SUDARSHANA.
Then do one thing: put these flowers on a lotus leaf, and take them to him.
ROHINI.
And what am I to say if he asks who sends them?
SUDARSHANA.
You will not have to say anything—he will know. He thought that I would not be able to recognise him: I cannot let him off without showing that I have found him out. [ROHINI goes out with the flowers.]
SUDARSHANA.
My heart is all a-quiver and restless to-night: I have never felt like this before. The white, silver light of the full moon is flooding the heavens and brimming over on every side like the bubbling foam of wine, . . . It seizes on me like a yearning, like a mantling intoxication. Here, who is here?
[Enter a SERVANT]
Servant.
What is your pleasure, your Majesty?
SUDARSHANA.
Do you see those festive boys singing and moving through the alleys and avenues of the mango trees? Call them hither, bring them to me: I want to hear them sing. [SERVANT goes out and enters with the boys.] Come, living emblems of youthful spring, begin your festive song! All my mind and body is song and music to-night—but the ineffable melody escapes my tongue: do you then sing for my sake!
SONG.
My sorrow is sweet to me in this spring night.
My pain smites at the chords of my love and softly sings.
Visions take birth from my yearning eyes and flit in the moonlit sky.
The smells from the depths of the woodlands have lost their way in my dreams.
Words come in whispers to my ears, I know not from where,
And bells in my anklets tremble and jingle in time with my heart thrills.
SUDARSHANA.
Enough, enough—I cannot bear it any more! Your song has filled my eyes with tears. . . . A fancy comes to me—that desire can never attain its object—it need never attain it. What sweet hermit of the woods has taught you this song? Oh that my eyes could see him whose song my ears have heard! Oh, how I wish—I wish I could wander rapt and lovely in the thick woodland arbours of the heart! Dear boys of the hermitage! how shall I reward you? This necklace is but made of jewels, hard stones—its hardness will give you pain—I have got nothing like the garlands of flowers you have on. [The boys bow and go out.]