by Kalidasa
What need to fit the arrow to the bow (1)
When his reverberating string alone
Disperses with its angry hum
The demon foe?
I must take this grass for the priests to spread on the altar. [Walking about, seeing someone, and speaking aloud] Priyaṃvadā, who is that ointment for? And the lotus-leaf fibre? [Listening] What do you say? That Śakuntalā has gone down with heatstroke, and it’s to soothe her limbs? Then spare no pains, for she is the very life breath of our patriarch, Father KAṆVA. I’ll send Gautamī with some of the sacrificial water—it will help to cool her.
[Exit ASSISTANT
Enter the KING, lovesick.
KING [sighing pensively].
I know the strength of penance and I know (2)
The lady’s subject to a different power,
But like moisture in an upturned flower
My heart is trapped, and lacks the means to go.
Great God of love, why am I in torment, when your arrows are nothing but flowers? [Recollecting] But of course!
Though he reduced you to ash,* (2a)
Śiva’s fury still burns in your veins
Like submarine fire.
How else, God of desire,
Do you cause me such pains?
But you and the moon are one in the way you betray the trust that lovers give you.
For they say— (3)
Your shafts are flowers, and lunar rays are cool,
But those are half-truths for a man like me,
When the moon, for all its frozen marrow,
Darts solar beams, and every floral spray
Hides a diamond arrow.
And yet:
I’ll love the God of Love (4)
If all my mental anguish
Stems from nothing but this lady
And her almond eyes.
[Walking in a depressed state] Now the rites are over, and I’m no longer needed by the priests, how shall I revive myself? [Sighing] I can’t—unless I see my love, my only refuge. I shall seek her out. [Looking at the sun] It’s now the hottest time of day. Śakuntalā usually spends it with her friends in the bowers of vines on the banks of the Mālinī—and that’s where I’ll go. [Walking around and feeling the touch of the breeze] Ah! This place is cooled by the most magical breezes!
Moist with the river’s spray, (5)
The lotus-scented wind
Sighs to soothe my love burnt limbs.
[Walking around and looking] Yes! Śakuntalā must be nearby. For:
At the entrance to this bower (6)
Her footprints tread the sandy soil
Toe-light, heel-heavy, canted
By the tilt and weight
Of her body’s delicate power.
I’ll just peer through the branches. [Filled with joy] Ah! My eyes are in paradise! For here is my heart’s desire, resting on a smooth rock covered in flowers, attended by her friends. Let me listen to them.
He stands watching. ŚAKUNTALĀ appears as described, with her two friends.
ANASŪYĀ AND PRIYAMVADĀ [fanning her affectionately]. Dearest Śakuntalā, doesn’t the breeze from this lotus leaf make you feel better?
Śakuntalā. Are you fanning me, darlings?
[The friends glance at each other in alarm
KING. Śakuntalā seems to be very ill. [Pondering] Now, is it the heat, or is it the heart, as it is with me? [Gazing with longing] But there’s really no question:
Her breasts are smeared with lotus balm, (7)
Her fibre bracelet slips her wrist,*
Her body’s racked—and lovely still,
The summer sears her—but so does love,
And love with greater skill.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [aside]. Anasūyā, ever since she first saw the king, Śakuntalā has been terribly restless. Perhaps he is the cause of her fever?
ANASŪYĀ. Yes, I was wondering about that as well. It’s time to question her. [Aloud] My dear, I have to ask you something. You seem to be in a lot of pain.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [raising herself a little]. What do you want to say to me, friend?
ANASŪYĀ. Dear Śakuntalā, we’re quite ignorant in the ways of love. But if the stories are to be believed, then it seems to me you’re feeling exactly what women in love are said to feel. So tell us the real cause of your pain—nothing can be cured until it’s been properly diagnosed.
KING. So I didn’t just imagine it! Anasūyā echoes my thought.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [to herself]. It’s all too much—I can’t talk about it.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Dear Śakuntalā, Anasūyā’s quite right: you must face up to your illness. Why—you’re fading away in front of our eyes. All that survives of you is a beautiful shadow.
KING. That’s nothing less than the truth. For:
Her cheeks are drawn, her bosom shrinks, (8)
Her waist contracts, her shoulders stoop,
Her colour drains. Love strikes her down—
A beauty sad as spring’s young leaves,
hrivelled in the furnace of the summer’s breeze.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Darlings, who else could I tell but you? But it will upset you.
ANASŪYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ. That’s exactly why we’ve asked you. When you share your unhappiness with your closest friends, you make it bearable.
KING.
They share her every joy and sorrow— (9)
She’ll tell them why she’s sick at heart.
She seemed to gaze at me with longing,
But now I’m full of doubt.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Friends, from the very moment I saw that royal sage who protects the hermitage—[She breaks off in embarrassment
ANASŪYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ. Do go on, my dear.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. From that moment, I’ve been filled with longing for him … And that’s why I’m in this state.
KING [joyfully]. I’ve heard what I needed to hear.
Love, that laid me low, has pulled me up again— (10)
Just as a dark and airless day
Dispels the heat
With sudden rain.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. So, darlings, if you think it proper, help me to the king’s pity. Otherwise—prepare my body for the fire.
KING. Her words put a fire to doubt.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [aside]. Anasūyā, she’s so far in love, there’s no time to lose. And we can hardly object to her choice—to fall for the jewel of the Puru line!
ANASŪYĀ. You’re right.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [aloud]. My dear, how lucky, then, that your desire’s at one with nature. Where should a great river wend, if not to the sea? What plant’s lush enough for the jasmine to entwine, if not the mango?
KING. What wonder if the double stars of spring* do service to the crescent moon?
ANASŪYĀ. But how can we arrange what she wants with any speed or secrecy?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Secrecy will need some thought, but speed is easy.
ANASŪYĀ. Really?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Surely, with all those loving glances, the king has made it clear enough what he feels for her? And now he’s as thin as she is from lack of sleep.
KING. Ah, yes:
Night after night tears cloud the jewels (11)
Of this, my golden bracelet’s trim—
It shuttles up and down my arm, made slim
By love’s cruel wastage of my bow-scarred limbs.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [thinking]. My dear, she must write him a love letter. Then I’ll hide it in some flowers, and, pretending it’s an offering blessed by the god, I’ll hand it to him directly.
ANASŪYĀ. I love it—it’s a most fragrant plan. But what does Śakuntalā think?
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Who am I to interfere with your plans?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Then you must think up a love poem that will show him exactly what you’re feeling.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Very well… I’m thinking. But I can’t help trembling at the thought—suppose he rejects me?
KING [delighted].
Bashful
girl! The man you want (12)
Stands here, dying to fold you in his arms.
The wealth-seeker finds her, or not,
As the goddess Laksmī* wills,
But when she herself pursues,
Who can resist her charms?
ANASŪYĀ AND PRLYAṂVADĀ. Why do you run yourself down? Who would swathe themselves in cloth to keep off the cooling light of the autumn moon?
ŚAKUNTALĀ [smiling]. Well, if you insist. [She sits and thinks
KING. When I gaze at my beloved, my eyes forget to blink. And they are right, for:
As she composes, an eyebrow puckered in thought, (13)
Like a tendril curling on a fresh young vine,
Her face, her downy cheek sing out her wish:
’I am his—and would that he were mine.’
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Friends, I’ve thought of a song, but how can I write it down?
PRlYAṂVADĀ. Use your nails—etch the letter into this lotus leaf. It’s as soft as the plumage in a parrot’s breast.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [doing as directed]. Friends, listen to this. Does it work, or not?
ANASOYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ. We’re listening!
ŚAKUNTALĀ.
I cannot say I know your mind, (14)
But day and night the god of love
Injects that pain through all my limbs,
Which you prepared—ah sweet unkind—
I cannot say I know your mind.
KING [revealing himself suddenly].
Slender lady, you should know (15)
That same love which tortures you
Consumes me quite—
The sun, that merely dulls the lotus’ glow,
Engulfs the moon in azure light.
ANASūYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ [seeing him and arising with delight]. Welcome to our wish, which has arrived post-haste, in the person of the beloved himself!
[ŚAKUNTALĀ tries to rise
KING. Don’t get up!
Limbs cushioned on flowers— (16)
Bruised lotuses, fragrant
But listless with pain—
Should conserve their powers,
And treat stale custom with proper disdain.
ANASŪYĀ. Then let the king sit down—on this stone bench.
[The KING sits down next to ŚAKUNTALĀ, who remains there, embarrassed
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Your love for each other is obvious. But my love for my friend … Yet, perhaps it doesn’t really need to be said.
KING. My dear, don’t hold back now if you’re going to regret it later.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. They say it is the king’s duty to relieve the pain of those who live in his realm.
KING. There is no higher calling.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Well then, our dear friend has been reduced to this condition through her love for you. So, if you would save her life, you must take her under your protection.
KING. We are of one mind, my dear—and everything you say does me honour.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [looking at PRIYAṂVADĀ]. Darling, why are you troubling the king, when he must be longing to return to the women of the palace?
KING: Bewitching lady, soul of my soul:
You give the final thrust to one already felled (17)
By Kāma’s dart,* if you suppose
My wounded heart could be impelled
To break your trust
And love another.
ANASŪYĀ. Lord, it’s said that kings have many wives. You won’t, I hope, treat our dear friend here in such a way that, for the rest of her life, she’ll be a source of grief to her family.
KING. Lady, what more can I say than this:
Kings indeed have many wives, (18)
But my succession
Rests on two alone:
The sea-engirdled earth,*
And your dear friend.
ANASŪYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ. We’re happy now.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [casting a glance]. Anasūyā, that fawn is looking all over the place for its mother. Let’s take it to her!
[Both start to leave
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Friends! Come back! One of you—I’m unguarded!
ANASŪYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ. With the world’s guardian at your side?
[They leave
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Why have they gone?
KING. Don’t be alarmed. I shall look after you. Command me love:
Will moist air, stirred by the fans of lotus fronds (19)
Suffice to cool and refresh you?
Or shall I massage, in my lap, your lotus-reddened feet?
ŚAKUNTALĀ. I must not offend those I respect!
[Rising as though wanting to leave
KING. Dazzling lady, the day is still hot, and where, in your state,
Will you go in this shimmering heat, (20)
Exposing limbs made frail by love,
When lotus leaves could shade you from above,
And blossoms revive you in some cool retreat?
[He forces her to turn around
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Puru king, restrain yourself! I too may be consumed by love, but I’m not free to give myself to you.
KING. Timid fawn—don’t worry about your elders! The father of your family knows the law, and he shall find no fault in what you’ve done.* Besides:
You wouldn’t be the first royal sage’s daughter (21)
To take a prince for love—
And receive her father’s blessings later.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Let me go now. I need to ask my friends’ advice.
KING. Yes. I shall release you—
ŚAKUNTALĀ. When?
KING. When?
When, like a bee, I kiss the bud of your unbruised lip (22)
And flood my thirsting mouth with nectar.
[With these words, he tries to raise her face, ŚAKUNTALĀ
evades him with a dance
OFF-STAGE VOICE. Red goose, take leave of your gander.* Night is falling!
ŚAKUNTALĀ [agitated]. Puru Lord, the venerable Gautamī is certainly coming this way to enquire after my health. Hide amongst these branches.
KING. Very well.
[He hides himself and waits
GAUTAMĪ enters with a pot in her hand, accompanied by ANASOYĀ and PRIYAṂVADĀ.
ANASŪYĀ AND PRIYAṂVADĀ. This way, this way, Mother Gautamī!
GAUTAMĪ [approaching ŚAKUNTALĀ]. Child, are you feeling any better?
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Noble Mother, I do believe that I have taken a turn for the better.
GAUTAMĪ. With this water from the sacrifice your body shall be released from pain. [She sprinkles ŚAKUNTALĀ’s head] Child, the day is ending—it’s time to go back to the hut. Come now…
ŚAKUNTALĀ [aside]. Heart, when what you most desired was within your grasp, why was it that you still couldn’t overcome your shyness? So now you’ll pay the price and suffer the pain of separation and regret. [Taking another step, and speaking aloud] O bower of creepers that so relieved my suffering, farewell—may we soon be reunited and enjoy each other again!
[Exit ŚAKUNTALĀ sorrowfully, with the others
KING [going back to where he was, with a sigh]. Oh, the barriers between desire and its fulfilment!
Since I managed to raise her beautiful face, (23)
Why didn’t I kiss her?—
Her head was almost on my shoulder,
Her tapering fingers brushed her lower lip,
Muffling her own words of censure.
What shall I do? Go? Or linger a while in this bower, where my love rested herself, but which she has now deserted? [Looking all around]
Here, on this stone, printed in flowers, (24)
Is the trace of her body;
Here, on a lotus, etched by her nails,
A lover’s fading letter;
Here, slipped from her wrist,
A lotus-fibre bangle—
Mementoes of her that rivet my gaze,
And delay my departure,
Though the arbour is empty,
And I am alone.<
br />
VOICE IN THE AIR. King!
Like thunderclouds in ochre light, (25)
Carnivorous demons curl and swarm,
And mass against the evening rite.
KING. Yes—I’m on my way.
[The KING leaves
ACT 4
ANASŪYĀ and Priyaṃvadā enter, gathering flowers.
ANASŪYĀ. Priyaṃvadā, Śakuntalā’s secret marriage has worked out so well—and to such a very suitable husband—yet I can’t stop worrying.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Why?
ANASŪYĀ. Now the king has finished the sacrifice and been released by the priests, he’ll return to his capital. And once he’s there among the women of the court, who can say whether he’ll remember what’s happened in the forest?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Don’t worry! Such men don’t belie their appearance. I’m more concerned about what Father Kaṇva will do when he hears the news.
ANASDYĀ. He’ll give his approval.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. What makes you think that?
ANASŪYĀ. What does any father want most in the world? To marry his daughter to a person of quality. So if fate conspires to save him the trouble …
PRIYAṂVADĀ [looking at the basket of flowers]. My dear, we’ve collected enough flowers now to perform the daily offering.
ANASŪYĀ. Shouldn’t we also offer something to the goddess who has blessed Śakuntalā with a happy marriage?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. I’m seeing to it now.
[They continue the rite
OFF-STAGE VOICE. Hello! I am here!
ANASŪYĀ [listening]. My dear, that sounds like a visitor announcing himself.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Isn’t Śakuntalā near the hut?
ANASŪYĀ. Yes, but she’s so distracted these days. We’d better make do with the flowers we’ve got—
OFF-STAGE VOICE. So, you slight a guest, do you?*
That man whose brilliance (1)
Robs your thought of everything, including me,
A great ascetic fired by penance—
That man, though prompted,
