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?