by Kalidasa
Fisherman. Don't kill a man without any reason, master.
Januka (looking ahead). There is the chief, with a written order from the king. (To the fisherman.) Now you will see your family, or else you will feed the crows and jackals. (Enter the chief.)
Chief. Quick! Quick! (He breaks off.)
Fisherman. Oh, oh! I'm a dead man. (He shows dejection.)
Chief. Release him, you. Release the fishnet fellow. It is all right, his getting the ring. Our king told me so himself.
Suchaka. All right, chief. He is a dead man come back to life. (He releases the fisherman.)
Fisherman (bowing low to the chief). Master, I owe you my life. (He falls at his feet.)
Chief. Get up, get up! Here is a reward that the king was kind enough to give you. It is worth as much as the ring. Take it. (He hands the fisherman a bracelet.)
Fisherman (joyfully taking it). Much obliged.
Januka. He is much obliged to the king. Just as if he had been taken from the stake and put on an elephant's back.
Suchaka. Chief, the reward shows that the king thought a lot of the ring. The gem must be worth something.
Chief. No, it wasn't the fine gem that pleased the king. It was this way.
The two policemen. Well?
Chief. I think, when the king saw it, he remembered somebody he loves. You know how dignified he is usually. But as soon as he saw it, he broke down for a moment.
Suchaka. You have done the king a good turn, chief.
Januka. All for the sake of this fish-killer, it seems to me. (He looks enviously at the fisherman.)
Fisherman. Take half of it, masters, to pay for something to drink.
Januka. Fisherman, you are the biggest and best friend I've got. The first thing we want, is all the brandy we can hold. Let's go where they keep it. (Exeunt omnes.)
SCENE II.—In the Palace Gardens
(Enter MISHRAKESHI, flying through the air.)
Mishrakeshi. I have taken my turn in waiting upon the nymphs. And now I will see what this good king is doing. Shakuntala is like a second self to me, because she is the daughter of Menaka. And it was she who asked me to do this. (She looks about.) It is the day of the spring festival. But I see no preparations for a celebration at court. I might learn the reason by my power of divination. But I must do as my friend asked me. Good! I will make myself invisible and stand near these girls who take care of the garden. I shall find out that way. (She descends to earth. Enter a maid, gazing at a mango branch, and behind her, a second.)
First maid.
First mango-twig, so pink, so green,
First living breath of spring,
You are sacrificed as soon as seen,
A festival offering.
Second maid. What are you chirping about to yourself, little cuckoo?
First maid. Why, little bee, you know that the cuckoo goes crazy with delight when she sees the mango-blossom.
Second maid (joyfully). Oh, has the spring really come?
First maid. Yes, little bee. And this is the time when you too buzz about in crazy joy. Second maid. Hold me, dear, while I stand on tiptoe and offer this blossom to Love, the divine.
First maid. If I do, you must give me half the reward of the offering.
Second maid. That goes without saying, dear. We two are one. (She leans on her friend and takes the mango-blossom.) Oh, see! The mango-blossom hasn't opened, but it has broken the sheath, so it is fragrant. (She brings her hands together.) I worship mighty Love.
O mango-twig I give to Love
As arrow for his bow,
Most sovereign of his arrows five,
Strike maiden-targets low.
(She throws the twig. Enter the chamberlain.)
Chamberlain (angrily). Stop, silly girl. The king has strictly forbidden the spring festival. Do you dare pluck the mango-blossoms?
The two maids (frightened). Forgive us, sir. We did not know.
Chamberlain. What! You have not heard the king's command, which is obeyed even by the trees of spring and the creatures that dwell in them. See!
The mango branches are in bloom,
Yet pollen does not form;
The cuckoo's song sticks in his throat,
Although the days are warm;
The amaranth-bud is formed, and yet
Its power of growth is gone;
The love-god timidly puts by
The arrow he has drawn.
Mishrakeshi. There is no doubt of it. This good king has wonderful power.
First maid. A few days ago, sir, we were sent to his Majesty by his brother-in-law Mitravasu to decorate the garden. That is why we have heard nothing of this affair.
Chamberlain. You must not do so again.
The two maids. But we are curious. If we girls may know about it, pray tell us, sir. Why did his Majesty forbid the spring festival? Mishrakeshi. Kings are fond of celebrations. There must be some good reason.
Chamberlain (to himself). It is in everybody's mouth. Why should I not tell it? (Aloud.) Have you heard the gossip concerning Shakuntala's rejection?
The two maids. Yes, sir. The king's brother-in-law told us, up to the point where the ring was recovered.
Chamberlain. There is little more to tell. When his Majesty saw the ring, he remembered that he had indeed contracted a secret marriage with Shakuntala, and had rejected her under a delusion. And then he fell a prey to remorse.
He hates the things he loved; he intermits
The daily audience, nor in judgment sits;
Spends sleepless nights in tossing on his bed;
At times, when he by courtesy is led
To address a lady, speaks another name,
Then stands for minutes, sunk in helpless shame.
Mishrakeshi. I am glad to hear it.
Chamberlain. His Majesty's sorrow has forbidden the festival.
The two maids. It is only right.
A voice behind the scenes. Follow me.
Chamberlain (listening). Ah, his Majesty approaches. Go, and attend to your duties. (Exeunt the two maids. Enter the king, wearing a dress indicative of remorse; the clown, and the portress.)
Chamberlain (observing the king). A beautiful figure charms in whatever state. Thus, his Majesty is pleasing even in his sorrow. For
All ornament is laid aside; he wears
One golden bracelet on his wasted arm;
His lip is scorched by sighs; and sleepless cares
Redden his eyes. Yet all can work no harm
On that magnificent beauty, wasting, but
Gaining in brilliance, like a diamond cut.
Mishrakeshi (observing the king). No wonder Shakuntala pines for him, even though he dishonoured her by his rejection of her.
King (walks about slowly, sunk in thought).
Alas! My smitten heart, that once lay sleeping,
Heard in its dreams my fawn-eyed love's laments,
And wakened now, awakens but to weeping,
To bitter grief, and tears of penitence.
Mishrakeshi. That is the poor girl's fate.
Clown (to himself). He has got his Shakuntala-sickness again. I wish I knew how to cure him.
Chamberlain (advancing). Victory to your Majesty. I have examined the garden. Your Majesty may visit its retreats.
King. Vetravati, tell the minister Pishuna in my name that a sleepless night prevents me from mounting the throne of judgment. He is to investigate the citizens' business and send me a memorandum.
Portress. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)
King. And you, Parvatayana, return to your post of duty.
Chamberlain. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)
Clown. You have got rid of the vermin. Now amuse yourself in this garden. It is delightful with the passing of the cold weather.
King (sighing). My friend, the proverb makes no mistake. Misfortune finds the weak spot. See!
No sooner did the darkness lift
That clouded memory's power,
Th
an the god of love prepared his bow
And shot the mango-flower.
No sooner did the ring recall
My banished maiden dear,
No sooner do I vainly weep
For her, than spring is here.
Clown. Wait a minute, man. I will destroy Love's arrow with my stick. (He raises his stick and strikes at the mango branch.)
King (smiling). Enough! I see your pious power. My friend, where shall I sit now to comfort my eyes with the vines? They remind me somehow of her.
Clown. Well, you told one of the maids, the clever painter, that you would spend this hour in the bower of spring-creepers. And you asked her to bring you there the picture of the lady Shakuntala which you painted on a tablet.
King. It is my only consolation. Lead the way to the bower of spring-creepers.
Clown. Follow me. (They walk about. MISHRAKESHI follows.) Here is the bower of spring-creepers, with its jewelled benches. Its loneliness seems to bid you a silent welcome. Let us go in and sit down. (They do so.)
Mishrakeshi. I will hide among the vines and see the dear girl's picture. Then I shall be able to tell her how deep her husband's love is. (She hides.)
King (sighing). I remember it all now, my friend. I told you how I first met Shakuntala. It is true, you were not with me when I rejected her. But I had told you of her at the first. Had you forgotten, as I did?
Mishrakeshi. This shows that a king should not be separated a single moment from some intimate friend.
Clown. No, I didn't forget. But when you had told the whole story, you said it was a joke and there was nothing in it. And I was fool enough to believe you. No, this is the work of fate.
Mishrakeshi. It must be.
King (after meditating a moment). Help me, my friend.
Clown. But, man, this isn't right at all. A good man never lets grief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest.
King. My friend, I am quite forlorn. I keep thinking of her pitiful state when I rejected her. Thus:
When I denied her, then she tried
To join her people. "Stay," one cried,
Her father's representative.
She stopped, she turned, she could but give
A tear-dimmed glance to heartless me—
That arrow burns me poisonously.
Mishrakeshi. How his fault distresses him!
Clown. Well, I don't doubt it was some heavenly being that carried her away.
King. Who else would dare to touch a faithful wife? Her friends told me that Menaka was her mother. My heart persuades me that it was she, or companions of hers, who carried Shakuntala away.
Mishrakeshi. His madness was wonderful, not his awakening reason.
Clown. But in that case, you ought to take heart. You will meet her again.
King. How so?
Clown. Why, a mother or a father cannot long bear to see a daughter separated from her husband.
King. My friend,
And was it phantom, madness, dream,
Or fatal retribution stern?
My hopes fell down a precipice
And never, never will return.
Clown. Don't talk that way. Why, the ring shows that incredible meetings do happen.
King (looking at the ring). This ring deserves pity. It has fallen from a heaven hard to earn.
Your virtue, ring, like mine,
Is proved to be but small;
Her pink-nailed finger sweet
You clasped. How could you fall?
Mishrakeshi. If it were worn on any other hand, it would deserve pity. My dear girl, you are far away. I am the only one to hear these delightful words.
Clown. Tell me how you put the ring on her finger.
Mishrakeshi. He speaks as if prompted by my curiosity.
King. Listen, my friend. When I left the pious grove for the city, my darling wept and said: "But how long will you remember us, dear?"
Clown. And then you said—--
King. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to her—--
Clown. Well, what?
King.
Count every day one letter of my name;
Before you reach the end, dear,
Will come to lead you to my palace halls
A guide whom I shall send, dear.
Then, through my madness, it fell out cruelly. Mishrakeshi. It was too charming an agreement to be frustrated by fate.
Clown. But how did it get into a carp's mouth, as if it had been a fish-hook?
King. While she was worshipping the Ganges at Shachitirtha, it fell.
Clown. I see.
Mishrakeshi. That is why the virtuous king doubted his marriage with poor Shakuntala. Yet such love does not ask for a token. How could it have been?
King. Well, I can only reproach this ring.
Clown (smiling). And I will reproach this stick of mine. Why are you crooked when I am straight?
King (not hearing him).
How could you fail to linger
On her soft, tapering finger,
And in the water fall?
And yet
Things lifeless know not beauty;
But I—I scorned my duty,
The sweetest task of all.
Mishrakeshi. He has given the answer which I had ready.
Clown. But that is no reason why I should starve to death.
King (not heeding). O my darling, my heart burns with repentance because I abandoned you without reason. Take pity on me. Let me see you again. (Enter a maid with a tablet.)
Maid. Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (She produces the tablet.)
King (gazing at it). It is a beautiful picture. See!
A graceful arch of brows above great eyes;
Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies
Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red
As red karkandhu-fruit; love's brightness shed
O'er all her face in bursts of liquid charm—
The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.
Clown (looking at it). The sketch is full of sweet meaning. My eyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface. What more can I say? I expect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it.
Mishrakeshi. The king is a clever painter. I seem to see the dear girl before me.
King. My friend,
What in the picture is not fair,
Is badly done;
Yet something of her beauty there,
I feel, is won.
Mishrakeshi. This is natural, when love is increased by remorse.
King (sighing).
I treated her with scorn and loathing ever;
Now o'er her pictured charms my heart will burst:
A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river.
And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.
Clown. There are three figures in the picture, and they are all beautiful. Which one is the lady Shakuntala?
Mishrakeshi. The poor fellow never saw her beauty. His eyes are useless, for she never came before them.
King. Which one do you think?
Clown (observing closely). I think it is this one, leaning against the creeper which she has just sprinkled. Her face is hot and the flowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened. Her arms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she seems a little fatigued. This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the others are her friends.
King. You are good at guessing. Besides, here are proofs of my love.
See where discolorations faint
Of loving handling tell;
And here the swelling of the paint
Shows where my sad tears fell.
Chaturika, I have not finished the background. Go, get the brushes.
Maid. Please hold the picture, Madhavya, while I am gone.
King. I will hold it. (He does so. Exit maid.)
Clown. What are you going to add?
Mishrakeshi. Sure
ly, every spot that the dear girl loved.
King. Listen, my friend.
The stream of Malini, and on its sands
The swan-pairs resting; holy foot-hill lands
Of great Himalaya's sacred ranges, where
The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear
Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high,
A doe that on the buck's horn rubs her eye.
Clown (aside). To hear him talk, I should think he was going to fill up the picture with heavy-bearded hermits.
King. And another ornament that Shakuntala loved I have forgotten to paint.
Clown. What?
Mishrakeshi. Something natural for a girl living in the forest.
King.
The siris-blossom, fastened o'er her ear,
Whose stamens brush her cheek;
The lotus-chain like autumn moonlight soft
Upon her bosom meek.
Clown. But why does she cover her face with fingers lovely as the pink water-lily? She seems frightened. (He looks more closely.) I see. Here is a bold, bad bee. He steals honey, and so he flies to her lotus-face.
King. Drive him away.
Clown. It is your affair to punish evil-doers.
King. True. O welcome guest of the flowering vine, why do you waste your time in buzzing here?
Your faithful, loving queen,
Perched on a flower, athirst,
Is waiting for you still,
Nor tastes the honey first.
Mishrakeshi. A gentlemanly way to drive him off!
Clown. This kind are obstinate, even when you warn them.
King (angrily). Will you not obey my command? Then listen:
'Tis sweet as virgin blossoms on a tree,
The lip I kissed in love-feasts tenderly;
Sting that dear lip, O bee, with cruel power,
And you shall be imprisoned in a flower.
