SUDARSHANA .
Are these the words worthy of a King? Did he say so with his own lips?
SURANGAMA.
No, his messenger, Suvarna, brought this news.
SUDARSHANA.
Woe, woe is me!
SURANGAMA.
And he produced a few withered flowers and said, “Tell your Queen that the drier and more withered these souvenirs of the Spring Festival become, the fresher and more blooming do they grow within in my heart.”
SUDARSHANA.
Stop! Tell me no more. Do not torment me any more.
SURANGAMA.
Look! There sit all the princes in the great assembly. He who has no ornament on his person, except a single garland of flowers round his crown—he is the King of Kanchi. And he who holds the umbrella over his head, standing behind him—that is Suvarna.
SUDARSHANA.
Is that Suvarna? Are you quite certain?
SURANGAMA.
Yes, I know him well.
SUDARSHANA.
Can it be that it is this man that I saw the other day? No, no,—I saw something mingled and transfused and blended with light and darkness, with wind and perfume,—no, no, it cannot be he; that is not he.
SURANGAMA.
But every one admits that he is exceedingly beautiful to look at.