I have driven off the powers of evil, and the hermits have dismissed me. Where shall I go now to rest from my weariness? (He sighs.) There is no rest for me except in seeing her whom I love. (He looks up.) She usually spends these hours of midday heat with her friends on the vine-wreathed banks of the Malini. I will go there. (He walks and looks about.) I believe the slender maiden has just passed through this corridor of young trees. For
The stems from which she gathered flowers
Are still unhealed;
The sap where twigs were broken off
Is uncongealed.
(He feels a breeze stirring.) This is a pleasant spot, with the wind among the trees.
Limbs that love's fever seizes,
Their fervent welcome pay
To lotus-fragrant breezes
That bear the river-spray.
(He studies the ground.) Ah, Shakuntala must be in this reedy bower. For
In white sand at the door
Fresh footprints appear,
The toe lightly outlined,
The heel deep and clear.
I will hide among the branches, and see what happens. (He does so. Joyfully.) Ah, my eyes have found their heaven. Here is the darling of my thoughts, lying upon a flower-strewn bench of stone, and attended by her two friends. I will hear what they say to each other. (He stands gazing. Enter SHAKUNTALA with her two friends.)
The two friends (fanning her). Do you feel better, dear, when we fan you with these lotus-leaves?
Shakuntala (wearily). Oh, are you fanning me, my dear girls? (The two friends look sorrowfully at each other.)
King. She is seriously ill. (Doubtfully.) Is it the heat, or is it as I hope? (Decidedly.) It must be so.