The men come with the corpse on the bier. Kala stops them.
K. What do you carry? Who is this? [he shrieks] My father! [The carriers set the corpse down and Kala sinks down by the bier.] Oh, my father! my dearest father! How did you die? Why did you leave me? Oh, my father! [he sobs].
The moon sinks behind a cloud.
Siddhattha comes.
B. What may the trouble be? I heard a shriek.
Kala raises himself half way up. The scene is bright again.
K. Oh, my Prince! See here! My father is dead! Now I know the truth as well as you. Now I feel the pain. The time has come for me to lament. I was so happy and I would not believe you.—Oh ye who are happy, think in the hour of happiness that all is subject to suffering, and the hour of suffering will come to you too. Nay more than that, the hour of death will come; it has come to my father, it will come to you and to me, and then my caroling will stop forever. Oh, my poor father!
B. How rarely is thy advent welcome, Death,
E'en this poor gardener who a servant was
His livelong days, leaves in our hearts a gap.
His son lamenteth him, and I not less;
He was my loving friend; my educator,
He had me on his knees so many a time,
To tell me how the flowers will grow and blow,
And how they prosper after rainy days.
May gentle lilies from thy ashes spring,
Decked with the purity of thine own heart,
And with their fragrance give the same delight
That in thy present life thou gavest us.
The carriers lift up the body and carry it out.