Radanikā. [Sighing wearily.] How should we have anything to do with gold now, my child? When your papa is rich again, then you shall have a gold cart to play with. But I'll amuse him by taking him to see Vasantasenā. [She approaches Vasantasenā.] Mistress, my service to you.
Vasantasenā. I am glad to see you, Radanikā. But whose little boy is this? He wears no ornaments, yet his dear little face makes my heart happy.
Radanikā. This is Chārudatta's son, Rohasena.
Vasantasenā. [Stretches out her arms.] Come, my boy, and put your little arms around me. [She takes him on her lap.] He looks just like his father.
Radanikā. More than looks like him, he is like him. At least I think so. His father is perfectly devoted to him.
Vasantasenā. But what is he crying about?
Radanikā. He used to play with a gold cart that belongs to the son of a neighbor. But that was taken away, and when he asked for it, I made him this little clay cart. But when I gave it to him, he said "I don't like this little clay cart, Radanikā. Give me my gold cart."
P. 158.10]
Vasantasenā. Oh, dear! To think that this little fellow has to suffer because others are wealthy. Ah, mighty Fate! the destinies of men, uncertain as the water-drops which fall upon a lotus-leaf, seem to thee but playthings! [Tearfully.] Don't cry, my child. You shall have a gold cart to play with.
Rohasena. Who is she, Radanikā?