A VOICE [behind the scenes].—Ho there! See you not that I am here?
ANASÚYÁ [listening].—That must be the voice of a guest announcing his arrival.
PRIYAMVADÁ.—Surely, Śakoontalá is not absent from the cottage. [Aside.] Her heart at least is absent, I fear.
ANASÚYÁ.—Come along, come along; we have gathered flowers enough.
[They move away.
THE SAME VOICE [behind the scenes].—Woe to thee, maiden, for daring to slight a guest like me!
Shall I stand here unwelcomed; even I,
A very mine of penitential merit,
Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid,
Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties
Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts
Upon the cherished object of thy love,
While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then—
He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he
Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart
Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive
To waken his remembrance of the past;
He shall disown thee, even as the sot,
Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies
The words he uttered in his revellings.
PRIYAMVADÁ.—Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred. Śakoontalá, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest whom she was bound to treat with respect. [Looking behind the scenes.] Ah! yes; I see, and no less a person than the great sage Durvasas, who is known to be most irascible. He it is that has just cursed her, and is now retiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if nothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire.
ANASÚYÁ.—Go quickly, dear Priyamvadá, throw yourself at his feet, and persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering for him, with water and refreshments.
PRIYAMVADÁ.—I will.