Aryaka.
I leave behind me that accursèd sea
Of human woe and human misery,
The prison of the king.
Like elephants that break their chains and flee,
I drag a fettered foot most painfully
In flight and wandering.1
King Pālaka was frightened by a prophecy, took me from the hamlet where I lived, fettered me, and thrust me into a solitary cell, there to await my death. But with the help of my good friend Sharvilaka I escaped. [He sheds tears.]
If such my fate, no sin is mine at least,
That he should cage me like a savage beast.
A man may fight with kings, though not with fate—
And yet, can helpless men contend with great?2
Whither shall I go with my wretchedness? [He looks about.] Here is the house of some good man who hasn't locked the side-door.
The house is old, the door without a lock,
The hinges all awry.
Some man, no doubt, who feels misfortune's shock
As cruelly as I.3
[96.18. S.
I will enter here and wait.
A voice behind the scenes. Get up, bullocks, get up!
Aryaka. [Listening.] Ah, a bullock-cart is coming this way.