ACT II THE SECRET
Project Gutenberg EPUB edition
Kālidāsa and Ryder, Arthur W. (Arthur William)
General. Yes, your Majesty.
King. Send back the archers who have gone ahead. And forbid the soldiers to vex the hermitage, or even to approach it. Remember:
There lurks a hidden fire in each Religious hermit-bower; Cool sun-stones kindle if assailed By any foreign power.
General. Yes, your Majesty.
Clown. Now will you get out with your strenuous life? (Exit general.)
King (to his attendants). Lay aside your hunting dress. And you, Raivataka, return to your post of duty.
Raivataka. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)
Clown. You have got rid of the vermin. Now be seated on this flat stone, over which the trees spread their canopy of shade. I can't sit down till you do.
King. Lead the way.
Clown. Follow me. (They walk about and sit down.)
King. Friend Madhavya, you do not know what vision is. You have not seen the fairest of all objects.
Clown. I see you, right in front of me.
King. Yes, every one thinks himself beautiful. But I was speaking of Shakuntala, the ornament of the hermitage.
Clown (to himself). I mustn't add fuel to the flame. (Aloud.) But you can't have her because she is a hermit-girl. What is the use of seeing her?
King. Fool!
And is it selfish longing then, That draws our souls on high Through eyes that have forgot to wink, As the new moon climbs the sky?
Besides, Dushyanta's thoughts dwell on no forbidden object.
Clown. Well, tell me about her.
King.
Sprung from a nymph of heaven Wanton and gay, Who spurned the blessing given, Going her way;
By the stern hermit taken In her most need: So fell the blossom shaken, Flower on a weed.
Clown. (laughing). You are like a man who gets tired of good dates and longs for sour tamarind. All the pearls of the palace are yours, and you want this girl!
King. My friend, you have not seen her, or you could not talk so.
Clown. She must be charming if she surprises you.
King. Oh, my friend, she needs not many words.
She is God's vision, of pure thought Composed in His creative mind; His reveries of beauty wrought The peerless pearl of womankind. So plays my fancy when I see How great is God, how lovely she.
Clown. How the women must hate her!
King. This too is in my thought.
She seems a flower whose fragrance none has tasted, A gem uncut by workman's tool, A branch no desecrating hands have wasted, Fresh honey, beautifully cool.
No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty, Her blameless loveliness and worth, Unless he has fulfilled man's perfect duty— And is there such a one on earth?
Clown. Marry her quick, then, before the poor girl falls into the hands of some oily-headed hermit.
King. She is dependent on her father, and he is not here.
Clown. But how does she feel toward you?
King. My friend, hermit-girls are by their very nature timid. And yet
When I was near, she could not look at me; She smiled—but not to me—and half denied it; She would not show her love for modesty, Yet did not try so very hard to hide it.
Clown. Did you want her to climb into your lap the first time she saw you?
King. But when she went away with her friends, she almost showed that she loved me.
When she had hardly left my side, "I cannot walk," the maiden cried, And turned her face, and feigned to free The dress not caught upon the tree.
Clown. She has given you some memories to chew on. I suppose that is why you are so in love with the pious grove.
King. My friend, think of some pretext under which we may return to the hermitage.