Mishrakeshi. She will not long be forsaken.
Maid (to the portress). Mistress, the minister's report has doubled our lord's remorse. Go to the Cloud Balcony and bring Madhavya to dispel his grief.
Portress. A good suggestion. (Exit.)
King. Alas! The ancestors of Dushyanta are in a doubtful case.
For I am childless, and they do not know,
When I am gone, what child of theirs will bring
The scriptural oblation; and their tears
Already mingle with my offering.
Mishrakeshi. He is screened from the light, and is in darkness.
Maid. Do not give way to grief, your Majesty. You are in the prime of your years, and the birth of a son to one of your other wives will make you blameless before your ancestors. (To herself.) He does not heed me. The proper medicine is needed for any disease. King (betraying his sorrow). Surely,
The royal line that flowed
A river pure and grand,
Dies in the childless king,
Like streams in desert sand.
(He swoons.)
Maid (in distress). Oh, sir, come to yourself.