KALINGA.
But your umbrella-bearer seems to have made up for that,—he is loaded with gold and jewellery all over.
VIRAT.
The King of Kanchi wants to demonstrate the futility and inferiority of outer beauty and grandeur. Vanity of his prowess has made him discard all outer embellishments from his limbs.
KOSLIALA.
I am quite up to his trickery; he is seeking to prove his own dignity, maintaining a severe plainness among the bejewelled princes.
PANCHALA.
I cannot commend his wisdom in this matter. Every one knows that a woman’s eyes are like a moth in that they fling themselves headlong on the glare and glitter of jewel and gold.
KALINGA.
But how long shall we have to wait more?
KANCHI.
Do not grow impatient, King of Kalinga—sweet are the fruits of delay.
KALINGA.
If I were sure of the fruit I could have endured it. It is because my hopes of tasting the fruit are extremely precarious that my eagerness to have a sight of her breaks through all bounds.
KANCHI.
But you are young still—abandoned hope comes back to you again and again like a shameless woman at your age: we, however, have long passed that stage.
KOSHALA.
Kanchi, did you feel as if something shook your seat just now? Is it an earthquake?
KANCHI.
Earthquake? I do not know.