SUDARSHANA.
Tell me, Surangama, I implore you, won’t you tell me what is the King like to look at? I have not seen him yet for a single day. He comes to me in darkness, and leaves me in this dark room again. How many people have I not asked—but they all return vague and dark answers—it seems to me that they all keep back something.
SURANGAMA.
To tell you the truth, Queen, I could not say well what he is like. No—he is not what men call handsome.
SUDARSHANA.
You don’t say so? Not handsome!
SURANGAMA.
No, my Queen, he is not handsome. To call him beautiful would be to say far too little about him.
SUDARSHANA.
All your words are like that—dark, strange, and vague. I cannot understand what you mean.
SURANGAMA.
No, I will not call him handsome. And it is because he is not beautiful that he is so wonderful, so superb, so miraculous!
SUDARSHANA.
I do not quite understand you—though I like to hear you talk about him. But I must see him at any cost. I do not even remember the day when I was married to him. I have heard mother say that a wise man came before my marriage and said, “He who will wed your daughter is without a second on this earth.” How often have I asked her to describe his appearance to me, but she only answers vaguely, and says she cannot say—she saw him through a veil, faintly and obscurely. But if he is the best among men, how can I sit still without seeing him?
SURANGAMA.
Do you not feel a faint breeze blowing?
SUDARSHANA.
A breeze? Where?
SURANGAMA.
Do you not smell a soft perfume?