[S']AKOONTALÁ
This way, my dear companions; this way.
ANASÚYÁ.
Dear [S']akoontalá, 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']AKOONTALÁ.
Dear Anasúyá, 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']AKOONTALÁ.
Good Anasúyá, Priyamvadá has drawn this bark-dress too tightly about my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little.
ANASÚYÁ.
I will. [Loosens it.
PRIYAMVADÁ. [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']AKOONTALÁ. [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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
Dear [S']akoontalá, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment.
[S']AKOONTALÁ.
Why so?
PRIYAMVADÁ
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']AKOONTALÁ.
Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvadá
('Speaker of flattering things').
KING.
What Priyamvadá 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.
ANASÚYÁ.
See, dear [S']akoontalá, 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']AKOONTALÁ.
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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
Do you know, my Anasúyá, why [S']akoontalá gazes so intently at the jasmine?
ANASÚYÁ.
No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ. [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']AKOONTALÁ.
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.
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ.
[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.
ANASÚYÁ.
Kind Sir, no outrage has been committed; only our dear friend here was teased by the attacks of a troublesome bee.
[Points to [S']AKOONTALÁ.
KING. [Turning to [S']AKOONTALÁ.
I trust all is well with your devotional rites[24]?
[S']AKOONTALÁ stands confused and silent.]
ANASÚYÁ.
All is well indeed, now that we are honoured by the reception of a distinguished guest. Dear [S']akoontalá, 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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
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.
ANASÚYÁ.
Dear [S']akoontalá, there is no impropriety in our sitting by the side of our guest; come, let us sit down here.
[All sit down together.
[S']AKOONTALÁ. [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!
PRIYAMVADÁ. [Aside to ANASÚYÁ.
Who can this person be, whose lively yet dignified manner, and polite conversation, bespeak him a man of high rank?
ANASÚYÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ. [Aside.
Be not troubled, O my heart, Anasúyá 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.
ANASÚYÁ.
The hermits, then, and all the members of our religious society, have now a guardian.
[S']AKOONTALÁ gazes bashfully at the KING.
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.
[Perceiving the state of her feelings, and of the KING'S. Aside to [S']AKOONTALÁ.
Dear [S']akoontalá, if father Kanwa were but at home to-day—
[S']AKOONTALÁ. [Angrily.
What if he were?
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.
He would honour this our distinguished guest with an offering of the most precious of his possessions.
[S']AKOONTALÁ.
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?
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.
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?
ANASÚYÁ.
I will explain to you. Sir. You have heard of an illustrious sage of regal caste, Vi[s']wámitra, whose family name is Kau[S']ika[27].
KING.
I have.
ANASÚYÁ.
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.
ANASÚYÁ.
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 Godávarí, excited the jealousy and alarm of the gods; insomuch that they despatched a lovely nymph named Menaká 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.
ANASÚYÁ.
Well, then, it happened that Vi[s']wámitra, 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']akoontalá, then, is the offspring of the nymph.
ANASÚYÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ 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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
[_Looking with a smile at [S']AKOONTALÁ, and then turning towards the KING.]
You seem desirous, Sir, of asking something further.
[S']AKOONTALÁ 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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
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?
PRIYAMVADÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ. [Pretending anger.
Anasúyá, I shall leave you.
ANASÚYÁ.
Why so?
[S']AKOONTALÁ.
That I may go and report this impertinent Priyamvadá to the venerable matron, Gautamí[29].
ANASÚYÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ, 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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
[Holding [S']AKOONTALÁ back.
Dear [S']akoontalá, it does not become you to go away in this manner.
[S']AKOONTALÁ. [Frowning.
Why not, pray?
PRIYAMVADÁ.
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']irísha 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 PRIYAMVADÁ. 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.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
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']akoontalá, my love, you are at liberty to retire, thanks to the intercession of this noble stranger, or rather of this mighty prince.
[S']AKOONTALÁ. [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']AKOONTALÁ. 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.
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.
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.
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.
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']AKOONTALÁ.
Anasúyá, 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']akoontalá 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.
* * * * *