Shukra. Father—
Old Man [going down the steps]. Pollute not my hearing by calling me thy father. May the judgment of Indra be upon thee! [He totters down out of sight, left, in anger and horror.]
Shukra. Father, hear, oh hear! [The rain comes down in a deluge; thunder and lightning. The rain blots everything out of sight. It pours in deep, dark sheets, through which the chains and sheets of lightning burn and run. After raining awhile, the sky clears. In the pale moonlight, Shukra is seen crouching near the Sacred plant. He is wet and disheveled. He slowly rises, swaying in exhaustion. Voices are heard below.]
Shukra. Can it be that it is over? Has Indra judged me and found me free of error? Yea, were I in error, the lightning would have struck me. I lay there blinded by rain awaiting my death. It did not come. Yea, Indra has judged! [Noises below; he does not hear.] O, thou shadowy world, I am free of thee at last. Free of love and loving, free of all bondage. I have no earthly ties,—I lean on God alone. At last, I am bound to no earthly being, not even—[strange pause]—not even,—Shanta. [He becomes conscious of the noise of approaching footsteps and the light of the torches from below.] Who is that? [He goes forward a few steps. Enter Kanada, torch in hand.]
Kanada. Master, Master.
Shukra. Kanada, thou,—[a pause, very brief but poignant]. Why this agitation? Shanta, where is Shanta?
Kanada. Shanta is—
Shukra [seeing the other torches rising suddenly]. Speak! Who comes hither?
Kanada. They bring a dead man.
Shukra. Who is he? [As a premonition of the truth comes over him.] Where is Shanta?