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.