Chapter L: Prologue: Benediction (2)

ANASÚYÁ.--The same suspicion, dear Priyamvadá, has crossed my mind. But I will at once ask her and ascertain the truth. [_Aloud._] Dear Śakoontalá, I am about to put a question to you. Your indisposition is really very serious.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_half-rising from her couch_].--What were you going to ask?

ANASÚYÁ.--We know very little about love-matters, dear Śakoontalá; but for all that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to be something similar to that of the lovers we have read 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.--Anasúyá bears me out in my suspicion.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashly disclose my passion to these young girls.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--What Anasúyá says, dear Śakoontalá, 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.--Priyamvadá 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 Mádhaví,
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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of my malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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._]

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Say on, dear Śakoontalá, say on.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some means by which I may find favor with the King, or you will have ere long to assist at my funeral.

KING [_with rapture_].--Enough! These words remove all my doubts.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--She is far gone in love, dear Anasúyá, 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.

ANASÚYÁ.--I quite agree with you.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_aloud_].--We wish you joy, dear Śakoontalá. 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 Mádhaví-creeper clings naturally to the Mango, the only tree capable of supporting it.

KING.--Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Viśákhá pines to be united with the Moon.

ANASÚYÁ.--By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend the accomplishment of her heart's desire, both speedily and secretly?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--The latter point is all we have to think about. As to "speedily," I look upon the whole affair as already settled.

ANASÚYÁ.--How so?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_thoughtfully_].--An idea strikes me, Anasúyá. Let Śakoontalá 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.

ANASÚYÁ.--A very ingenious device! It has my entire approval; but what says Śakoontalá?

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I must consider before I can consent to it.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Could you not, dear Śakoontalá, think of some pretty composition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your love?

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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 couldst thou
Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him?

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--You undervalue your own merits, dear Śakoontalá. 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?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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!

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have no writing-materials at hand.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Write the letters with your nail on this lotus leaf, which is smooth as a parrot's breast.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_after writing the verse_].--Listen, dear friends, and tell me whether the ideas are appropriately expressed.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--We are all attention.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_looking at him joyfully, and rising to salute him_].--Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presents itself!

[_Śakoontalá 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.

ANASÚYÁ.--Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which our friend is reposing.

[_The King sits down. Śakoontalá is confused._]

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Anyone 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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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 honored by it.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_looking at Priyamvadá_].--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 Káma's shafts.

ANASÚYÁ.--Kind Sir, we have heard it said that kings have many favorite consorts. You must not, then, by your behavior 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.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--We are satisfied by your assurances.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_glancing on one side_],--See, Anasúyá, there is our favorite 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._]

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear friends, dear friends, leave me not alone and unprotected. Why need you both go?

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Unprotected! when the Protector of the world is at your side. [_Exeunt._]

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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?

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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._]

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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,[39] nor is the bride
Led to the altar by her future spouse;
But all in secret does the bridegroom plight
His troth, and each unto the other vow
Mutual allegiance. Such espousals, too,
Are authorized on earth, and many daughters
Of royal saints thus wedded to their lords,
Have still received their father's benison.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Leave me, leave me; I must take counsel with my female friends.

KING.--I will leave thee when------

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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. Śakoontalá tries to prevent him_.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--The loving birds, doomed by fate to nightly separation, must bid farewell to each other, for evening is at hand.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_in confusion_].--Great Prince, I hear the voice of the matron Gautamí. She is coming this way, to inquire after my health. Hasten and conceal yourself behind the branches.

KING.--I will. [_Conceals himself_.

_Enter Gautamí with a vase in her hand, preceded by two attendants_.

ATTENDANTS.--This way, most venerable Gautamí.

GAUTAMÍ [_approaching Śakoontalá_].--My child, is the fever of thy limbs allayed?

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Venerable mother, there is certainly a change for the better.

GAUTAMÍ.--Let me sprinkle you with this holy water, and all your ailments will depart. [_Sprinkling Śakoontalá on the head_.] The day is closing, my child; come, let us go to the cottage. [_They all move away_.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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 arbor. 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
Śakoontalá.
[_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 charm 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._

[38] Káma, the Hindoo Cupid, or god of love. He has five arrows, each tipped with the blossom of a flower, which pierce the heart through the five senses.

[39] A marriage without the usual ceremonies is called Gándharva. It was supposed to be the form of marriage prevalent among the nymphs of Indra's heaven.

PRELUDE TO ACT FOURTH

Scene.--The Garden of the Hermitage

_Enter Priyamvadá and Anasúyá in the act of gathering flowers_.

ANASÚYÁ.--Although, dear Priyamvadá, it rejoices my heart to think that Śakoontalá 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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--How so?

ANASÚYÁ.--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 Śakoontalá 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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are not so destitute of all honorable 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?

ANASÚYÁ.--In my opinion, he will approve the marriage.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--What makes you think so?

ANASÚYÁ.--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.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking at the flower-basket_].--We have gathered flowers enough for the sacred offering, dear Anasúyá.

ANASÚYÁ.--Well, then, let us now gather more, that we may have wherewith to propitiate the guardian-deity of our dear Śakoontalá.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--By all means. [_They continue gathering_.

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Ho there! See you not that I am here?

ANASÚYÁ [_listening_].--That must be the voice of a guest announcing his arrival.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Surely, Śakoontalá is not absent from the cottage. [_Aside_.] Her heart at least is absent, I fear.

ANASÚYÁ.--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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred. Śakoontalá, 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, 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.

ANASÚYÁ.--Go quickly, dear Priyamvadá, throw yourself at his feet, and persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering for him, with water and refreshments.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--I will. [_Exit._

ANASÚYÁ [_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_.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_reëntering_].--Well, dear Anasúyá, 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.

ANASÚYÁ [_smiling_].--Even a little was much for him. Say on.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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."

ANASÚYÁ.--And what did he reply?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--"My word must not be falsified; but at the sight of the ring of recognition the spell shall cease." So saying, he disappeared.

ANASÚYÁ.--Oh! then we may breathe again; for now I think of it, the King himself, at his departure, fastened on Śakoontalá'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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Come, dear Anasúyá, let us proceed with our religious duties. [_They walk away_.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking off the stage_].--See, Anasúyá, 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.

ANASÚYÁ.--Priyamvadá, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spare our dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate to bear much emotion.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender jasmine with hot water?

ACT FOURTH

Scene.--The Neighborhood 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, 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 sheds her leaves
In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought
But the sweet memory of her loveliness
To my bereavèd sight: e'en as the bride
Disconsolately mourns her absent lord,
And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief.

ANASÚYÁ [_entering abruptly_].--Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Śakoontalá very improperly.

PUPIL.--Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to offer the burnt oblation. [_Exit._

ANASÚYÁ.--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 be 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 Śakoontalá's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of being soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt that Śakoontalá had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is to be done?

PRIYAMVADÁ [_entering; joyfully_].--Quick! quick! Anasúyá! come and assist in the joyful preparations for Śakoontalá's departure to her husband's palace.

ANASÚYÁ.--My dear girl, what can you mean?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to Śakoontalá, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably--

ANASÚYÁ.--Well, well; go on.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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, 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."

ANASÚYÁ.--Who, then, informed the holy Father of what passed in his absence?

PRIYAMVADÁ.--As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire, an invisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains.

ANASÚYÁ [_with astonishment_].--Indeed! pray repeat it.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_repeats the verse_].--
Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory,
As in the sacred tree the mystic fire.
Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story;
And may the son immortalize the sire.

ANASÚYÁ [_embracing Priyamvadá_].--Oh, my dear Priyamvadá, what delightful news! I am pleased beyond measure; yet when I think that we are to lose our dear Śakoontalá this very day, a feeling of melancholy mingles with my joy.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her departure. Let the dear creature only be made happy, at any cost.

ANASÚYÁ.--Yes, yes, Priyamvadá, it shall be so; and now to prepare our bridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, and some time since, I deposited a beautiful garland of Keśara 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.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--Very well.

[_Exit Anasúyá. Priyamvadá takes down the flowers._

A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Gautamí, bid Śárngarava and the others hold themselves in readiness to escort Śakoontalá.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_listening_].--Quick, quick, Anasúyá! They are calling the hermits who are to go with Śakoontalá to Hastinápur.

ANASÚYÁ [_reëntering, with the perfumed unguents in her hand_].--Come along then, Priyamvadá; I am ready to go with you. [_They walk away_.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking_].--See! there sits Śakoontalá, 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_.

_Śakoontalá is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupied in the manner described_.

FIRST WOMAN [_to Śakoontalá_].--My child, may'st thou receive the title of "Chief-queen," and may thy husband delight to honor 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 honored by thy lord!

[_Exeunt all the women, excepting Gautamí, after blessing Śakoontalá._

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_approaching_].--Dear Śakoontalá, we are come to assist you at your toilet, and may a blessing attend it!

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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_.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Weep not, dearest, tears are out of season on such a happy occasion.

[_They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her_.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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_.

GAUTAMÍ.--Why, Nárada, my son, whence came these?

FIRST HERMIT.--You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa.

GAUTAMÍ.--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 Śakoontalá from the forest-trees; and
we went to the wood for that purpose, when
Straightway depending from a neighboring tree
Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure
And spotless as a moon-beam--mystic pledge
Of bridal happiness; another tree
Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain
The lady's feet; and other branches near
Glistened with rare and costly ornaments.
While, 'midst the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs,
Vying in beauty with the opening buds,
Presented us with sylvan offerings.

PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking at Śakoontalá_].--The wood-nymphs have done you honor, indeed. This favor doubtless signifies that you are soon to be received as a happy wife into your husband's house, and are from this forward to become the partner of his royal fortunes. [_Śakoontalá appears confused_.

FIRST HERMIT.--Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions. Let us go and inform him of the favor we have received from the deities who preside over our trees.

SECOND HERMIT.--By all means. [_Exeunt._

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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 forever of an only daughter?
[_Advances towards Śakoontalá_

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Now, dearest Śakoontalá, we have finished decorating you. You have only to put on the two linen mantles. [_Śakoontalá rises and puts them on_.

GAUTAMÍ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_reverently_].--My father, I salute you.

KANWA.--My daughter,
May'st thou be highly honored by thy lord,
E'en as Yayáti Śarmishthá adored!
And, as she bore him Puru; so may'st thou
Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!

GAUTAMÍ.--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 Kuśa-grass is spread;
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, Śárngarava and the others?

YOUNG HERMIT [_entering_].--Here we are, most venerable father.

KANWA.--Lead the way for thy sister.

SÁRNGARAVA.--Come, Śakoontalá, let us proceed.
[_All move away_.

KANWA.--Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage!
Śakoontalá 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 Köil is heard_.
Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees,
Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note
Of the melodious Köil? they dismiss
Their dear Śakoontalá 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_.

GAUTAMÍ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her friend_].--Eager as I am, dear Priyamvadá, to see my husband once more, yet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting forever the home of my girlhood.

PRIYAMVADÁ.--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; the very trees around us
Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_recollecting herself_].--My father, let me, before I go, bid adieu to my pet jasmine, the Moonlight of the Grove. 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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 spouse
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 favorite 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_to Priyamvadá and Anasúyá_].--To you, my sweet companions, I leave it as a keepsake. Take charge of it when I am gone.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_bursting into tears_].--And to whose charge do you leave us, dearest? Who will care for us when you are gone?

KANWA.--For shame, Anasúyá! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer your friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation? [_All move on_.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My poor little fawn, dost thou ask to follow an unhappy woman 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.

SÁRNGARAVA.--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. [_They do so_.

KANWA [_aside_].--I must think of some appropriate message to send to his majesty King Dushyanta. [_Reflects._

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--See, see, dear Anasúyá, the poor female Chakraváka-bird, 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.

ANASÚYÁ.--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.--Śárngarava, when you have introduced Śakoontalá into the presence of the King, you must give him this message from me.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--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 honorable 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.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--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.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--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,
Honor 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 must 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 Gautamí of this advice?

GAUTAMÍ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My father, must Priyamvadá and Anasúyá 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 Gautamí shall be thy companion.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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,[40] 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.

[_Śakoontalá throws herself at her foster-father's feet_.

KANWA.--Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be realized!

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_approaching her friends_].--Come, my two loved companions, embrace me--both of you together.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_embracing her_].--Dear Śakoontalá, 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--There is no real cause for fear, dearest. Excessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the heavens.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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 spouse
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:--
There amid holy scenes to be at peace,
Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.

GAUTAMÍ.--Come, my child, the favorable 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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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 bereavèd heart
Forget its bitterness, when, day by day,
Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants
Reared by thy care, or sprung from hallowed grain
Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door--
A frequent offering to our household gods?
Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.

[_Exit Śakoontalá with her escort_.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_gazing after Śakoontalá_].--Alas! alas! she is gone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view.

KANWA [_sighing_].--Well, Anasúyá, your sister has departed. Moderate your grief, both of you, and follow me. I go back to the hermitage.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert without Śakoontalá. 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._

[40] The sandal-tree is a large kind of myrtle, with pointed leaves. The wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes and is celebrated for its delicious scent. It is chiefly found on the slopes of the Malay mountains or Western Ghants, on the Malabar coast.

ACT FIFTH

Scene.--A Room in the Palace

_The King Dushyanta and the Jester Máthavya are discovered seated_.

MÁTHAVYA [_listening_].--Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadiká 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!

MÁTHAVYA.--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 Vasumatí. Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadiká from me that I take her delicate reproof as it is intended.

MÁTHAVYA.--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.

MÁTHAVYA.--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,
Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?
[_Remains pensive and sad_.

_Enter the Chamberlain_.

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, forever 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
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 labors; 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, Somaráta, to receive the hermits with due honor, 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 the Warder_].--Vetravatí, lead the way to the chamber of the consecrated fire.

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 [_behind the scenes_].--May the King be victorious!

FIRST HERALD.--Honor to him who labors 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_].
Vetravatí, 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 favorites, 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 Śakoontalá, attended by Gautamí; and, in advance of them, the Chamberlain and the domestic Priest._

CHAMBERLAIN.--This way, reverend sirs, this way.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--O Śáradwata,
'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 methinks
I look upon a burning house, whose inmates
Are running to and fro in wild dismay.

SÁRADWATA.--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 unwakened;
Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall,
So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid, and suspecting a bad omen_],--Alas! what means this throbbing of my right eyelid?

GAUTAMÍ.--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 orders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is waiting for you. Behold him!

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Great Bráhman, 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 Śakoontalá_].--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_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 honor. 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.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--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 Śakoontalá
Virtue herself in human form revealed.
Great Brahmá 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.

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.

GAUTAMÍ.--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.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.

KING.--What strange proposal is this?

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--His words are fire to me.