Translations Of Shakuntala And Other Works Part 28

_Matali_ (_stopping the chariot_). Descend, O King.

_King_ (_descending_). But how will you fare?

_Matali_. The chariot obeys the word of command. I too will descend.

(_He does so_.) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest hermits lead their self-denying life.

_King_. I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what they might enjoy.

Their appet.i.tes are fed with air Where grows whatever is most fair; They bathe religiously in pools Which golden lily-pollen cools; They pray within a jewelled home, Are chaste where nymphs of heaven roam: They mortify desire and sin With things that others fast to win.

_Matali_. The desires of the great aspire high. (_He walks about and speaks to some one not visible_.) Ancient Shakalya, how is Marichi's holy son occupied? (_He listens_.) What do you say? That he is explaining to Aditi, in answer to her question, the duties of a faithful wife? My matter must await a fitter time. (_He turns to the king_.) Wait here, O King, in the shade of the ashoka tree, till I have announced your coming to the sire of Indra.

_King_. Very well. (_Exit_ MATALI. _The king's arm throbs, a happy omen_.)

I dare not hope for what I pray; Why thrill--in vain?

For heavenly bliss once thrown away Turns into pain.

_A voice behind the scenes_. Don't! You mustn't be so foolhardy. Oh, you are always the same.

_King_ (_listening_). No naughtiness could feel at home in this spot.

Who draws such a rebuke upon himself? (_He looks towards the sound. In surprise_.) It is a child, but no child in strength. And two hermit-women are trying to control him.

He drags a struggling lion cub, The lioness' milk half-sucked, half-missed, Towzles his mane, and tries to drub Him tame with small, imperious fist.

(_Enter a small boy, as described, and two hermit-women_.)

_Boy_. Open your mouth, cub. I want to count your teeth.

_First woman_. Naughty boy, why do you torment our pets? They are like children to us. Your energy seems to take the form of striking something. No wonder the hermits call you All-tamer.

_King_. Why should my heart go out to this boy as if he were my own son? (_He reflects_.) No doubt my childless state makes me sentimental.

_Second woman_. The lioness will spring at you if you don't let her baby go.

_Boy_ (_smiling_). Oh, I'm dreadfully scared. (_He bites his lip_.)

_King_ (_in surprise_).

The boy is seed of fire Which, when it grows, will burn; A tiny spark that soon To awful flame may turn.

_First woman_. Let the little lion go, dear. I will give you another plaything.

_Boy_. Where is it? Give it to me. (_He stretches out his hand_.)

_King_ (_looking at the hand_.) He has one of the imperial birthmarks!

For

Between the eager fingers grow The close-knit webs together drawn, Like some lone lily opening slow To meet the kindling blush of dawn.

_Second woman_. Suvrata, we can't make him stop by talking. Go. In my cottage you will find a painted clay peac.o.c.k that belongs to the hermit-boy Mankanaka. Bring him that.

_First woman_. I will. (_Exit_.) _Boy_. Meanwhile I'll play with this one.

_Hermit-woman_ (_looks and laughs_). Let him go.

_King_. My heart goes out to this wilful child. (_Sighing_.)

They show their little buds of teeth In peals of causeless laughter; They hide their trustful heads beneath Your heart. And stumbling after Come sweet, unmeaning sounds that sing To you. The father warms And loves the very dirt they bring Upon their little forms.

_Hermit-woman_ (_shaking her finger_). Won't you mind me? (_She looks about_.) Which one of the hermit-boys is here? (_She sees the king_.) Oh, sir, please come here and free this lion cub. The little rascal is tormenting him, and I can't make him let go.

_King_. Very well. (_He approaches, smiling_.) O little son of a great sage!

Your conduct in this place apart, Is most unfit; 'Twould grieve your father's pious heart And trouble it.

To animals he is as good As good can be; You spoil it, like a black snake's brood In sandal tree.

_Hermit-woman_. But, sir, he is not the son of a hermit.

_King_. So it would seem, both from his looks and his actions. But in this spot, I had no suspicion of anything else. (_He loosens the boy's hold on the cub, and touching him, says to himself_.)

It makes me thrill to touch the boy, The stranger's son, to me unknown; What measureless content must fill The man who calls the child his own!

_Hermit-woman_ (_looking at the two_). Wonderful! wonderful!

_King_. Why do you say that, mother?

_Hermit-woman_. I am astonished to see how much the boy looks like you, sir. You are not related. Besides, he is a perverse little creature and he does not know you. Yet he takes no dislike to you.

_King_ (_caressing the boy_). Mother, if he is not the son of a hermit, what is his family?

_Hermit-woman_. The family of Puru.

_King_ (_to himself_). He is of one family with me! Then could my thought be true? (_Aloud_.) But this is the custom of Puru's line:

In glittering palaces they dwell While men, and rule the country well; Then make the grove their home in age, And die in austere hermitage.

But how could human beings, of their own mere motion, attain this spot?

_Hermit-woman_. You are quite right, sir. But the boy's mother was related to a nymph, and she bore her son in the pious grove of the father of the G.o.ds.

_King_ (_to himself_). Ah, a second ground for hope. (_Aloud_.) What was the name of the good king whose wife she was?

_Hermit-woman_. Who would speak his name? He rejected his true wife.

_King_ (_to himself_). This story points at me. Suppose I ask the boy for his mother's name. (_He reflects_.) No, it is wrong to concern myself with one who may be another's wife.

(_Enter the first woman, with the clay peac.o.c.k_.)