Jasminum zambac_). It was a delicate plant, and, as a creeper,

would depend on some other tree for support. The Arka, or

sun-tree (Gigantic Asclepias: _Calotropis gigantea_), on the

other hand, was a large and vigorous shrub. Hence the former is

compared to [S']akoontala, the latter to the sage Kanwa.

37.

_The mellowed fruit

Of virtuous actions in some former birth_.

The doctrine of the transmigration of the soul from one body to

another is an essential dogma of the Hindu religion, and

connected with it is the belief in the power which every human

being possesses of laying up for himself a store of merit by good

deeds performed in the present and former births. Indeed the

condition of every person is supposed to derive its character of

happiness or misery, elevation or degradation, from the virtues

or vices of previous states of being. The consequences of actions

in a former birth are called _vipaka_; they may be either good

or bad, but are rarely unmixed with evil taint.

In the present comparison, however, they are described as pure

and unalloyed. With reference to the first four lines of this

stanza, compare Catullus, Carmen Nuptiale, verse 39.

'Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis,

Ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro,

Quem mulcent aurae, firmat sol, educat imber:

Multi illuum pueri, multae optavere puellae:

Idem quum tenui carptus defloruit ungui,

Nulli illum pueri, nallae optavere puellae:

Sic virgo, dum intacta manet,' etc.

38. _The sixth part of their grain_.

According to Manu, a king might take a sixth part of liquids,

flowers, roots, fruit, grass, etc.; but, even though dying with

want, he was not to receive any tax from a Brahman learned in the

Vedas.

39. _A title only one degree removed from that of a Sage_.

Dushyanta was a Rajarshi; that is, a man of the military class

who had attained the rank of Royal Sage or Saint by the practice

of religious austerities. The title of Royal or Imperial Sage was

only one degree inferior to that of Sage. Compare note 27.

40. _Chanted by inspired bards_.

Or celestial minstrels, called Gandharvas. These beings were the

musicians of Indra's heaven, and their business was to amuse the

inhabitants of Swarga by singing the praises of gods, saints, or

heroes. Compare note 11.

41. _In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell_.

Indra and the other inferior gods (compare note 11) were for ever

engaged in hostilities with their half-brothers, the demons

called Daityas, who were the giants or Titans of Hindu mythology.

On such occasions the gods seem to have depended very much upon

the assistance they received from mortal heroes.

42. _Evil demons are disturbing our sacrificial rites_.

The religious rites and sacrifices of holy men were often

disturbed by certain evil spirits or goblins called Rakshasas,

who were the determined enemies of piety and devotion. No great

sacrifice or religious ceremony was ever carried on without an

attempt on the part of these demons to impede its celebration;

and the most renowned saints found it necessary on such occasions

to acknowledge their dependence on the strong arm of the military

class, by seeking the aid of warriors and heroes. The inability

of holy men, who had attained the utmost limit of spiritual

power, to cope with the spirits of evil, and the superiority of

physical force in this respect, is very remarkable.

43. _Vishnu_.

Vishnu, the Preserver, was one of the three gods of the Hindu

Triad. He became incarnate in various forms for the good of

mortals, and is the great enemy of the demons.

14 _Like king Tri[s']anku_.

The story of this monarch is told in the Ramayana. He is there

described as a just and pious prince of the solar race, who

aspired to celebrate a great sacrifice, hoping thereby to ascend

to heaven in his mortal body. After various failures he had

recourse to Vi[s']wamitra, who undertook to conduct the sacrifice,

and invited all the gods to be present. They, however, refused to

attend; upon which the enraged Vi[s']wamitra, by his own power,

transported Tri[s']anku to the skies, whither he had no sooner

arrived than he was hurled down again by Indra and the gods; but

being arrested in his downward course by the sage, he remained

suspended between heaven and earth, forming a constellation in

the southern hemisphere.

45. _Ointment of Usira-root_.

The root of a fragrant grass (_Andropogon muricatum_), from

which a cooling ointment was made.

46. _The very breath of his nostrils_.

Compare Lam. iv. 20. 'The breath of our nostrils, the anointed of

the Lord, was taken.'

47. _God of the flowery shafts_.

The Hindu Cupid, or god of love (Kama), is armed with a bow made

of sugar-cane, the string of which consists of bees. He has five

arrows, each tipped with the blossom of a flower, which pierce

the heart through the five senses; and his favourite arrow is

pointed with the _chita_, or mango-flower.

48. _E'en now in thy unbodied essence lurks The fire of [S']iva's

anger_.

The story is thus told in the Ramayana. Kama (Cupid) once

approached [S']iva that he might influence him with love for his

wife, Parvati. [S']iva happened then to be practising austerities,

and intent on a vow of chastity. He therefore cursed the god of

love in a terrible voice, and at the same time a flash from his

eye caused the god's body to shrivel into ashes. Thus Kama was

made incorporeal, and from that time was called 'the bodiless

one.'

49.

_Like the flame,

That ever hidden in the secret depths

Of ocean, smoulders there unseen_.

This submarine fire was called Aurva,

from the following fable. The Rishi Aurva, who had gained great

power by his austerities, was pressed by the gods and others to

perpetuate his race. He consented, but warned them that his

offspring would consume the world. Accordingly, he created from

his thigh a devouring fire, which, as soon as it was produced,

demanded nourishment, and would have destroyed the whole earth,

had not Brahma appeared and assigned the ocean as its habitation,

and the waves as its food. The spot where it entered the sea was

called 'the mare's mouth.' Doubtless the story was invented to

suit the phenomenon of some marine volcano, which may have

exhaled through the water bituminous inflammable gas, and which,

perhaps in the form of a horse's mouth, was at times visible

above the sea.

50 _Who on his 'scutcheon bears the monster-fish_.

The Hindu Cupid is said to have subdued a marine monster, which

was, therefore, painted on his banner.

51 _The graceful undulation of her gait_.

_Hansa-gamini_, 'walking like a swan,' was an epithet for a

graceful woman. The Indian lawgiver, Manu, recommends that a

Brahman should choose for his wife a young maiden, whose gait was

like that of a phoenicopter, or flamingo, or even like that of a

young elephant. The idea in the original is, that the weight of

her hips had caused the peculiar appearance observable in the

print of her feet. Largeness of the hips was considered a great

beauty in Hindu women, and would give an undulatory motion to

their walk. 52 _The Madhavi_.

A large and beautiful creeper (_Gaertnera racemosa_), bearing

white, fragrant flowers, to which constant allusion is made in

Sanskrit plays.

53 _Pines to be united with the Moon_.

A complete revolution of the moon, with respect to the stars, being

made in twenty-seven days, odd hours, the Hindus divide the heavens

into twenty-seven constellations (asterisms) or lunar stations, one

of which receives the moon for one day in each of his monthly journeys.

As the Moon, Chandra, is considered to be a masculine deity, the Hindus

fable these twenty-seven constellations as his wives, and personify

them as the daughters of Daksha. Of these twenty-seven wives, twelve

of whom give names to the twelve months, Chandra is supposed to show

the greatest affection for the fourth, Rohini; but each of the others,

and amongst them Vi[s']akha, is represented as jealous of this

partiality, and eager to secure the Moon's favour for herself,

Dushyanta probably means to compare himself to the Moon (he being of

the Lunar race) and [S']akoontala to Vi[s']akha.

54. _Checks its fall_.

Owing to emaciation and disuse of the bow, the callosities on the

forearm, usually caused by the bow-string, were not sufficiently

prominent to prevent the bracelet from slipping down from the

wrist to the elbow, when the arm was raised to support the head.

This is a favourite idea with Kalidasa to express the attenuation

caused by love.

55. _No nuptial rites prevail_.

A marriage without the usual ceremonies is called Gandharva. It

was supposed to be the form of marriage prevalent among the

nymphs of India's heaven. In the 3rd Book of Manu (v. 22), it is

included among the various marriage rites, and is said to be a

union proceeding entirely from love, or mutual inclination, and

concluded without any religious services, and without consulting

relatives. It was recognized as a legal marriage by Manu and

other lawgivers, though it is difficult to say in what respect it

differed from unlawful cohabitation.

56. _The loving birds doomed by fate to nightly separation_.

That is, the male and female of the Chakravaka, commonly called Chakwa

and Chakwi, or Brahmani duck (_Anas casarca_). These birds associate

together during the day, and are, like turtle-doves, patterns of

connubial affection; but the legend is, that they are doomed to pass

the night apart, in consequence of a curse pronounced upon them by a

saint whom they had offended. As soon as night commences, they take

up their station on the opposite banks of a river, and call to each

other in piteous cries. The Bengalis consider their flesh to be a good

medicine for fever.

57. _The great sage Durvasas_.

A Saint or Muni, represented by the Hindu poets as excessively

choleric and inexorably severe. The Puranas and other poems

contain frequent accounts of the terrible effects of his

imprecations on various occasions, the slightest offence being in

his eyes deserving of the most fearful punishment. On one

occasion he cursed Indra, merely because his elephant let fall a

garland he had given to this god; and in consequence of this

imprecation all plants withered, men ceased to sacrifice, and the

gods were overcome in their wars with the demons.

58. _Propitiatory offering_.

Compare note 25.

59. _His blushing charioteer_.

Compare note 11.

60. _Night-loving lotus_.

Some species of the lotus, especially the white esculent kind,

open their petals during the night, and close them during the

day, whence the moon is often called the 'lover, or lord of the

lotuses.'

61. _The very centre of the sacred fire_.

Fire was an important object of veneration with the Hindus, as

with the ancient Persians. Perhaps the chief worship recognized

in the Vedas is that of Fire and the Sun. The holy fire was

deposited in a hallowed part of the house, or in a sacred

building, and kept perpetually burning. Every morning and

evening, oblations were offered to it by dropping clarified

butter and other substances into the flame, accompanied with

prayers and invocations.

62. _As in the sacred tree the mystic fire_.

Literally, 'as the [S']ami-tree is pregnant with fire.' The legend

is, that the goddess Parvati, being one day under the influence

of love, reposed on a trunk of this tree, whereby a sympathetic

warmth was generated in the pith or interior of the wood, which

ever after broke into a sacred flame on the slightest attrition.

63 _Hastinapur_.

The ancient Delhi, situated on the Ganges, and the capital of

Dushyanta. Its site is about fifty miles from the modern Delhi,

which is on the Jumna,

64 _E'en as Yayati [S']armishtha adored_,

[S']armishtha was the daughter of Vrishaparvan, king of the

demons, and wife of Yayati, son of Nahusha, one of the princes of

the Lunar dynasty, and ancestor of Dushyanta. Puru was the son of

Yayati, by [S']armishtha.

65 _And for whose encircling bed, Sacred Kusa-grass is spread_.

At a sacrifice, sacred fires were lighted at the four cardinal

points, and Ku[s']a-grass was scattered around each fire, 66

_Koil_,

The Koil, or Kokil, is the Indian cuckoo. It is sometimes called

Para-bhrita ('nourished by another'). because the female is known

to leave her eggs in the nest of the crow to be hatched. The bird

is as great a favourite with Indian poets as the nightingale with

European. One of its names is 'Messenger of Spring.' Its note is

a constant subject of allusion, and is described as beautifully

sweet, and, if heard on a journey, indicative of good fortune.

Everything, however, is beautiful by comparison. The song of the

Koil is not only very dissimilar, but very inferior to that of

the nightingale,

67 _The peacock on the lawn Ceases its dance_,

The Indian peacock is very restless, especially at the approach

of rain, in which it is thought to take delight. Its circular

movements are a frequent subject of allusion with Hindu poets,

and are often by them compared to dancing.

68. _The moonlight of the grove_.

The name of [S']akoontala's favourite jasmine, spoken of in the 1st

Act. See page 15 of this volume.

69. _Fig-tree_.

Not the Banyan-tree (_Ficus Indica_), nor the Pippala (_Ficus

religiosa_), but the Glomerous Fig-tree (_Ficus glomerata_),

which yields a resinous milky juice from its bark, and is large

enough to afford abundant shade.

70. _The poor female Chakravaka_.

Compare note 56.

71. _Like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home

in the western mountains_.

The sandal is a kind of large myrtle with pointed leaves (_Sirium

myrtifolium_). The wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes,

unguents, etc., and is celebrated for its delicious scent. It is

chiefly found on the slopes of the Malaya mountain or Western

Ghauts on the Malabar coast. The roots of the tree are said to be

infested with snakes. Indeed it seems to pay dearly for the

fragrance of its wood: 'The root is infested by serpents, the

blossoms by bees, the branches by monkeys, the summit by bears.

In short there is not a part of the sandal-tree that is not

occupied by the vilest impurities.' Hitopade[s']a, verse 162.

72. _The calm seclusion of thy former home_.

'When the father of a family perceives his own wrinkles and grey

hair, committing the care of his wife to his sons, or accompanied

by her, let him repair to the woods and become a hermit.'--Manu,

vi. 2. It was usual for kings, at a certain time of life, to

abdicate the throne in favour of the heir-apparent, and pass the

remainder of their days in seclusion.

73. _A frequent offering to our household gods_.

This was an offering (_bali_) in honour of those spiritual

beings called 'household deities,' which were supposed to hover

round and protect houses. It was made by throwing up into the air

in some part of the house (generally at the door) the remains of

the morning and evening meal of rice or grain, uttering at the

same time a _mantra_, or prayer.

74. _In other states of being_.

Dim recollections of occurrences in former states of existence

are supposed occasionally to cross the mind. Compare note 37.

75. _The Chamberlain_.

The attendant on the women's apartment. He is generally a

Brahman, and usually appears in the plays as a tottering and

decrepit old man, leaning on his staff of office. 76. _The king

of serpents on his thousand heads_.

A mythological serpent, the personification of eternity, and king

of the Nagas, or snakes, who inhabit Patala, the lowermost of the

seven regions below the earth. His body formed the couch of

Vishnu, reposing on the waters of Chaos, whilst his thousand

heads were the god's canopy. He is also said to uphold the world

on one of his heads.

77. _The chamber of the consecrated fire_.

Compare note 61.

78. _Two heralds_.

These heralds were introduced into Hindu plays something in the

same manner as a Chorus; and, although their especial duty was to

announce, in measured verse, the periods of the day, and

particularly the fixed divisions into which the king's day was

divided, yet the strain which they poured forth frequently

contained allusions to incidental circumstances. The royal office

was no sinecure. From the Da[s']a-kumara, it appears that the day

and night were each divided into eight portions of one hour and a

half, reckoned from sunrise; and were thus distributed: Day--l.

The king, being dressed, is to audit accounts; 2. He is to

pronounce judgment in appeals; 3. He is to breakfast; 4. He is to

receive and make presents; 5. He is to discuss political

questions with his ministers; 6. He is to amuse himself; 7. He is

to review his troops; 8. He is to hold a military council.

Night--l. He is to receive the reports of his spies and envoys;

2. He is to sup or dine; 3. He is to retire to rest after the

perusal of some sacred work; 4 and 5. He is to sleep; 6. He is to

rise and purify himself; 7. He is to hold a private consultation

with his ministers, and instruct his officers; 8. He is to attend

upon the _Purohita_ or family priest, for the performance of

religious ceremonies. See Wilson's Hindu Theatre, vol. i. p. 209.

79. _Feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid_.

Compare note 18.

80. _The protector of the four classes of the people, the

guardian of the four conditions of the priesthood_.

A remarkable feature in the ancient Hindu social system, as

depicted in the plays, was the division of the people into four

classes or castes:--1st. The sacerdotal, consisting of the

Brahmans.--2nd. The military, consisting of fighting men, and

including the king himself and the royal family. This class

enjoyed great privileges, and must have been practically the most

powerful.--3rd. The commercial, including merchants and

husbandmen.--4th. The servile, consisting of servants and slaves.

Of these four divisions the first alone has been preserved in its

purity to the present day, although the Rajputs claim to be the

representatives of the second class. The others have been lost in

a multitude of mixed castes formed by intermarriage, and bound

together by similarity of trade or occupation. With regard to the

sacerdotal class, the Brahmans, who formed it, were held to be

the chief of all human beings; they were superior to the king,

and their lives and property were protected by the most stringent

laws. They were to divide their lives into four quarters, during

which they passed through four states or conditions, viz. as

religious students, as householders, as anchorites, and as

religious mendicants.

81. _That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions_.

The god Brahma seems to have enjoyed a very unenviable notoriety

as taking pleasure in ill-assorted marriages, and encouraging

them by his own example in the case of his own daughter.

82. _[S']achi's sacred pool near Sakravatara_.

[S']akra is a name of the god Indra, and Sakravatara is a sacred

place of pilgrimage where he descended upon earth. [S']achi is his

wife, to whom a _Urtha_, or holy bathing-place, was probably

consecrated at the place where [S']akoontala had performed her

ablutions. Compare note 14.

83. _The wily Koil_.

Compare note 66.

84. _With the discus or mark of empire in the lines of his

hand_.

When the lines of the right hand formed themselves into a circle,

it was thought to be the mark of a future hero or emperor.

85. _A most refined occupation, certainly!_

Spoken ironically. The occupation of a fisherman, and, indeed, any

occupation which involved the sin of slaughtering animals, was

considered despicable. Fishermen, butchers, and leather-sellers were

equally objects of scorn. In Lower Bengal the castes of Jaliyas and

Bagdis, who live by fishing, etc., are amongst the lowest, and eke

out a precarious livelihood by thieving and dacoity.

86. _And he should not forsake it_.

The great Hindu lawgiver is very peremptory in restricting

special occupations (such as fishing, slaughtering animals,

basket-making) to the mixed and lowest castes. 'A man of the

lowest caste, who, through covetousness, lives by the acts of the

highest, let the king strip of all his wealth and banish. His own

business, though badly performed, is preferable to that of

another, though well performed.'--Manu, x. 96. In the later Hindu

system the sacrifice of animals is practised by the priests of

the goddess Kali only.

87. _Carp_.

That is, the Rohita, or Rohi (red) fish (_Cyprinus rohita_), a

kind of carp found in lakes and ponds in the neighbourhood of the

Ganges. It grows to the length of three feet, is very voracious,

and its flesh, though it often has a muddy taste, is edible. Its

back is olive-coloured, its belly of a golden hue, its fins and

eyes red. This fish is often caught in tanks in Lower Bengal of

the weight of twenty-five or thirty pounds.

88. _I long to begin binding the flowers round his head_.

It is evident from the Malati-Madhava, and other plays, that a

victim, about to be offered as a sacrifice, had a wreath of

flowers bound round the head.

89. _The great vernal festival_.

In celebration of the return of Spring, and said to be in honour

of Krishna, and of his son Kama-deva, the god of love. It is

identified with the Holi or Dola-yatra, the Saturnalia, or

rather, Carnival of the Hindus, when people of all conditions

take liberties with each other, especially by scattering red

powder and coloured water on the clothes of persons passing in

the street, as described in the play called Ratnavali, where the

crowd are represented as using syringes and waterpipes. Flowers,

and especially the opening blossoms of the mango, would naturally

be much employed for decoration at this festival, as an offering

to the god of love. It was formerly held on the full moon of the

month Chaitra, or about the beginning of April, but it is now

celebrated on the full moon of Phalguna, or about the beginning

of March. The other great Hindu festival, held in the autumn,

about October, is called Durga-puja, being in honour of the

goddess Durga. The Holi festival is now so disfigured by unseemly

practices and coarse jests that it is reprobated by the

respectable natives, and will probably, in the course of time,

either die out or be prohibited by legal enactment.

90. _Am not I named after the Koil?_

Compare note 66.

91. _Thy fire unerring shafts_.

Compare note 47.

92. _The amaranth_

That is, the Kuruvaka, either the crimson amaranth, or a purple

species of _Barleria_.

93. _My finger burning with the glow of love_.

However offensive to our notions of good taste, it is certain

that, in Hindu erotic poetry, a hot hand is considered to be one

of the signs of passionate love. Compare Othello, Act III. Scene

4. 'Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my lady--hot, hot,

and moist.'

94. _The airy vapours of the desert_.

A kind of mirage floating over waste places, and appearing at a

distance like water. Travellers and some animals, especially

deer, are supposed to be attracted and deceived by it.

95. _Himalaya_.

The name of this celebrated range of mountains is derived from

two Sanskrit words, _hima_, 'ice' or 'snow' (Lat. _hiems_), and

_alaya_, 'abode.' The pronunciation Himalaya is incorrect.

96. _As [S']iva did the poison at the Deluge_.

At the churning of the ocean, after the Deluge, by the gods and

demons, for the recovery or production of fourteen sacred things,

a deadly poison called Kala-kuta, or Hala-hala, was generated, so

virulent that it would have destroyed the world, had not the god

[S']iva swallowed it. Its only effect was to leave a dark blue mark

on his throat, whence his name Nila-kantha. This name is also

given to a beautiful bird, not wholly unlike our jay, common in

Bengal.

97. _Palace of clouds_.

The palace of King Dushyanta, so called because it was lofty as

the clouds.

98. _The foreman of a guild belonging to Ayodhya_.

The chief of a guild or corporation of artisans practising the

same trade. Ayodhya, or the Invincible City, was the ancient

capital of Ramachandra, founded by Ikshwaku, the first of the

Solar dynasty. It was situated on the river Sarayu in the north

of India, and is now called Oude.

99. _My ancestors Must drink these glistening tears, the last

libation_.

Oblations to the spirits of the deceased are offered by the

nearest surviving relatives soon after the funeral ceremonies;

and are repeated once in every year. They are supposed to be

necessary to secure the well-being of the souls of the dead in

the world appropriated to them. The oblation-ceremony is called

[S']raddha, and generally consisted in offering balls made of rice

and milk, or in pouring out water, or water and sesamum-seed

mixed. These ceremonies are still regarded as essential to the

welfare of deceased persons, and their celebration is marked by

magnificent feasts, to which relations and a host of Brahmans are

invited. A native who had grown rich in the time of Warren

Hastings spent nine lakhs of rupees on his mother's [S']raddha; and

large sums are still spent on similar occasions by wealthy Hindus

(see my 'Brahmanism and Hinduism,' p. 306).

100. _The mother of the great Indra_.

That is, Aditi, the wife of Ka[s']yapa, with whom, in their sacred

retreat, [S']akoontala was enjoying an asylum.

101. _Distinguishes the milk from worthless water_.

The Hindus imagine that the flamingo (a kind of goose) is the

vehicle on which the god Brahma is borne through the air; and

that this bird, being fond of the pulpy fibres of the water-lily,

has been gifted by him with the power of separating the milky

from the watery portion of the juice contained in the stalk of

that plant.

102. _Matali_.

The charioteer of Indra. In the pictures which represent this god

mounted on his usual vehicle--an elephant called Airavata--Matali

is seen seated before him on the withers of the animal, acting as

its driver. In the plays, however, Indra is generally represented

borne in a chariot drawn by two horses, guided by Matali.

103. _Kalanemi_.

A Daitya or demon, with a hundred arms and as many heads.

104. _Narada_.

A celebrated divine sage, usually reckoned among the ten

patriarchs first created by Brahma. He acted as a messenger of

the gods.

105. _Tinged with celestial sandal from the breast_.

The breast of Indra was dyed yellow with a fragrant kind of

sandal-wood (_hari-chandana_); and the garland by rubbing

against it, became tinged with the same color. Wreaths and

garlands of flowers are much used by the Hindus as marks of

honorary distinction, as well as for ornament or festive

occasions. They are suspended round the neck.

106. _The ever-blooming tree of Nandana_.

That is, Mandara, one of the five ever-blooming trees of Nandana,

or Swarga, Indra's heaven. The two most celebrated of these trees

were the Parijata and the Kalpa-druma, or tree granting all

desires. Each of the superior Hindu gods has a heaven, paradise,

or elysium of his own. That of Brahma is called Brahma-loka,

situate on the summit of mount Meru; that of Vishnu is Vaikuntha,

on the Himalayas; that of [S']iva and Kuvera is Kailasa, also on

the Himalayas; that of Indra is Swarga or Nandana. The latter,

though properly on the summit of mount Meru, below Brahma's

paradise, is sometimes identified with the sphere of the sky or

heaven in general. It is the only heaven of orthodox Brahmanism.

107. _Jayanta_.

The son of Indra by his favourite wife Paulomi or [S']achi.

108. _The Lion-man's terrific claws_.

Vishnu, in the monstrous shape of a creature half man, half lion

(his fourth Avatar or incarnation), delivered the three worlds,

that is to say, Earth, Heaven, and the lower regions, from the

tyranny of an insolent demon called Hiranya-ka[S']ipu.

109. _We journey in the path of Parivaha_.

The Hindus divide the heavens into seven Margas, paths or

orbits, assigning a particular wind to each. The sixth of these

paths is that of the Great Bear, and its peculiar wind is called

Parivaha. This wind is supposed to bear along the seven stars of

Ursa Major, and to propel the heavenly Ganges.

110. _The triple Ganges_.

The Ganges was supposed to take its rise in the toe of Vishnu

(whence one of its names, Vishnu-padi); thence it flowed through

the heavenly sphere, being borne along by the wind Parivaha, and

identified with the Mandakini, or Milky Way. Its second course is

through the earth; but the weight of its descent was borne by

[S']iva's head, whence, after wandering among the tresses of his

hair, it descended through a chasm in the Himalayas. Its third

course is through Patala, or the lower regions, the residence of

the Daityas and Nagas, and not to be confounded with Naraka,

'hell,' 'the place of punishment.'

111. _He spanned the heavens in his second stride_.

The story of Vishnu's second stride was this:--An Asura or

Daitya, named Bali, had, by his devotions, gained the dominion of

Heaven, Earth, and Patala. Vishnu undertook to trick him out of

his power, and assuming the form of a Vamana, or dwarf (his fifth

Avatar), he appeared before the giant and begged as a boon as

much land as he could pace in three steps. This was granted; and

the god immediately expanded himself till he filled the world;

deprived Bali, at the first step, of Earth; at the second, of

Heaven; but, in consideration of some merit, left Patala still

under his rule.

112. _I see the moisture-loving Chatakas_.

The Chataka is a kind of Cuckoo (_Cuculus Melanoleucus_). The

Hindus suppose that it drinks only the water of the clouds, and

their poets usually introduce allusions to this bird in connexion

with cloudy or rainy weather.

113. _Golden-peak_.

A sacred range of mountains lying among the Himalaya chain, and

apparently identical with, or immediately adjacent to, Kailasa,

the paradise of Kuvera, the god of wealth. It is here described

as the mountain of the Kimpurashas, or servants of Kuvera. They

are a dwarfish kind of monster, with the body of a man and the

head of a horse, and are otherwise called Kinnara.

114. _Ka[s']yapa_.

Ka[s']yapa was the son of Brahma's son, Marichi, and was one of

those Patriarchs (created by Brahma to supply the universe with

inhabitants) who, after fulfilling their mission, retired from

the world to practise penance. He was a progenitor on a

magnificent scale, as he is considered to have been the father of

the gods, demons, man, fish, reptiles, and all animals, by the

thirteen daughters of Daksha. The eldest of the thirteen, his

favourite wife, was Aditi, from whom were born Indra and all the

inferior gods, and particularly the twelve Adityas, or forms of

the sun, which represent him in the several months of the year.

From Diti, Danu, and others of the remaining twelve, came the

Daityas, Danavas, and other demons.

115. _No sacred cord is twined_.

The serpent's skin was used by the ascetic in place of the

regular Brahmanical cord. This thread or cord, sometimes called

the sacrificial cord, might be made of various substances, such

as cotton, hempen or woollen thread, according to the class of

the wearer; and was worn over the left shoulder and under the

right. The rite of investiture with this thread, which conferred

the title of 'twice-born,' and corresponded in some respects with

the Christian rite of baptism, was performed on youths of the

first three classes (compare note 80), at ages varying from eight

to sixteen, from eleven to twenty-two, and from twelve to

twenty-four, respectively. At present the Brahmans alone, and

those who claim to be Kshatriyas, have a right to wear this

thread. Not long since, a Kayath (or man of the writer caste) in

Bengal, who attempted to claim it, was excommunicated.

116. _And birds construct their nests within its folds_.

Such was the immovable impassiveness of this ascetic, that the

ants had thrown up their mound as high as his waist without being

disturbed, and birds had built their nests in his hair.

117. _And need no other nourishment_.

The Hindus imagine that living upon air is a proof of the highest

degree of spirituality to which a man can attain.

118. _A[s']oka-tree_.

The A[s']oka (_Jonesia Asoka_) is one of the most beautiful of

Indian trees. Sir W. Jones observes that 'the vegetable world

scarce exhibits a richer sight than an A[s']oka-tree in full bloom'.

It is about as high as an ordinary cherry-tree. The flowers are

very large, and beautifully diversified with tints of

orange-scarlet, of pale yellow, and of bright orange, which form

a variety of shades according to the age of the blossom.

119. _And with his artless smiles Gladdens their hearts_.

Chezy is enraptured with this verse: ' ... strophe incomparable,

que tout pere, ou plutot toute mere, ne pourra lire sans sentir

battre son coeur, tant le poete a su y rendre, avec les nuances

les plus delicates, l'expression vivante de l'amour maternel.'

Compare Statius, Theb., book v. line 613.

'Heu ubi siderei vultus? ubi verba ligatis

Imperfecta sonis? risusque et murmura soli

Intellecta mihi?'

120. _It is against propriety to make too minute inquiries

about the wife of another man_.

The Hindus were very careful to screen their wives from the curiosity

of strangers; and their great lawgiver, Manu, enjoined that married

women should be cautiously guarded by their husbands in the inner

apartments (_antahpura_) appropriated to women (called by the

Muhammadans, Haram, and in common parlance, in India _andar-mahall_).

The chief duty of a married woman's life seems to have been to keep as

quiet as possible, to know as little as possible, to hear, see, and

inquire about nothing; and above all, to avoid being herself the

subject of conversation or inquiry; in short, the sole end and object

of her existence was to act as a good head-servant, yielding to her

husband a servile obedience, regulating the affairs of his family,

preparing his daily food, and superintending his household. (Manu, ix.

11, 16.) But notwithstanding the social restrictions to which women

were subjected, even in the earlier periods of Indian history, it

seems probable that they were not rigidly excluded from general

society until after the introduction of Muhammadan customs into India.

It appears from the plays that they were allowed to go into public on

certain occasions; they took part in bridal processions, and were

permitted to enter the temples of the gods, [S']akoontala appears in

the court of King Dushyanta and pleads her own cause; and Vasavadatta,

in the Ratnavali, holds a conversation with her father's envoy. Even

in later times, the presence of men, other than husbands or sons, in

the inner apartments, was far from being prohibited. See Wilson's

Hindu Theatre, p. xliii.

121. _Her long hair Twined in a single braid_.

Hindu women collect their hair into a single long braid as a sign

of mourning, when their husbands are dead or absent for a long

period.

122. _Shines forth from dim eclipse_.

The following is the Hindu notion of an eclipse:--A certain

demon, which had the tail of a dragon, was decapitated by Vishnu

at the churning of the ocean; but, as he had previously tasted of

the Amrit or nectar reproduced at that time, he was thereby

rendered immortal, and his head and tail, retaining their

separate existence, were transferred to the stellar sphere. The

head was called Rahu, and became the cause of eclipses, by

endeavouring at various times to swallow the sun and moon. So in

the Hitopade[s']a, line 192, the moon is said to be eaten by Rahu.

With regard to the love of the Moon for Rohini, the fourth lunar

constellation, see note 53.

123. _All unadorned_.

That is, from the absence of colouring or paint.

124. _The power of darkness_.

According to Hindu philosophy there are three qualities or

properties which together make up or dominate humanity: 1.

_Sattwa_, 'excellence' or 'goodness' (quiescence), whence

proceed truth, knowledge, purity, etc. 2. _Rajas_, 'passion'

(activity), which produces lust, pride, falsehood, etc., and is

the cause of pain. 3. _Tamas_, 'darkness' (inertia), whence

proceed ignorance, infatuation, delusion, mental blindness, etc.

125. _Children of Brahma's sons_.

Ka[s']yapa and Aditi were the children of Marichi and Daksha

respectively, and these last were the sons of Brahma.

126. _The ruler of the triple world_.

That is, Indra, lord of heaven, earth, and the lower regions.

Compare notes 110, 113.

127. _Whom Vishnu, greater than the Self-existent_.

Vishnu, as Narayana, or the Supreme Spirit, moved over the waters

before the creation of the world, and from his navel came the lotus

from which Brahma, the World's Creator, here called the Self-existent,

sprang. As Vishnu, the Preserver, he became incarnate in various

forms; and chose Ka[s']yapa and Aditi, from whom all human beings

were descended, as his medium of incarnation, especially in the Avatar

in which he was called Upendra, 'Indra's younger brother.' Hence it

appears that the worshippers of Vishnu exalt him above the Creator.

128. _The earth's seven sea-girt isles_.

According to the mythical geography of the Hindus, the earth

consisted of seven islands, or rather insular continents,

surrounded by seven seas. That inhabited by men was called

Jambudwipa, and was in the centre, having in the middle of it the

sacred mountain Meru or Sumeru, a kind of Mount Olympus inhabited

by the gods. About Jambu flowed the sea of salt-water which

extends to the second Dwipa, called Plaksha, which is in its turn

surrounded by a sea of sugar-cane juice. And so with the five

other Dwipas, viz. Salmali, Ku[S']a, Krauncha, [S']aka, and Pushkara,

which are severally surrounded by the seas of wine, clarified

butter, curds, milk, and fresh water.

129. _Bharata_.

The name Bharata is derived from the root bhri (fero),'to

support.' Many Indian princes were so named, but the most

celebrated was this son of Dushyanta and [S']akoontala, who so

extended his empire that from him the whole of India was called

Bharata-varsha or Bharata-varsha; and whose descendants, the sons

of Dhritarashtra and Pandu, by their quarrels, formed the subject

of the great epic poem called Maha-bharata. The Hindus at the

present day continue to call India by the name Bharata-varsha.

180. _The Sage Bharata_.

The Bharata here intended must not be confounded with the young

prince. He was a holy sage, the director or manager of the gods'

dramas, and inventor of theatrical representations in general. He

wrote a work containing precepts and rules relating to every

branch of dramatic writing, which appears to have been lost, but

is constantly quoted by the commentators. (See p. xxix.)

131. _Saraswati_.

She is the goddess of speech and eloquence, patroness of the arts

and sciences, and inventress of the Sanskrit language. There is a

festival still held in her honour for two days, about February in

every year, when no Hindu will touch a pen or write a letter. The

courts are all closed accordingly.

132. _The purple self-existent god_.

[S']iva is usually represented as borne on a bull; his colour, as

well as that of the animal he rides, being white, to denote the

purity of Justice, over which he presides. In his destroying

capacity, he is characterized by the quality 'darkness,' and

named Rudra, Kala, etc., when his colour is said to be purple or

black. Some refer the epithet 'purple' to the colour of his

throat; compare note 96. Self-existent, although properly a name

of the Supreme Being (Brahma), is applied both to Vishnu and

[S']iva by their votaries.

134. _Whose vital Energy_.

That is, [S']iva's wife, Parvati, who was supposed to personify his

energy or active power. Exemption from further transmigration,

and absorption into the divine soul, was the _summum bonum_ of

Hindu philosophy. Compare note 37.

135. _By my divine faculty of meditation_.

Celestial beings were endowed with a mental faculty (called

dhyana, pranidhana, etc.), which enabled them to arrive at the

knowledge of present and future events.

136. _A roseate dye wherewith to stain The lady's feet_.

That is, the soles of her feet. It was customary for Hindu ladies

to stain the soles of their feet of a red colour with the dye

made from lac--a minute insect bearing some resemblance to the

cochineal--which punctures the bark of the Indian fig-tree, and

surrounds itself with the milky resinous juice of that tree.

This custom is a alluded to in one of Paterson's Hindu odes--

'The rose that humbly bowed to meet,

With glowing lips, her hallowed feet,

And lent them all its bloom.'

See Megha-duta (Edit. Johnson), p. 32.

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