SURANGAMA.
O King, who can keep thy own doors shut against thee? They are not locked or bolted—they will swing wide open if you only touch them with thy fingers. Wilt thou not even touch them? Wilt thou not enter unless I go and open the doors?
SONG.
At a breath you can remove my veils, my lord!
If I fall asleep on the dust and hear not your call, would you wait till I wake?
Would not the thunder of your chariot wheel make the earth tremble?
Would you not burst open the door and enter your own house unbidden?
Then do you go, O Queen, and open the door for him: he will not enter otherwise.
SUDARSHANA.
I do not see anything distinctly in the dark—I do not know where the doors are. You know everything here—go and open the doors for me.
[SURANGAMA opens the door, bows to the KING, and goes out. The KING will remain invisible throughout this play.]
SUDARSHANA.
Why do you not allow me to see you in the light?
KING.
So you want to see me in the midst of a thousand things in broad daylight! Why should I not be the only thing you can feel in this darkness?
SUDARSHANA.
But I must see you—I am longing to have a sight of you.
KING.
You will not be able to bear the sight of me—it will only give you pain, poignant and overpowering.
SUDARSHANA.
How can you say that I shall be unable to bear your sight? Oh, I can feel even in this dark how lovely and wonderful you are: why should I be afraid of you in the light? But tell me, can you see me in the dark?