King (to himself). He is of one family with me! Then could my thought be true? (Aloud.) But this is the custom of Puru's line:
In glittering palaces they dwell
While men, and rule the country well;
Then make the grove their home in age,
And die in austere hermitage.
But how could human beings, of their own mere motion, attain this spot?
Hermit-woman. You are quite right, sir. But the boy's mother was related to a nymph, and she bore her son in the pious grove of the father of the gods.
King (to himself). Ah, a second ground for hope. (Aloud.) What was the name of the good king whose wife she was?
Hermit-woman. Who would speak his name? He rejected his true wife.
King (to himself). This story points at me. Suppose I ask the boy for his mother's name. (He reflects.) No, it is wrong to concern myself with one who may be another's wife.
(Enter the first woman, with the clay peacock.)
First woman. Look, All-tamer. Here is the bird, the shakunta. Isn't the shakunta lovely?
Boy (looks about). Where is my mamma? (The two women burst out laughing.)