[With a leer.
But he, the boy, will soon return, my pretty.
Koïl (whom she has released). And you have drawn me from the city here
To break into his holy breast with passion?
To dance and sing and seize him?
I you have taught the wiles of winning men,
As the cobra-charmer teaches,
Must lure him from his saintly innocence,
And with the beauty I was born unto
Must tangle him?...
You, O Sunandi, are an evil woman,
To lead me to it!
Sunandi. And you talk as flies talk!
Who know not that the gods sow food or famine.
[Harshly.
I tell you that great Indra of the skies
Is wroth with us
And will not send us rain,
So wisest Brahmins vow—
Until this boy,
This saintly one, is brought unto the Raja!
Are we to die because not otherwise
Than with alluring now we can appease them?
[Leering again.
And why are women fair, my cunning Koïl,
But to tempt men then, when they seek to take us——
Koïl. Sunandi!
Sunandi. It is so, unwitted girl!
Be silent then
And do what I command.
[Wheedling again.
But it will be sweet doing, beamy Koïl,
For the young saint
Is fairer than the god-born,
His body like warm gold and lotos-lithe—
Made for the wants that tremble in your heart.
And when your eyes rest on him they will kindle
Like passion-stars.
Koïl. And burn away his peace—
Which is the pearl
Of sainthood thro all worlds!
Unless his father, strange and terrible,
And mighty thro austerities—one whose
Curse were as heavy as an hundred births—!
O let us trust it not! So young a saint
Should be the holy mate of solitude.
I would not have him gaze upon me so,
For he is innocent of love, nor ever
As yet has looked upon a woman's face.
Sunandi. Then may he loathe you if he does not! for
Only in woman's faces is there beauty
And who beholds not beauty is as dead.
[Starts.
But ha? 'tis he?
No, only parakeets,
Chattering as you chatter, idle girl!
Who ever were resistant to my teachings!
I tell you chirp no more these chastities!
If you come back to the Raja
And without him,
Know you what then will happen?
Koïl. I know not.