ACT VII
Project Gutenberg EPUB edition
Kālidāsa and Ryder, Arthur W. (Arthur William)
ACT VII
(Enter, in a chariot that flies through the air, the king and MATALI.)
King. Matali, though I have done what Indra commanded, I think myself an unprofitable servant, when I remember his most gracious welcome.
Matali. O King, know that each considers himself the other's debtor. For
You count the service given Small by the welcome paid, Which to the king of heaven Seems mean for such brave aid.
King. Ah, no! For the honour given me at parting went far beyond imagination. Before the gods, he seated me beside him on his throne. And then
He smiled, because his son Jayanta's heart Beat quicker, by the self-same wish oppressed, And placed about my neck the heavenly wreath Still fragrant from the sandal on his breast.
Matali. But what do you not deserve from heaven's king? Remember:
Twice, from peace-loving Indra's sway The demon-thorn was plucked away: First, by Man-lion's crooked claws; Again, by your smooth shafts to-day.
King. This merely proves Indra's majesty. Remember:
All servants owe success in enterprise To honour paid before the great deed's done; Could dawn defeat the darkness otherwise Than resting on the chariot of the sun?
Matali. The feeling becomes you. (After a little.) See, O King! Your glory has the happiness of being published abroad in heaven.
With colours used by nymphs of heaven To make their beauty shine, Gods write upon the surface given Of many a magic vine, As worth their song, the simple story Of those brave deeds that made your glory.
King. Matali, when I passed before, I was intent on fighting the demons, and did not observe this region. Tell me. In which path of the winds are we?
Matali.
It is the windpath sanctified By holy Vishnu's second stride; Which, freed from dust of passion, ever Upholds the threefold heavenly river; And, driving them with reins of light, Guides the stars in wheeling flight.
King. That is why serenity pervades me, body and soul. (He observes the path taken by the chariot.) It seems that we have descended into the region of the clouds.
Matali. How do you perceive it?
King.
Plovers that fly from mountain-caves, Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves, And chariot-wheels that drip with spray— A path o'er pregnant clouds betray.
Matali. You are right. And in a moment you will be in the world over which you bear rule.
King (looking down). Matali, our quick descent gives the world of men a mysterious look. For
The plains appear to melt and fall From mountain peaks that grow more tall; The trunks of trees no longer hide Nor in their leafy nests abide; The river network now is clear, For smaller streams at last appear: It seems as if some being threw The world to me, for clearer view.
Matali. You are a good observer, O King. (He looks down, awe-struck.) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. King. Matali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and into the western sea? It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset.
Matali. O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy centaurs. Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers. See!
The ancient sage, Marichi's son, Child of the Uncreated One, Father of superhuman life, Dwells here austerely with his wife.
King (reverently). I must not neglect the happy chance. I cannot go farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one.
Matali. It is a worthy thought, O King. (The chariot descends.) We have come down to earth.
King (astonished). Matali,
The wheels are mute on whirling rim; Unstirred, the dust is lying there; We do not bump the earth, but skim: Still, still we seem to fly through air.
Matali. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.
King. In which direction lies the hermitage of Marichi's son?
Matali (pointing). See!
Where stands the hermit, horridly austere, Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sore; Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown About him, standing post-like and alone; Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest, The dead skin of a serpent on his breast: So long he stood unmoved, insensate there That birds build nests within his mat of hair.
King (gazing). All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so terribly.
Matali (checking the chariot). We have entered the hermitage of the ancient sage, whose wife Aditi tends the coral-trees. King. Here is deeper contentment than in heaven. I seem plunged in a pool of nectar.
Matali (stopping the chariot). Descend, O King.
King (descending). But how will you fare?
Matali. The chariot obeys the word of command. I too will descend. (He does so.) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest hermits lead their self-denying life.
King. I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what they might enjoy.