Reading section 41

KANWA.--Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this fig-tree. [_They do so_.

KANWA [_aside_].--I must think of some appropriate message to send to his majesty King Dushyanta. [_Reflects._

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--See, see, dear Anasúyá, the poor female Chakraváka-bird, whom cruel fate dooms to nightly separation from her mate, calls to him in mournful notes from the other side of the stream, though he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves of the water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she was lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words.

ANASÚYÁ.--Say not so, dearest. Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy She hails the morning light that brings her mate Back to her side. The agony of parting Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge Is blunted by the hope of future meeting.

KANWA.--Śárngarava, when you have introduced Śakoontalá into the presence of the King, you must give him this message from me.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Let me hear it, venerable father.

KANWA.--This is it-- Most puissant prince! we here present before thee One thou art bound to cherish and receive As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone As thine own queen--worthy of equal love With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire, We claim of thee as justice due to us, In virtue of our holy character-- In virtue of thine honorable rank-- In virtue of the pure spontaneous love That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her, Without consent or privity of us. We ask no more--the rest we freely leave To thy just feeling and to destiny.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--A most suitable message. I will take care to deliver it correctly.

KANWA.--And now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits, though we live secluded from the world, are not ignorant of worldly matters.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects.

KANWA.--Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's palace, and art admitted into his family, Honor thy betters; ever be respectful To those above thee; and, should others share Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey To jealousy; but ever be a friend, A loving friend, to those who rival thee In his affections. Should thy wedded lord Treat thee with harshness, thou must never be Harsh in return, but patient and submissive. Be to thy menials courteous, and to all Placed under thee, considerate and kind: Be never self-indulgent, but avoid Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles, Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse. What thinks Gautamí of this advice?

GAUTAMÍ.--An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it well to heart, my daughter.

KANWA.--Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy companions, and then we leave thee.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My father, must Priyamvadá and Anasúyá really return with you? They are very dear to me.

KANWA.--Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in marriage to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to accompany thee to such a public place. But Gautamí shall be thy companion.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_embracing him_].--Removed from thy bosom, my beloved father, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in the western mountains,[40] how shall I be able to support life in a foreign soil?

KANWA.--Daughter, thy fears are groundless:-- Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares Befitting his imperial dignity Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss Of bearing him a son--a noble boy, Bright as the day-star--shall transport thy soul With new delights, and little shalt thou reck Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now At parting from thy father and thy friends.

[_Śakoontalá throws herself at her foster-father's feet_.

KANWA.--Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be realized!

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_approaching her friends_].--Come, my two loved companions, embrace me--both of you together.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_embracing her_].--Dear Śakoontalá, remember, if the King should by any chance be slow in recognizing you, you have only to show him this ring, on which his own name is engraved.

ŚAKOONTALÁ.--The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--There is no real cause for fear, dearest. Excessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists.

ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the heavens.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_looking towards the hermitage_].--Dear father, when shall I ever see this hallowed grove again?

KANWA.--I will tell thee; listen-- When thou hast passed a long and blissful life As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared With all the earth his ever-watchful care; And hast beheld thine own heroic son, Matchless in arms, united to a spouse In happy wedlock; when his aged sire, Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned The helm of state; then, weary of the world, Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek The calm seclusion of thy former home:-- There amid holy scenes to be at peace, Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.

GAUTAMÍ.--Come, my child, the favorable time for our journey is fast passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to move homewards, or these last words will never end.

KANWA.--Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be interrupted.

ŚAKOONTALÁ [_again embracing her foster-father_].--Beloved father, thy frame is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not, allow thyself to sorrow too much on my account.

KANWA [_sighing_].--How, O my child, shall my bereavèd heart Forget its bitterness, when, day by day, Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants Reared by thy care, or sprung from hallowed grain Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door-- A frequent offering to our household gods? Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.

[_Exit Śakoontalá with her escort_.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_gazing after Śakoontalá_].--Alas! alas! she is gone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view.

KANWA [_sighing_].--Well, Anasúyá, your sister has departed. Moderate your grief, both of you, and follow me. I go back to the hermitage.

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert without Śakoontalá. How can we ever return to it?

KANWA.--It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it in this light. [_Walking pensively on_.] As for me, I am quite surprised at myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house, my mind is easy: for indeed, A daughter is a loan--a precious jewel Lent to a parent till her husband claim her. And now that to her rightful lord and master I have delivered her, my burdened soul Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely.

[_Exeunt._

[40] The sandal-tree is a large kind of myrtle, with pointed leaves. The wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes and is celebrated for its delicious scent. It is chiefly found on the slopes of the Malay mountains or Western Ghants, on the Malabar coast.

ACT FIFTH

Scene.--A Room in the Palace

_The King Dushyanta and the Jester Máthavya are discovered seated_.

MÁTHAVYA [_listening_].--Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadiká is practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.

KING.--Hush! Let me listen.

A VOICE [_sings behind the scenes_].-- How often hither didst thou rove, Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek; Oh! leave not, then, thy early love, The lily's honeyed lip to seek.

KING.--A most impassioned strain, truly!

MÁTHAVYA.--Do you understand the meaning of the words?

KING [_smiling_].--She means to reprove me, because I once paid her great attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumatí. Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadiká from me that I take her delicate reproof as it is intended.

MÁTHAVYA.--Very well. [_Rising from his seat_.] But stay--I don't much relish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are that she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a jelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the seductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.

KING.--Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her my message.

MÁTHAVYA.--What must be must be, I suppose. [_Exit._

KING [_aside_].--Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar sensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn after some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but, Not seldom in our happy hours of ease, When thought is still, the sight of some fair form, Or mournful fall of music breathing low, Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul With a mysterious sadness, and a sense Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be That the dim memory of events long past, Or friendships formed in other states of being, Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit? [_Remains pensive and sad_.

_Enter the Chamberlain_.

CHAMBERLAIN.--Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained! Even this wand betrays the lapse of years; In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge And symbol of my office; now it serves As a support to prop my tottering steps.

Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an immediate audience. Certainly, his majesty ought not to neglect a matter of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain the world, and he must not expect much repose; because--

Onward, forever onward, in his car The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course, Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds. And ever moving speeds the rushing Wind Through boundless space, filling the universe With his life-giving breezes. Day and night, The King of Serpents on his thousand heads Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so, Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings, Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.

I will therefore deliver my message. [_Walking on and looking about_.] Ah! here comes the King:--

His subjects are his children; through the day, Like a fond father, to supply their wants, Incessantly he labors; wearied now, The monarch seeks seclusion and repose-- E'en as the prince of elephants defies The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.

[_Approaching_.] Victory to the King! So please your majesty, some hermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here, bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from the sage Kanwa, and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands.

KING [_respectfully_].--A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?

CHAMBERLAIN.--Even so, my liege.

KING.--Tell my domestic priest, Somaráta, to receive the hermits with due honor, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable for the reception of such holy guests.