[S']AKOONTALÁ

OR THE LOST RING

AN INDIAN DRAMA

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSEFROM THE SANSKRIT OF KÁLIDÁSA

BY

SIR MONIER MONIER-WILLIAMS, K. C. I. E. M. A. , D. C. L. , LL. D. , PH. D. BODEN PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT, HON. FELLOW OF UNIVERSITYAND LATE FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD

PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. 

The fact that the following translation (first published in 1855) ofIndia's most celebrated drama has gone through seven editions, mightreasonably have absolved me from the duty of revising it. 

Three years ago, however, I heard that Sir John Lubbock had thought'[S']akoontalá' worthy of a place among the hundred best books of theworld, and had adopted my version of the original. I thereforeundertook to go through every line and once again compare thetranslation with the Sanskrit, in the hope that I might be able togive a few finishing touches to a performance which, although it hadbeen before the public for about forty years, was certainly notperfect. The act of revision was a labour of love, and I can honestlysay that I did my best to make my representation of Kálidása'simmortal work as true and trustworthy as possible. 

Another edition is now called for, but after a severely criticalexamination of every word, I have only detected a few minorunimportant points--and those only in the Introduction and Notes--inwhich any alteration appeared to be desirable. Indeed it is probablethat the possessors of previous editions will scarcely perceive thatany alterations have been made anywhere. 

Occasionally in the process of comparison a misgiving has troubled me, and I have felt inclined to accuse myself of having taken, in somecases, too great liberties with the Sanskrit original. But in the endI have acquiesced in my first and still abiding conviction that aliteral translation (such as that which I have given in the notes ofmy edition of the Sanskrit text) might have commended itself toOriental students, but would not have given a true idea of the beautyof India's most cherished drama to general readers, whose minds arecast in a European mould, and who require a translator to clotheOriental ideas, as far as practicable, in a dress conformable toEuropean canons of taste. 

And most assuredly such a translation would never have adapted itselfto actual representation on a modern stage as readily as it nowappears that my free version has done. It has gratified me exceedinglyto find that youthful English-speaking Indians--cultured young meneducated at the Universities of Calcutta, Madras and Bombay--have actedthe [S']akoontalá, in the very words of my translation with the greatestsuccess before appreciative audiences in various parts of India. 

And lest any one in this country should be sceptical as to thepossibility of interesting a modern audience in a play writtenpossibly as early as the third or fourth century of our era (see p. Xvi), I here append an extract from a letter received by me in 1893from Mr. V. Padmanabha Aiyar, B. A. , resident at Karamanai, Trivandrum, Travancore. 

'SIVEN COIL STREET, TRIVANDRUM, _'May 1, 1893_. 

'The members of the "Karamanai Young Men's Mutual Improvement Society"acted your translation of "[S']akoontalá" on the 3rd and 5th ofSeptember last year, in the Government Museum Theatre, Trivandrum. 

'It was acted in two parts. On the first day Acts I to IV were acted, and on the second the remaining three Acts. 

'All our chief native officials and many Europeans and their ladieshonoured the occasion with their presence. We acted it a second timeat the special request of H. H. The Second Prince of Travancore, in thePalace of His Highness' mother, the Junior Ránee. 

'The public were kind enough to pronounce it a success. In many casesthe applause given was not so much for the acting as for the beauty ofyour translation. The Hindús have a great liking for this play, andnot one of the enlightened Hindú community will fail to acknowledgeyour translation to be a very perfect one. Our object in acting Hindúplays is to bring home to the Hindús the good lessons that our ancientauthors are able to teach us. If there is one lesson in these daysmore than another which familiarity with the fountains of Westernliterature constantly forces upon the mind, it is that our age isturning its back on time-honoured creeds and dogmas. We are hurryingforward to a chaos in which all our existing beliefs, nay even thefundamental axioms of morality, may in the end be submerged; and asthe general tenor of Indian thought among the educated community is toreject everything that is old, and equally blindly to absorbeverything new, it becomes more and more an urgent question whetherany great intellectual or moral revolution, which has no foundationsin the past, can produce lasting benefits to the people. 

'"I desire no future that will break the ties of the past" is whatGeorge Eliot has said, and so it is highly necessary that the Hindússhould know something of their former greatness. 

'The songs in [S']akoontalá, one in the Prologue and another in thebeginning of the fifth Act, very easily adapted themselves to Hindútunes. '

Towards the end of his letter Mr. Aiyar intimated that he himself tookthe part of Má[T. ]Havya. He also mentioned that a few modifications andadditions were introduced into some of the scenes. 

In a subsequent letter received from Mr. Keshava Aiyar, the Secretaryof the Society, I was informed that my version of the Play was actedagain at Trivandrum in 1894. 

These descriptions of the successful representation of the [S']akoontaláin Travancore justified me in expressing a hope that, as Kálidása hasbeen called the Shakespeare of India, so the most renowned of histhree dramatic works might, with a few manifestly necessarymodifications, be some day represented, with equal success, beforeEnglish-speaking audiences in other parts of the world and especiallyhere in England. This hope has been realized, and quite recently mytranslation has been successfully acted by amateur actors before aLondon audience. 

I venture, therefore, to add the expression of a further hope thatwith the daily growth of interest in Oriental literature, and now thatthe [S']akoontalá forms one of Sir John Lubbock's literary series, itmay be more extensively read by the Rulers of India in all parts ofthe Empire. Those who study it attentively cannot fail to becomebetter acquainted with the customs and habits of thought, past andpresent, of the people committed to their sway. 

And it cannot be too often repeated that our duty towards our greatDependency requires us to do something more than merely rule justly. We may impart high education, we may make good laws, we may administerimpartial justice, we may make roads, lay down railroads andtelegraphs, stimulate trade, accomplish amazing engineeringfeats--like that lately achieved at Periyar--increase the wealth anddevelop the resources of our vast Eastern territories; but unless weseek to understand the inhabitants, unless we think it worth while tostudy their ancient literatures, their religious ideas, andtime-honoured institutions, unless we find in them something to admireand respect, we can never expect any reciprocity of esteem and respecton their part--we can never look forward to a time when the presentpartition-wall, which obstructs the free Interchange of socialrelations between European and Asiatic races, will be entirelyremoved. 

MONIER MONIER-WILLIAMS, _December, 1898_. 

INTRODUCTION

About a century has elapsed since the great English Orientalist, SirWilliam Jones, astonished the learned world by the discovery of aSanskrit Dramatic Literature. He has himself given us the history ofthis discovery. It appears that, on his arrival in Bengal, he was verysolicitous to procure access to certain books called Nátaks, of whichhe had read in one of the 'Lettres Édifiantes et Curieuses' written bythe Jesuit Missionaries of China. But, although he sought informationby consulting both Bráhmans and Europeans, he was wholly unable forsome time to satisfy his curiosity as to the nature of these books. Itwas reported to him that they were not histories, as he had hoped, butthat they abounded with fables, and consisted of conversations inprose and verse held before ancient Rájás, in their public assemblies. Others, again, asserted that they were discourses on dancing, music, and poetry. At length, a sensible Bráhman, conversant with Europeanmanners, removed all his doubts, and gave him no less delight thansurprise, by telling him that the English nation had compositions ofthe same sort, which were publicly represented at Calcutta in the coldseason, and bore the name of 'plays. ' The same Bráhman, when askedwhich of these Nátaks was most universally esteemed, answered withouthesitation, '[S']akoontalá. '

It may readily be imagined with what interest, the keen Orientalistreceived this communication; with what rapidity he followed up theclue; and, when at length his zeal was rewarded by actual possessionof a MS. Copy of one of these dramas, with what avidity he proceededto explore the treasures which for eighteen hundred years had remainedas unknown to the European world as the gold-fields of Australia. 

The earliest Sanskrit drama with which we are acquainted, the'Clay-cart, ' translated by my predecessor in the Boden Chair atOxford, Professor H. H. Wilson, is attributed to a regal author, King[S']údraka, the date of whose reign cannot be fixed with any certainty, though some have assigned it to the first or second century B. C. Considering that the nations of Europe can scarcely be said to havepossessed a dramatic literature before the fourteenth or fifteenthcentury of the present era, the great age of the Hindú plays would ofitself be a most interesting and attractive circumstance, even iftheir poetical merit were not of a very high order. But when to theantiquity of these productions is added their extreme beauty andexcellence as literary compositions, and when we also take intoaccount their value as representations of the early condition of Hindúsociety--which, notwithstanding the lapse of two thousand years, hasin many particulars obeyed the law of unchangeableness ever stamped onthe manners and customs of the East--we are led to wonder that thestudy of the Indian drama has not commended itself in a greater degreeto the attention of Europeans, and especially of Englishmen. TheEnglish student, at least, is bound by considerations of duty, as wellas curiosity, to make himself acquainted with a subject whichelucidates and explains the condition of the millions of Hindús whoowe allegiance to his own Sovereign, and are governed by English laws. 

Of all the Indian dramatists, indeed of all Indian poets, the mostcelebrated is Kálidása, the writer of the present play. The lateProfessor Lassen thought it probable that he flourished about themiddle of the third century after Christ. Professor Kielhorn ofGöttingen has proved that the composer of the Mandasor Inscription(A. D. 472) knew Kálidása's Ritusamhára. Hence it may be inferred thatLassen was not far wrong[1]. Possibly some King named Vikramádityareceived Kálidása at his Court, and honoured him by his patronageabout that time. Little, however, is known of the circumstances of hislife. There is certainly no satisfactory evidence to be adduced insupport of the tradition current in India that he lived in the timeof the _great_ King Vikramáditya I. , whose capital was Ujjayiní, nowOujein. 

From the absence of historical literature in India, our knowledge ofthe state of Hindústán between the incursion of Alexander and theMuhammadan conquest is very slight. But it is ascertained withtolerable accuracy that, after the invasion of the kingdoms of Bactriaand Afghánistán, the Tartars or Scythians (called by the Hindús'[S']akas') overran the north-western provinces of India, and retainedpossession of them. The great Vikramáditya or Vikramárka succeeded indriving back the barbaric hordes beyond the Indus, and so consolidatedhis empire that it extended over the whole of Northern Hindústán. Hisname is even now cherished among the Hindús with pride and affection. His victory over the Scythians is believed to have taken place aboutB. C. 57. At any rate this is the starting-point of the Vikrama (alsocalled the Málava and in later times the Samvat) era, one of theepochs from which the Hindús still continue to count. There is goodauthority for affirming that the reign of this Vikramárka orVikramáditya was equal in brilliancy to that of any monarch in anyage. He was a liberal patron of science and literature, and gavesplendid encouragement to poets, philologists, astronomers, andmathematicians. Nine illustrious men of genius are said to haveadorned his Court, and to have been supported by his bounty. They werecalled the 'Nine Gems'; and a not unnatural tradition, which, however, must be considered untrustworthy, included Kálidása among the Nine. 

To Kálidása (as to another celebrated Indian Dramatist, Bhavabhúti, who probably flourished in the eighth century) only three plays areattributed; and of these the '[S']akoontalá' (here translated) hasacquired the greatest celebrity [2]. 

Indeed, the popularity of this play with the natives of India exceedsthat of any other dramatic, and probably of any other poeticalcomposition [3]. But it is not in India alone that the '[S']akoontalá' isknown and admired. Its excellence is now recognized in everyliterary circle throughout the continent of Europe; and its beauties, if not yet universally known and appreciated, are at leastacknowledged by many learned men in every country of the civilizedworld. The four well-known lines of Goethe, so often quoted inrelation to the Indian drama, may here be repeated:

 'Willst du die Blüthe des frühen, die Früchte des späteren Jahres, Willst du was reizt und entzückt, willst du was sättigt und nährt, Willst du den Himmel, die Erde, mit einem Namen begreifen: Nenn' ich, [S']akoontalá, Dich, und so ist Alles gesagt. '

 'Would'st thou the young year's blossoms and the fruits of its decline, And all by which the soul is charmed, enraptured, feasted, fed? Would'st thou the Earth and Heaven itself in one sole name combine? I name thee, O [S']akoontalá! and all at once is said. '

 _E. B. Eastwick_. 

Augustus William von Schlegel, in his first Lecture on DramaticLiterature, says: 'Among the Indians, the people from whom perhaps allthe cultivation of the human race has been derived, plays were knownlong before they could have experienced any foreign influence. It haslately been made known in Europe that they have a rich dramaticliterature, which ascends back for more than two thousand years. Theonly specimen of their plays (Nátaks) hitherto known to us is thedelightful [S']akoontalá, which, notwithstanding the colouring of aforeign clime, bears in its general structure a striking resemblanceto our romantic drama. '

Alexander von Humboldt, in treating of Indian poetry, observes:'Kálidása, the celebrated author of the [S']akoontalá, is a masterlydescriber of the influence which Nature exercises upon the minds oflovers. This great poet flourished at the splendid court ofVikramáditya, and was, therefore, cotemporary with Virgil and Horace. Tenderness in the expression of feeling, and richness of creativefancy, have assigned to him his lofty place among the poets of allnations'. 

These considerations induced me, in 1853, to compile and publish anedition of the text of the '[S']akoontalá' from various original MSS. , with English translations of the metrical passages, and explanatorynotes. A second edition of this work has since been published by theDelegates of the Oxford University Press. To the notes of that editionI must refer all students of Sanskrit literature who desire a closeand literal translation of the present drama, and in the Preface willbe found an account of various other editions and translations. 

The following pages contain a _free_ translation, and the firstEnglish version in prose and metre, of the purest recension of themost celebrated drama of the Shakespeare of India. 

The need felt by the British public for some such translation as Ihave here offered can scarcely be questioned. A great people, who, through their empire in India, command the destinies of the Easternworld, ought surely to be conversant with the most popular of Indiandramas, in which the customs of the Hindús, their opinions, prejudices, and fables, their religious rites, daily occupations andamusements, are reflected as in a mirror. Nor is the prose translationof Sir W. Jones (excellent though it be) adapted to meet therequirements of modern times. That translation was unfortunately madefrom corrupt manuscripts (the best that could then be procured), inwhich the bold phraseology of Kálidása has been occasionally weakened, his delicate expressions of refined love clothed in an unbecomingdress, and his ideas, grand in their simplicity, diluted by repetitionor amplification. It is, moreover, altogether unfurnished withexplanatory annotations. The present translation, on the contrary, while representing the purest version of the drama, has abundantnotes, sufficient to answer the exigencies of the non-orientalscholar. 

It may be remarked that in every Sanskrit play the women and inferiorcharacters speak a kind of provincial dialect or _patois_, calledPrákrit--bearing the relation to Sanskrit that Italian bears to Latin, or that the spoken Latin of the age of Cicero bore to the highlypolished Latin in which he delivered his Orations. Even the heroine ofthe drama is made to speak in the vernacular dialect. The hero, on theother hand, and all the higher male characters, speak in Sanskrit; andas if to invest them with greater dignity, half of what they say is inverse. Indeed the prose part of their speeches is often verycommonplace, being only introductory to the lofty sentiment of thepoetry that follows. Thus, if the whole composition be compared to aweb, the prose will correspond to the warp, or that part which isextended lengthwise in the loom, while the metrical portion willanswer to the cross-threads which constitute the woof. 

The original verses are written in a great variety of Sanskrit metres. For example, the first thirty-four verses of '[S']akoontalá' exhibiteleven different varieties of metre. No English metrical system couldgive any idea of the almost infinite resources of Sanskrit in thisrespect. Nor have I attempted it. Blank verse has been employed by mein my translation, as more in unison with the character of our owndramatic writings, and rhyming stanzas have only been admitted whenthe subject-matter seemed to call for such a change. Perhaps the chiefconsideration that induced me to adopt this mode of metricaltranslation was, that the free and unfettered character of the verseenabled me to preserve more of the freshness and vigour of theoriginal. If the poetical ideas of Kálidása have not been expressed inlanguage as musical as his own, I have at least done my best to avoiddiluting them by unwarrantable paraphrases or additions. If theEnglish verses are prosaic, I have the satisfaction of knowing that byresisting the allurements of rhyme, I have done all in my power toavoid substituting a fictitious and meagre poem of my own for thegrand, yet simple and chaste creation of Kálidása. 

The unrestricted liberty of employing hypermetrical lines of elevensyllables, sanctioned by the highest authority in dramaticcomposition, has, I think, facilitated the attainment of this object. One of our own poets has said in relation to such lines: 'Let it beremembered that they supply us with another cadence; that they add, asit were, a string to the instrument; and--by enabling the poet torelax at pleasure, to rise and fall with his subject--contribute whatmost is wanted, compass and variety. They are nearest to the flow ofan unstudied eloquence, and should therefore be used in the drama[4]. 'Shakespeare does not scruple to avail himself of this licence four orfive times in succession, as in the well-known passage beginning--

 'To be or not to be, that is the question';

and even Milton uses the same freedom once or twice in every page. 

The poetical merit of Kálidása's '[S']akoontalá' is so universallyadmitted that any remarks on this head would be superfluous. I willmerely observe that, in the opinion of learned natives, the FourthAct, which describes the departure of [S']akoontalá from the hermitage, contains the most obvious beauties; and that no one can read this Act, nor indeed any part of the play, without being struck with therichness and elevation of its author's genius, the exuberance and glowof his fancy, his ardent love of the beautiful, his deep sympathy withNature and Nature's loveliest scenes, his profound knowledge of thehuman heart, his delicate appreciation of its most refined feelings, his familiarity with its conflicting sentiments and emotions. But inproportion to the acknowledged excellence of Kálidása's composition, and in proportion to my own increasing admiration of its beauties, isthe diffidence I feel lest I may have failed to infuse any of thepoetry of the original into the present version. Translation of poetrymust, at the best, resemble the process of pouring a highly volatileand evanescent spirit from one receptacle into another. The originalfluid will always suffer a certain amount of waste and evaporation. 

The English reader will at least be inclined to wonder at theanalogies which a thoroughly Eastern play offers to our own dramaticcompositions written many centuries later. The dexterity with whichthe plot is arranged and conducted, the ingenuity with which theincidents are connected, the skill with which the characters aredelineated and contrasted with each other, the boldness and felicityof the diction, are scarcely unworthy of the great dramatists ofEuropean countries. Nor does the parallel fail in the management ofthe business of the stage, in minute directions to the actors, andvarious scenic artifices. The asides and aparts, the exits and theentrances, the manner, attitude, and gait of the speakers, the tone ofvoice with which they are to deliver themselves, the tears, thesmiles, and the laughter, are as regularly indicated as in a moderndrama. 

In reference to the constitution and structure of the play heretranslated, a few general remarks on the dramatic system of the Hindúsmay be needed[5]. 

Dramatic poetry is said to have been invented by the sage Bharata, who lived at a very remote period of Indian history, and was theauthor of a system of music. The drama of these early times wasprobably nothing more than the Indian Nách-dance (Nautch) of thepresent day. It was a species of rude pantomime, in which dancing andmovements of the body were accompanied by mute gestures of the handsand face, or by singing and music. Subsequently, dialogue was added, and the art of theatrical representation was brought to greatperfection. Elaborate treatises were written which laid down minuteregulations for the construction and conduct of plays, and subjecteddramatic composition to highly artificial rules of poetical andrhetorical style. For example, the Sáhitya-darpana divides Sanskritplays into two great classes, the Rúpaka or principal dramas, and theUparúpaka or minor dramas. At the head of the ten species of Rúpakastands the Nátaka, of which the '[S']akoontalá' is an example. It shouldconsist of from five to ten Acts; it should have a celebrated storyfor its plot; it should represent heroic or godlike characters andgood deeds; it should be written in an elaborate style, and be full ofnoble sentiments. Moreover, it should be composed like the end of acow's tail; so that each of the Acts be gradually shorter. 

In India, as in Greece, scenic entertainments took place at religiousfestivals, and on solemn public occasions. Kalidása's '[S']akoontalá'seems to have been acted at the commencement of the summer season--aperiod peculiarly sacred to Káma-deva, the Indian god of love. We aretold that it was enacted before an audience 'consisting chiefly of menof education and discernment. ' As the greater part of every play waswritten in Sanskrit, which, although spoken by the learned in everypart of India even at the present day, was certainly not thevernacular language of the country at the time when the Hindú dramaswere performed, few spectators would be present who were not of theeducated classes. This circumstance is in accordance with theconstitution of Hindú society, whereby the productions of literatureas well as the offices of state, were reserved for the privilegedcastes[6]. 

Every Sanskrit play opens with a prologue, or, to speak morecorrectly, an introduction, designed to prepare the way for theentrance of the _dramatis personæ_. The prologue commences with abenediction or prayer (pronounced by a Bráhman, or if thestage-manager happened to be of the Bráhmanical caste, by the managerhimself), in which the poet invokes the favour of the national deityin behalf of the audience. The blessing is generally followed by adialogue between the manager and one or two of the actors, in which anaccount is given of the author of the drama, a complimentary tributeis paid to the critical acumen of the spectators, and such a referenceis made to past occurrences or present circumstances as may benecessary for the elucidation of the plot. At the conclusion of theprologue, the manager, by some abrupt exclamation, adroitly introducesone of the dramatic personages, and the real performance commences. 

The play, being thus opened, is carried forward in scenes and Acts;each scene being marked by the entrance of one character and the exitof another, as in the French drama. The _dramatis personæ_ weredivided into three classes--the inferior characters (nicha), who weresaid to speak Prákrit in a monotonous accentless tone of voice(anudáttoktyá); the middling (madhyama), and the superior (pradhána), who were said to speak Sanskrit with accent, emphasis, and expression(udáttoktyá). In general, the stage is never left vacant till the endof an Act, nor does any change of locality take place until then. Thecommencement of a new Act is often marked, like the commencement ofthe piece, by an introductory monologue or dialogue spoken by one ormore of the _dramatis personæ_, and called Vishkambha or Prave[S']aka. In this scene allusion is frequently made to events supposed to haveoccurred in the interval of the Acts, and the audience is the betterprepared to take up the thread of the story, which is then skilfullycarried on to the concluding scene. The piece closes, as it began, with a prayer for national plenty and prosperity, addressed to thefavourite deity, and spoken by one of the principal personages of thedrama. 

Although, in the conduct of the plot, and the delineation ofcharacter, Hindú dramatists show considerable skill, yet they do notappear to have been remarkable for much fertility of invention. Love, according to Hindú notions, is the subject of most of their dramas. 

The hero, who is generally a king, and already the husband of a wifeor wives (for a wife or two more or less is no encumbrance in Indianplays), is suddenly smitten with the charms of a lovely woman, sometimes a nymph, or, as in the case of [S']akoontalá, the daughter ofa nymph by a mortal father. The heroine is required to be equallyimpressible, and the first tender glance from the hero's eye reachesher heart. With true feminine delicacy, however, she locks the secretof her passion in her own breast, and by her coyness and reserve keepsher lover for a long period in the agonies of suspense. The hero, being reduced to a proper state of desperation, is harassed by otherdifficulties. Either the celestial nature of the nymph is in the wayof their union, or he doubts the legality of the match, or he fearshis own unworthiness, or he is hampered by the angry jealousy of aprevious wife. In short, doubts, obstacles, and delays make greathavoc of both hero and heroine. They give way to melancholy, indulgein amorous rhapsodies, and become very emaciated. So far, it must beconfessed, the story is decidedly dull, and its chain, however, doesnot commence until the Fourth Act, when the union of the heroine withKing Dushyanta, and her acceptance of the marriage-ring as a token ofrecognition, are supposed to have taken place. Then follows the King'sdeparture and temporary desertion of his bride; the curse pronouncedon [S']akoontalá by the choleric Sage; the monarch's consequent loss ofmemory; the bride's journey to the palace of her husband; themysterious disappearance of the marriage-token; the public repudiationof [S']akoontalá; her miraculous assumption to closes, as it began, witha prayer for national plenty and prosperity, addressed to thefavourite deity, and spoken by one of the principal personages of thedrama. 

Although, in the conduct of the plot, and the delineation ofcharacter, Hindú dramatists show considerable skill, yet they do notappear to have been remarkable for much fertility of invention. Love, according to Hindú notions, is the subject of most of their dramas. 

The hero, who is generally a king, and already the husband of a wifeor wives (for a wife or two more or less is no encumbrance in Indianplays), is suddenly smitten with the charms of a lovely woman, sometimes a nymph, or, as in the case of [S']akoontalá, the daughter of anymph by a mortal father. The heroine is required to be equallyimpressible, and the first tender glance from the hero's eye reachesher heart. With true feminine delicacy, however, she locks the secretof her passion in her own breast, and by her coyness and reserve keepsher lover for a long period in the agonies of suspense. The hero, being reduced to a proper state of desperation, is harassed by otherdifficulties. Either the celestial nature of the nymph is in the wayof their union, or he doubts the legality of the match, or he his ownunworthiness, or he is hampered by the angry jealousy of a previouswife. In short, doubts, obstacles, and delays make great havoc of bothhero and heroine. They give way to melancholy, indulge in amorousrhapsodies, and become very emaciated. So far, it must be confessed, the story is decidedly dull, and its pathos, notwithstanding theoccasional grandeur and beauty of the imagery, often verges on theridiculous. 

But, by way of relief, an element of life is generally introduced inthe character of the Vidúshaka, or Jester, who is the constantcompanion of the hero; and in the young maidens, who are theconfidential friends of the heroine, and soon become possessed of hersecret. By a curious regulation, the Jester is always a Bráhman, andtherefore of a caste superior to the king himself; yet his business isto excite mirth by being ridiculous in person, age, and attire. He issometimes represented as grey-haired, hump-backed, lame, and ugly. Infact, he is a species of buffoon, who is allowed full liberty ofspeech, being himself a universal butt. His attempts at wit, which arerarely very successful, and his allusions to the pleasures of thetable, of which he is a confessed votary, are absurdly contrasted withthe sententious solemnity of the despairing hero, crossed in theprosecution of his love-suit. His clumsy interference in the intriguesof his friend only serves to augment his difficulties, and occasionsmany an awkward dilemma. On the other hand, the shrewdness of theheroine's confidantes never seems to fail them under the most tryingcircumstances; while their sly jokes and innuendos, their love of fun, their girlish sympathy with the progress of the love affair, theirwarm affection for their friend, heighten the interest of the plot, and contribute not a little to vary its monotony. 

Fortunately, in the '[S']akoontalá' the story is diversified and theinterest well sustained by a chain of stirring incidents. The firstlink of the chain, however, does not commence until the Fourth Act, when the union of the heroine with King Dushyanta, and her acceptanceof the marriage-ring as a token of recognition, are supposed to havetaken place. Then follows the King's departure and temporary desertionof his bride; the curse pronounced on [S']akoontalá by the choleric Sage;the monarch's consequent loss of memory; the bride's journey to thepalace of her husband; the mysterious disappearance of themarriage-token; the public repudiation of [S']akoontalá; her miraculousassumption to a celestial asylum; the unexpected discovery of the ringby a poor fisherman; the King's agony on recovering his recollection;his aërial voyage in the car of Indra; his strange meeting with therefractory child in the groves of Kasyapa; the boy's battle with theyoung lion; the search for the amulet, by which the King is proved tobe his father; the return of [S']akoontalá, and the happy reunion of thelovers;--all these form a connected series of moving and interestingincidents. The feelings of the audience are wrought up to a pitch ofgreat intensity; and whatever emotions of terror, grief, or pity mayhave been excited, are properly tranquillized by the happy terminationof the story. 

Indeed, if a calamitous conclusion be necessary to constitute atragedy, the Hindú dramas are never tragedies. They are mixedcompositions, in which joy and sorrow, happiness and misery, are wovenin a mingled web--tragi-comic representations, in which good and evil, right and wrong, truth and falsehood, are allowed to blend inconfusion during the first Acts of the drama. But, in the last Act, harmony is always restored, order succeeds to disorder, tranquillityto agitation; and the mind of the spectator, no longer perplexed bythe apparent ascendency of evil, is soothed, and purified, and made toacquiesce in the moral lesson deducible from the plot. 

The play of '[S']akoontalá, ' as Sir W. Jones observes, must have beenvery popular when it was first performed. The Indian empire was thenin its palmy days, and the vanity of the natives would be flattered bythe introduction of those kings and heroes who were supposed to havelaid the foundation of its greatness and magnificence, and whose wereconnected with all that was sacred and holy in their religion, Dushyanta, the hero of the drama, according to Indian legends, was oneof the descendants of the Moon, or in other words, belonged to theLunar dynasty of Indian princes; and, if any dependence may be placedon Hindú chronology, he must have lived in the twenty-first ortwenty-second generation after the Flood. Puru, his most celebratedancestor, was the sixth in descent from the Moon's son Budha, whomarried a daughter of the good King Satya-vrata, preserved by Vishnuin the Ark at the time of the Deluge. The son of Dushyanta, by[S']akoontalá, was Bharata, from whom India is still called by thenatives Bhárata-varsha. After him came Samvarana, Kuru, Sántanu, Bhíshma, and Vyasa. The latter was the father of Dhritaráshtra andPándu, the quarrels of whose sons form the subject of the greatSanskrit epic poem called Mahá-bhárata, a poem with parts of which theaudience would be familiar, and in which they would feel the greatestpride. Indeed the whole story of [S']akoontalá is told in theMahá-bhárata. The pedigree of [S']akoontalá, the heroine of the drama, was no less interesting, and calculated to awaken the religioussympathies of Indian spectators. She was the daughter of thecelebrated Vi[s']wámitra, a name associated with many remarkablecircumstances in Hindú mythology and history. His genealogy and theprincipal events of his life are narrated in the Rámáyana, the firstof the two epic poems which were to the Hindús what the Iliad and theOdyssey were to the Greeks. He was originally of the regal caste; and, having raised himself to the rank of a Bráhman by the length andrigour of his penance, he became the preceptor of Rámachandra, whowas the hero of the Rámáyana, and one of the incarnations of the godVishnu. With such an antecedent interest in the particulars of thestory, the audience could not fail to bring a sharpened appetite, anda self-satisfied frame of mind, to the performance of the play. 

Although in the following translation it has been thought expedient toconform to modern usage, by indicating at the head of each Act thescene in which it is laid, yet it is proper to apprise the Englishreader that in scenery and scenic apparatus the Hindú drama, must havebeen very defective. No directions as to changes of scene are given inthe original text of the play. This is the more curious, as there arenumerous stage directions, which prove that in respect of dresses anddecorations the resources of the Indian theatre were sufficientlyample. 

It is probable that a curtain suspended across the stage, and dividedin the centre, answered all the purposes of scenes. Behind the curtainwas the space or room called _nepathya_, where the decorations werekept, where the actors attired themselves, and remained in readinessbefore entering the stage, and whither they withdrew on leaving it. When an actor was to enter hurriedly, he was directed to do so 'with atoss of the curtain. '

The machinery and paraphernalia of the Indian theatre were also verylimited, contrasting in this respect unfavourably with the ancientGreek theatre, which appears to have comprehended nearly all thatmodern ingenuity has devised. Nevertheless, seats, thrones, weapons, and chariots, were certainly introduced, and as the intercoursebetween the inhabitants of heaven and earth was very frequent, it isnot improbable that there may have been aërial contrivances torepresent the chariots of celestial beings, as on the Greek stage. Itis plain, however, from the frequent occurrence of the word_nátayitwá_, 'gesticulating, ' 'acting, ' that much had to be suppliedby the imagination of the spectator, assisted by the gesticulations ofthe actors. 

For further information relative to the dramatic system of the Hindús, the reader is referred to the notes appended to the presenttranslation. It is hoped that they will be found sufficient to explainevery allusion that might otherwise be unintelligible to the Englishreader. 

MONIER MONIER-WILLIAMS. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: In the Aihole Inscription (edited by Dr. Fleet) of theWestern Chálukya King Pulike[S']in II, dated [S']aka 556=A. D. 634-35, actual mention is made of Kálidása and Bháravi by name, and ProfessorKielhorn has informed me that he found a verse from the Raghu-van[S']aquoted in an inscription dated A. D. 602. ]

[Footnote 2: As to the other two, the most celebrated, calledVikramorva[S']í, has been excellently translated by Professors H. H. Wilson and E. B. Cowell, and the Málavikágnimitra, by Professor Weber, the eminent Orientalist of Berlin. ]

[Footnote 3: The following is an extract from, the _Bombay Times_ ofFebruary 3, 1855. It is given _literatim_, and the orthographicalerrors and mutilation of the story prove that in those days a good andcomplete version of India's most celebrated drama was not obtainable. 

'HINDU DRAMA. 'SATURDAY, 3D FEBRUARY 1855. 

'An outline of the play to be performed at the Theatre this night. 

'After a short discourse between the Sutradhar (the chief actor) andthe Vidúshaka (the clown), Surswati (the Goddess of learning) willappear. Sutradhar will call his wife (Nati), and they will determineon performing the play of Shakuntala. They both will sing songstogether, after which Nati will go away. The play will then regularlycommence. Dushanta Rajah will appear in the Court, and order hisPradhan (the Minister) to make preparations for a hunting excursion. The Rajah, sitting in his carriage, will pursue a stag, the stag willdisappear, upon which Dushanta will ask his coachman the causethereof, this being known, the Rajah in his carriage will proceedfarther, when they will see the stag again, upon which he will aim anarrow at the stag. The stag will run and reach the retirement ofWaikhanas Rushi. The sage will come out of his hut and remonstratewith the Rajah against his killing the harmless animal. The Rajah willobey the injunctions of the sage, who will pronounce benedictions uponhim. According to the Rushi's instructions, he will prepare to proceedto the residence of another sage named Kunwa. Bidding each otherfarewell, the Rushi will go to procure material for his religiousceremonies. After reaching Kunwa's place, and commanding his coachmanto groom the horses, the Rajah will walk forth to the sage's hut. Observing on his way thither Shakuntala with her fellow mates wateringthe trees, he will hide himself behind a tree. Shakuntala will praiseto her mates the beauty of the Keshar tree. Charmed with overhearingher discourse, Dushanta will try to find out her descent. Shakuntalawill be very much teased by a Bhramar (fly) hovering about her face. The Rajah will then come forward and ask the cause of the disturbedstate of her mind. After a mutual exchange of polite respect they alltake their seats beneath a shady tree, Dushanta will inform her of hiscountry and descent, whereupon they will all go to the Rushi's hut. 

'Here there is a pause. A pleasing farce will then be performed. '

I have already stated that the '[S']akoontalá' in the words of my owntranslation has been since performed at Bombay and recently atTrivandrum, the capital of Travancore (see Preface to this edition, p. Vii, &c). ]

[Footnote 4: Rogers' Italy, note to line 23. ]

[Footnote 5: The admirable Essay by Professor H. H. Wilson, prefixed tohis Hindú Theatre, is the principal source of the information which Ihave here given. ]

[Footnote 6: Wilson's Hindú Theatre, p. Xii. ]

RULES FOR THE PRONUNCIATION OFTHE PROPER NAMES. 

Observe, that in order to secure the correct pronunciation of thetitle of this Drama, 'Sakuntalá' has been spelt '[S']akoontalá, ' the_u_ of [S']akuntalá being pronounced like the _u_ in the Englishword _rule_. 

The vowel _a_ must invariably be pronounced with a dull sound, like the _a_ in _organ_, or the _u_ in _gun, sun. Dushyanta_ musttherefore be pronounced as if written _Dooshyunta_. The longvowel _á_ is pronounced like the _a_ in _last, cart_; _i_ likethe _i_ in _pin, sin_; _í_ like the _i_ in _marine_; _e_ like the_e_ in _prey_; _o_ like the _o_ in _so_; _ai_ like the _ai_ in_aisle_; _au_ like _au_ in the German word _haus_, or like the_ou_ in _our_. 

The consonants are generally pronounced as in English, but _g_has always the sound of _g_ in _gun, give_, never of _g_ in_gin_. S with the accent over it (s), has the sound of _s_ in_sure_, or of the last _s_ in _session_. 

 * * * * *

PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

 * * * * *

DUSHYANTA, _King of India_. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA, _the jester, friend, and companion of the King_. 

KANWA, _chief of the hermits, foster-father of_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA, } } _two Bráhmans, belonging to the hermitage of KANWA_. [S']ÁRADWATA, }

MITRÁVASU, _brother-in-law of the King, and superintendent of the city police_. 

JÁNUKA _and_ SÚCHAKA, _two constables_. 

VÁTÁYANA, _the chamberlain or attendant on the women's apartments_. 

SOMARÁTA, _the domestic priest_. 

KARABHAKA, _a messenger of the queen-mother_. 

RAIVATIKA, _the warder or doorkeeper_. 

MÁTALI, _charioteer of Indra_. 

SARVA-DAMANA, _afterwards_ BHARATA, _a little boy, son of_ DUSHYANTA by [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

KA[S']YAPA, _a divine sage, progenitor of men and gods, son of_ MARÍCHI, _and grandson of_ BRAHMÁ. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ, _daughter of the sage_ VI[S']WÁMITRA _and the nymph_ MENAKÁ, _foster-child of the hermit_ KANWA. 

PRIYAMVADÁ _and_ ANASÚYÁ, _female attendants, companions of_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

GAUTAMÍ, _a holy matron, Superior of the female inhabitants of the hermitage_. 

VASUMATÍ, _the Queen of_ DUSHYANTA. 

SÁNUMATÍ, _a nymph, friend of_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

TARALIKÁ, _personal attendant of the Queen_. 

CHATURIKÁ, _personal attendant of the King_. 

VETRAVATÍ, _female warder or doorkeeper_. 

PARABHRITIKÁ} _and_

MADHUKARIKÁ, } _maidens in charge of the royal gardens_. 

SUVRATÁ, _a nurse_. 

ADITI, _wife of_ KA[S']YAPA; _granddaughter of_ BRAHMÁ _through her father_ DAKSHA. 

CHARIOTEER, FISHERMAN, OFFICERS, AND HERMITS. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ; OR, THE LOST RING. 

PROLOGUE. 

BENEDICTION. 

 Í[S']a preserve you [1]! he who is revealed In these eight forms[2] by man perceptible-- Water, of all creation's works the first; The Fire that bears on high the sacrifice Presented with solemnity to heaven; The Priest, the holy offerer of gifts; The Sun and Moon, those two majestic orbs, Eternal marshallers of day and night; The subtle Ether, vehicle of sound, Diffused throughout the boundless universe; The Earth, by sages called 'The place of birth Of all material essences and things'; And Air, which giveth life to all that breathe. 

STAGE-MANAGER. 

 [_After the recitation of the benediction_. ]

 [_Looking toward the living-room_. ]

Lady, when you have finished attiring yourself, come this way. 

ACTRESS. 

 [_Entering_. ]

Here I am, Sir; what are your commands?

STAGE-MANAGER. 

We are here before the eyes of an audience of educated anddiscerning men[3]; and have to represent in their presence a newdrama composed by Kálidása, called '[S']akoontalá; or, the LostRing[4]. ' Let the whole company exert themselves to do justice totheir several parts. 

ACTRESS. 

You, Sir, have so judiciously managed the cast of the characters, that nothing will be defective in the acting. 

STAGE-MANAGER. 

Lady, I will tell you the exact state of the case, No skill in acting can I deem complete, Till from the wise the actor gain applause; Know that the heart e'en of the truly skilful, Shrinks from too boastful confidence in self. 

ACTRESS. [_Modestly_. ]

You judge correctly And now, what are your commands?

STAGE-MANAGER. 

What can you do better than engage the attention of the audienceby some captivating melody?

ACTRESS. 

Which among the seasons shall I select as the subject of my song?

STAGE-MANAGER. 

You surely ought to give the preference to the present Summerseason[5] that has but recently commenced, a season so rich inenjoyment. For now

 Unceasing are the charms of halcyon days, When the cool bath exhilarates the frame; When sylvan gales are laden with the scent Of fragrant Pátalas[6]; when soothing sleep Creeps softly on beneath the deepening shade; And when, at last, the dulcet calm of eve Entrancing steals o'er every yielding sense. 

ACTRESS. 

I will:--

 [_Sings_. ]

 Fond maids, the chosen of their hearts to please, Entwine their ears with sweet [S']irísha flowers[7], Whose fragrant lips attract the kiss of bees That softly murmur through the summer hours. 

STAGE-MANAGER. 

Charmingly sung! The audience are motionless as statues, theirsouls riveted by the enchanting strain. What subject shall weselect for representation, that we may ensure a continuanceof their favour?

ACTRESS. 

Why not the same, Sir, announced by you at first? Let the dramacalled '[S']akoontalá; or, the Lost Ring, ' be the subject of ourdramatic performance. 

STAGE-MANAGER. 

Rightly reminded! For the moment I had forgotten it. 

 Your song's transporting melody decoyed My thoughts, and rapt with ecstasy my soul; As now the bounding antelope allures The King Dushyanta[8] on the chase intent. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

ACT I. 

SCENE-_A Forest_. 

_Enter King_ DUSHYANTA, _armed with a bow and arrow, in achariot, chasing an antelope, attended by his_ CHARIOTEER. 

CHARIOTEER. 

 [_Looking at the deer, and then at the_ KING. 

Great Prince, When on the antelope I bend my gaze, And on your Majesty, whose mighty bow Has its string firmly braced; before my eyes The god that wields the trident[9] seems revealed. Chasing the deer that flies from him in vain. 

KING. 

Charioteer, this fleet antelope has drawn us far from myattendants. See! there he runs:

 Aye and anon his graceful neck he bends To cast a glance at the pursuing car; And dreading now the swift-descending shaft, Contracts into itself his slender frame; About his path, in scattered fragments strewn, The half-chewed grass falls from his panting mouth; See! in his airy bounds he seems to fly, And leaves no trace upon th' elastic turf. 

 [_With astonishment_. ]

How now! swift as is our pursuit, I scarce can see him. 

CHARIOTEER. 

Sire, the ground here is full of hollows; I have therefore drawnin the reins and checked the speed of the chariot. Hence the deerhas somewhat gained upon us. Now that we are passing over levelground, we shall have no difficulty in overtaking him. 

KING. 

Loosen the reins, then. 

CHARIOTEER. 

The King is obeyed. 

 [_Drives the chariot at full speed_. ]

Great Prince, see I see!

 Responsive to the slackened rein, the steeds, Chafing with eager rivalry, career With emulative fleetness o'er the plain; Their necks outstretched, their waving plumes, that late Fluttered above their brows, are motionless[10]; Their sprightly ears, but now erect, bent low; Themselves unsullied by the circling dust, That vainly follows on their rapid course. 

KING. [_Joyously_. 

In good sooth, the horses seem as if they would outstrip thesteeds of Indra and the Sun[11]. 

 That which but now showed to my view minute Quickly assumes dimension; that which seemed A moment since disjoined in diverse parts, Looks suddenly like one compacted whole; That which is really crooked in its shape In the far distance left, grows regular; Wondrous the chariot's speed, that in a breath, Makes the near distant and the distant near. 

Now, Charioteer, see me kill the deer. 

 [_Takes aim_. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Hold, O King! this deer belongs to our hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!

CHARIOTEER. [_Listening and looking_. 

Great King, some hermits have stationed themselves so as toscreen the antelope at the very moment of its coming within rangeof your arrow. 

KING. [_Hastily_. 

Then stop the horses. 

CHARIOTEER. 

I obey. 

 [_Stops the chariot_. 

_Enter a_ HERMIT, _and two others with him_. ]

HERMIT. [_Raising his hand_. 

This deer, O King, belongs to our hermitage. Killit not! kill it not!

 Now heaven forbid this barbed shaft descend Upon the fragile body of a fawn, Like fire upon a heap of tender flowers! Can thy steel bolts no meeter quarry find Than the warm life-blood of a harmless deer? Restore, great Prince, thy weapon to its quiver. More it becomes thy arms to shield the weak, Than to bring anguish on the innocent. 

KING. 

'Tis done. 

 [_Replaces the arrow in its quiver_. 

HERMIT. 

Worthy is this action of a Prince, the light of Puru's race[12]. 

 Well does this act befit a Prince like thee, Right worthy is it of thine ancestry. Thy guerdon be a son of peerless worth, Whose wide dominion shall embrace the earth. 

BOTH THE OTHER HERMITS. [_Raising their hands_. 

May heaven indeed grant thee a son, a sovereign of the earth fromsea to sea!

KING. 

 [_Bowing_. 

I accept with gratitude a Bráhman's benediction. 

HERMIT. 

We came hither, mighty Prince, to collect sacrificial wood. Hereon the banks of the Máliní you may perceive the hermitage of thegreat sage Kanwa[13]. If other duties require not your presence, deign to enter and accept our hospitality. 

 When you behold our penitential rites Performed without impediment by saints Rich only in devotion, then with pride Will you reflect:--Such are the holy men Who call me Guardian; such the men for whom To wield the bow I bare my nervous arm, Scarred by the motion of the glancing string. 

KING. 

Is the Chief of your Society now at home?

HERMIT. 

No; he has gone to Soma-tírtha[14] to propitiate Destiny, whichthreatens his daughter [S']akoontalá with some calamity; but he hascommissioned her in his absence to entertain all guests withhospitality. 

KING. 

Good! I will pay her a visit. She will make me acquainted withthe mighty sage's acts of penance and devotion. 

HERMIT. 

And we will depart on our errand. 

 [_Exit with his companions_. 

KING. 

Charioteer, urge on the horses. We will at least purify our soulsby a sight of this hallowed retreat. 

CHARIOTEER. 

Your Majesty is obeyed. 

 [_Drives the chariot with great velocity_. 

KING. [_Looking all about him_. 

Charioteer, even without being told, I should have known thatthese were the precincts of a grove consecrated to penitentialrites. 

CHARIOTEER. 

How so?

KING. 

Do not you observe?

 Beneath the trees, whose hollow trunks afford Secure retreat to many a nestling brood Of parrots, scattered grains of rice lie strewn. Lo! here and there are seen the polished slabs That serve to bruise the fruit of Ingudí[15]. The gentle roe-deer, taught to trust in man, Unstartled hear our voices. On the paths Appear the traces of bark-woven vests[16] Borne dripping from the limpid fount of waters. 

And mark!

 Laved are the roots of trees by deep canals [17], Whose glassy waters tremble in the breeze; The sprouting verdure of the leaves is dimmed By dusky wreaths of upward curling smoke From burnt oblations; and on new-mown lawns Around our car graze leisurely the fawns. 

CHARIOTEER. 

I observe it all. 

KING. [_Advancing a little further_. 

The inhabitants of this sacred retreat must not be disturbed. Stay the chariot, that I may alight. 

CHARIOTEER. 

The reins are held in. Your Majesty may descend. 

KING. [_Alighting_. 

Charioteer, groves devoted to penance must be entered in humbleattire. Take these ornaments. 

 [_Delivers his ornaments and bow to CHARIOTEER_. ]

Charioteer, see that the horses are watered, and attend to themuntil I return from visiting the inhabitants of the hermitage. 

CHARIOTEER. 

I Will. 

 [_Exit_. 

KING. [_Walking and looking about_. 

Here is the entrance to the hermitage. I will now go in. 

[_Entering and feeling a throbbing sensation in his arm_. 

 Serenest peace is in this calm retreat, By passion's breath unruffled; what portends My throbbing arm[18]? Why should it whisper here Of happy love? Yet everywhere around us Stand the closed portals of events unknown. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

This way, my dear companions; this way. 

KING. [_Listening_. 

Hark! I hear voices to the right of yonder groveof trees. I will walk in that direction. 

 [_Walking and looking about_. ]

Ah! here are the maidens of the hermitage coming this way towater the shrubs, carrying water-pots proportioned to theirstrength. 

 [_Gazing at them_. ]

How graceful they look!

 In palaces such charms are rarely ours; The woodland plants outshine the garden flowers. 

I will conceal myself in this shade and watch them. 

 [_Stands gazing at them_. 

_Enter [S']AKOONTALÁ, with her two female companions, employed inthe manner described_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ

This way, my dear companions; this way. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, one would think that father Kanwa had moreaffection for the shrubs of the hermitage even than for you, seeing he assigns to you, who are yourself as delicate as thefresh-blown jasmine, the task of filling with water the trencheswhich encircle their roots. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Dear Anasúyá, although I am charged by my good father with thisduty, yet I cannot regard it as a task. I really feel a sisterlylove for these plants. 

 [_Continues watering the shrubs_. 

KING. 

Can this be the daughter of Kanwa? The saintly man, thoughdescended from the great Kasyapa, must be very deficient injudgment to habituate such a maiden to the life of a recluse. 

 The sage who would this form of artless grace Inure to penance, thoughtlessly attempts To cleave in twain the hard acacia's stem[19] With the soft edge of a blue lotus-leaf. 

Well! concealed behind this tree, I will watch her withoutraising her suspicions. 

 [_Conceals himself_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Good Anasúyá, Priyamvadá has drawn this bark-dress too tightlyabout my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

I will. [_Loosens it_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Smiling_. 

Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather your own bloomingyouthfulness which imparts fulness to your bosom. 

KING. 

A most just observation!

 This youthful form, whose bosom's swelling charms By the bark's knotted tissue are concealed, Like some fair bud close folded in its sheath, Gives not to view the blooming of its beauty. 

But what am I saying? In real truth this bark-dress, though ill-suited to her figure, sets it off like an ornament. 

 The lotus[20] with the [S']aivala[21] entwined Is not a whit less brilliant; dusky spots Heighten the lustre of the cold-rayed moon; This lovely maiden in her dress of bark Seems all the lovelier. E'en the meanest garb Gives to true beauty fresh attractiveness. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [Looking before her. 

Yon Ke[S']ara-tree[22] beckons to me with its young shoots, which, as the breeze waves them to and fro, appear like slender fingers. I will go and attend to it. 

 [_Walks towards it_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Why so?

PRIYAMVADÁ

The Ke[S']ara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its stem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvadá('Speaker of flattering things'). 

KING. 

What Priyamvadá says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true. Verily, Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud; Her graceful arms are as the twining stalks; And her whole form is radiant with the glow Of youthful beauty, as the tree with bloom. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

See, dear [S']akoontalá, here is the young jasmine, which younamed 'the Moonlight of the Grove, ' the self-elected wife of themango-tree. Have you forgotten it?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Rather will I forget myself. 

 [_Approaching the plant and looking at it_. ]

How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper and themango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The freshblossoms of the jasmine resemble the bloom of a young bride, andthe newly-formed shoots of the mango appear to make it hernatural protector. 

 [_Continues gazing at it_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Do you know, my Anasúyá, why [S']akoontalá gazes so intently at thejasmine?

ANASÚYÁ. 

No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

She is wishing that as the jasmine is united to a suitable tree, so, in like manner, she may obtain a husband worthy of her. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your own mind. 

 [_Continues watering the flowers_. 

KING. 

Would that my union with her were permissible[23]! and yet Ihardly dare hope that the maiden is sprung from a caste differentfrom that of the Head of the hermitage. But away with doubt:

 That she is free to wed a warrior-king My heart attests. For, in conflicting doubts, The secret promptings of the good man's soul Are an unerring index of the truth. 

However, come what may, I will ascertain the fact. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_In a flurry_. 

Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of the water, has left theyoung jasmine, and is trying to settle on my face. 

 [_Attempts to drive it away_. 

KING. [_Gazing at her ardently_. 

Beautiful! there is something charming even in her repulse. 

 Where'er the bee his eager onset plies, Now here, now there, she darts her kindling eyes; What love hath yet to teach, fear teaches now, The furtive glances and the frowning brow. 

 [_In a tone of envy_. 

 Ah, happy bee! how boldly dost thou try To steal the lustre from her sparkling eye; And in thy circling movements hover near, To murmur tender secrets in her ear; Or, as she coyly waves her hand, to sip Voluptuous nectar from her lower lip! While rising doubts my heart's fond hopes destroy, Thou dost the fulness of her charms enjoy. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

This impertinent bee will not rest quiet. I must move elsewhere. 

[_Moving a few steps off, and casting a glance around_. ]

How now! he is following me here. Help! my dear friends, help!deliver me from the attacks of this troublesome insect. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

How can we deliver you? Call Dushyanta to your aid. The sacredgroves are under the King's special protection. 

KING. 

An excellent opportunity for me to show myself. Fear not--

[_Checks himself when the words are half-uttered; Aside_. ]

But stay, if I introduce myself in this manner, they will know meto be the King. Be it so, I will accost them, nevertheless. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

 [_Moving a step or two further off_. 

What! it still persists in following me. 

KING. [_Advancing hastily_. 

 When mighty Puru's offspring sways the earth, And o'er the wayward holds his threatening rod, Who dares molest the gentle maids that keep Their holy vigils here in Kanwa's grove?

[_All look at the_ KING, _and all are embarrassed_. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Kind Sir, no outrage has been committed; only our dear friendhere was teased by the attacks of a troublesome bee. 

 [_Points to_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

KING. [_Turning to_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

I trust all is well with your devotional rites[24]?

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _stands confused and silent_. ]

ANASÚYÁ. 

All is well indeed, now that we are honoured by the reception ofa distinguished guest. Dear [S']akoontalá, go, bring from thehermitage an offering of flowers, rice, and fruit. This waterthat we have brought with us will serve to bathe our guest'sfeet[25]. 

KING. 

The rites of hospitality are already performed; your truly kindwords are the best offering I can receive. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

At least be good enough, gentle Sir, to sit down awhile, and restyourself on this seat shaded by the leaves of the Sapta-parnatree[26]. 

KING. 

You, too, must all be fatigued by your employment. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, there is no impropriety in our sitting by theside of our guest; come, let us sit down here. 

 [_All sit down together_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

How is it that the sight of this made me sensible of emotionsinconsistent with religious vows?

KING. [_Gazing at them all By turns_. 

How charmingly your friendship is in keeping with the equality ofyour ages and appearance!

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Aside to ANASÚYÁ_. 

Who can this person be, whose lively yet dignified manner, andpolite conversation, bespeak him a man of high rank?

ANASÚYÁ. 

I, too, my dear, am very curious to know. I will ask him myself. 

[_Aloud_]

Your kind words, noble Sir, fill me with confidence, and promptme to inquire of what regal family our noble guest is theornament? what country is now mourning his absence? and whatinduced a person so delicately nurtured to expose himself to thefatigue of visiting this grove of penance?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

Be not troubled, O my heart, Anasúyá is giving utterance to thythoughts. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

How now shall I reply? shall I make myself known, or shall Istill disguise my real rank? I have it; I will answer her thus. [_Aloud_. ] I am the person charged by his Majesty, the descendantof Puru, with the administration of justice and religion; and amcome to this sacred grove to satisfy myself that the rites of thehermits are free from obstruction. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

The hermits, then, and all the members of our religious society, have now a guardian. 

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _gazes bashfully at the_ KING. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

 [_Perceiving the state of her feelings, and of the_ KING'S. _Aside to_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, if father Kanwa were but at home to-day--

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Angrily_. 

What if he were?

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

He would honour this our distinguished guest with an offering ofthe most precious of his possessions. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Go to! you have some silly idea in your minds, I will not listento such remarks. 

KING. 

May I be allowed, in my turn, to ask you maidens a fewparticulars respecting your friend?

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Your request, Sir, is an honour. 

KING. 

The sage Kanwa lives in the constant practice of austerities. How, then, can this friend of yours be called his daughter?

ANASÚYÁ. 

I will explain to you. Sir. You have heard of an illustrious sageof regal caste, Vi[s']wámitra, whose family name is Kau[S']ika[27]. 

KING. 

I have. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Know that he is the real father of our friend. The venerableKanwa is only her reputed father. He it was who brought her up, when she was deserted by her mother. 

KING. 

'Deserted by her mother!' My curiosity is excited; pray let mehear the story from the beginning. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

You shall hear it, Sir. Some time since, this sage of regalcaste, while performing a most severe penance on the banks of theriver Godávarí, excited the jealousy and alarm of the gods;insomuch that they despatched a lovely nymph named Menaká tointerrupt his devotions. 

KING. 

The inferior gods, I am aware, are jealous[28] of the power whichthe practice of excessive devotion confers on mortals. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Well, then, it happened that Vi[s']wámitra, gazing on thebewitching beauty of that nymph at a season when, spring being inits glory--

 [_Stops short, and appears confused_. 

KING. 

The rest may be easily divined. [S']akoontalá, then, is theoffspring of the nymph. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Just so. 

KING. 

It is quite intelligible. 

 How would a mortal to such charms give birth? The lightning's radiance flashes not from earth. 

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _remains modestly seated with downcast eyes_. _Aside_. ]

And so my desire has really scope for its indulgence. Yet I amstill distracted by doubts, remembering the pleasantry of herfemale companions respecting her wish for a husband. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

 [_Looking with a smile at [S']AKOONTALÁ, and then turning towards the KING. ]

You seem desirous, Sir, of asking something further. 

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _makes a chiding gesture with her finger_. 

KING. 

You conjecture truly. I am so eager to hear the particulars ofyour friend's history, that I have still another question to ask. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Scruple not to do so. Persons who lead the life of hermits may bequestioned unreservedly. 

KING. 

I wish to ascertain one point respecting your friend. 

 Will she be bound by solitary vows Opposed to love, till her espousals only? Or ever dwell with these her cherished fawns, Whose eyes, in lustre vying with her own, Return her gaze of sisterly affection?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Hitherto, Sir, she has been engaged in the practice of religiousduties, and has lived in subjection to her foster-father; but itis now his fixed intention to give her away in marriage to ahusband worthy of her. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

His intention may be easily carried into effect. 

 Be hopeful, O my heart, thy harrowing doubts Are past and gone; that which thou didst believe To be as unapproachable as fire, Is found a glittering gem that may be touched. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Pretending anger_. 

Anasúyá, I shall leave you. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Why so?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

That I may go and report this impertinent Priyamvadá to thevenerable matron, Gautamí[29]. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Surely, dear friend, it would not be right to leave adistinguished guest before he has received the rites ofhospitality, and quit his presence in this wilful manner. 

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ, _without answering a word, moves away_. 

KING. 

 [_Making a movement to arrest her departure, but checking himself. Aside_. 

Ah! a lover's feelings betray themselves by his gestures. 

 When I would fain have stayed the maid, a sense Of due decorum checked my bold design; Though I have stirred not, yet my mien betrays My eagerness to follow on her steps. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

 [_Holding [S']AKOONTALÁ back_. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, it does not become you to go away in thismanner. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Frowning_. 

Why not, pray?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

You are under a promise to water two more shrubs for me. When youhave paid your debt, you shall go, and not before. 

 [_Forces her to turn back_. 

KING. 

Spare her this trouble, gentle maiden. The exertion of wateringthe shrubs has already fatigued her. 

 The water-jar has overtasked the strength Of her slim arms; her shoulders droop, her hands Are ruddy with the glow of quickened pulses; E'en now her agitated breath imparts Unwonted tremor to her heaving breast; The pearly drops that mar the recent bloom Of the [S']irísha pendent in her ear, Gather in clustering circles on her cheek; Loosed is the fillet of her hair; her hand Restrains the locks that struggle to be free. Suffer me, then, thus to discharge the debt for you. 

 [_Offers a ring to_ PRIYAMVADÁ. _Both the maidens, reading the name_ DUSHYANTA _on the seal, look at each other with surprise_. 

KING. 

Nay, think not that I am King Dushyanta. I am only the King'sofficer, and this is the ring which I have received from him asmy credentials. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

The greater the reason you ought not to part with the ring fromyour finger. I am content to release her from her obligation atyour simple request. 

[_With a smile_. ]

Now, [S']akoontalá, my love, you are at liberty to retire, thanksto the intercession of this noble stranger, or rather of thismighty prince. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

My movements are no longer under my own control. 

 [_Aloud_. 

Pray, what authority have you over me, either to send me away orkeep me back?

KING. [_Gazing at_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. _Aside_. 

Would I could ascertain whether she is affected towards me as Iam towards her! At any rate, my hopes are free to indulgethemselves. Because, Although she mingles not her words with mine, Yet doth her listening ear drink in my speech; Although her eye shrinks from my ardent gaze, No form but mine attracts its timid glances. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

O hermits, be ready to protect the animals belonging to ourhermitage. King Dushyanta, amusing himself with hunting, is nearat hand. 

 Lo! by the feet of prancing horses raised, Thick clouds of moving dust, like glittering swarms Of locusts, in the glow of eventide, Fall on the branches of our sacred trees Where hang the dripping vests of woven bark, Bleached by the waters of the cleansing fountain. 

And see!

 Scared by the royal chariot in its course, With headlong haste an elephant invades The hallowed precincts of our sacred grove; Himself the terror of the startled deer, And an embodied hindrance to our rites. The hedge of creepers clinging to his feet, Feeble obstruction to his mad career, Is dragged behind him in a tangled chain; And with terrific shock one tusk he drives Into the riven body of a tree, Sweeping before him all impediments. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

Out upon it! my retinue are looking for me, and are disturbingthis holy retreat. Well! there is no help for it; I must go andmeet them. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Noble Sir, we are terrified by the accidental disturbance causedby the wild elephant. Permit us to return to the cottage. 

KING. [_Hastily_. 

Go, gentle maidens. It shall be our care that no injury happen tothe hermitage. 

 [_All rise up_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

After such poor hospitality, we are ashamed to request the honourof a second visit from you. 

KING. 

Say not so. The mere sight of you, sweet maidens, has been to methe best entertainment. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Anasúyá, a pointed blade of Ku[s']a-grass [30] has pricked my foot;and my bark-mantle is caught in the branch of a Kuruvaka-bush[31]. Be so good as to wait for me until I have disentangled it. 

 [_Exit with her two companions, after making pretexts for delay, that she may steal glances at the_ KING. 

KING. 

I have no longer any desire to return to the city. I willtherefore rejoin my attendants, and make them encamp somewhere inthe vicinity of this sacred grove. In good truth, [S']akoontalá hastaken such possession of my thoughts, that I cannot turn myselfin any other direction. 

 My limbs drawn onward leave my heart behind, Like silken pennon borne against the wind. 

 * * * * *

ACT II. 

SCENE. --_A plain on the skirts of the forest. 

Enter the Jester_ [32] MÁ[T. ]HAVYA, _in a melancholy mood_. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Sighing_. 

Heigh-ho! what an unlucky fellow I am! worn to a shadow by myroyal friend's sporting propensities. 'Here's a deer!' 'Theregoes a boar!' 'Yonder's a tiger!' This is the only burden of ourtalk, while in the heat of the meridian sun we toil on fromjungle to jungle, wandering about in the paths of the woods, where the trees afford us no shelter. Are we thirsty? We havenothing to drink but the dirty water of some mountain streammixed with dry leaves, which give it a most pungent flavour. Arewe hungry? We have nothing to eat but roast game[33], which wemust swallow down at odd times, as best we can. Even at nightthere is no peace to be had. Sleeping is out of the question, with joints all strained by dancing attendance upon my sportingfriend; or if I do happen to doze, I am awakened at the veryearliest dawn by the horrible din of a lot of rascally beatersand huntsmen, who must needs surround the wood before sunrise, and deafen me with their clatter. Nor are these my only troubles. Here's a fresh grievance, like a new boil rising upon an oldone! Yesterday, while we were lagging behind, my royal friendentered yonder hermitage after a deer; and there, as ill-luckwould have it, caught sight of a beautiful girl, called[S']akoontalá, the hermit's daughter. From that moment, not anotherthought about returning to the city! and all last night not awink of sleep did he get for thinking of the damsel. What is tobe done? At any rate I will be on the watch for him as soon as hehas finished his toilet. 

 [_Walking and looking about_. ]

Oh! here he comes, attended by the Yavana women[34], with bows intheir hands, wearing garlands of wild flowers. What shall I do? Ihave it. I will pretend to stand in the easiest attitude forresting my bruised and crippled limbs. 

 [_Stands leaning on a staff_. 

_Enter King_ DUSHYANTA, _followed by a retinue, in the mannerdescribed_. 

KING. 

 True, by no easy conquest may I win her, Yet are my hopes encouraged by her mien, Love is not yet triumphant; but, methinks, The hearts of both are ripe for his delights. 

 [_Smiling_. 

Ah! thus does the lover delude himself; judging of the state ofhis loved one's feelings by his own desires. But yet, The stolen glance with half-averted eye, The hesitating gait, the quick rebuke Addressed to her companion, who would fain Have stayed her counterfeit departure; these Are signs not unpropitious to my suit. So eagerly the lover feeds his hopes, Claiming each trivial gesture for his own. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

 [_Still in the same attitude_. 

Ah, friends, my hands cannot move to greet you with the usualsalutation. I can only just command my lips to wish your Majestyvictory. 

KING. 

Why, what has paralysed your limbs?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

You might as well ask me how my eye comes to water after you havepoked your finger into it. 

KING. 

I don't understand you; speak more intelligibly. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Ah, my dear friend, is yonder upright reed transformed into acrooked plant by its own act, or by the force of the current?

KING. 

The current of the river causes it, I suppose. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Ay; just as you are the cause of my crippled limbs. 

KING. 

How so?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Here are you living the life of a wild man of the woods in asavage unfrequented region, while your State-affairs are left toshift for themselves; and as for poor me, I am no longer masterof my own limbs, but have to follow you about day after day inyour chases after wild animals, till my bones are all crippledand out of joint. Do, my dear friend, let me have one day's rest. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

This fellow little knows, while he talks in this manner, that mymind is wholly engrossed by recollections of the hermit'sdaughter, and quite as disinclined to the chase as his own. 

 No longer can I bend my well-braced bow Against the timid deer; nor e'er again With well-aimed arrows can I think to harm These her beloved associates, who enjoy The privilege of her companionship; Teaching her tender glances in return. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Looking in the King's face_. 

I may as well speak to the winds, for any attention you pay to myrequests. I suppose you have something on your mind, and aretalking it over to yourself. 

KING. [_Smiling_. 

I was only thinking that I ought not to disregard a friend'srequest. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Then may the King live for ever!

 [_Moves off_. 

KING. 

Stay a moment, my dear friend. I have something else to say toyou. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Say on, then. 

KING. 

When you have rested, you must assist me in another businesswhich will give you no fatigue. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

In eating something nice, I hope. 

KING. 

You shall know at some future time. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

No time better than the present. 

KING. 

What ho, there!

WARDER. [_Entering_. 

What are your Majesty's commands?

KING. 

O Raivatika, bid the General of the forces attend. 

WARDER. 

I will, Sire. 

[_Exit and re-enters with the_ GENERAL. ]

Come forward, General; his Majesty is looking towards you, andhas some order to give you. 

GENERAL. [_Looking at the_ KING. 

Though hunting is known to produce ill effects, my royal masterhas derived only benefit from it. For

 Like the majestic elephant that roams O'er mountain wilds, so does the King display A stalwart frame, instinct with vigorous life. His brawny arms and manly chest are scored By frequent passage of the sounding string; Unharmed he bears the midday sun; no toil His mighty spirit daunts; his sturdy limbs, Stripped of redundant flesh, relinquish nought Of their robust proportions, but appear In muscle, nerve, and sinewy fibre cased. 

 [_Approaching the_ KING. 

Victory to the King! We have tracked the wild beasts to theirlairs in the forest. Why delay, when everything is ready?

KING. 

My friend Má[T. ]Havya here has been disparaging thechase, till he has taken away all my relish for it. 

GENERAL. [_Aside to_ MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Persevere in your opposition, my good fellow; I will sound theKing's real feelings, and humour him accordingly. 

 [_Aloud_. 

The blockhead talks nonsense, and your Majesty in your own personfurnishes the best proof of it. Observe, Sire, the advantage andpleasure the hunter derives from the chase. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Angrily_. 

Away! tempter, away! The King has recovered his senses, and ishimself again. As for you, you may, if you choose, wander aboutfrom forest to forest, till some old bear seizes you by the nose, and makes a mouthful of you. 

KING. 

My good General, as we are just now in the neighbourhood of aconsecrated grove, your panegyric upon hunting is somewhatill-timed, and I cannot assent to all you have said. For thepresent, All undisturbed the buffaloes shall sport In yonder pool, and with their ponderous horns Scatter its tranquil waters, while the deer, Couched here and there in groups beneath the shade Of spreading branches, ruminate in peace. And all securely shall the herd of boars Feed on the marshy sedge; and thou, my bow, With slackened string, enjoy a long repose. 

GENERAL. 

So please your Majesty, it shall be as you desire. 

KING. 

Recall, then, the beaters who were sent in advance to surroundthe forest. My troops must not be allowed to disturb this sacredretreat, and irritate its pious inhabitants. 

 Know that within the calm and cold recluse Lurks unperceived a germ of smothered flame, All-potent to destroy; a latent fire That rashly kindled bursts with fury forth; As in the disc of crystal[35] that remains Cool to the touch, until the solar ray Falls on its polished surface, and excites The burning heat that lies within concealed. 

GENERAL. 

Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Off with you, you son of a slave! Your nonsense won't go downhere, my fine fellow. 

 [_Exit_ GENERAL. 

KING. [_Looking at his attendants_. 

Here, women, take my hunting-dress; and you, Raivatika, keepguard carefully outside. 

ATTENDANTS. 

We will, Sire. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Now that you have got rid of these plagues, who have been buzzingabout us like so many flies, sit down, do, on that stone slab, with the shade of the tree as your canopy, and I will seat myselfby you quite comfortably. 

KING. 

Go you, and sit down first. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Come along, then. 

 [_Both walk on a little way, and seat themselves_. 

KING. 

Má[T. ]Havya, it may be said of you that you have never beheldanything worth seeing; for your eyes have not yet looked upon theloveliest object in creation. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

How can you say so, when I see your Majesty before me at thismoment?

KING. 

It is very natural that every one should consider his own friendperfect; but I was alluding to [S']akoontalá, the brightestornament of these hallowed groves. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Aside_. 

I understand well enough, but I am not going to humour him. 

 [_Aloud_. 

If, as you intimate, she is a hermit's daughter, you cannotlawfully ask her in marriage. You may as well then dismiss herfrom your mind, for any good the mere sight of her can do. 

KING. 

Think you that a descendant of the mighty Puru could fix hisaffections on an unlawful object?

 Though, as men say, the offspring of the sage, The maiden to a nymph celestial owes Her being, and by her mother left on earth, Was found and nurtured by the holy man As his own daughter, in this hermitage. So, when dissevered from its parent stalk, Some falling blossom of the jasmine[36], wafted Upon the sturdy sun-flower, is preserved By its support from premature decay. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Smiling_. 

This passion of yours for a rustic maiden, when you have so manygems of women at home in your palace, seems to me very like thefancy of a man who is tired of sweet dates, and longs for sourtamarinds as a variety. 

KING. 

You have not seen her, or you would not talk in this fashion. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

I can quite understand it must require something surpassinglyattractive to excite the admiration of such a great man as you. 

KING. 

I will describe her, my dear friend, in a few words, Man's all-wise Maker, wishing to create A faultless form, whose matchless symmetry Should far transcend Creation's choicest works, Did call together by his mighty will, And garner up in his eternal mind, A bright assemblage of all lovely things; And then, as in a picture, fashion them Into one perfect and ideal form-- Such the divine, the wondrous prototype, Whence her fair shape was moulded into being. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

If that's the case, she must indeed throw all other beauties intothe shade. 

KING. 

To my mind she really does. 

 This peerless maid is like a fragrant flower, Whose perfumed breath has never been diffused; A tender bud, that no profaning hand Has dared to sever from its parent stalk; A gem of priceless water, just released Pure and unblemished from its glittering bed. Or may the maiden haply be compared To sweetest honey, that no mortal lip Has sipped; or, rather, to the mellowed fruit Of virtuous actions in some former birth[37], Now brought to full perfection? Lives the man Whom bounteous heaven has destined to espouse her?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Make haste, then, to her aid; you have no time to lose, if youdon't wish this fruit of all the virtues to drop into the mouthof some greasy-headed rustic of devout habits. 

KING. 

The lady is not her own mistress, and her foster-father is not athome. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Well, but tell me, did she look at all kindly upon you?

KING. 

 Maidens brought up in a hermitage are naturally shy and reserved; but for all that She did look towards me, though she quick withdrew Her stealthy glances when she met my gaze; She smiled upon me sweetly, but disguised With maiden grace the secret of her smiles. Coy love was half unveiled; then, sudden checked By modesty, left half to be divined. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Why, of course, my dear friend, you never could seriously expectthat at the very first sight she would fall over head ears inlove with you, and without more ado come and sit in your lap. 

KING. 

 When we parted from each other, she betrayed her liking for me by clearer indications, but still with the utmost modesty. Scarce had the fair one from my presence passed, When, suddenly, without apparent cause, She stopped; and, counterfeiting pain, exclaimed, 'My foot is wounded by this prickly grass, ' Then, glancing at me tenderly, she feigned Another charming pretext for delay, Pretending that a bush had caught her robe And turned as if to disentangle it. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA

I trust you have laid in a good stock of provisions, for I see you intend making this consecrated grove yourgame-preserve, and will be roaming here in quest of sport forsome time to come. 

KING. 

You must know, my good fellow, that I have been recognised bysome of the inmates of the hermitage. Now I want the assistanceof your fertile invention, in devising some excuse for goingthere again. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

There is but one expedient that I can suggest. You are the King, are you not?

KING. 

What then?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Say you have come for the sixth part of their grain [38], whichthey owe you for tribute. 

KING. 

No, no, foolish man; those hermits pay me a very different kindof tribute, which I value more than heaps of gold or jewels;observe, The tribute which my other subjects bring Must moulder into dust, but holy men Present me with a portion of the fruits Of penitential services and prayers-- A precious and imperishable gift. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

We are fortunate; here is the object of our search. 

KING. [_Listening_. 

Surely those must be the voices of hermits, to judge by theirdeep tones. 

WARDER. [_Entering_. 

Victory to the King! two young hermits are in waiting outside, and solicit an audience of your Majesty. 

KING. 

Introduce them Immediately. 

WARDER. 

I will, my liege. 

[_Goes out, and re-enters with_ TWO YOUNG HERMITS. ]

This way, Sirs, this way. 

 [_Both the_ HERMITS _look at the KING. 

FIRST HERMIT. 

How majestic is his mien, and yet what confidence it inspires!But this might be expected in a king, whose character and habitshave earned for him a title only one degree removed from that ofa Sage [39]. 

 In this secluded grove, whose sacred joys All may participate, he deigns to dwell Like one of us; and daily treasures up A store of purest merit for himself, By the protection of our holy rites. In his own person wondrously are joined Both majesty and saintlike holiness; And often chanted by inspired bards [40], His hallowed title of 'Imperial Sage' Ascends in joyous accents to the skies. 

SECOND HERMIT. 

Bear in mind, Gautama, that this is the great Dushyanta, thefriend of Indra. 

FIRST HERMIT. 

What of that?

SECOND HERMIT. 

 Where is the wonder if his nervous arm, Puissant and massive as the iron bar That binds a castle-gateway, singly sways The sceptre of the universal earth, E'en to its dark-green boundary of waters? Or if the gods, beholden to his aid In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell [41], Should blend his name with Indra's in their songs Of victory, and gratefully accord No lower meed of praise to his braced bow, Than to the thunders of the god of heaven?

BOTH THE HERMITS. [_Approaching_. 

Victory to the King!

KING. [_Rising from his seat_. 

Hail to you both!

BOTH THE HERMITS. 

Heaven bless your Majesty!

 [_They offer fruits_. 

KING. [_Respectfully receiving the offering_. 

Tell me, I pray you, the object of your visit. 

BOTH THE HERMITS. 

The inhabitants of the hermitage, having heard of your Majesty'ssojourn in our neighbourhood, make this humble petition:--

KING. 

What are their commands?

BOTH THE HERMITS. 

In the absence of our Superior, the great sage Kanwa, evil demonsare disturbing our sacrificial rites [42]. Deign, therefore, accompanied by your charioteer, to take up your abode in ourhermitage for a few days. 

KING. 

I am honoured by your invitation. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Aside_. 

Most opportune and convenient, certainly!

KING. [_Smiling_. 

Ho, there, Raivatika! Tell the charioteer from me to bring roundthe chariot with my bow. 

WARDER. 

I will, Sire. 

 [_Exit_. 

BOTH THE HERMITS. [_Joyfully_. 

 Well it becomes the King by acts of grace To emulate the virtues of his race. Such acts thy lofty destiny attest; Thy mission is to succour the distressed. 

KING. [_Bowing to the_ HERMITS. 

Go first, reverend Sirs, I will follow you immediately. 

BOTH THE HERMITS. 

May victory attend you!

 [_Exeunt_. 

KING. 

My dear Má[T. ]Havya, are not you full of longing to see[S']akoontalá?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

To tell you the truth, though I was just now brimful of desire tosee her, I have not a drop left since this piece of news aboutthe demons. 

KING. 

Never fear; you shall keep close to me for protection. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Well, you must be my guardian-angel, and act the part of a veryVishnu [43] to me. 

WARDER. [_Entering_. 

Sire, the chariot is ready, and only waits to conduct you tovictory. But here is a messenger named Karabhaka, just arrivedfrom your capital, with a message from the Queen, your mother. 

KING. [_Respectfully_. 

How say you? a messenger from the venerable Queen?

WARDER. 

Even so. 

KING. 

Introduce him at once. 

WARDER. 

I will, Sire. 

[_Goes out and re-enters with_ KARABHAKA. ]

Behold the King. Approach. 

KARABHAKA. 

Victory to the King! The Queen-mother bids me say that in fourdays from the present time she intends celebrating a solemnceremony for the advancement and preservation of her son. Sheexpects that your Majesty will honour her with your presence onthat occasion. 

KING. 

This places me in a dilemma. Here, on the one hand, is thecommission of these holy men to be executed; and, on the other, the command of my revered parent to be obeyed. Both duties aretoo sacred to be neglected. What is to be done?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

You will have to take up an intermediate position between thetwo, like King Tri[s']anku [44], who was suspended between heavenand earth, because the sage Vi[s']wámitra commanded him to mount upto heaven, and the gods ordered him down again. 

KING. 

I am certainly very much perplexed. For here, Two different duties are required of me In widely distant places; how can I In my own person satisfy them both? Thus is my mind distracted, and impelled In opposite directions like a stream That, driven back by rocks, still rushes on, Forming two currents in its eddying course. 

 [_Reflecting_. ]

Friend Má[T. ]Havya, as you were my playfellow in childhood, theQueen has already received you like a second son; go you, then, back to her, and tell her of my solemn engagement to assist theseholy men. You can supply my place in the ceremony, and act thepart of a son to the Queen. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

With the greatest pleasure in the world; but don't suppose thatI am really coward enough to have the slightest fear of thosetrumpery demons. 

KING. 

Oh! of course not; a great Bráhman like you could not possiblygive way to such weakness. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

You must let me travel in a manner suitable to the King's youngerbrother. 

KING. 

Yes, I shall send my retinue with you, that there may be nofarther disturbance in this sacred forest. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA, [_With a strut_. 

Already I feel quite like a young prince. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

This is a giddy fellow, and in all probability he will let outthe truth about my present pursuit to the women of the palace. What is to be done? I must say something to deceive him. 

[_Aloud to_ MÁ[T. ]HAVYA, _taking him by the hand_. ]

Dear friend, I am going to the hermitage wholly and solely out ofrespect for its pious inhabitants, and not because I have reallyany liking for [S']akoontalá, the hermit's daughter. Observe:--

 What suitable communion could there be Between a monarch and a rustic girl? I did but feign an idle passion, friend, Take not in earnest what was said in jest. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Don't distress yourself; I quite understand. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

 * * * * *

PRELUDE TO ACT III. 

SCENE. --_The Hermitage_. 

_Enter a_ YOUNG BRÁHMAN _carrying bundles of ku[S']a-grass for theuse of the sacrificing priest_. 

YOUNG BRÁHMAN. 

How wonderful is the power of King Dushyanta! No sooner did heenter our hermitage, than we were able to proceed with oursacrificial rites, unmolested by the evil demons. 

 No need to fix the arrow to the bow; The mighty monarch sounds the quivering string, And, by the thunder of his arms dismayed, Our demon foes are scattered to the wind. 

I must now, therefore, make haste and deliver to the sacrificingpriests these bundles of Ku[s']a-grass, to be strewn round thealtar. 

[_Walking and looking about; then addressing some one off thestage_. ]

Why, Priyamvadá, for whose use are you carrying that ointment ofUsíra-root and those lotus-leaves with fibres attached to them?

[_Listening for her answer_. ]

What Say you?--that [S']akoontalá is suffering from fever producedby exposure to the sun, and that this ointment is to cool herburning frame? Nurse her with care, then, Priyamvadá, for she ischerished by our reverend Superior as the very breath of hisnostrils[46]. I, for my part, will contrive that soothing waters, hallowed in the sacrifice, he administered to her by the hands ofGautamí. 

 [_Exit_. 

ACT III. 

SCENE. --_The Sacred Grove_. 

_Enter_ KING DUSHYANTA, _with the air of one in love_. 

KING. [_Sighing thoughtfully_. 

 The holy sage possesses magic power In virtue of his penance; she, his ward, Under the shadow of his tutelage, Rests in security, I know it well; Yet sooner shall the rushing cataract In foaming eddies re-ascend the steep, Than my fond heart turn back from its pursuit. 

God of love! God of the flowery shafts [47]! we lovers are cruellydeceived by thee, and by the Moon, however deserving of confidenceyou may both appear. 

 For not to us do these thine arrows seem Pointed with tender flowerets; not to us Doth the pale Moon irradiate the earth With beams of silver fraught with cooling dews; But on our fevered frames the moon-beams fall Like darts of fire, and every flower-tipt shaft Of Káma[47], as it probes our throbbing hearts, Seems to be barbed with hardest adamant. 

Adorable god of love! hast thou no pity for me?

[_In a tone of anguish_. ]

How can thy arrows be so sharp when they are pointed withflowers? Ah! I know the reason:

 E'en now in thine unbodied essence lurks The fire of [S']iva's anger[48], like the flame That ever hidden in the secret depths Of ocean, smoulders there unseen[49]. How else Could'st thou, all immaterial as thou art, Inflame our hearts thus fiercely?--thou, whose form Was scorched to ashes by a sudden flash From the offended god's terrific eye. 

Yet, methinks, Welcome this anguish, welcome to my heart These rankling wounds inflicted by the god, Who on his scutcheon bears the monster-fish[50] Slain by his prowess; welcome death itself, So that, commissioned by the lord of love, This fair one be my executioner. Adorable divinity! Can I by no reproaches excite your commiseration? Have I not daily offered at thy shrine Innumerable vows, the only food Of thine ethereal essence? Are my prayers Thus to be slighted? Is it meet that thou Should'st aim thy shafts at thy true votary's heart, Drawing thy bow-string even to thy ear?

[_Pacing up and down in a melancholy manner_. ]

Now that the holy men have completed their rites, and have nomore need of my services, how shall I dispel my melancholy?

[_Sighing_. ]

I have but one resource. Oh for another sight of the Idol of mysoul! I will seek her. 

[_Glancing at the sun_. ]

In all probability, as the sun's heat is now at its height, [S']akoontalá is passing her time under the shade of the bowers onthe banks of the Máliní, attended by her maidens. I will go andlook for her there. 

[_Walking and looking about_. ]

I suspect the fair one has but just passed by this avenue ofyoung trees. 

 Here, as she tripped along, her fingers plucked The opening buds; these lacerated plants, Shorn of their fairest blossoms by her hand, Seem like dismembered trunks, whose recent wounds Are still unclosed; while from the bleeding socket Of many a severed stalk, the milky juice Still slowly trickles, and betrays her path. 

[_Feeling a breeze_. ]

What a delicious breeze meets me in this spot!

 Here may the zephyr, fragrant with the scent Of lotuses, and laden with the spray Caught from the waters of the rippling stream, Fold in its close embrace my fevered limbs. 

[_Walking and looking about_. ]

She must be somewhere in the neighbourhood of this arbour ofoverhanging creepers enclosed by plantations of cane;

[_Looking down_. ]

 For at the entrance here I plainly see A line of footsteps printed in the sand. Here are the fresh impressions of her feet; Their well-known outline faintly marked in front, More deeply towards the heel; betokening The graceful undulation of her gait[51]. 

I will peep through those branches. 

 [_Walking and looking. With transport_. ]

Ah! now my eyes are gratified by an entrancing sight. Yonder isthe beloved of my heart reclining on a rock strewn with flowers, and attended by her two friends. How fortunate! Concealed behindthe leaves, I will listen to their conversation, without raisingtheir suspicions. 

 [_Stands concealed, and gazes at them_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ _and her two attendants, holding fans in their hands, are discovered as described_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

 [_Fanning her. In a tone of affection_. 

Dearest [S']akoontalá, is the breeze raised by these broadlotus-leaves refreshing to you?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Dear friends, why should you trouble yourselves to fan me?

[PRIYAMVADÁ _and_ ANASÚYÁ _look sorrowfully at one another_. 

KING. 

[S']akoontalá seems indeed to be seriously ill. 

[_Thoughtfully_. ]

Can it be the intensity of the heat that has affected her? ordoes my heart suggest the true cause of her malady?

[_Gazing at her passionately_. ]

Why should I doubt it?

 The maiden's spotless bosom is o'erspread With cooling balsam; on her slender arm Her only bracelet, twined with lotus-stalks, Hangs loose and withered; her recumbent form Betokens languor. Ne'er could noon-day sun Inflict such fair disorder on a maid-- No, love, and love alone, is here to blame. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Aside to_ ANASÚYÁ. 

I have observed, Anasúyá, that [S']akoontalá has been indisposedever since her first interview with King Dushyanta. Depend uponit, her ailment is to be traced to that source. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

The same suspicion, dear, has crossed my mind. But I will at onceask her and ascertain the truth. 

[_Aloud_. ]

Dear [S']akoontalá, I am about to put a question to you. Yourindisposition is really very serious. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Half rising from her couch_. 

What were you going to ask?

ANASÚYÁ. 

We know very little about love-matters, dear [S']akoontalá; but forall that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to besomething similar to that of the lovers we have heard about inromances. Tell us frankly what is the cause of your disorder. Itis useless to apply a remedy, until the disease be understood. 

KING. 

Anasúyá bears me out in my suspicion. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashlydisclose my passion to these young girls. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

What Anasúyá says, dear [S']akoontalá, is very just. Why give solittle heed to your ailment? Every day you are becoming thinner;though I must confess your complexion is still as beautiful asever. 

KING. 

Priyamvadá speaks most truly. 

 Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom Loses its fulness; e'en her slender waist Grows more attenuate; her face is wan, Her shoulders droop;--as when the vernal blasts Sear the young blossoms of the Mádhaví[52], Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change. Yet in its sadness, fascinating still, Inflicted by the mighty lord of love On the fair figure of the hermit's daughter. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of mymalady than to you; but I should only be troubling you. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Nay, this is the very point about which we are so solicitous. Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of half itspoignancy. 

KING. 

 Pressed by the partners of her joys and griefs, Her much beloved companions, to reveal The cherished secret locked within her breast, She needs must utter it; although her looks Encourage me to hope, my bosom throbs As anxiously I listen for her answer. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Know then, dear friends, that from the first moment theillustrious Prince who is the guardian of our sacred grovepresented himself to my sight--

 [_Stops short, and appears confused_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Say on, dear [S']akoontalá, say on. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Ever since that happy moment, my heart's affections have beenfixed upon him, and my energies of mind and body have alldeserted me, as you see. 

KING. [_With rapture_. 

Her own lips have uttered the words I most longed to hear. 

 Love lit the flame, and Love himself allays My burning fever, as when gathering clouds Rise o'er the earth in summer's dazzling noon, And grateful showers dispel the morning heat. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some means bywhich I may find favour with the King, or you will have ere longto assist at my funeral. 

KING. 

Enough! These words remove all my doubts. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Aside to_ ANASÚYÁ. 

She is far gone in love, dear Anasúyá, and no time ought to belost. Since she has fixed her affections on a monarch who is theornament of Puru's line, we need not hesitate for a moment toexpress our approval. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

I quite agree with you. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Aloud_. 

We wish you joy, dear [S']akoontalá. Your affections are fixed on anobject in every respect worthy of you, . The noblest river will unite itselfto the ocean, and the lovely Mádhaví-creeper clings naturally to theMango, the only tree capable of supporting it. 

KING. 

Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Vi[s']ákhá pinesto be united with the Moon[53]?

ANASÚYÁ. 

By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend theaccomplishment of her heart's desire both speedily and secretly?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

The latter point is all we have to think about. As to 'speedily, 'I look upon the whole affair as already settled. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

How so?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by thetender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he hasbecome the last few days, as if he had been lying awake thinkingof her?

KING. [_Looking at himself_. 

Quite true! I certainly am becoming thin from want of sleep:

 As night by night in anxious thought I raise This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head, My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams, Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist. Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain; So easily it spans the fleshless limb That e'en the rough and corrugated skin, Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall[54]. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

An idea strikes me, Anasúyá. Let [S']akoontalá write a love-letter;I will conceal it in a flower, and contrive to drop it in theKing's path. He will surely mistake it for the remains of somesacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick it up. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

A very ingenious device! It my entire approval; but what says[S']akoontalá?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

I must consider before I can consent to it. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Could, you not, dear [S']akoontalá, think of some prettycomposition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of yourlove?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Well, I will do my best; but my heart trembles when I think ofthe chances of a refusal. 

KING. [_With rapture_. 

 Too timid maid, here stands the man from whom Thou fearest a repulse; supremely blessed To call thee all his own. Well might he doubt His title to thy love; but how could'st thou Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him?

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

You undervalue your own merits, dear [S']akoontalá. What man in hissenses would intercept with the skirt of his robe the bright raysof the autumnal moon, which alone can allay the fever of hisbody?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Smiling_. 

Then it seems I must do as I am bid. 

 [_Sits down and appears to be thinking_. 

KING. 

How charming she looks! My very eyes forget to wink, jealous oflosing even for an instant a sight so enchanting. 

 How beautiful the movement of her brow, As through her mind love's tender fancies flow! And, as she weighs her thoughts, how sweet to trace The ardent passion mantling in her face!

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have nowriting-materials at hand. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Write the letters with your nail on this lotus-leaf, which issmooth as a parrot's breast. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_After writing the verse_. 

Listen, dear friends, and tell me whether the ideas areappropriately expressed. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

We are all attention. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Reads_. 

 I know not the secret thy bosom conceals, Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight; But sad is the tale that my fever reveals, Of the love that consumes me by day and by night. 

KING. [_Advancing hastily towards her_. 

 Nay, Love does but warm thee, fair maiden, --thy frame Only droops like the bud in the glare of the noon; But me he consumes with a pitiless flame, As the beams of the day-star destroy the pale moon. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

 [_Looking at him joyfully and rising to salute him_. 

Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presentsitself!

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _makes an effort to rise_. 

KING. 

Nay, trouble not thyself, dear maiden. 

 Move not to do me homage; let thy limbs Still softly rest upon their flowery couch; And gather fragrance from the lotus-stalks, Bruised by the fevered contact of thy frame. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which ourfriend is reposing. 

 [_The_ KING _sits down_. [S']AKOONTALÁ _is confused_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Any one may see at a glance that you are deeply attached to eachother. But the affection I have for my friend prompts me to saysomething of which you hardly require to be informed. 

KING. 

Do not hesitate to speak out, my good girl. If you omit to saywhat is in your mind, you may be sorry for it afterwards. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Is it not your special office as a King to remove the sufferingof your subjects who are in trouble?

KING. 

Such is my duty, most assuredly. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Know, then, that our dear friend has been brought to her presentstate of suffering entirely through love for you. Her life is inyour hands; take pity on her and restore her to health. 

KING. 

Excellent maiden, our attachment is mutual. It is I who am themost honoured by it. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Looking at PRIYAMVADÁ_. 

What do you mean by detaining the King, who must be anxious toreturn to his royal consorts after so long a separation?

KING. 

 Sweet maiden, banish from thy mind the thought That I could love another. Thou dost reign Supreme, without a rival, in my heart, And I am thine alone; disown me not, Else must I die a second deadlier death, Killed by thy words, as erst by Káma's[47] shafts. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Kind Sir, we have heard it said that kings have many favouriteconsorts. You must not, then, by your behaviour towards our dearfriend, give her relations cause to sorrow for her. 

KING. 

Listen, gentle maiden, while in a few words I quiet your anxiety. 

 Though many beauteous forms my palace grace, Henceforth two things alone will I esteem The glory of my royal dynasty-- My sea-girt realm, and this most lovely maid. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

We are satisfied by your assurances. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Glancing on one side_. 

See, Anasúyá, there is our favourite little fawn running about ingreat distress, and turning its eyes in every direction as iflooking for its mother; come, let us help the little thing tofind her. [_Both move away_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Dear friends, dear friends, leave me not alone and unprotected. Why need you both go?

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Unprotected! when the Protector of the world is at your side. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

What! have they both really left me?

KING. 

Distress not thyself, sweet maiden. Thy adorer is at hand to waitupon thee. 

 Oh let me tend thee, fair one, in the place Of thy dear friends; and with broad lotus fans Raise cooling breezes to refresh thy frame; Or shall I rather, with caressing touch, Allay the fever of thy limbs, and soothe Thy aching feet, beauteous as blushing lilies?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Nay, touch me not. I will not incur the censure of those whom Iam bound to respect. 

 [_Rises and attempts to go_. 

KING. 

Fair one, the heat of noon has not yet subsided, and thy body isstill feeble. 

 How canst thou quit thy fragrant couch of flowers, And from thy throbbing bosom cast aside Its covering of lotus-leaves, to brave With weak and fainting limbs the noon-day heat?

 [_Forces her to turn back_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Infringe not the rules of decorum, mighty descendant of Puru. Remember, though I love you, I have no power to dispose ofmyself. 

KING. 

Why this fear of offending your relations, timid maid? When yourvenerable foster-father hears of it, he will not find fault withyou. He knows that the law permits us to be united withoutconsulting him. 

 In Indra's heaven, so at least 'tis said, No nuptial rites prevail[55], nor is the bride Led to the altar by her future lord; But all in secret does the bridegroom plight His troth, and each unto the other vow Mutual allegiance. Such espousals, too, Are authorised on earth, and many daughters Of royal saints thus wedded to their lords Have still received their father's benison. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Leave me, leave me; I must take counsel with my female friends. 

KING. 

I will leave thee when--

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

When?

KING. 

 When I have gently stolen from thy lips Their yet untasted nectar, to allay The raging of my thirst, e'en as the bee Sips the fresh honey from the opening bud. 

 [_Attempts to raise her face_. [S']AKOONTALÁ tries to prevent him_. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

The loving birds, doomed by fate to nightly separation[56], mustbid farewell to each other, for evening is at hand. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_In confusion_. 

Great Prince, I hear the voice of the matron Gautamí. She iscoming this way to inquire after my health. Hasten and concealyourself behind the branches. 

KING. 

I will. [_Conceals himself_. 

_Enter_ GAUTAMÍ _with a vase in her hand, preceded by twoattendants_. 

ATTENDANTS. 

This way, most venerable Gautamí. 

GAUTAMÍ. [_Approaching_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

My child, is the fever of thy limbs allayed?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Venerable mother, there is certainly a change for the better. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

Let me sprinkle you with this holy water, and allyour ailments will depart. 

[_Sprinkling_ [S']AKOONTALÁ on the head_. ]

The day is closing, my child; come, let us go to the cottage. 

 [_They all move away_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

Oh my heart! thou didst fear to taste of happiness when it waswithin thy reach. Now that the object of thy desires is torn fromthee, how bitter will be thy remorse, how distracting thineanguish!

[_Moving on a few steps and stopping. Aloud_. ]

Farewell! bower of creepers, sweet soother of my sufferings, farewell! may I soon again be happy under thy shade. 

 [_Exit reluctantly with the others_. 

KING. 

 [_Returning to his former seat in the arbour. Sighing_. 

Alas! how many are the obstacles to the accomplishment of ourwishes!

 Albeit she did coyly turn away Her glowing cheek, and with her fingers guard Her pouting lips, that murmured a denial In faltering accents, she did yield herself A sweet reluctant captive to my will. As eagerly I raised her lovely face; But ere with gentle force I stole the kiss, Too envious Fate did mar my daring purpose. 

Whither now shall I betake myself? I will tarry for a brief spacein this bower of creepers, so endeared to me by the presence ofmy beloved [S']akoontalá. 

 [_Looking round_. 

 Here printed on the flowery couch I see The fair impression of her slender limbs; Here is the sweet confession of her love, Traced with her nail upon the lotus-leaf; And yonder are the withered lily-stalks That graced her wrist. While all around I view Things that recall her image, can I quit This bower, e'en though its living be fled?

A VOICE IN THE AIR. 

Great King, Scarce is our evening sacrifice begun, When evil demons, lurid as the clouds That gather round the dying orb of day, Cluster in hideous troops, obscene and dread, About our altars, casting far and near Terrific shadows, while the sacred fire Sheds a pale lustre o'er their ghostly shapes. 

KING. 

I come to the rescue, I come. 

 [_Exit_. 

 * * * * *

PRELUDE TO ACT IV. 

SCENE. --_The Garden of the Hermitage_. 

_Enter_ PRIYAMVADÁ and ANASÚYÁ in the act of gathering flowers_. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Although, dear Priyamvadá, it rejoices my heart to think that[S']akoontalá has been happily united to a husband in every respectworthy of her, by the form of marriage prevalent among Indra'scelestial musicians, nevertheless, I cannot help feeling somewhatuneasy in my mind. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

How so?

ANASÚYÁ. 

You know that the pious King was gratefully dismissed by thehermits on the successful termination of their sacrificial rites. He has now returned to his capital, leaving [S']akoontalá under ourcare; and it may be doubted whether, in the society of his royalconsorts, he will not forget all that has taken place in thishermitage of ours. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are not sodestitute of all honourable feeling. I confess, however, thatthere is one point about which I am rather anxious. What, thinkyou, will Father Kanwa say when he hears what has occurred?

ANASÚYÁ. 

In my opinion, he will approve the marriage. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

What makes you think so?

ANASÚYÁ. 

From the first, it was always his fixed purpose to bestow themaiden on a husband worthy of her; and since heaven has given hersuch a husband, his wishes have been realized without any troubleto himself. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Looking at the flower-basket_. 

We have gathered flowers enough for the sacred offering, dearAnasúyá. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Well, then, let us now gather more, that we may have wherewith topropitiate the guardian-deity of our dear [S']akoontalá. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

By all means. 

 [_They continue gathering_. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Ho there! See you not that I am here!

ANASÚYÁ. 

That must be the voice of a guest announcing his arrival. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Surely, [S']akoontalá is not absent from the cottage. 

[_Aside_. ]

Her heart at least is absent, I fear. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Come along, come along; we have gathered flowersenough. 

 [_They move away_. 

THE SAME VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Woe to thee, maiden, for daring to slight a guest like me!

 Shall I stand here unwelcomed--even I, A very mine of penitential merit, Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid, Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts Upon the cherished object of thy love, While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then-- He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive To waken his remembrance of the past; He shall disown thee, even as the sot, Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies The words he uttered in his revellings. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred. [S']akoontalá, from absence of mind, must have offended some guestwhom she was bound to treat with respect. 

[_Looking behind the scenes_. ]

Ah! yes; I see; and no less a person than the great sageDurvásas[57], who is known to be most irascible. He it is thathas just cursed her, and is now retiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if nothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Go quickly, dear Priyamvadá, throw yourself at his feet, andpersuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatoryoffering[59] for him, with water and refreshments. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

I will. 

 [_Exit_. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

[_Advancing hastily a few steps and stumbling_. 

Alas! alas! this comes of being in a hurry. My foot has slipped, and my basket of flowers has fallen from my hand. 

 [_Stays to gather them up_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Re-entering_

Well, dear Anasúyá, I have done my best; but what living beingcould succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained, ill-tempered oldfellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little. 

ANASÚYÁ [_Smiling_. 

Even a little was much for him. Say on. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in thesewords: 'Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this firstoffence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant ofthe respect due to your saintly character and exalted rank. '

ANASÚYÁ

And what did he reply?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

'My word must not be falsified; but, at the sight of the ring ofrecognition the spell shall cease. ' So saying, he disappeared. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Oh! then we may breathe again; for, now I think of it, the Kinghimself, at his departure, fastened on [S']akoontalá's finger, as atoken of remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved. She has, therefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her owncommand. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Come, dear Anasúyá, let us proceed with our religious duties. 

 [_They walk round_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Looking off the stage_. 

See, Anasúyá, there sits our dear friend, motionless as a statue, resting her face on her left hand, her whole mind absorbed inthinking of her absent husband. She can pay no attention toherself, much less to a stranger. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Priyamvadá, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spareour dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate tobear much emotion. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender jasminewith hot water?

ACT IV. 

Scene. --_The Neighbourhood of the Hermitage. 

Enter one of_ Kanwa's Pupils _just arisen from his couch at thedawn of day_. 

PUPIL. 

My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned fromhis pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. Ihave therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark. 

 [_Walking and looking about_. ]

Oh! the dawn has already broken. 

 Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon, Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers, Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills; While in the east, preceded by the Dawn, His blushing charioteer[59], the glorious Sun Begins his course, and far into the gloom Casts the first radiance of his orient beams. Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set, And set to rise again; symbols divine Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes. 

And now, While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower Of the night-loving lotus[60] sheds her leave In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought But the sweet memory of her loveliness To my bereaved sight; e'en as the bride Disconsolately mourns her absent lord, And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief. 

ANASÚYÁ. [_Entering abruptly_. 

Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinkingthat King Dushyanta is treating [S']akoontalá very improperly. 

PUPIL. 

Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time tooffer the burnt oblation. 

 [_Exit_. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to goabout my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have losttheir power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only isto blame for having induced our dear friend, in the innocence ofher heart, to confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of Durvásas may he already takingeffect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise account for the King's strangeconduct, in allowing so long a time to elapse without even aletter; and that, too, after so many promises and protestations. I cannot think what to do unless we send him the ring which wasto be the token of recognition. But which of these austerehermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, FatherKanwa has just returned from his pilgrimage; and how am I toinform him of [S']akoontalá's marriage to King Dushyanta, and herexpectation of becoming soon a mother? I never could bring myselfto tell him, even if I felt that [S']akoontalá had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is to be done?

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Entering; joyfully_. 

Quick! quick! Anasúyá! come and assist in the joyful preparationsfor [S']akoontalá's departure to her husband's palace. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

My dear girl, what can you mean?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to[S']akoontalá, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably--

ANASÚYÁ. 

Well, well; go on. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground withshame, when Father Kanwa entered, and, embracing her, of his ownaccord offered her his congratulations. 'I give thee joy, mychild, ' he said, 'we have had an auspicious omen. The priest whooffered the oblation dropped it into the very centre of thesacred fire [81], though thick smoke obstructed his vision. Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an object of compassion. Thisvery day I purpose sending thee, under the charge of certaintrusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall deliver thee intothe hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge to thekeeping of a wise and faithful student. '

ANASÚYÁ. 

Who, then, informed the holy father of what passed in hisabsence?

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire, aninvisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains. 

ANASÚYÁ. [_With astonishment_. 

Indeed! pray repeat it. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Repeating the verse_. 

 Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory, As in the sacred tree the mystic fire [62]; Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story, And may the son immortalize the sire. 

ANASÚYÁ. [_Embracing_ PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Oh, my dear Priyamvadá, what delightful news! I am pleasedbeyond measure; yet when I think that we are to lose our dear[S']akoontalá this very day, a feeling of melancholy mingles withmy joy. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her departure. Let the dear creature only be made happy at any cost. 

ANASÚYÁ. 

Yes, yes, Priyamvadá, it shall be so; and now to prepare thebridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, andsome time since, I deposited a beautiful garland of Ke[S']araflowers in a cocoa-nut box, and suspended it on a bough ofyonder mango-tree. Be good enough to stretch out your hand andtake it down, while I compound unguents and perfumes with thisconsecrated paste and these blades of sacred grass. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Very well. 

 [_Exit_ ANASÚYÁ. PRIYAMVADÁ _takes down the flowers_. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Gautamí, bid [S']árngarava and the others hold themselves inreadiness to escort [S']akoontalá. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Listening_. 

Quick, quick, Anasúyá! They are calling thehermits who are to go with [S']akoontalá to Hastinápur[83]. 

ANASÚYÁ. [_Re-entering with the perfumed unguents in herhand_. 

Come along then, Priyamvadá; I am ready to go with you. 

 [_They walk away_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Looking_. 

See! there sits [S']akoontalá, her locks arranged even at thisearly hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage arecongratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, whilethey present her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecratedwild-rice. Let us join them. 

 [_They approach_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ _is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupiedin the manner described_. 

FIRST WOMAN. [_To_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

My child, may'st thou receive the title of 'Chief-queen, ' and maythy husband delight to honour thee above all others!

SECOND WOMAN. 

My child, may'st thou be the mother of a hero!

THIRD WOMAN. 

My child, may'st thou be highly honoured by thy lord!

[_Exeunt all the women, excepting_ GAUTAMÍ, after blessing_[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. [_Approaching_. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, we are come to assist you at your toilet, andmay a blessing attend it!

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

 [_Taking the baskets containing the bridal decorations, and sitting down_. 

Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us dress you. We must firstrub your limbs with these perfumed unguents. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now that Iam so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps Ishall never be dressed by you again. 

 [_Bursts into tears_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Weep not, dearest; tears are out of season on such a happyoccasion. 

 [_They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments, which ourhermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as itdeserves. 

_Enter TWO YOUNG HERMITS, bearing costly presents_. 

BOTH HERMITS. 

Here are ornaments suitable for a queen. 

[_The women look at them in astonishment_. 

GAUTAMÍ

Why, Nárada, my son, whence came these?

FIRST HERMIT. 

You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

Did he create them by the power of his own mind?

SECOND HERMIT. 

Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage ordered usto collect flowers for [S']akoontalá from the forest-trees; and wewent to the wood for that purpose, when

 Straightway depending from a neighbouring tree Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure And spotless as a moonbeam--mystic pledge Of bridal happiness; another tree Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain The lady's feet [135]; and other branches near Glistened with rare and costly ornaments. While, 'mid the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs, Vying in beauty with the opening buds, Presented us with sylvan offerings. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. [_Looking at_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

The wood-nymphs have done you honour, indeed. This favourdoubtless signifies that you are soon to be received as a happywife into your husband's house, and are from this time forward tobecome the partner of his royal fortunes. 

[[S']AKOONTALÁ _appears abashed_. 

FIRST HERMIT. 

Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions. Let us goand inform him of the favour we have received from the deitieswho preside over our trees. 

SECOND HERMIT. 

By all means. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ

Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such splendiddecorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Ourknowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose theornaments as we have seen them in pictures. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ

Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have perfectconfidence In your taste. 

 [_They commence dressing her_. 

_Enter_ KANWA, _having just finished his ablutions_. 

KANWA. 

 This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart Is heavy with its grief; the streams of sorrow, Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice, I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise Within my soul. If such the force of grief In an old hermit parted from his nursling, What anguish must the stricken parent feel-- Bereft for ever of an only daughter. 

[_Advances towards_ [S']AKOONTALÁ

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

Now, dearest [S']akoontalá, we have finished decorating you. Youhave only to put on the two linen mantles. 

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _rises and puts them on_. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to foldthee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to dohim reverence. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ [_Reverently_. 

My father, I salute you. 

KANWA. 

My daughter, May'st thou be highly honoured by thy lord, E'en as Yayáti [S']armishthá adored[64]! And, as she bore him Puru, so may'st thou Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!

GAUTAMÍ. 

Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if shealready possessed the boon it confers. 

KANWA. 

Now come this way, my child, and walk reverentlyround these sacrificial fires. 

 [_They all walk round_. 

KANWA. 

 [_Repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda_. 

 Holy flames, that gleam around Every altar's hallowed ground; Holy flames, whose frequent food Is the consecrated wood, And for whose encircling bed, Sacred Ku[s']a-grass is spread [65]; Holy flames, that waft to heaven Sweet oblations daily given, Mortal guilt to purge away, Hear, oh hear me, when I pray-- Purify my child this day!

Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey. 

[_Looking on one side_. ]

Where are thy attendants. [S']árngarava and the others?

YOUNG HERMIT. [_Entering_. 

Here we are, most venerable father. 

KANWA. 

Lead the way for thy sister. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Come, [S']akoontalá, let us proceed. 

 [_All move away_. 

KANWA. 

 Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage! [S']akoontalá ne'er moistened in the stream Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured Its purest water on your thirsty roots; And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love She robbed you not e'en of a single flower. Her highest joy was ever to behold The early glory of your opening buds; Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell. This very day she quits her father's home, To seek the palace of her wedded lord. 

[_The note of a Koïl[66] is heard_. 

 Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees, Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note Of the melodious Koïl[66]? they dismiss Their dear [S']akoontalá with loving wishes. 

VOICES IN THE AIR. 

 Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees, While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze; Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread, Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread; Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay, For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way. 

 [_All listen with astonishment_. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with theaffection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thyhappiness. Take thou leave of them reverentially. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

[_Bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her friend_. 

Eager as I am, dear Priyamvadá, to see my husband once more, yetmy feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting for ever the homeof my girlhood. 

PRIYAMVADÁ. 

You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness ofparting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole groveseems to share your anguish. 

 In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn Ceases its dance[67]; the very trees around Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Recollecting herself_. 

My father, let me, before I go, bid adieu to my pet jasmine, theMoonlight of the Grove[68]. I love the plant almost as a sister. 

KANWA. 

Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for thecreeper. Here it is on the right. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Approaching the jasmine_. 

My beloved jasmine! most brilliant of climbing plants, how sweetit is to see thee cling thus fondly to thy husband, themango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining arms for a moment inthis direction to embrace thy sister; she is going far away, andmay never see thee again. 

KANWA. 

 Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart Has ever been to wed thee to a man That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won. To him thou goest, and about his neck Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now Thy favourite jasmine twines its loving arms Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it To its protector--e'en as I consign Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf. 

Proceed on thy journey, my child. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_To_ PRIYAMVADÁ _and_ ANASÚYÁ. 

To you, my sweet companions, I leave it as a keepsake. Takecharge of it when I am gone. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. [_Bursting into tears_. 

And to whose charge do you leave us, dearest? Who will care forus when you are gone?

KANWA. 

For shame, Anasúyá! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer yourfriend at a time when she needs your support and consolation?

 [_All move on_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to thehermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight ofthe little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forgetto send me word when she becomes a mother. 

KANWA. 

I will not forget it. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Feeling herself drawn back_. 

What can this be, fastened to my dress?

 [_Turns round_. 

KANWA. 

My daughter, It is the little fawn, thy foster-child, Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well How with a mother's tenderness and love Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice From thine own hand didst daily nourish it; And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm. The grateful nursling clings to its protectress, Mutely imploring leave to follow her. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

My poor little fawn! dost thou ask to follow an ungratefulwretch who hesitates not to desert her companions! When thymother died, soon after thy birth, I supplied her place, andreared thee with my own hand; and now that thy second mother isabout to leave thee, who will care for thee? My father, be thou amother to her. My child, go back, and be a daughter to my father. 

 [_Moves on, weeping_. 

KANWA. 

 Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true-- True to thyself and me; the path of life Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth, And all must feel the steepness of the way; Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Venerable Sire! the sacred precept is:--'Accompany thy friend asfar as the margin of the first stream. ' Here, then, we arearrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give usyour final instructions and return. 

KANWA. 

Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of thisfig-tree[69]. 

[_They do so_. 

KANWA [_Aside_. 

I must think of some appropriate message to send to his MajestyKing Dushyanta. 

[_Reflects_. . 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside to_ ANASÚYÁ. 

See, see, dear Anasúyá, the poor female Chakraváka-bird[70], whomcruel fate dooms to nightly separation from her mate, calls tohim in mournful notes from the other side of the stream, thoughhe is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves of thewater-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy shewas 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. 

[S']árngarava! when you have introduced [S']akoontalá into thepresence of the King, you must give him this message from me:--

[S']ÁRNGARAVA

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 honourable 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. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

A most suitable message! I will take care to deliver itcorrectly. 

KANWA. 

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

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

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

KANWA. 

Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband'spalace, and art admitted into his family, Honour 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 most 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 itwell to heart, my daughter. 

KANWA. 

Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thycompanions, and then we leave thee. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

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 marriageto suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them toaccompany thee to such a public place. But Gautamí shall be thycompanion. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Embracing him_. 

Removed from thy bosom, my beloved father, like a youngtendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in the westernmountains[71], how shall I be able to support life in a foreignsoil?

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. 

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _throws herself at her foster-father's feet_. 

KANWA. 

Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee berealized!

[S']AKOONTALÁ [_Approaching her friends_. 

Come, my two loved companions, embrace me both of you together. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. [_Embracing her_. 

Dear [S']akoontalá, remember, if the King should by any chance beslow in recognizing you, you have only to show him this ring, onwhich his own name is engraved. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. 

There is no real cause for fear, dearest. Excessive affection istoo apt to suspect evil where none exists. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

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

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_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 bride 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[72]; There amid holy scenes to be at peace, Till thy pure spirit gain its last release. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

Come, my child, the favourable time for our journey is fastpassing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the firstto move homewards, or these last words will never end. 

KANWA. 

Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not beinterrupted. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Again embracing her foster-father_. 

Beloved father, thy frame is much enfeebled by penitentialexercises. Do not, oh! do not, allow thyself to sorrow too muchon my account. 

KANWA. [_Sighing_. 

 How, O my child, shall my bereaved heart Forget its bitterness, when, day by day, Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants Reared by thy care, or sprang from hallowed grain Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door-- A frequent offering to our household gods[73]?

Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous. 

 [_Exit_ [S']AKOONTALÁ _with her escort_. 

PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ. [_Gazing after_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Alas! alas! she is gone, and now the trees hide our darling fromour 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[S']akoontalá. How can we ever return to it?

KANWA. 

It is natural enough that your affection should make you view itin this light. 

[_Walking pensively on_. ]

As for me, I am quite surprised at myself. Now that I have fairlydismissed 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_. 

 * * * * *

ACT V. 

SCENE. --_A Room in the Palace_. 

_The King_ DUSHYANTA _and the Jester_ MÁ[T. ]HAVYA _are discoveredseated_. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Listening_. 

Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you will hear sweetsounds proceeding from the music-room. Some one is singing acharming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadiká ispractising 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!

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

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 dearfellow, and tell Hansapadiká from me that I take her delicatereproof as it is intended. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Very well. 

[_Rising from his seat_. ]

But stay--I don't much relish being sent to bear the brunt of herjealousy. The chances are that she will have me seized by thehair of the head and beaten to a jelly. I would as soon exposemyself, after a vow of celibacy, to the seductions of a lovelynymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman. 

KING. 

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

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

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 aftersome 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[74], Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?

 [_Remains pensive and sad_. 

_Enter the_ CHAMBERLAIN[75], _named_ VÁTÁYANA. 

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 adeputation of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, andcraves an immediate audience. Certainly, his Majesty ought not toneglect a matter of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble himwhen he has just risen from the judgment-seat. Well, well; amonarch's business is to sustain the world, and he must notexpect much repose; because--

 Onward, for ever 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[76] 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 labours; 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 wholive in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here, bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliverfrom the sage Kanwa and desire an audience. I await yourMajesty'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 duehonour, according to the prescribed form. He may then himselfintroduce them into my presence. I will await them in a placesuitable for the reception of such holy guests. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. 

 [_Exit_. 

KING. [_Rising and addressing his_ WARDER. 

Vetravatí, lead the way to the chamber of the consecratedfire[77]. 

WARDER. 

This way, Sire. 

KING. 

[_Walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares ofGovernment_. 

People are generally contented and happy when they have gainedtheir desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object oftheir aspirations than all their troubles begin. 

 'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end And object of ambition is to rest; Success doth only mitigate the fever Of anxious expectation; soon the fear Of losing what we have, the constant care Of guarding it, doth weary. Ceaseless toil Must be the lot of him who with his hands Supports the canopy that shields his subjects. 

TWO HERALDS[78]. [_Behind the scenes_. 

May the King be victorious!

FIRST HERALD. 

 Honour to him who labours day by day For the world's weal, forgetful of his own; Like some tall tree that with its stately head Endures the solar beam, while underneath It yields refreshing shelter to the weary. 

SECOND HERALD. 

 Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor Hail him a faithful friend--a loving kinsman. 

KING. 

Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshedme. 

 [_Walks on_. 

WARDER. 

Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonderstands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacredenclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean andbeautiful. Ascend, Sire. 

KING. [Leans on the shoulders of his attendants and ascends_. 

Vetravatí, what can possibly be the message that the venerableKanwa has sent me by these hermits?

 Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed By demons, or some evil has befallen The innocent herds, their favourites, that graze Within the precincts of the hermitage, Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving. 

WARDER. 

If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish totake an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and aretherefore come to offer homage to your majesty. 

_Enter the_ HERMITS _leading_ [S']AKOONTALÁ, _attended by_ GAUTAMÍ;_and in advance of them, the_ CHAMBERLAIN _and the_ DOMESTICPRIEST. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

This way, reverend Sirs, this way. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA

O [S']áradwata, 'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace, Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people, Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found, Refrain from evil courses; still to me, A lonely hermit reared in solitude, This throng appears bewildering, and I seem To look upon a burning house, whose inmates Are running to and fro in wild dismay. 

[S']ÁRADWATA. 

It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital shouldaffect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar. 

 As one just bathed beholds the man polluted; As one late purified, the yet impure; As one awake looks on the yet unawakened; Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall, So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

 [_Feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid_ [79]_, and suspecting a bad omen_. 

Alas! what means this throbbing of my right eyelid?

GAUTAMÍ. 

Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities ofthy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune!

[_Walks on_. 

PRIEST. 

[_Pointing to the King_. 

Most reverend Sirs, there stands the protector of the fourclasses of the people; the guardian of the four conditions of thepriesthood[80]. He has just left the judgment-seat, and iswaiting for you. Behold him!

[S']ÁRNGARAVA

Great Bráhman, we are happy in thinking that the King's power isexerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. Wehave not come as petitioners--we have the fullest confidence inthe generosity of his nature. 

 The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit; High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds Suspend their stately course, and, hanging low, Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth; And such is true benevolence; the good Are never rendered arrogant by riches. 

 WARDER. 

So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance ofthe hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver. 

KING. [_Looking at [S']AKOONTALÁ_. 

But the lady there--

 Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil? Among the sombre hermits she appears Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves. 

WARDER. 

So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but noconjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that shedeserves to be looked at more closely. 

KING. 

True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife[120]. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Placing her hand on her bosom. Aside_. 

O my heart, why this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage. 

PRIEST. [_Advancing_. 

These holy men have been received with all due honour. One ofthem has now a message to deliver from his spiritual superior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it?

KING. 

I am all attention. 

HERMITS. [_Extending their hands_. 

Victory to the King!

KING. 

Accept my respectful greeting. 

HERMITS. 

May the desires of your soul be accomplished!

KING. 

I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of yourreligious rites. 

HERMITS. 

 Who dares disturb our penitential rites When thou art our protector? Can the night Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?

KING. 

Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title--'Defender of theJust. ' I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The worldis interested in his well-being. 

HERMITS. 

Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He badeus greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver thismessage. 

KING. 

Let me hear his commands. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction to themarriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, hisdaughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because, By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious Of noble husbands; and [S']akoontalá, Virtue herself in human form revealed. Great Brahmá hath in equal yoke united A bride unto a husband worthy of her; Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions[81]. 

Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child, receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunctionwith thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such anoccasion. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

So please your Majesty, I would add a few words; but why shouldI intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mindhas never been allowed me?

 She took no counsel with her kindred; thou Didst not confer with thine, but all alone Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife. Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ [_Aside_. 

Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply. 

KING. 

What strange proposal is this?

[S']AKOONTALÁ [_Aside_. 

His words are like fire to me. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA

What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou art wellacquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that

 A wife, however virtuous and discreet, If she live separate from her wedded lord, Though under shelter of her parent's roof, Is marked for vile suspicion. Let her dwell Beside her husband, though he hold her not In his affection. So her kinsmen will it. 

KING. 

Do you really mean to assert that I ever marriedthis lady?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Despondingly. Aside_. 

O my heart, thy worst misgivings are confirmed. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of justice, because he repents of his engagements?

KING. 

I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, except in menintoxicated by power. 

KING. 

Is that remark aimed at me?

GAUTAMÍ. 

Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a littlespace. Thy husband will then recognize thee. 

 [_Removes her veil_. 

KING. 

 [_Gazing at_ [S']AKOONTALÁ. _Aside_. 

 What charms are here revealed before mine eyes! Truly no blemish mars the symmetry Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe She is my wedded wife; and like a bee That circles round the flower whose nectared cup Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness. 

 [_Remains wrapped in thought_. 

WARDER. 

How admirably does our royal master's behaviour prove his regardfor justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when goodfortune offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Great King, why art thou silent?

KING. 

Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more Ithink of it, the less able am I to recollect that I evercontracted an alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can Ipossibly give you when I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is soon to become a mother?

[S']AKOONTALÁ

[_Aside_. 

Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in question by my ownhusband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions ofwedded happiness?

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Beware!

 Beware how thou insult the holy Sage! Remember how he generously allowed Thy secret union with his foster-child; And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure, He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather He should have cursed thee for a ravisher. 

[S']ÁRADWATA. 

[S']árngarava, speak to him no more. [S']akoontalá, our part is performed; we have said all we have tosay, and the King has replied in the manner thouhast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincingevidence of thy marriage. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One thing isclear--I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. 

[_Aloud_. ]

My revered husband--

[_Stops short_. ]

But no--I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hastrefused to acknowledge our union. Noble descendant of Puru! It isnot worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disownher in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnlyplighted thy vows to her in the hermitage. 

KING. 

[_Stopping his ears_. 

I will hear no more. Be such a crime far from my thoughts!

 What evil spirit can possess thee, lady, That thou dost seek to sully my good name By base aspersions, like a swollen torrent, That, leaping from its narrow bed, o'erthrows The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of another, andthy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thyrecollection, I will easily convince thee by this token. 

KING. 

An excellent idea!

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

[_Feeling for the ring_. 

Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no ring on my finger!

 [_Looks with anguish at_ GAUTAMÍ. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act ofoffering homage to the holy water of [S']achí's sacred pool, nearSakrávatára[82]. 

KING. [_Smiling_. 

People may well talk of the readiness of woman's invention! Hereis an instance of it. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention anothercircumstance, which may yet convince thee. 

KING. 

By all means let me hear it at once. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

One day, while we were seated in a jasmine-bower, thou didst pourinto the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a recentshower in the cup of a lotus-blossom--

KING. 

I am listening; proceed. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with soft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tastingthe water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the littlecreature, saying fondly:--'Drink first, gentle fawn. ' But shecould not be induced to drink from the hand of a stranger; thoughimmediately afterwards, when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence. Then, with a smile, thou didstsay;--'Every creature confides naturally in its own kind. You areboth inhabitants of the same forest, and have learnt to trusteach other. '

KING. 

Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path ofduty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words. 

GAUTAMÍ. 

Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up in ahermitage, and has never learnt deceit. 

KING. 

Holy matron, E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex Is marked by inborn subtlety--much more In beings gifted with intelligence. The wily Koïl[83], ere towards the sky She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs To other nests, and artfully consigns The rearing of her little ones to strangers. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Angrily_. 

Dishonourable man, thou judgest of others by thine own evilheart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and standestalone--a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion--like adeep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me almostdoubt whether I am in the right. For indeed, When I had vainly searched my memory, And so with stern severity denied The fabled story of our secret loves, Her brows, that met before in graceful curves, Like the arched weapon of the god of love, Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes. 

[_Aloud_. ]

My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well known to all. Icomprehend not your meaning. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having in theinnocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in aPrince of Puru's race, entrusted my honour to a man whose mouthdistils honey, while his heart is full of poison. 

 [_Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears_. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Thus it is that burning remorse must ever follow rash actionswhich might have been avoided, and for which one has only one'sself to blame. 

 Not hastily should marriage be contracted, And specially in secret. Many a time, In hearts that know not each the other's fancies, Fond love is changed into most bitter hate. 

KING. 

How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me, that you heap such accusations on me?

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. [_Sarcastically_. 

That would be too absurd, certainly. You have heard theproverb:--

 Hold in contempt the innocent words of those Who from their infancy have known no guile; But trust the treacherous counsels of the man Who makes a very science of deceit. 

KING. 

Most veracious Bráhman, grant that you are in the right, what endwould be gained by betraying this lady?

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Ruin. 

KING. 

No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek toruin others or himself. 

[S']ÁRADWATA. 

This altercation is idle, [S']árngarava. We have executed thecommission of our preceptor; come, let us return. 

 [_To the_ KING. 

 [S']akoontalá is certainly thy bride; Receive her or reject her, she is thine. Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure-- The husband o'er the wife is absolute. 

Go on before us, Gautamí. 

 [_They move away_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this perfidiousman? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears andlamentations?

 [_Attempts to follow them_. 

GAUTAMÍ. [_Stopping_. 

My son [S']árngarava, see! [S']akoontalá is following us, and withtears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what willshe do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

 [_Turning angrily towards her_. 

Wilful woman, dost thou seek to be independent of thy lord?

 [[S']AKOONTALÁ _trembles with fear_. 

[S']akoontalá!

 If thou art really what the King proclaims thee, How can thy father e'er receive thee back Into his house and home? but if thy conscience Be witness to thy purity of soul, E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it. When ranked among the number of his household. 

Thy duty therefore is to stay. As for us, we must returnimmediately. 

KING. 

Deceive not this lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations. 

 The moon expands the lotus of the night, The rising sun awakes the lily; each Is with his own contented. Even so The virtuous man is master of his passions, And from another's wife averts his gaze[120]. 

[S']ÁRNGARAVA. 

Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee oblivious ofthy marriage with [S']akoontalá, whence this fear of losing thycharacter for constancy and virtue?

KING. [_To his domestic_ PRIEST. 

You must counsel me, revered Sir, as to my course of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less sin?

 Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded. Or this designing woman speak untruly, I know not. Tell me, must I rather be The base disowner of my wedded wife, Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?

PRIEST. [_After deliberation_. 

You must take an intermediate course. 

KING. 

What course, revered Sir? Tell me at once. 

PRIEST. 

I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until thebirth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this:Soothsayers have predicted that your first-born will haveuniversal dominion. Now, if the hermit's daughter bring forth ason with the discus or mark of empire in the lines of hishand[84], you must admit her immediately into your royalapartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to sendher back as soon as possible to her father. 

KING. I bow to the decision of my spiritual advisor. 

PRIEST. 

Daughter, follow me. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!

[_Exit_ [S']AKOONTALÁ _weeping, with the_ PRIEST _and the_ HERMITS. _The_ KING _remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the cursestill clouds his recollection_. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

A miracle! a miracle!

KING. 

 [_Listening_. 

What has happened now?

PRIEST. [_Entering with an air of astonishment_. 

Great Prince, a stupendous prodigy has just occurred. 

KING. 

What is it?

PRIEST. 

May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils haddeparted, [S']akoontalá, her eyes all bathed in tears, withoutstretched arms, bewailed her cruel fate--

KING. 

Well, well, what happened then?

PRIEST. 

 When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended from the skies, Near the nymph's pool, and bore her up to heaven. 

[_All remain motionless with astonishment_. 

KING. 

My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything todo with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by ourconjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose. 

PRIEST. 

 [_Looking at the_ KING. 

Be it so. Victory to the King!

 [_Exit_. 

KING. 

Vetravatí, I am tired out; lead the way to the bedchamber. 

WARDER. 

This way, Sire. 

 [_They move away_. 

KING. 

 Do what I will, I cannot call to mind That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter; Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange How painfully my agitated heart Bears witness to the truth of her assertion, And makes me credit her against my judgment. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

 * * * * *

PRELUDE TO ACT VI. 

SCENE. --_A Street_. 

_Enter the King's brother-in-law as_ SUPERINTENDENT _of the citypolice; and with him_ TWO CONSTABLES, _dragging a poor_FISHERMAN, _who has his hands tied behind his back_. 

BOTH THE CONSTABLES. [_Striking the prisoner_. 

Take that for a rascally thief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah, where you found this ring--aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, hereis the royal name engraved on the setting of the jewel. 

FISHERMAN. [_With a gesture of alarm_. 

Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did not steal it; indeed I did not. 

FIRST CONSTABLE. 

Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine Bráhman, andmade you a present of it?

FISHERMAN. 

Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at Sakrávatára--

SECOND CONSTABLE. 

Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of your birthand parentage?

SUPERINTENDENT. [_To one of the_ CONSTABLES. 

Súchaka, let the fellow tell his own story from the beginning. Don't interrupt him. 

BOTH CONSTABLES. 

As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say what you'vegot to say. 

FISHERMAN. 

You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by catchingfish with nets, hooks, and the like. 

SUPERINTENDENT. [_Laughing_. 

A most refined occupation, certainly[85]!

FISHERMAN. 

Blame me not for it, master, The father's occupation, though despised By others, casts no shame upon the son, And he should not forsake it[86]. Is the priest Who kills the animal for sacrifice Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a low-born man May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted. 

SUPERINTENDENT. 

Well, well; go on with your story. 

FISHERMAN. 

One day I was cutting open a large carp[87] I had just hooked, when the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I findin the fish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I wasoffering it for sale, I was seized by your honours. Now you knoweverything. Whether you kill me, or whether you let me go, thisis the true account of how the ring came into my possession. 

SUPERINTENDENT. [_To one of the_ CONSTABLES. 

Well, Jánuka, the rascal emits such a fishy odour that I have nodoubt of his being a fisherman; but we must inquire a little moreclosely into this queer story about the finding of the ring. Come, we'll take him before the King's household. 

BOTH CONSTABLES. 

Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse. 

 [_All move on_. 

SUPERINTENDENT. 

Now attend, Súchaka; keep your guard here at the gate; and harkye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape, whileI go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ringbefore the King in person. I will soon return and let you knowhis commands. 

BOTH CONSTABLES. 

Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favour in theKing's sight. 

[_Exit_ SUPERINTENDENT. FIRST CONSTABLE. 

 [_After an interval_. 

I say, Jánuka, the Superintendent is a long time away. 

SECOND CONSTABLE. 

Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks must bidethe proper opportunity. 

FIRST CONSTABLE. 

Jánuka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at this royalvictim here. We must kill him with all the honours, you know. Ilong to begin binding the flowers round his head[88]. 

 [_Pretends to strike a blow at the_ FISHERMAN. 

FISHERMAN. 

Your Honour surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel death. 

SECOND CONSTABLE. 

There's our Superintendent at last, I declare. See! he is comingtowards us with a paper in his hand. We shall soon know theKing's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to become foodfor the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry cur. 

SUPERINTENDENT. 

 [_Entering_. 

Ho, there, Súchaka! set the fisherman at liberty, I tell you. Hisstory about the ring is all correct. SÚCHAKA. 

Oh! very good, Sir; as you please. 

SECOND CONSTABLE. 

The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is in the landof the living. 

 [_Releases him_. 

FISHERMAN. 

 [_Bowing to the_ SUPERINTENDENT. 

Now, master, what think you of my way of getting a livelihood?

SUPERINTENDENT. 

Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you with thispurse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of thering. 

 [_Gives him the money_. 

FISHERMAN. 

 [_Taking it and bowing_. 

His Majesty does me too great honour. 

SÚCHAKA. 

You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from thegallows to seat you on his state elephant. 

JÁNUKA. 

Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he wouldnever have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin. 

SUPERINTENDENT. 

I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as amemorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it wasshown to him he became much agitated, though in general heconceals his feelings. SÚCHAKA. 

Then you must have done a great service--

JÁNUKA. 

Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife. 

 [_Looks enviously at the_ FISHERMAN. 

FISHERMAN. 

Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve topurchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me yourgood-will. 

JÁNUKA. 

Well, now, that's just as it should be. 

SUPERINTENDENT. 

My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I begin tofeel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendshipover a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop, and we'll drink your health. 

ALL. 

By all means. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

 * * * * *

ACT VI. 

SCENE. --_The Garden of a Palace. 

The nymph_ SÁNUMATÍ _is seen descending in a celestial car_. 

SÁNUMATÍ. 

Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at thenymph's pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform theirablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how itfares with King Dushyanta. My connexion with the nymph Menaká hasmade her daughter [S']akoontalá dearer to me than my own flesh andblood; and Menaká it was who charged me with this errand on herdaughter's behalf. 

[_Looking round in all directions_. ]

How is it that I see no preparations in the King's household forcelebrating the great vernal festival[89]? I could easilydiscover the reason by my divine faculty of meditation[134]; butrespect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How then shallI arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will becomeinvisible, and place myself near those two maidens who aretending the plants in the garden. 

 [_Descends and takes her station_. 

_Enter a_ MAIDEN, _who stops in front of a mango-tree, and gazesat the blossom. Another_ MAIDEN _is seen behind her_. 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied radiance ofthy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail, Sweet mango, soul of this enchanting season. 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

Parabhritiká, what are you saying there to yourself?

FIRST MAIDEN. 

Dear Madhukariká, am I not named after the Koïl[90]? and does notthe Koïl sing for joy at the first appearance of the mango-blossom?

SECOND MAIDEN. [_Approaching hastily, with transport_. 

What! is spring really come?

FIRST MAIDEN. 

Yes, indeed, Madhukariká, and with it the season of joy, love, and song. 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stead on tiptoe and pluck ablossom, of the mango, that I may present it as an offering tothe god of love. 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

Provided you let me have half the reward which the god willbestow in return. 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we not one inheart and soul, though divided in body?

[_Leans on her friend and plucks a mango-blossom_. ]

Ah! here is a bud just bursting into flower. It diffuses adelicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded. 

[_Joining her hands reverentially_. ]

 God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers Dost point thy five unerring shafts[91]; to thee I dedicate this blossom; let it serve To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved. 

 [_Throws down a mango-blossom_. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

 [_Entering in a hurried manner, angrily_. 

Hold there, thoughtless woman. What are you about, breaking offthose mango-blossoms, when the King has forbidden the celebrationof the spring festival?

BOTH MAIDENS. [_Alarmed_. 

Pardon us, kind Sir, we have heard nothing of it. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants andshrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, showmore respect to the King's order than you do. 

 Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded, Gather no down upon their tender crests; The flower still lingers in the amaranth[92], Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Koïl, Though winter's chilly dews be overpast, Suspends the liquid volume of his song Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed, Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver. 

BOTH MAIDENS. 

The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed. 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

It is but a few days since Mitrávasu, the King's brother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole of oursojourn here, we have been entrusted with the charge of the royalpleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, andheard nothing of the order till you informed us of it. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue yourpreparations. 

BOTH MAIDENS. 

But tell us, kind Sir, why has the King prohibited the usualfestivities? We are curious to hear, if we may. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments. There must besome good reason for the prohibition. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of it?Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of [S']akoontaláreached your ears yet?

BOTH MAIDENS. 

Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's brother-in-law, asfar, at least, as the discovery of the ring. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the King'smemory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed:'Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with[S']akoontalá. When I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection!'Ever since that moment, he has yielded himself a prey to thebitterest remorse. 

 He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects The daily homage of his ministers; On his lone couch he tosses to and fro, Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets The ladies of his palace, and would fain Address them with politeness, he confounds Their names; or, calling them '[S']akoontalá, ' Is straightway silent and abashed with shame. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

To me this account is delightful. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that thefestival has been prohibited. 

BOTH MAIDENS. 

Perfectly right. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

The King! the King! This way, Sire, this way. 

CHAMBERLAIN. [_Listening_. 

Oh! here comes his Majesty in this direction. Pass on, maidens;attend to your duties. 

BOTH MAIDENS. 

We will, sir. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

_Enter King_ DUSHYANTA, _dressed in deep mourning, attended hisJester_, MÁ[T. ]HAVYA, _and preceded by_ VETRAVATÍ. 

CHAMBERLAIN. [_Gazing at the_ KING. 

Well, noble forms are certainly pleasing, under all varieties ofoutward circumstances. The King's person is as charming as ever, notwithstanding his sorrow of mind. 

 Though but a single golden bracelet spans His wasted arm; though costly ornaments Have given place to penitential weeds; Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips, And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye; Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre, Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem Committed to some cunning polisher, Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside. Looking at the_ KING. 

Now that I have seen him, I can well understand why [S']akoontaláshould pine after such a man, in spite of his disdainfulrejection of her. 

KING. [_Walking slowly up and down in deep thought_. 

 When fatal lethargy o'erwhelmed my soul, My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain; And now, when I would fain in slumber deep Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

My poor [S']akoontalá's sufferings are very similar. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Aside_. 

He is taken with another attack of this odious [S']akoontalá-fever. How shall we ever cure him?

CHAMBERLAIN. [_Approaching_. 

Victory to the King! Great Prince, the royal pleasure-groundshave been put in order. Your Majesty can resort to them forexercise and amusement whenever you think proper. 

KING. 

Vetravatí, tell the worthy Pi[S']una, my prime minister, from me, that I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on thejudgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought beforethe tribunal, he must give it his best attention, and inform meof the circumstances by letter. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. 

 [_Exit_. 

KING. [_To the CHAMBERLAIN_. 

And you, Vátáyana, may go about your own affairs. 

CHAMBERLAIN. 

I will, Sire. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows, youcan enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-groundswithout interruption. 

KING. 

Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage:--'When affliction hasa mind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere;' and it isverified in me. 

 Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud That darkened its remembrance of the past, When lo! the heart-born deity of love With yonder blossom of the mango barbs His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master Káma's[47]arrow with a cut of my cane. 

 [_Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom_. 

KING. [_Smiling_. 

That will do. I see very well the god of love is not a match fora Bráhman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down, thatI may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, whichseem to remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Don't you remember? you told your personal attendant, Chaturiká, that you would pass the heat of the day in the jasmine-bower; andcommanded her to bring the likeness of your queen [S']akoontalá, sketched with your own hand. 

KING. 

True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the wayto the arbour. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

This way, Sire. 

 [_Both move on, followed by_ SÁNUMATÍ. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Here we are at the jasmine-bower. Look, it has a marble seat, andseems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers. You have only to enter and sit down. 

 [_Both enter and seat themselves_. 

SÁNUMATÍ

[_Aside_. 

I will lean against these young jasmines. I can easily, frombehind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then hastento inform her of her husband's ardent affection. 

 [_Stands leaning against the creepers_. 

KING. 

Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my unionwith [S']akoontalá present themselves to my recollection at thismoment! But tell me now how it was that, between the time of myleaving her in the hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her, you never breathed her name to me? True, you were not by my sidewhen I disowned her; but I had confided to you the story of mylove, and you were acquainted with every particular. Did it passout of your mind as it did out of mine?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you hadfinished telling me about it, you added that I was not to takethe story in earnest, for that you were not really in love with acountry girl, but were only jesting; and I was dull andthick-headed enough to believe you. But so fate decreed, andthere is no help for it. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Exactly. 

KING. [_After deep thought_. 

My dear friend, suggest some relief for my misery. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness isunworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves touncontrolled grief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in agale of wind?

KING. 

How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind theagonized demeanour of the dear one on the occasion of mydisowning her?

 When cruelly I spurned her from my presence, She fain had left me; but the young recluse, Stern as the Sage, and with authority As from his saintly master, in a voice That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay. Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears, She cast on me one long reproachful look, Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following a rashaction. But his anguish only rejoices me. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA

An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some celestialbeing had carried her off to heaven. 

KING. 

Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a finger on a wife, the idol of her husband? It is said that Menaká, the nymph ofheaven, gave her birth. The suspicion has certainly crossed mymind that some of her celestial companions may have taken her totheir own abode. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

His present recollection of every circumstance of her historydoes not surprise me so much as his former forgetfulness. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

If that's the case, you will be certain to meet her before long. 

KING. 

Why?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

No father and mother can endure to see a daughter suffering thepain of separation from her husband. 

KING. Oh! my dear Má[T. ]Havya, Was it a dream? or did some magic dire, Dulling my senses with a strange delusion, O'ercome my spirit? or did destiny, Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit, And rob me of their guerdon? It is past, Whate'er the spell that bound me. Once again Am I awake, but only to behold The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof thatwhat has been lost may be unexpectedly found?

KING. [_Gazing at the ring_. 

Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a station not easilyregained, and I offer it my sympathy. O gem, The punishment we suffer is deserved, And equal is the merit of our works, When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy The thrilling contact of those slender fingers, Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot!

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Had it found its way to the hand of any other person, then indeedits fate would have been deplorable. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Pray, how did the ring ever come upon her hand at all?

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

I myself am curious to know. 

KING. 

You shall hear. When I was leaving my beloved [S']akoontalá that Imight return to my own capital, she said to me, with tears in hereyes: 'How long will it be ere my lord send for me to his palaceand make me his queen?'

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Well, what was your reply?

KING. 

Then I placed the ring on her finger, and thus addressed her:--

Repeat each day one letter of the name Engraven on this gem; erethou hast reckoned The tale of syllables, my minister Shall cometo lead thee to thy husband's palace. 

But, hard-hearted man that I was, I forgot to fulfil my promise, owing to the infatuation that took possession of me. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

A pleasant arrangement! Fate, however, ordained that theappointment should not be kept. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

But how did the ring contrive to pass into the stomach of thatcarp which the fisherman caught and was cutting up?

KING. 

It must have slipped from my [S']akoontalá's hand, and fallen intothe stream of the Ganges, while she was offering homage to thewater of [S']achí's holy pool. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Very likely. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Hence it happened, I suppose, that the King, always fearful ofcommitting the least injustice, came to doubt his marriage withmy poor [S']akoontalá. But why should affection so strong as hisstand in need of any token of recognition?

KING. 

Let me now address a few words of reproof to this ring. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Aside_. 

He is going stark mad, I verily believe. 

KING. 

 Hear me, then dull and undiscerning bauble! For so it argues thee, that thou could'st leave The slender fingers of her hand, to sink Beneath the waters. Yet what marvel is it That thou should'st lack discernment? let me rather Heap curses on myself, who, though endowed With reason, yet rejected her I loved. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Aside_. 

And so, I suppose, I must stand here to be devoured by hunger, whilst he goes on in this sentimental strain. 

KING. 

O forsaken one, unjustly banished from my presence, take pity onthy slave, whose heart is consumed by the fire of remorse, andreturn to my sight. 

_Enter_ CHATURIKÁ _hurriedly, with a picture in her hand_. 

CHATURIKÁ. 

Here is the Queen's portrait. 

 [_Shows the picture_. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Excellent, my dear friend, excellent! The imitation of nature isperfect, and the attitude of the figures is really charming. Theystand out in such bold relief that the eye is quite deceived. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

A most artistic performance! I admire the King's skill, and couldalmost believe that [S']akoontalá herself was before me. 

KING. 

 I own 'tis not amiss, though it portrays But feebly her angelic loveliness. Aught less than perfect is depicted falsely, And fancy must supply the imperfection. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

A very just remark from a modest man, whose affection isexaggerated by the keenness of his remorse. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Tell me:--I see three female figures drawn on the canvas, and allof them beautiful; which of the three is her Majesty [S']akoontalá?

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

If he cannot distinguish her from the others, the simpleton mightas well have no eyes in his head. 

KING. 

Which should you imagine to be intended for her?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

She who is leaning, apparently a little tired, against the stemof that mango-tree, the tender leaves of which glitter with thewater she has poured upon them. Her arms are gracefully extended;her face is somewhat flushed with the heat; and a few flowershave escaped from her hair, which has become unfastened, and hangsin loose tresses about her neck. That must be the queen[S']akoontalá, and the others, I presume, are her two attendants. 

KING. 

I congratulate you on your discernment. Behold the proof of mypassion;

 My finger, burning with the glow of love[93], Has left its impress on the painted tablet; While here and there, alas! a scalding tear Has fallen on the cheek and dimmed its brightness. 

Chaturiká, the garden in the background of the picture is onlyhalf-painted. Go, fetch the brush that I may finish it. 

CHATURIKÁ. 

Worthy Má[t. ]havya, have the kindness to hold the picture until Ireturn. 

KING. 

Nay, I will hold it myself. 

 [_Takes the picture_. 

 [_Exit_ CHATURIKÁ. 

 My loved one came but lately to my presence And offered me herself, but in my folly I spurned the gift, and now I fondly cling To her mere image; even as a madman Would pass the waters of the gushing stream, And thirst for airy vapours of the desert[94]. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. [_Aside_. 

He has been fool enough to forego the reality for the semblance, the substance for the shadow. 

[_Aloud_. ]

Tell us, I pray, what else remains to be painted. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

He longs, no doubt, to delineate some favourite spot where my[S']akoontalá delighted to ramble. 

KING. 

You shall hear:--

 I wish to see the Máliní portrayed, Its tranquil course by banks of sand impeded; Upon the brink a pair of swans; beyond, The hills adjacent to Himálaya[95], Studded with deer; and, near the spreading shade Of some large tree, where 'mid the branches hang The hermits' vests of bark, a tender doe, Rubbing its downy forehead on the horn Of a black antelope, should be depicted. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

 [_Aside_. 

Pooh! if I were he, I would fill up the vacantspaces with a lot of grizzly-bearded old hermits. 

KING. 

My dear Má[T. ]Havya, there is still a part of [S']akoontalá'sdress which I purposed to draw, but find I haveomitted. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

What is that?

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Something suitable, I suppose, to the simple attire of a youngand beautiful girl dwelling in a forest. 

KING. 

 A sweet [S']irísha blossom should be twined Behind her ear[7], its perfumed crest depending Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom, A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright As an autumnal moonbeam, should be traced. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of herfingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraidof something? [_Looking more closely_. ] Oh! I see; a vagabondbee, intent on thieving honey from the flowers, has mistaken hermouth for a rosebud, and is trying to settle upon it. 

KING. 

A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you?

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power overall offenders. 

KING. 

Very true. Listen to me, thou favourite guest of flowering plants;why give thyself the trouble of hovering here?

 See where thy partner sits on yonder flower, And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

A most polite way of warning him off!

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about hisbusiness so easily as you think. 

KING. 

Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me:--

 An thou but touch the lips of my beloved, Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee Within the hollow of yon lotus cup, And there imprison thee for thy presumption. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten himwith such an awful punishment. [_Smiling, aside_. ] He is stark mad, that's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginningto talk almost as wildly. [_Aloud_. ] Look, it is only a painted bee. 

KING. 

Painted? impossible!

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Even I did not perceive it; how much less should he!

KING. 

Oh! my dear friend, why were you so ill-natured as to tell me thetruth?

 While all entranced, I gazed upon her picture, My loved one seemed to live before my eyes Till every fibre of my being thrilled With rapturous emotion. Oh! 'twas cruel To dissipate the day-dream, and transform The blissful vision to a lifeless image. 

 [_Sheds tears_. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Separated lovers are very difficult to please; but he seems moredifficult than usual. 

KING. 

Alas! my dear Má[T. ]Havya, why am I doomed to be the victim ofperpetual disappointment?

 Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams, For slumber night by night forsakes my couch; And now that I would fain assuage my grief By gazing on her portrait here before me, Tears of despairing love obscure my sight. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

You have made ample amends for the wrong you did [S']akoontalá indisowning her. 

CHATURIKÁ. [_Entering_. 

Victory to the King! I was coming along with the box of coloursin my hand--

KING. 

What now?

CHATURIKÁ. 

When I met the queen Vasumatí, attended by Taraliká. She insistedon taking it from me, and declared she would herself deliver itinto your Majesty's hands. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

By what luck did you contrive to escape her?

CHATURIKÁ. 

While her maid was disengaging her mantle, which had caught inthe branch, of a shrub, I ran away. 

KING. 

Here, my good friend, take the picture and conceal it. Myattentions to the Queen have made her presumptuous. She will behere in a minute. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

Conceal the picture! conceal myself, you mean. 

[_Getting up and taking the picture_. ]

The Queen has a bitter draught in store for you, which you willhave to swallow, as [S']iva did the poison at the Deluge[96]. Whenyou are well quit of her, you may send and call me from thePalace of Clouds[97], where I shall take refuge. 

 [_Exit, running_. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Although the King's affections are transferred to another object, yet he respects his previous attachments. I fear his love must besomewhat fickle. 

VETRAVATÍ. [_Entering with a despatch in her hand_. 

Victory to the King!

KING. 

Vetravatí, did you observe the queen Vasumatí coming in thisdirection?

VETRAVATÍ. 

I did; but when she saw that I had a despatch in my hand for yourMajesty, she turned back. 

KING. 

The Queen has too much regard for propriety to interrupt me whenI am engaged with State-affairs. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

So please your Majesty, your prime minister begs respectfully toinform you that he has devoted much time to the settlement offinancial calculations, and only one case of importance has beensubmitted by the citizens for his consideration. He has made awritten report of the facts, and requests your Majesty to castyour eyes over it. 

KING. 

Hand me the paper. 

 [_VETRAVATÍ delivers it_. 

[_Reading_. 

What have we here? 'A merchant named Dhanamitra, trading by sea, was lost in a late shipwreck. Though a wealthy trader, he waschildless; and the whole of his immense property becomes by lawforfeited to the king. ' So writes the minister. Alas! alas! forhis childlessness! But surely, if he was wealthy, he must havehad many wives. Let an inquiry be made whether any one of them isexpecting to give birth to a child. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

They say that his wife, the daughter of the foreman of a guildbelonging to Ayodhyá [98], has just completed the ceremonies usualupon such expectations. 

KING. 

The unborn child has a title to its father's property. Such is mydecree. Go, bid my minister proclaim it so. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

I will, my liege. 

 [_Going_. 

KING. 

Stay a moment. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

I am at your Majesty's service. 

KING. 

Let there be no question whether he may or may not have leftoffspring; Rather be it proclaimed that whosoe'er Of KingDushyanta's subjects be bereaved

 Of any loved relation, an it be not That his estates are forfeited for crimes, Dushyanta will himself to them supply That kinsman's place in tenderest affection. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

It shall be so proclaimed. 

 [_Exit_ VETRAVATÍ, _and re-enters after an interval_. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

Your Majesty's proclamation was received with acclamations ofjoy, like grateful rain at the right season. 

KING. [_Drawing a deep sigh_. 

So, then, the property of rich men, who have no linealdescendants, passes over to a stranger at their decease. Andsuch, alas! must be the fate of the fortunes of the race of Puruat my death; even as when fertile soil is sown with seed at thewrong season. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

Heaven forbid!

KING. 

Fool that I was to reject such happiness when it offered itselffor my acceptance!

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

He may well blame his own folly when he calls to mind histreatment of my beloved [S']akoontalá. 

KING. 

 Ah! woe is me! when I forsook my wife-- My lawful wife--concealed within her breast There lay my second self, a child unborn, Hope of my race, e'en as the choicest fruit Lies hidden in the bosom of the earth. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

There is no fear of your race being cut off for want of a son. 

CHATURIKÁ. [_Aside to_ VETRAVATÍ. 

The affair of the merchant's death has quite upset our royalmaster, and caused him sad distress. Would it not be better tofetch the worthy Má[t. ]havya from the Palace of Clouds to comforthim?

VETRAVATÍ. 

A very good idea. 

 [_Exit_. 

KING. 

Alas! the shades of my forefathers are even now beginning to bealarmed, lest at my death they may be deprived of their funerallibations. 

 No son remains in King Dushyanta's place To offer sacred homage to the dead Of Puru's noble line; my ancestors Must drink these glistening tears, the last libation[99] A childless man can ever hope to make them. 

 [_Falls down in an agony of grief_. 

CHATURIKÁ. [_Looking at him in consternation_. 

Great King, compose yourself. 

SÁNUMATÍ. [_Aside_. 

Alas! alas! though a bright light is shining near him, he isinvolved in the blackest darkness, by reason of the veil thatobscures his sight. I will now reveal all, and put an end to hismisery. But no; I heard the mother of the great Indra[100], whenshe was consoling [S']akoontalá, say that the gods will soon bringabout a joyful union between husband and wife, being eager forthe sacrifice which will be celebrated in their honour on theoccasion. I must not anticipate the happy moment, but will returnat once to my dear friend and cheer her with an account of what Ihave seen and heard. [_Rises aloft and disappears_. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Help! help! to the rescue!

KING. 

 [_Recovering himself. Listening_. 

Ha! I heard a cry of distress, and in Má[t. ]havya's voice too. Whatho there!

VETRAVATÍ. [_Entering_. 

Your friend is in danger; save him, great King. 

KING. 

Who dares insult the worthy Má[t. ]havya?

VETRAVATÍ. 

Some evil demon, invisible to human eyes, has seized him, andcarried him to one of the turrets of the Palace of Clouds. 

KING. [_Rising_. 

 Impossible! Have evil spirits power over my subjects, even in nay private apartments? Well, well;-- Daily I seem, less able to avert Misfortune from myself, and o'er my actions Less competent to exercise control; How can I then direct my subjects' ways, Or shelter them from tyranny and wrong?

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Halloo there! my dear friend; help! help!

KING. [_Advancing with rapid strides_. 

Fear nothing--

THE SAME VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Fear nothing, indeed! How can I help fearing when some monster istwisting back my neck, and is about to snap it as he would asugar-cane?

KING. [_Looking round_. What ho there! my bow!

SLAVE. [_Entering with a bow_. 

Behold your bow, Sire, and your arm-guard. 

[_The_ KING _snatches up the bow and arrows_. 

ANOTHER VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

 Here, thirsting for thy life-blood, will I slay thee, As a fierce tiger rends his struggling prey. Call now thy friend Dushyanta to thy aid; His bow is mighty to defend the weak; Yet all its vaunted power shall be as nought. 

KING. [_With fury_. 

What! dares he defy me to my face? Hold there, monster! Prepareto die, for your time is come. 

[_Stringing his bow_. ]

Vetravatí, lead the way to the terrace. 

VETRAVATÍ. 

This way, Sire. 

 [_They advance in haste_. 

KING. [_Looking on every side_. 

How's this? there is nothing to be seen. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Help! Save me! I can see you, though you cannot see me. I am likea mouse in the claws of a cat; my life is not worth a minute'spurchase. 

KING. 

 Avaunt, monster! You may pride yourself on the magic that renders you invisible, but my arrow shall find you out. Thus do I fix a shaft That shall discern between an impious demon, And a good Bráhman; bearing death to thee, To him deliverance--even as the swan Distinguishes the milk from worthless water[101]. 

 [_Takes aim_. 

_Enter_ MÁTALI[102] _holding_ MÁ[T. ]HAVYA, _whom he releases_. 

MÁTALI. 

 Turn thou thy deadly arrows on the demons; Such is the will of Indra; let thy bow Be drawn against the enemies of the gods; But on thy friends cast only looks of favour. 

KING. [_Putting back his arrow_. 

What, Mátali! Welcome, most noble charioteer of the mighty Indra. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

So, here is a monster who thought as little about slaughtering meas if I had been a bullock for sacrifice, and you must e'en greethim with a welcome. 

MÁTALI. [_Smiling_. 

Great Prince, hear on what errand Indra sent me into yourpresence. 

KING. 

I am all attention. 

MÁTALI. 

There is a race of giants, the descendants of Kálanemi[103], whomthe gods find it difficult to subdue. 

KING. 

So I have already heard from Nárada[104]. 

MÁTALI. 

 Heaven's mighty lord, who deigns to call thee 'friend, ' Appoints thee to the post of highest honour, As leader of his armies; and commits The subjugation of this giant brood To thy resistless arms, e'en as the sun Leaves the pale moon to dissipate the darkness. 

Let your Majesty, therefore, ascend at once the celestial car ofIndra; and, grasping your arms, advance to victory. 

KING. 

The mighty Indra honours me too highly by such a mark ofdistinction. But tell me, what made you act thus towards my poorfriend Má[T. ]Havya?

MÁTALI. 

 I will tell you. Perceiving that your Majesty's spirit was completely broken by some distress of mind under which you were labouring, I determined to rouse your energies by moving you to anger. Because To light a flame, we need but stir the embers; The cobra, when incensed, extends his head And springs upon his foe; the bravest men Display their courage only when provoked. 

KING. [_Aside to_ MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. 

My dear Má[T. ]Havya, the commands of the great Indra must not beleft unfulfilled. Go you and acquaint my minister, Pi[S']una, withwhat has happened, and say to him from me:--

 Dushyanta to thy care confides his realm-- Protect with all the vigour of thy mind The interests of his people; while his bow Is braced against the enemies of heaven. 

MÁ[T. ]HAVYA. I obey. [_Exit_. 

MÁTALI

Ascend, illustrious Prince. 

 [_The_ KING _ascends the car_. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

 * * * * *

ACT VII. 

SCENE. --_The Sky_. 

_Enter_ KING DUSHYANTA _and_ MÁTALI _in the car of Indra, movingin the air_. 

KING. 

My good Mátali, it appears to me incredible that I can merit sucha mark of distinction for having simply fulfilled the behests ofthe great Indra. 

MÁTALI. [_Smiling_. 

Great Prince, it seems to me that neither of you is satisfiedwith himself. 

 You underrate the services you have rendered, And think too highly of the god's reward; He deems it scarce sufficient recompense For your heroic deeds on his behalf. 

KING. 

Nay, Mátali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were morethan realised by the honour conferred on me at the moment when Itook my leave. For, Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast[105] Of the great Indra, where before it hung, A garland of the ever-blooming tree Of Nandana[106] was cast about my neck By his own hand; while, in the very presence Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see His son Jayanta[107] envious of the honour. 

MÁTALI. 

There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does notdeserve at the hands of the immortals. See, Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour: For now thy how's unerring shafts (as erst The Lion-man's terrific claws[108]) have purged The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul. 

KING. 

The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty ofIndra. 

 When mighty gods make men their delegates In martial enterprise, to them belongs The palm of victory; and not to mortals. Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night, Did not the god of day, whose diadem Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light, Place him in front of his effulgent car[11]?

MÁTALI. 

A very just comparison!

[_Driving on_. ]

Great King, behold! the glory of thy fame has reached even to thevault of heaven. 

 Hark! yonder inmates of the starry sphere Sing anthems worthy of thy martial deeds, While with celestial colours they depict The story of thy victories on scrolls Formed of the leaves of heaven's immortal trees. 

KING. 

My good Mátali, yesterday, when I ascended the sky, I was soeager to do battle with the demons, that the road by which wewere travelling towards Indra's heaven escaped my observation. Tell me, in which path of the seven winds are we now moving?

MÁTALI. 

 We journey in the path of Parivaha[109]-- The wind that bears along the triple Ganges[110] And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll In their appointed orbits, scattering Their several rays with equal distribution. 'Tis the same path that once was sanctified By the divine impression of the foot Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali, He spanned the heavens in his second stride[111]. 

KING. 

This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm reposepervades all my senses. 

[_Looking down at the wheels_. ]

Ah! Mátali, we are descending towards the earth's atmosphere. 

MÁTALI. 

What makes you think so?

KING. 

The car itself instructs me; we are movingO'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below usI see the moisture-loving Chátakas[112]In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steedsOf Indra glisten with the lightning's flash;And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels. 

MÁTALI. 

You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch theground, and you will be in your own dominions. 

KING. [_Looking down_. 

How wonderful the appearance of the earth as we rapidly descend!

 Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills Do suddenly uprear their towering heads Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stem Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses, Rise into elevation, and display Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters, Like silver threads, were scarce, but now, discerned, Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power. 

MÁTALI. 

Well described!

 [_Looking with awe_. ]

Grand, indeed, and lovely is the spectacle presented by theearth. 

KING. 

Tell me, Mátali, what is the range of mountains which, like abank of clouds illumined by the setting sun, pours down a streamof gold? On one side its base dips into the eastern ocean, and onthe other side into the western. 

MÁTALI. 

Great Prince, it is called 'Golden-peak[113], ' and is the abodeof the attendants of the god of wealth. In this spot the highestforms of penance are wrought out. 

 There Ka[s']yapa[114], the great progenitor Of demons and of gods, himself the offspring Of the divine Maríchi, Brahmá's son, With Adití, his wife, in calm seclusion, Does holy penance for the good of mortals. 

KING. 

Then I must not neglect so good an opportunity of obtaining hisblessing. I should much like to visit this venerable personageand offer him my homage. 

MÁTALI. 

By all means. An excellent idea!

 [_Guides the car to the earth_. 

KING. [_In a tone of wonder_. 

How's this?

 Our chariot wheels move noiselessly. Around No clouds of dust arise; no shock betokened Our contact with the earth; we seem to glide Above the ground, so lightly do we touch it. 

MÁTALI. 

Such is the difference between the car of Indra and that of yourMajesty. 

KING. 

In which direction, Mátali, is Ka[s']yapa's sacred retreat?

MÁTALI. [_Pointing_. 

 Where stands yon anchorite, towards the orb Of the meridian sun, immovable As a tree's stem, his body half-concealed By a huge ant-hill. Bound about his breast No sacred cord is twined[115], but in its stead A hideous serpent's skin. In place of necklace, The tendrils of a withered creeper chafe His wasted neck. His matted hair depends In thick entanglement about his shoulders, And birds construct their nests within its folds[116]. 

KING. 

I salute thee, thou man of austere devotion. 

MÁTALI. [_Holding in the reins of the car_. 

Great Prince, we are now in the sacred grove of the holyKa[s']yapa--the grove that boasts as its ornament one of the fivetrees of Indra's heaven, reared by Adití. 

KING. 

This sacred retreat is more delightful than heaven itself. Icould almost fancy myself bathing in a pool of nectar. 

MÁTALI. [_Stopping the chariot_. 

Descend, mighty Prince. 

KING. [_Descending_. 

And what will you do, Mátali?

MÁTALI. 

The chariot will remain where I have stopped it. We may bothdescend. 

[_Doing so_. ]

This way, great King. 

[_Walking on_. ]

You see around you the celebrated region where the holiest sagesdevote themselves to penitential rites. 

KING. 

I am filled with awe and wonder as I gaze. 

 In such a place as this do saints of earth Long to complete their acts of penance; here, Beneath the shade of everlasting trees. Transplanted from the groves of Paradise, May they inhale the balmy air, and need No other nourishment[117]; here may they bathe In fountains sparkling with the golden dust Of lilies; here, on jewelled slabs of marble, In meditation rapt, may they recline; Here, in the presence of celestial nymphs, E'en passion's voice is powerless to move them. 

MÁTALI. 

So true is it that the aspirations of the good and great are eversoaring upwards. 

[_Turning round and speaking off the stage_. ]

Tell me, Vriddha-[S']ákalya, how is the divine son of Maríchi nowengaged? What sayest thou? that he is conversing with Adití andsome of the wives of the great sages, and that they arequestioning him respecting the duties of a faithful wife?

KING. [_Listening_. 

Then we must await the holy father's leisure. 

MÁTALI. [_Looking at the_ KING. 

If your Majesty will rest under the shade, at the foot of thisA[s']oka-tree [118], I will seek an opportunity of announcing yourarrival to Indra's reputed father. 

KING. 

As you think proper. 

 [_Remains under the tree_. 

MÁTALI. 

Great King, I go. [_Exit_. 

KING. [_Feeling his arm throb_. 

 Wherefore this causeless throbbing, O mine arm[18]? All hope has fled for ever; mock me not With presages of good, when happiness Is lost, and nought but misery remains. 

A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Be not so naughty. Do you begin already to show a refractoryspirit?

KING. [_Listening_. 

This is no place for petulance. Who can it be whose behaviourcalls for such a rebuke?

[_Looking in the direction of the sound and smiling_. ]

A child, is it? closely attended by two holy women. Hisdisposition seems anything but child-like. See!

 He braves the fury of yon lioness Suckling its savage offspring, and compels The angry whelp to leave the half-sucked dug, Tearing its tender mane in boisterous sport. 

_Enter a_ CHILD, _attended by_ TWO WOMEN _of the hermitage, inthe manner described_. 

CHILD. 

Open your mouth, my young lion, I want to count your teeth. 

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

You naughty child, why do you tease the animals? Know you notthat we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our ownchildren? In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, andare beginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana('All-taming'), given you by the hermits. 

KING. 

Strange! My heart inclines towards the boy with almost as muchaffection as if he were my own child. What can be the reason? Isuppose my own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons ofothers. 

SECOND ATTENDANT. 

This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not release herwhelp. 

CHILD. [_Laughing_. 

Oh! indeed! let her come. Much I fear her, to be sure!

 [_Pouts his under-lip in defiance_. 

KING. 

 The germ of mighty courage lies concealed Within this noble infant, like a spark Beneath the fuel, waiting but a breath To fan the flame and raise a conflagration. 

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will give yousomething else to play with. 

CHILD. 

Where is it? Give it me first. 

 [_Stretches out his hand_. 

KING. [_Looking at his hand_. 

How's that? His hand exhibits one of those mystic marks[84] whichare the sure prognostic of universal empire. See! His fingersstretched in eager expectation To grasp the wished-for toy, andknit together By a close-woven web, in shape resemble A lotusblossom, whose expanding petals The early dawn has only halfunfolded. 

SECOND ATTENDANT. 

We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear Suvratá. Be kindenough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a playthingbelonging to Márkandeya, one of the hermit's children. It is apeacock made of china-ware, painted in many colours. Bring ithere for the child. 

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

Very well. [_Exit_. 

CHILD. 

No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion. 

[_Looks at the_ FEMALE ATTENDANT _and laughs_. 

KING. 

 I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child. How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground The child that asks a refuge in their arms! And happy are they while with lisping prattle, In accents sweetly inarticulate, He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles Gladdens their hearts[119], revealing to their gaze His pearly teeth just budding into view. 

ATTENDANT. 

I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention. 

[_Looking off the stage_. ]

I wonder whether any of the hermits are about here. 

[_ Seeing the_ KING. ]

Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and help me to releasethe young lion from the clutch of this child who is teasing himin boyish play?

KING. [_Approaching and smiling_. 

Listen to me, thou child of a mighty saint!

 Dost thou dare show a wayward spirit here? Here, in this hallowed region? Take thou heed Lest, as the serpent's young defiles the sandal[71], Thou bring dishonour on the holy sage Thy tender-hearted parent, who delights To shield from harm the tenants of the wood. 

ATTENDANT. 

Gentle Sir, I thank you; but he is not the saint's son. 

KING. 

His behaviour and whole bearing would have led me to doubt it, had not the place of his abode encouraged the idea. 

 [_Follows the_ CHILD, _and takes him by the hand, according to the request of the attendant. Aside_. 

 I marvel that the touch of this strange child Should thrill me with delight; if so it be, How must the fond caresses of a son Transport the father's soul who gave him being!

ATTENDANT. [_Looking at them both_. 

Wonderful! Prodigious!

KING. 

What excites your surprise, my good woman?

ATTENDANT. 

I am astonished at the striking resemblance between the child andyourself; and, what is still more extraordinary, he seems to havetaken to you kindly and submissively, though you are a strangerto him. 

KING. [_Fondling the_ CHILD. 

If he be not the son of the great sage, of what family does hecome, may I ask?

ATTENDANT. 

Of the race of Puru. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

What! are we, then, descended from the same ancestry? This, nodoubt, accounts for the resemblance she traces between the childand me. Certainly it has always been an established usage amongthe princes of Puru's race, To dedicate the morning of their days To the world's weal, in palaces and halls, 'Mid luxury and regal pomp abiding; Then, in the wane of life, to seek release From kingly cares, and make the hallowed shade Of sacred trees their last asylum, where As hermits they may practise self-abasement, And bind themselves by rigid vows of penance. 

[_Aloud_. ]

But how could mortals by their own power gain admission to thissacred region?

ATTENDANT. 

Your remark is just; but your wonder will cease when I tell youthat his mother is the offspring of a celestial nymph, and gavehim birth in the hallowed grove of Ka[s']yapa. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

Strange that my hopes should be again excited!

[_Aloud_. ]

But what, let me ask, was the name of the prince whom she deignedto honour with her hand?

ATTENDANT. 

How could I think of polluting my lips by the mention of a wretchwho had the cruelty to desert his lawful wife?

KING. [_Aside_. 

Ha! the description suits me exactly. Would I could bring myselfto inquire the name of the child's mother!

[_Reflecting_. ]

But it is against propriety to make too minute inquiries aboutthe wife of another man[120]. 

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

 [_Entering with the china peacock in her hand_. 

Sarva-damana, Sarva-damana, see, see, what a beautiful [S']akoonta(bird). 

CHILD. [_Looking round_. 

My mother! Where? Let me go to her. 

BOTH ATTENDANTS. 

He mistook the word [S']akoonta for [S']akoontalá. The boy dotes uponhis mother, and she is ever uppermost in his thoughts. 

SECOND ATTENDANT. 

Nay, my dear child, I said: Look at the beauty of this [S']akoonta. 

KING. [_Aside_. 

What! is his mother's name [S']akoontalá? But the name is notuncommon among women. Alas! I fear the mere similarity of a name, like the deceitful vapour of the desert[94], has once more raisedmy hopes only to dash them to the ground. 

CHILD. 

Dear nurse, what a beautiful peacock!

 [_Takes the toy_. 

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

 [_Looking at the CHILD. In great distress_. 

Alas! alas! I do not see the amulet on his wrist. 

KING. 

Don't distress yourself. Here it is. It fell off while he wasstruggling with the young lion. 

 [_Stoops to pick it up_. 

BOTH ATTENDANTS. 

Hold! hold! Touch it not, for your life. How marvellous! He hasactually taken it up without the slightest hesitation. 

 [_Both raise their hands to their breasts and look at each other in astonishment_. 

KING. 

Why did you try to prevent my touching it?

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

Listen, great Monarch. This amulet, known as 'The Invincible, 'was given to the boy by the divine son of Maríchi, soon after hisbirth, when the natal ceremony was performed. Its peculiar virtueis, that when it falls on the ground, no one except the father ormother of the child can touch it unhurt. 

KING. 

And suppose another person touches it?

FIRST ATTENDANT. 

Then it instantly becomes a serpent, and bites him. 

KING. 

Have you ever witnessed the transformation with your own eyes?

BOTH ATTENDANTS. 

Over and over again. 

KING. [_With rapture. Aside_. 

Joy! joy! Are then my dearest hopes to be fulfilled?

 [_Embraces the CHILD_. 

SECOND ATTENDANT. 

Come, my dear Suvratá, we must inform [S']akoontalá immediately ofthis wonderful event, though we have to interrupt her in theperformance of her religious vows. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

CHILD. [_To the_ KING. 

Don't hold me. I want to go to my mother. 

KING. 

We will go to her together, and give her joy, my son. 

CHILD. 

Dushyanta is my father, not you. 

KING. [_Smiling_. 

His contradiction only convinces me the more. 

_Enter_ [S']AKOONTALÁ, _in widow's apparel, with her long hairtwisted into a single braid_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

I have just heard that Sarva-damana's amulet has retained itsform, though a stranger raised it from the ground. I can hardlybelieve in my good fortune. Yet why should not Sánumatí'sprediction be verified?

KING. 

Alas! can this indeed be my [S']akoontalá?

 Clad in the weeds of widowhood, her face Emaciate with fasting, her long hair Twined in a single braid[121], her whole demeanour Expressive of her purity of soul; With patient constancy she thus prolongs The vow to which my cruelty condemned her. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Gazing at the_ KING, _who is pale with remorse_. 

Surely this is not like my husband; yet who can it be that darespollute by the pressure of his hand my child, whose amulet shouldprotect him from a stranger's touch?

CHILD. [_Going to his mother_. 

Mother, who is this man that has been kissing me and calling mehis son?

KING. 

My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but amnow once more thy fond and affectionate lover. Refuse not toacknowledge me as thy husband. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

Be of good cheer, my heart. The anger of Destiny is at lastappeased. Heaven regards thee with compassion. But is he in verytruth my husband?

KING. 

 Behold me, best and loveliest of women, Delivered from the cloud of fatal darkness That erst oppressed my memory. Again Behold us brought together by the grace Of the great lord of Heaven. So the moon Shines forth from dim eclipse [122], to blend his rays With the soft lustre of his Rohiní. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

May my husband be victorious--

 [_She stops short, her voice choked with tears_. 

KING. 

 O fair one, though the utterance of thy prayer Be lost amid the torrent of thy tears, Yet does the sight of thy fair countenance And of thy pallid lips, all unadorned[123] And colourless in sorrow for my absence, Make me already more than conqueror. 

CHILD. 

Mother, who is this man?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny. 

KING. [_Falling at_ [S']AKOONTALÁ's _feet_. 

 Fairest of women, banish from thy mind The memory of my cruelty; reproach The fell delusion that o'erpowered my soul, And blame not me, thy husband; 'tis the curse Of him in whom the power of darkness[124] reigns, That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves For deadly evils. Even though a friend Should wreathe a garland on a blind man's brow, Will he not cast it from him as a serpent?

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own evildeeds, committed in a former state of being[37], brought downthis judgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever ofa compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly?

[_The_ KING _rises_. ]

But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thineunfortunate wife return to thy mind?

KING. 

As soon as my heart's anguish is removed, and its wounds arehealed, I will tell thee all. 

 Oh! let me, fair one, chase away the drop That still bedews the fringes of thine eye; And let me thus efface the memory Of every tear that stained thy velvet cheek, Unnoticed and unheeded by thy lord, When in his madness he rejected thee. 

 [_Wipes away the tear_. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

 [_Seeing the signet-ring on his finger_. 

Ah! my dear husband, is that the Lost Ring?

KING. 

Yes; the moment I recovered it my memory was restored. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

The ring was to blame in allowing itself to be lost at the verytime when I was anxious to convince my noble husband of thereality of my marriage. 

KING. 

Receive it back, as the beautiful twining-plant receives againits blossom in token of its reunion with the spring. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

Nay; I can never more place confidence in it. Let my husbandretain it. 

 [_Enter_ MÁTALI. 

MÁTALI. 

I congratulate your Majesty. Happy are you in your reunion withyour wife; happy are you in beholding the face of your own son. 

KING. 

Yes, indeed. My heart's dearest wish has borne sweet fruit. Buttell me, Mátali, is this joyful event known to the great Indra?

MÁTALI. [_Smiling_. 

What is unknown to the gods? But come with me, noble Prince, thedivine Ka[s']yapa graciously permits thee to be presented to him. 

KING. 

[S']akoontalá, take our child and lead the way. We will together gointo the presence of the holy Sage. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

I shrink from entering the august presence of the great Saint, even with my husband at my side. 

KING. 

Nay; on such a joyous occasion it is highly proper. Come, come; Ientreat thee. 

 [_All advance_. 

KA[S']YAPA _is discovered seated on a throne with his wife_ ADITI. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

 [_Gazing at_ DUSHYANTA. _To his wife_. 

O Adití, This is the mighty hero, King Dushyanta, Protector of the earth; who, at the head Of the celestial armies of thy son, Does battle with the enemies of heaven. Thanks to his bow, the thunderbolt of Indra Rests from its work, no more the minister Of death and desolation to the world, But a mere symbol of divinity. 

ADITI. 

He bears in his noble form all the marks of dignity. 

MÁTALI. [_To_ DUSHYANTA

Sire, the venerable progenitors of the celestials are gazing atyour Majesty with as much affection as if you were their son. Youmay advance towards them. 

KING. 

 Are these, O Mátali, the holy pair, Offspring of Daksha and divine Maríchi, Children of Brahmá's sons[125], by sages deemed Sole fountain of celestial light, diffused Through twelve effulgent orbs [114]? Are these the pair From whom the ruler of the triple world [126], Sovereign of gods and lord of sacrifice, Sprang into being? That immortal pair Whom Vishnu, greater than the Self-existent [127], Chose for his parents, when, to save mankind, He took upon himself the shape of mortals?

MÁTALI. 

Even so. 

KING. [_Prostrating himself_. 

Most august of beings! Dushyanta, content to have fulfilled thecommands of your son Indra, offers you his adoration. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

My son, long may'st thou live, and happily may'st thou reign overthe earth!

ADITI. 

My son, may'st thou ever be invincible in the field of battle!

[S']AKOONTALÁ. 

I also prostrate myself before you, most adorable Beings, and mychild with me. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

My daughter, Thy lord resembles Indra, and thy child Is noble as Jayanta, Indra's son; I have no worthier blessing left for thee, May'st thou be faithful as the god's own wife!

ADITI. 

My daughter, may'st thou be always the object of thy husband'sfondest love; and may thy son live long to be the joy of both hisparents! Be seated. 

[_All sit down in the presence of KA[S']YAPA_. 

KA[S']YAPA. [_Regarding each of them by turns_. 

 Hail to the beautiful [S']akoontalá, Hail to her noble son, and hail to thee, Illustrious Prince--rare triple combination Of virtue, wealth, and energy united!

KING. 

Most venerable Ka[s']yapa, by your favour all my desires wereaccomplished even before I was admitted to your presence. Neverwas mortal so honoured that his boon should be granted ere it wassolicited. Because--

 Bloom before fruit, the clouds before the rain, Cause first and then effect, in endless sequence, Is the unchanging law of constant nature; But, ere the blessing issued from thy lips, The wishes of my heart were all fulfilled. 

MÁTALI. 

It is thus that the great progenitors of the world conferfavours. 

KING. 

Most reverend Sage, this thy handmaid was married to me by theGándharva ceremony[55], and after a time was conducted to mypalace by her relations. Meanwhile a fatal delusion seized me; Ilost my memory and rejected her, thus committing a grievousoffence against the venerable Kanwa, who is of thy divine race. Afterwards the sight of this ring restored my faculties, andbrought back to my mind all the circumstances of my union withhis daughter. But my conduct still seems to me incomprehensible;

 As foolish as the fancies of a man Who, when he sees an elephant, denies That 'tis an elephant; then afterwards, When its huge bulk moves onward, hesitates; Yet will not be convinced till it has passed For ever from his sight, and left behind No vestige of its presence save its footsteps. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

My son, cease to think thyself in fault. Even the delusion thatpossessed thy mind was not brought about by any act of thine. Listen to me. 

KING. 

I am attentive. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

Know that when the nymph Menaká, the mother of [S']akoontalá, became aware of her daughter's anguish in consequence of the lossof the ring at the nymph's pool, and of thy subsequent rejectionof her, she brought her and confided her to the care of Adití. And I no sooner saw her than I ascertained by my divine facultyof meditation[134], that thy repudiation of thy poor faithfulwife had been caused entirely by the curse of Durvásas--not bythine own fault--and that the spell would terminate on thediscovery of the ring. 

KING. [_Drawing a deep breath_. 

Oh! what a weight is taken off my mind, now that my character iscleared of reproach. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

Joy! joy! My revered husband did not, then, reject me withoutgood reason, though I have no recollection of the cursepronounced upon me. But, in all probability, I unconsciouslybrought it upon myself, when I was so distracted on beingseparated from my husband soon after our marriage. For I nowremember that my two friends advised me not to fail to show thering in case he should have forgotten me. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

At last, my daughter, thou art happy, and hast gained thy heart'sdesire. Indulge, then, no feeling of resentment against thyconsort. See, now, Though he repulsed thee, 'twas the sage's curse That clouded his remembrance; 'twas the curse That made thy tender husband harsh towards thee. Soon as the spell was broken, and his soul Delivered from its darkness, in a moment, Thou didst regain thine empire o'er his heart. So on the tarnished surface of a mirror No image is reflected, till the dust, That dimmed its wonted lustre, is removed. 

KING. 

Holy father, see here the hope of my royal race. 

 [_Takes his child by the hand_. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

 Know that he, too, will become the monarch of the wholes earth. Observe, Soon, a resistless hero, shall he cross The trackless ocean, borne above the waves In an aërial car; and shall subdue The earth's seven sea-girt isles[128]. Now has he gained, As the brave tamer of the forest-beasts, The title Sarva-damana; but then Mankind shall hail him as King Bharata[129], And call him the supporter of the world. 

KING. 

We cannot but entertain the highest hopes of a child for whomyour Highness performed the natal rites. 

ADITI. 

My revered husband, should not the intelligence be conveyed toKanwa, that his daughter's wishes are fulfilled, and herhappiness complete? He is [S']akoontalá's foster-father. Menaká, who is one of my attendants, is her mother, and dearly does shelove her daughter. 

[S']AKOONTALÁ. [_Aside_. 

The venerable matron has given utterance to the very wish thatwas in my mind. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

His penances have gained for him the faculty of omniscience, andthe whole scene is already present to his mind's eye. 

KING. 

Then most assuredly he cannot be very angry with me. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

Nevertheless, it becomes us to send him intelligence of thishappy event, and hear his reply. What ho there!

PUPIL. [_Entering_. 

Holy father, what are your commands?

KA[S']YAPA. 

My good Gálava, delay not an instant, but hasten through the airand convey to the venerable Kanwa, from me, the happy news thatthe fatal spell has ceased, that Dushyanta's memory is restored, that his daughter [S']akoontalá has a son, and that she is oncemore tenderly acknowledged by her husband. 

PUPIL. 

Your Highness' commands shall be obeyed. 

 [_Exit_. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

And now, my dear son, take thy consort and thy child, re-ascendthe car of Indra, and return to thy imperial capital. 

KING. 

Most holy father, I obey. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

And accept this blessing--

 For countless ages may the god of gods, Lord of the atmosphere, by copious showers Secure abundant harvests to thy subjects; And thou by frequent offerings preserve The Thunderer's friendship. Thus, by interchange Of kindly actions may you both confer Unnumbered benefits on earth and heaven. 

KING. 

Holy father, I will strive, as far as I am able, to attain thishappiness. 

KA[S']YAPA. 

What other favour can I bestow on thee, my son?

KING. 

What other can I desire? If, however, you permit me to formanother wish, I would humbly beg that the saying of the sageBharata[130] be fulfilled:

 May kings reign only for their subjects' weal; May the divine Saraswatí[131], the source Of speech, and goddess of dramatic art, Be ever honoured by the great and wise; And may the purple self-existent god[132], Whose vital Energy[133] pervades all space, From future transmigrations save my soul. 

 [_Exeunt omnes_. 

NOTES:

1. _Í[S']a preserve you_. 

That is, 'the Lord, ' a name given to the god Siva, when regarded assupreme. As presiding over dissolution he is associated with Brahmáthe Creator, and Vishnu the Preserver; constituting with them theHindú Triad. Kálidása indulges the religious predilections of hisfellow-townsmen by beginning and ending the play with a prayer to[S']iva, who had a large temple in Ujjayiní, the modern Oujein, the cityof Vikramáditya, situated north-eastward from Gujarát. 

2. _In these eight forms_. 

The worshippers of Siva, who were Pantheists in the sense ofbelieving that [S']iva was himself all that exists, as well as thecause of all that is, held that there were eight differentmanifestations of their god, called Rudras; and that these hadtheir types in the eight visible forms enumerated here. TheHindús reckon five elements. The most subtle is Ether (_ákása_), supposed to convey sound, which is its peculiar attribute orproperty (_guna_). The next element--Air, has for its propertiessound and feeling. The third--Fire, has sound, feeling, andcolour. The fourth--Water, has sound, feeling, colour, and taste. The fifth--Earth, has all the other properties, with the additionof smell. 

3. _An audience of educated and discerning men_. 

Lit. 'An audience, who are chiefly men of education and discernment. 'Few could have been present at these dramatic representations exceptinglearned and educated men. The mass of the composition being in Sanskrit, would not have been intelligible to the vulgar and illiterate. 

4. _[S']akoontalá; or, The Lost Ring_. 

The literal title is '[S']akoontalá recognized by the token orring. '

5. _The present Summer season_. 

Hindú poets divide the year into six seasons of two months each, viz. I. Spring (Vasanta), beginning about the middle of March;or, according to some, February. 2. Summer (Gríshma). 3. Rains(Varsha). 4. Autumn (Sarad). 5. Winter (Hemanta). 6. Dews(Sisira). Practically, however, there are only three seasons inIndia, 1. The hot season. 2. The rains. 3. The cold weather. InLower Bengal and Behar, the first of these seasons begins inMarch, the second in June, and the third in November. Thetemperature of the cold season is highly exhilarating, and theclimate is then superior to that of any portion of the Englishyear. In Calcutta, this season continues for about three months;in Upper India, for about five; and in the Panjáb for aboutseven. The rains in Bengal Proper are more violent and protractedthan in Hindústán and the Panjáb. In the latter country they lastfor hardly more than two months, and even then only fall atintervals. Plays were acted on solemn and festive occasions, onlunar holidays, and especially at the changes of the season. 

6. _Of fragrant Pátalas_. 

The Pátala or trumpet-flower; _Bignonia suaveolens_. 

7. _With sweet [S']irísha flowers_. 

The flowers of the _Acacia Sírisha_ were used by the Hindú womenas ear-ornaments. 

8. _King Dushyanta_. 

For the genealogy of King Dushyanta see Introduction, pagexxxviii. 

9. _That wields the trident_. 

[S']iva is called Pinákin, that is, 'armed with a trident, ' oraccording to some, a bow named Pináka. Siva not being invited toDaksha's sacrifice, was so indignant, that, with his wife, hesuddenly presented himself, confounded the sacrifice, dispersedthe gods, and chasing Yajna, 'the lord of sacrifice, ' who fled inthe form of a deer, overtook and decapitated him. 

10. _Their waving plumes, that late Fluttered above their brows, are motionless. _

The Chámarí, or chowrie, formed of the white bushy tail of theYak, or _Bos grunniens_, was placed as an ornament between theears of horses, like the plume of the war-horse of chivalry. Thevelocity of the chariot caused it to lose its play, and appearfixed in one direction, like a flag borne rapidly against thewind. 

11. _The steeds of Indra and the Sun. _

That is, the speed of the chariot resembled that of the Wind andthe Sun. Indra was the god of the firmament or atmosphere--theJupiter Tonans of Hindú mythology--and presided over theforty-nine Winds. He has a heaven of his own (Swarga), of whichhe is the lord, and, although inferior to the three great deitiesof the Hindú Triad (Brahmá, Vishnu, and Siva), he is chief of thesecondary gods. The Hindús represent the Sun as seated in achariot, drawn by seven green horses, having before him a lovelyyouth without legs, who acts as his charioteer, and who is Aruna, or the Dawn personified. 

12. _Puru's race_. 

See Dushyanta's pedigree detailed at page xxxviii of theIntroduction. 

13. _The great sage Kanwa_. 

The sage Kanwa was a descendant of Kasyapa, whom the Hindúsconsider to have been the father of the inferior gods, demons, man, fish, reptiles, and all animals, by his twelve wives. Kanwawas the chief of a number of devotees, or hermits, who hadconstructed a hermitage on the banks of the river Máliní, andsurrounded it with gardens and groves, where penitential riteswere performed, and animals were reared for sacrificial purposes, or for the amusement of the inmates. There is nothing new inasceticism. The craving after self-righteousness, and the desireof acquiring merit by self-mortification, is an innate principleof the human heart, and ineradicable even by Christianity. Witness the monastic institutions of the Romish Church, of whichIndian penance-groves were the type. The Superior of a modernConvent is but the antitype of Kanwa; and what is Romanism buthumanity developing itself in some of its most inveteratepropensities?

14. _He has gone to Soma tírtha_. 

A place of pilgrimage in the west of India, on the coast ofGujarát, near the temple of Somanáth, or Somnát, made notoriousby its gates, which were brought back from Ghazní by LordEllenborough's orders in 1842, and are now to be seen in thearsenal at Agra. These places of pilgrimage were generally fixedon the bank of some sacred stream, or in the vicinity of someholy spring. The word _tírtha_ is derived from a Sanskrit root, _trí_, 'to cross, ' implying that the river has to be passedthrough, either for the washing away of sin, or extrication fromsome adverse destiny. Thousands of devotees still flock to themost celebrated Tírthas on the Ganges, at Benares, Haridwár, etc. 

15. _Ingudí_. 

A tree, commonly called Ingua, or Jiyaputa, from the fruit ofwhich oil was extracted, which the devotees used for their lampsand for ointment. One synonym for this tree is _tápasa-taru_, 'the anchorite's tree. '

16. _Bark-woven vests_. 

Dresses made of bark, worn by ascetics, were washed in water, andthen suspended to dry on the branches of trees. 

17. _By deep canals_. 

It was customary to dig trenches round the roots of trees, tocollect the rain-water. 

18. _My throbbing arm_. 

A quivering sensation in the right arm was supposed by the Hindústo prognosticate union with a beautiful woman. Throbbings of thearm or eyelid, if felt on the right side, were omens of goodfortune in men; if on the left, bad omens. The reverse was trueof women. 19. _The hard acacia's stem_. 

The Samí tree, a kind of acacia (_Acacia Suma_), the wood ofwhich is very hard, and supposed by the Hindús to contain fire. 

20. _The lotus_. 

This beautiful plant, the varieties of which, white, blue, andred, are numerous, bears some resemblance to our water-lily. Itis as favourite a subject of allusion and comparison with Hindúpoets as the rose is with Persian. 

21. _With the Saivala entwined_. 

The [S']aivala (_Vallisneria_) is an aquatic plant, which spreadsitself over ponds, and interweaves itself with the lotus. Theinterlacing of its stalks is compared in poetry to braided hair. 

22. _Yon Ke[s']ara tree_. 

The Ke[s']ara tree (_Mimusops elengi_) is the same as the Bakula, frequent mention of which is made is some of the Puránas. Itbears a strong-smelling flower, which, according to Sir W. Jones, is ranked among the flowers of the Hindú paradise. The tree Isvery ornamental in pleasure-grounds. 

23. _Would that my union with her were permissible_. 

A Bráhman might marry a woman of the military or kingly classnext below him, and the female offspring of such a marriage wouldbelong to a mixed caste, and might be lawfully solicited inmarriage by a man of the military class. But if [S']akoontalá werea pure Bráhmaní woman, both on the mother's and father's side, she would be ineligible as the wife of a Kshatriya king. Dushyanta discovers afterwards that she was, in fact, thedaughter of the great Vi[s']wámitra (see note 27), who was of thesame caste as himself, though her mother was the nymph Menaká. 

24. _I trust all is well with your devotional rites_. 

This was the regular formula of salutation addressed to personsengaged in religions exercises. 

25. _This water that we have brought with us will serve to batheour guest's feet_. 

Water for the feet is one of the first things invariably providedfor a guest in all Eastern countries. Compare Genesis xxiv. 32;Luke vii. 44. If the guest were a Bráhman, or a man of rank, arespectful offering (_argha_) of rice, fruit, and flowers wasnext presented. In fact, the rites of hospitality in India wereenforced by very stringent regulations. The observance of themranked as one of the five great sacred rites, and no punishmentwas thought too severe for one who violated them. If a guestdeparted unhonoured from a house, his sins were to be transferredto the householder, and all the merits of the householder were tobe transferred to him. 

26. _Sapta-parna tree_. 

A tree having seven leaves on a stalk (_Echites scholaris_). 

27. _Vis']wámitra, whose family name is Kausika_. 

In the Rámáyana, the great sage Vi[s']wámitra (both king and saint), who raised himself by his austerities from the regal to theBráhmanical caste, is said to be the son of Gádhi, King of Kanúj, grandson of Kusanátha, and great-grandson of Kusika or Kusa. Onhis accession to the throne, in the room of his father Gádhi, inthe course of a tour through his dominions, he visited thehermitage of the sage Vasishtha, where the Cow of Plenty, a cowgranting all desires, excited his cupidity. He offered the sageuntold treasures for the cow; but being refused, prepared to takeit by force. A long war ensued between the king and the sage(symbolical of the struggles between the military and Bráhmanicalclasses), which ended in the defeat of Vi[s']wámitra, whose vexationwas such, that he devoted himself to austerities, in the hope ofattaining the condition of a Bráhman. The Rámáyana recounts how, by gradually increasing the rigour of his penance throughthousands of years, he successively earned the title of RoyalSage, Sage, Great Sage, and Bráhman Sage. It was not till he hadgained this last title that Vasishtha consented to acknowledgehis equality with himself, and ratify his admission into theBráhmanical state. It was at the time of Vi[s']wámitra's advancementto the rank of a Sage, and whilst he was still a Kshatriya, thatIndra, jealous of his increasing power, sent the nymph Menaká toseduce him from his life of mortification and continence. The Rámáyanarecords his surrender to this temptation, and relates that the nymphwas his companion in the hermitage for ten years, but does not alludeto the birth of [S']akoontalá during that period. 

28. _The inferior gods, I am aware, are jealous_. 

According to the Hindú system, Indra and the other inferiordeities were not the possessors of Swarga, or heaven, byindefeasible right. They accordingly viewed with jealousy, andeven alarm, any extraordinary persistency by a human being inacts of penance, as it raised him to a level with themselves;and, if carried beyond a certain point, enabled him to dispossessthem of Paradise. Indra was therefore the enemy of excessiveself-mortification, and had in his service numerous nymphs whowere called his 'weapons, ' and whose business it was to impede bytheir seductions the devotion of holy men. 

29. _Gautamí_. 

The name of the matron or Superior of the female part of thesociety of hermits. Every association of religious devotees seemsto have included a certain number of women, presided over by anelderly and venerable matron, whose authority resembled that ofan abbess in a convent of nuns. 

30. _Ku[s']a-grass_. 

This grass was held sacred by the Hindús, and was abundantlyused in all their religions ceremonies. Its leaves are very long, and taper to a sharp needle-like point, of which the extremeacuteness was proverbial; whence the epithet applied to a cleverman, 'sharp as the point of Ku[s']a-grass. ' Its botanical name is_Poa cynosuroïdes_. 

31. _Kuruvaka. _

A species of Jhintí or Barleria, with purple flowers, and coveredwith sharp prickles. 

32. _The Jester_. 

See an account of this character in the Introduction, p. Xxxiv. 

33. _We have nothing to eat but roast game_. 

Indian game is often very dry and flavourless. 

34. _Attended by the Yavana women_. 

Who these women were has not been accurately ascertained. Yavanais properly Arabia, but is also a name applied to Greece. TheYavana women were therefore either natives of Arabia, or Greece, and their business was to attend upon the king, and take chargeof his weapons, especially his bow and arrows. Professor H. H. Wilson, in his translation of the Vikramorva[s']í, where the sameword occurs (Act V. P. 261), remarks that Tartarian or Bactrianwomen may be intended. 

35. _In the disc of crystal_. 

That is, the sun-gem (_Súrya-kánta_, 'beloved by the sun'), ashining stone resembling crystal. Professor Wilson calls it afabulous stone with fabulous properties, and mentions anotherstone, the moon-gem (_chandra-kánta_). It may be gathered fromthis passage that the sun-stone was a kind of glass lens, andthat the Hindús were not ignorant of the properties of thisinstrument at the time when '[S']akoontalá' was written. 

36. _Some fallen blossoms of the jasmine_. 

The jasmine here intended was a kind of double jasmine with avery delicious perfume, sometimes called 'Arabian jasmine'(_Jasminum zambac_). It was a delicate plant, and, as a creeper, would depend on some other tree for support. The Arka, orsun-tree (Gigantic Asclepias: _Calotropis gigantea_), on theother hand, was a large and vigorous shrub. Hence the former iscompared to [S']akoontalá, the latter to the sage Kanwa. 

37. 

 _The mellowed fruit Of virtuous actions in some former birth_. 

The doctrine of the transmigration of the soul from one body toanother is an essential dogma of the Hindú religion, andconnected with it is the belief in the power which every humanbeing possesses of laying up for himself a store of merit by gooddeeds performed in the present and former births. Indeed thecondition of every person is supposed to derive its character ofhappiness or misery, elevation or degradation, from the virtuesor vices of previous states of being. The consequences of actionsin a former birth are called _vipáka_; they may be either goodor bad, but are rarely unmixed with evil taint. 

In the present comparison, however, they are described as pureand unalloyed. With reference to the first four lines of thisstanza, compare Catullus, Carmen Nuptiale, verse 39. 

 'Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis, Ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro, Quem mulcent auræ, firmat sol, educat imber: Multi illuum pueri, multæ optavere puellæ: Idem quum tenui carptus defloruit ungui, Nulli illum pueri, nallæ optavere puellæ: Sic virgo, dum intacta manet, ' etc. 

38. _The sixth part of their grain_. 

According to Manu, a king might take a sixth part of liquids, flowers, roots, fruit, grass, etc. ; but, even though dying withwant, he was not to receive any tax from a Bráhman learned in theVedas. 

39. _A title only one degree removed from that of a Sage_. 

Dushyanta was a Rájarshi; that is, a man of the military classwho had attained the rank of Royal Sage or Saint by the practiceof religious austerities. The title of Royal or Imperial Sage wasonly one degree inferior to that of Sage. Compare note 27. 

40. _Chanted by inspired bards_. 

Or celestial minstrels, called Gandharvas. These beings were themusicians of Indra's heaven, and their business was to amuse theinhabitants of Swarga by singing the praises of gods, saints, orheroes. Compare note 11. 

41. _In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell_. 

Indra and the other inferior gods (compare note 11) were for everengaged in hostilities with their half-brothers, the demonscalled Daityas, who were the giants or Titans of Hindú mythology. On such occasions the gods seem to have depended very much uponthe assistance they received from mortal heroes. 

42. _Evil demons are disturbing our sacrificial rites_. 

The religious rites and sacrifices of holy men were oftendisturbed by certain evil spirits or goblins called Rákshasas, who were the determined enemies of piety and devotion. No greatsacrifice or religious ceremony was ever carried on without anattempt on the part of these demons to impede its celebration;and the most renowned saints found it necessary on such occasionsto acknowledge their dependence on the strong arm of the militaryclass, by seeking the aid of warriors and heroes. The inabilityof holy men, who had attained the utmost limit of spiritualpower, to cope with the spirits of evil, and the superiority ofphysical force in this respect, is very remarkable. 

43. _Vishnu_. 

Vishnu, the Preserver, was one of the three gods of the HindúTriad. He became incarnate in various forms for the good ofmortals, and is the great enemy of the demons. 

14 _Like king Tri[s']anku_. 

The story of this monarch is told in the Rámáyana. He is theredescribed as a just and pious prince of the solar race, whoaspired to celebrate a great sacrifice, hoping thereby to ascendto heaven in his mortal body. After various failures he hadrecourse to Vi[s']wámitra, who undertook to conduct the sacrifice, and invited all the gods to be present. They, however, refused toattend; upon which the enraged Vi[s']wámitra, by his own power, transported Tri[s']anku to the skies, whither he had no soonerarrived than he was hurled down again by Indra and the gods; butbeing arrested in his downward course by the sage, he remainedsuspended between heaven and earth, forming a constellation inthe southern hemisphere. 

45. _Ointment of Usíra-root_. 

The root of a fragrant grass (_Andropogon muricatum_), fromwhich a cooling ointment was made. 

46. _The very breath of his nostrils_. 

Compare Lam. Iv. 20. 'The breath of our nostrils, the anointed ofthe Lord, was taken. '

47. _God of the flowery shafts_. 

The Hindú Cupid, or god of love (Káma), is armed with a bow madeof sugar-cane, the string of which consists of bees. He has fivearrows, each tipped with the blossom of a flower, which piercethe heart through the five senses; and his favourite arrow ispointed with the _chita_, or mango-flower. 

48. _E'en now in thy unbodied essence lurks The fire of [S']iva'sanger_. 

The story is thus told in the Rámáyana. Káma (Cupid) onceapproached [S']iva that he might influence him with love for hiswife, Párvatí. [S']iva happened then to be practising austerities, and intent on a vow of chastity. He therefore cursed the god oflove in a terrible voice, and at the same time a flash from hiseye caused the god's body to shrivel into ashes. Thus Káma wasmade incorporeal, and from that time was called 'the bodilessone. '

49. _Like the flame, That ever hidden in the secret depths Of ocean, smoulders there unseen_. 

This submarine fire was called Aurva, from the following fable. The Rishi Aurva, who had gained greatpower by his austerities, was pressed by the gods and others toperpetuate his race. He consented, but warned them that hisoffspring would consume the world. Accordingly, he created fromhis thigh a devouring fire, which, as soon as it was produced, demanded nourishment, and would have destroyed the whole earth, had not Brahmá appeared and assigned the ocean as its habitation, and the waves as its food. The spot where it entered the sea wascalled 'the mare's mouth. ' Doubtless the story was invented tosuit the phenomenon of some marine volcano, which may haveexhaled through the water bituminous inflammable gas, and which, perhaps in the form of a horse's mouth, was at times visibleabove the sea. 

50 _Who on his 'scutcheon bears the monster-fish_. 

The Hindú Cupid is said to have subdued a marine monster, whichwas, therefore, painted on his banner. 

51 _The graceful undulation of her gait_. 

_Hansa-gáminí_, 'walking like a swan, ' was an epithet for agraceful woman. The Indian lawgiver, Manu, recommends that aBráhman should choose for his wife a young maiden, whose gait waslike that of a phoenicopter, or flamingo, or even like that of ayoung elephant. The idea in the original is, that the weight ofher hips had caused the peculiar appearance observable in theprint of her feet. Largeness of the hips was considered a greatbeauty in Hindú women, and would give an undulatory motion totheir walk. 52 _The Mádhaví_. 

A large and beautiful creeper (_Gaertnera racemosa_), bearingwhite, fragrant flowers, to which constant allusion is made inSanskrit plays. 

53 _Pines to be united with the Moon_. 

A complete revolution of the moon, with respect to the stars, beingmade in twenty-seven days, odd hours, the Hindús divide the heavensinto twenty-seven constellations (asterisms) or lunar stations, oneof which receives the moon for one day in each of his monthly journeys. As the Moon, Chandra, is considered to be a masculine deity, the Hindúsfable these twenty-seven constellations as his wives, and personifythem as the daughters of Daksha. Of these twenty-seven wives, twelveof whom give names to the twelve months, Chandra is supposed to showthe greatest affection for the fourth, Rohiní; but each of the others, and amongst them Vi[s']ákhá, is represented as jealous of thispartiality, and eager to secure the Moon's favour for herself, Dushyanta probably means to compare himself to the Moon (he being ofthe Lunar race) and [S']akoontalá to Vi[s']ákhá. 

54. _Checks its fall_. 

Owing to emaciation and disuse of the bow, the callosities on theforearm, usually caused by the bow-string, were not sufficientlyprominent to prevent the bracelet from slipping down from thewrist to the elbow, when the arm was raised to support the head. This is a favourite idea with Kálidása to express the attenuationcaused by love. 

55. _No nuptial rites prevail_. 

A marriage without the usual ceremonies is called Gándharva. Itwas supposed to be the form of marriage prevalent among thenymphs of India's heaven. In the 3rd Book of Manu (v. 22), it isincluded among the various marriage rites, and is said to be aunion proceeding entirely from love, or mutual inclination, andconcluded without any religious services, and without consultingrelatives. It was recognized as a legal marriage by Manu andother lawgivers, though it is difficult to say in what respect itdiffered from unlawful cohabitation. 

56. _The loving birds doomed by fate to nightly separation_. 

That is, the male and female of the Chakraváka, commonly called Chakwaand Chakwí, or Bráhmaní duck (_Anas casarca_). These birds associatetogether during the day, and are, like turtle-doves, patterns ofconnubial affection; but the legend is, that they are doomed to passthe night apart, in consequence of a curse pronounced upon them by asaint whom they had offended. As soon as night commences, they takeup their station on the opposite banks of a river, and call to eachother in piteous cries. The Bengálís consider their flesh to be a goodmedicine for fever. 

57. _The great sage Durvásas_. 

A Saint or Muni, represented by the Hindú poets as excessivelycholeric and inexorably severe. The Puránas and other poemscontain frequent accounts of the terrible effects of hisimprecations on various occasions, the slightest offence being inhis eyes deserving of the most fearful punishment. On oneoccasion he cursed Indra, merely because his elephant let fall agarland he had given to this god; and in consequence of thisimprecation all plants withered, men ceased to sacrifice, and thegods were overcome in their wars with the demons. 

58. _Propitiatory offering_. 

Compare note 25. 

59. _His blushing charioteer_. 

Compare note 11. 

60. _Night-loving lotus_. 

Some species of the lotus, especially the white esculent kind, open their petals during the night, and close them during theday, whence the moon is often called the 'lover, or lord of thelotuses. '

61. _The very centre of the sacred fire_. 

Fire was an important object of veneration with the Hindús, aswith the ancient Persians. Perhaps the chief worship recognizedin the Vedas is that of Fire and the Sun. The holy fire wasdeposited in a hallowed part of the house, or in a sacredbuilding, and kept perpetually burning. Every morning andevening, oblations were offered to it by dropping clarifiedbutter and other substances into the flame, accompanied withprayers and invocations. 

62. _As in the sacred tree the mystic fire_. 

Literally, 'as the [S']ami-tree is pregnant with fire. ' The legendis, that the goddess Párvatí, being one day under the influenceof love, reposed on a trunk of this tree, whereby a sympatheticwarmth was generated in the pith or interior of the wood, whichever after broke into a sacred flame on the slightest attrition. 

63 _Hastinápur_. 

The ancient Delhi, situated on the Ganges, and the capital ofDushyanta. Its site is about fifty miles from the modern Delhi, which is on the Jumná, 64 _E'en as Yayáti [S']armishthá adored_, [S']armishthá was the daughter of Vrishaparvan, king of thedemons, and wife of Yayáti, son of Nahusha, one of the princes ofthe Lunar dynasty, and ancestor of Dushyanta. Puru was the son ofYayáti, by [S']armishthá. 

65 _And for whose encircling bed, Sacred Kusa-grass is spread_. 

At a sacrifice, sacred fires were lighted at the four cardinalpoints, and Ku[s']a-grass was scattered around each fire, 66_Koïl_, The Koïl, or Kokil, is the Indian cuckoo. It is sometimes calledPara-bhrita ('nourished by another'). Because the female is knownto leave her eggs in the nest of the crow to be hatched. The birdis as great a favourite with Indian poets as the nightingale withEuropean. One of its names is 'Messenger of Spring. ' Its note isa constant subject of allusion, and is described as beautifullysweet, and, if heard on a journey, indicative of good fortune. Everything, however, is beautiful by comparison. The song of theKoïl is not only very dissimilar, but very inferior to that ofthe nightingale, 67 _The peacock on the lawn Ceases its dance_, The Indian peacock is very restless, especially at the approachof rain, in which it is thought to take delight. Its circularmovements are a frequent subject of allusion with Hindú poets, and are often by them compared to dancing. 

68. _The moonlight of the grove_. 

The name of [S']akoontalá's favourite jasmine, spoken of in the 1stAct. See page 15 of this volume. 

69. _Fig-tree_. 

Not the Banyan-tree (_Ficus Indica_), nor the Pippala (_Ficusreligiosa_), but the Glomerous Fig-tree (_Ficus glomerata_), which yields a resinous milky juice from its bark, and is largeenough to afford abundant shade. 

70. _The poor female Chakraváka_. 

Compare note 56. 

71. _Like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its homein the western mountains_. 

The sandal is a kind of large myrtle with pointed leaves (_Siriummyrtifolium_). The wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes, unguents, etc. , and is celebrated for its delicious scent. It ischiefly found on the slopes of the Malaya mountain or WesternGhauts on the Malabar coast. The roots of the tree are said to beinfested with snakes. Indeed it seems to pay dearly for thefragrance of its wood: 'The root is infested by serpents, theblossoms by bees, the branches by monkeys, the summit by bears. In short there is not a part of the sandal-tree that is notoccupied by the vilest impurities. ' Hitopade[s']a, verse 162. 

72. _The calm seclusion of thy former home_. 

'When the father of a family perceives his own wrinkles and greyhair, committing the care of his wife to his sons, or accompaniedby her, let him repair to the woods and become a hermit. '--Manu, vi. 2. It was usual for kings, at a certain time of life, toabdicate the throne in favour of the heir-apparent, and pass theremainder of their days in seclusion. 

73. _A frequent offering to our household gods_. 

This was an offering (_bali_) in honour of those spiritualbeings called 'household deities, ' which were supposed to hoverround and protect houses. It was made by throwing up into the airin some part of the house (generally at the door) the remains ofthe morning and evening meal of rice or grain, uttering at thesame time a _mantra_, or prayer. 

74. _In other states of being_. 

Dim recollections of occurrences in former states of existenceare supposed occasionally to cross the mind. Compare note 37. 

75. _The Chamberlain_. 

The attendant on the women's apartment. He is generally aBráhman, and usually appears in the plays as a tottering anddecrepit old man, leaning on his staff of office. 76. _The kingof serpents on his thousand heads_. 

A mythological serpent, the personification of eternity, and kingof the Nágas, or snakes, who inhabit Pátála, the lowermost of theseven regions below the earth. His body formed the couch ofVishnu, reposing on the waters of Chaos, whilst his thousandheads were the god's canopy. He is also said to uphold the worldon one of his heads. 

77. _The chamber of the consecrated fire_. 

Compare note 61. 

78. _Two heralds_. 

These heralds were introduced into Hindú plays something in thesame manner as a Chorus; and, although their especial duty was toannounce, in measured verse, the periods of the day, andparticularly the fixed divisions into which the king's day wasdivided, yet the strain which they poured forth frequentlycontained allusions to incidental circumstances. The royal officewas no sinecure. From the Da[s']a-kumára, it appears that the dayand night were each divided into eight portions of one hour and ahalf, reckoned from sunrise; and were thus distributed: Day--l. The king, being dressed, is to audit accounts; 2. He is topronounce judgment in appeals; 3. He is to breakfast; 4. He is toreceive and make presents; 5. He is to discuss politicalquestions with his ministers; 6. He is to amuse himself; 7. He isto review his troops; 8. He is to hold a military council. Night--l. He is to receive the reports of his spies and envoys;2. He is to sup or dine; 3. He is to retire to rest after theperusal of some sacred work; 4 and 5. He is to sleep; 6. He is torise and purify himself; 7. He is to hold a private consultationwith his ministers, and instruct his officers; 8. He is to attendupon the _Purohita_ or family priest, for the performance ofreligious ceremonies. See Wilson's Hindú Theatre, vol. I. P. 209. 

79. _Feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid_. 

Compare note 18. 

80. _The protector of the four classes of the people, theguardian of the four conditions of the priesthood_. 

A remarkable feature in the ancient Hindú social system, asdepicted in the plays, was the division of the people into fourclasses or castes:--1st. The sacerdotal, consisting of theBráhmans. --2nd. The military, consisting of fighting men, andincluding the king himself and the royal family. This classenjoyed great privileges, and must have been practically the mostpowerful. --3rd. The commercial, including merchants andhusbandmen. --4th. The servile, consisting of servants and slaves. Of these four divisions the first alone has been preserved in itspurity to the present day, although the Rájputs claim to be therepresentatives of the second class. The others have been lost ina multitude of mixed castes formed by intermarriage, and boundtogether by similarity of trade or occupation. With regard to thesacerdotal class, the Bráhmans, who formed it, were held to bethe chief of all human beings; they were superior to the king, and their lives and property were protected by the most stringentlaws. They were to divide their lives into four quarters, duringwhich they passed through four states or conditions, viz. Asreligious students, as householders, as anchorites, and asreligious mendicants. 

81. _That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions_. 

The god Brahmá seems to have enjoyed a very unenviable notorietyas taking pleasure in ill-assorted marriages, and encouragingthem by his own example in the case of his own daughter. 

82. _[S']achí's sacred pool near Sakrávatára_. 

[S']akra is a name of the god Indra, and Sakrávatára is a sacredplace of pilgrimage where he descended upon earth. [S']achí is hiswife, to whom a _Urtha_, or holy bathing-place, was probablyconsecrated at the place where [S']akoontalá had performed herablutions. Compare note 14. 

83. _The wily Koïl_. 

Compare note 66. 

84. _With the discus or mark of empire in the lines of hishand_. 

When the lines of the right hand formed themselves into a circle, it was thought to be the mark of a future hero or emperor. 

85. _A most refined occupation, certainly!_

Spoken ironically. The occupation of a fisherman, and, indeed, anyoccupation which involved the sin of slaughtering animals, wasconsidered despicable. Fishermen, butchers, and leather-sellers wereequally objects of scorn. In Lower Bengal the castes of Jáliyás andBágdis, who live by fishing, etc. , are amongst the lowest, and ekeout a precarious livelihood by thieving and dacoity. 

86. _And he should not forsake it_. 

The great Hindú lawgiver is very peremptory in restrictingspecial occupations (such as fishing, slaughtering animals, basket-making) to the mixed and lowest castes. 'A man of thelowest caste, who, through covetousness, lives by the acts of thehighest, let the king strip of all his wealth and banish. His ownbusiness, though badly performed, is preferable to that ofanother, though well performed. '--Manu, x. 96. In the later Hindúsystem the sacrifice of animals is practised by the priests ofthe goddess Káli only. 

87. _Carp_. 

That is, the Rohita, or Rohi (red) fish (_Cyprinus rohita_), akind of carp found in lakes and ponds in the neighbourhood of theGanges. It grows to the length of three feet, is very voracious, and its flesh, though it often has a muddy taste, is edible. Itsback is olive-coloured, its belly of a golden hue, its fins andeyes red. This fish is often caught in tanks in Lower Bengal ofthe weight of twenty-five or thirty pounds. 

88. _I long to begin binding the flowers round his head_. 

It is evident from the Málati-Mádhava, and other plays, that avictim, about to be offered as a sacrifice, had a wreath offlowers bound round the head. 

89. _The great vernal festival_. 

In celebration of the return of Spring, and said to be in honourof Krishna, and of his son Káma-deva, the god of love. It isidentified with the Holí or Dolá-yátra, the Saturnalia, orrather, Carnival of the Hindús, when people of all conditionstake liberties with each other, especially by scattering redpowder and coloured water on the clothes of persons passing inthe street, as described in the play called Ratnávalí, where thecrowd are represented as using syringes and waterpipes. Flowers, and especially the opening blossoms of the mango, would naturallybe much employed for decoration at this festival, as an offeringto the god of love. It was formerly held on the full moon of themonth Chaitra, or about the beginning of April, but it is nowcelebrated on the full moon of Phálguna, or about the beginningof March. The other great Hindú festival, held in the autumn, about October, is called Durgá-pújá, being in honour of thegoddess Durgá. The Holí festival is now so disfigured by unseemlypractices and coarse jests that it is reprobated by therespectable natives, and will probably, in the course of time, either die out or be prohibited by legal enactment. 

90. _Am not I named after the Koïl?_

Compare note 66. 

91. _Thy fire unerring shafts_. 

Compare note 47. 

92. _The amaranth_

That is, the Kuruvaka, either the crimson amaranth, or a purplespecies of _Barleria_. 

93. _My finger burning with the glow of love_. 

However offensive to our notions of good taste, it is certainthat, in Hindú erotic poetry, a hot hand is considered to be oneof the signs of passionate love. Compare Othello, Act III. Scene4. 'Give me your hand: this hand is moist, my lady--hot, hot, and moist. '

94. _The airy vapours of the desert_. 

A kind of mirage floating over waste places, and appearing at adistance like water. Travellers and some animals, especiallydeer, are supposed to be attracted and deceived by it. 

95. _Himálaya_. 

The name of this celebrated range of mountains is derived fromtwo Sanskrit words, _hima_, 'ice' or 'snow' (Lat. _hiems_), and_álaya_, 'abode. ' The pronunciation Himalaya is incorrect. 

96. _As [S']iva did the poison at the Deluge_. 

At the churning of the ocean, after the Deluge, by the gods anddemons, for the recovery or production of fourteen sacred things, a deadly poison called Kála-kúta, or Halá-hala, was generated, sovirulent that it would have destroyed the world, had not the god[S']iva swallowed it. Its only effect was to leave a dark blue markon his throat, whence his name Níla-kantha. This name is alsogiven to a beautiful bird, not wholly unlike our jay, common inBengal. 

97. _Palace of clouds_. 

The palace of King Dushyanta, so called because it was lofty asthe clouds. 

98. _The foreman of a guild belonging to Ayodhyá_. 

The chief of a guild or corporation of artisans practising thesame trade. Ayodhyá, or the Invincible City, was the ancientcapital of Rámachandra, founded by Ikshwáku, the first of theSolar dynasty. It was situated on the river Sarayu in the northof India, and is now called Oude. 

99. _My ancestors Must drink these glistening tears, the lastlibation_. 

Oblations to the spirits of the deceased are offered by thenearest surviving relatives soon after the funeral ceremonies;and are repeated once in every year. They are supposed to benecessary to secure the well-being of the souls of the dead inthe world appropriated to them. The oblation-ceremony is called[S']ráddha, and generally consisted in offering balls made of riceand milk, or in pouring out water, or water and sesamum-seedmixed. These ceremonies are still regarded as essential to thewelfare of deceased persons, and their celebration is marked bymagnificent feasts, to which relations and a host of Bráhmans areinvited. A native who had grown rich in the time of WarrenHastings spent nine lakhs of rupees on his mother's [S']ráddha; andlarge sums are still spent on similar occasions by wealthy Hindús(see my 'Bráhmanism and Hindúism, ' p. 306). 

100. _The mother of the great Indra_. 

That is, Adití, the wife of Ka[s']yapa, with whom, in their sacredretreat, [S']akoontalá was enjoying an asylum. 

101. _Distinguishes the milk from worthless water_. 

The Hindús imagine that the flamingo (a kind of goose) is thevehicle on which the god Brahmá is borne through the air; andthat this bird, being fond of the pulpy fibres of the water-lily, has been gifted by him with the power of separating the milkyfrom the watery portion of the juice contained in the stalk ofthat plant. 

102. _Mátali_. 

The charioteer of Indra. In the pictures which represent this godmounted on his usual vehicle--an elephant called Aírávata--Mátaliis seen seated before him on the withers of the animal, acting asits driver. In the plays, however, Indra is generally representedborne in a chariot drawn by two horses, guided by Mátali. 

103. _Kálanemi_. 

A Daitya or demon, with a hundred arms and as many heads. 

104. _Nárada_. 

A celebrated divine sage, usually reckoned among the tenpatriarchs first created by Brahmá. He acted as a messenger ofthe gods. 

105. _Tinged with celestial sandal from the breast_. 

The breast of Indra was dyed yellow with a fragrant kind ofsandal-wood (_hari-chandana_); and the garland by rubbingagainst it, became tinged with the same color. Wreaths andgarlands of flowers are much used by the Hindús as marks ofhonorary distinction, as well as for ornament or festiveoccasions. They are suspended round the neck. 

106. _The ever-blooming tree of Nandana_. 

That is, Mandára, one of the five ever-blooming trees of Nandana, or Swarga, Indra's heaven. The two most celebrated of these treeswere the Párijáta and the Kalpa-druma, or tree granting alldesires. Each of the superior Hindú gods has a heaven, paradise, or elysium of his own. That of Brahmá is called Brahma-loka, situate on the summit of mount Meru; that of Vishnu is Vaikuntha, on the Himálayas; that of [S']iva and Kuvera is Kailása, also onthe Himálayas; that of Indra is Swarga or Nandana. The latter, though properly on the summit of mount Meru, below Brahmá'sparadise, is sometimes identified with the sphere of the sky orheaven in general. It is the only heaven of orthodox Bráhmanism. 

107. _Jayanta_. 

The son of Indra by his favourite wife Paulomí or [S']achí. 

108. _The Lion-man's terrific claws_. 

Vishnu, in the monstrous shape of a creature half man, half lion(his fourth Avatár or incarnation), delivered the three worlds, that is to say, Earth, Heaven, and the lower regions, from thetyranny of an insolent demon called Hiranya-ka[S']ipu. 

109. _We journey in the path of Parivaha_. 

The Hindús divide the heavens into seven Márgas, paths ororbits, assigning a particular wind to each. The sixth of thesepaths is that of the Great Bear, and its peculiar wind is calledParivaha. This wind is supposed to bear along the seven stars ofUrsa Major, and to propel the heavenly Ganges. 

110. _The triple Ganges_. 

The Ganges was supposed to take its rise in the toe of Vishnu(whence one of its names, Vishnu-padí); thence it flowed throughthe heavenly sphere, being borne along by the wind Parivaha, andidentified with the Mandákiní, or Milky Way. Its second course isthrough the earth; but the weight of its descent was borne by[S']iva's head, whence, after wandering among the tresses of hishair, it descended through a chasm in the Himálayas. Its thirdcourse is through Pátála, or the lower regions, the residence ofthe Daityas and Nágas, and not to be confounded with Naraka, 'hell, ' 'the place of punishment. '

111. _He spanned the heavens in his second stride_. 

The story of Vishnu's second stride was this:--An Asura orDaitya, named Bali, had, by his devotions, gained the dominion ofHeaven, Earth, and Pátála. Vishnu undertook to trick him out ofhis power, and assuming the form of a Vámana, or dwarf (his fifthAvatár), he appeared before the giant and begged as a boon asmuch land as he could pace in three steps. This was granted; andthe god immediately expanded himself till he filled the world;deprived Bali, at the first step, of Earth; at the second, ofHeaven; but, in consideration of some merit, left Pátála stillunder his rule. 

112. _I see the moisture-loving Chátakas_. 

The Chátaka is a kind of Cuckoo (_Cuculus Melanoleucus_). TheHindús suppose that it drinks only the water of the clouds, andtheir poets usually introduce allusions to this bird in connexionwith cloudy or rainy weather. 

113. _Golden-peak_. 

A sacred range of mountains lying among the Himálaya chain, andapparently identical with, or immediately adjacent to, Kailása, the paradise of Kuvera, the god of wealth. It is here describedas the mountain of the Kimpurashas, or servants of Kuvera. Theyare a dwarfish kind of monster, with the body of a man and thehead of a horse, and are otherwise called Kinnara. 

114. _Ka[s']yapa_. 

Ka[s']yapa was the son of Brahmá's son, Maríchi, and was one ofthose Patriarchs (created by Brahmá to supply the universe withinhabitants) who, after fulfilling their mission, retired fromthe world to practise penance. He was a progenitor on amagnificent scale, as he is considered to have been the father ofthe gods, demons, man, fish, reptiles, and all animals, by thethirteen daughters of Daksha. The eldest of the thirteen, hisfavourite wife, was Adití, from whom were born Indra and all theinferior gods, and particularly the twelve Ádityas, or forms ofthe sun, which represent him in the several months of the year. From Diti, Danu, and others of the remaining twelve, came theDaityas, Dánavas, and other demons. 

115. _No sacred cord is twined_. 

The serpent's skin was used by the ascetic in place of theregular Bráhmanical cord. This thread or cord, sometimes calledthe sacrificial cord, might be made of various substances, suchas cotton, hempen or woollen thread, according to the class ofthe wearer; and was worn over the left shoulder and under theright. The rite of investiture with this thread, which conferredthe title of 'twice-born, ' and corresponded in some respects withthe Christian rite of baptism, was performed on youths of thefirst three classes (compare note 80), at ages varying from eightto sixteen, from eleven to twenty-two, and from twelve totwenty-four, respectively. At present the Bráhmans alone, andthose who claim to be Kshatriyas, have a right to wear thisthread. Not long since, a Káyath (or man of the writer caste) inBengal, who attempted to claim it, was excommunicated. 

116. _And birds construct their nests within its folds_. 

Such was the immovable impassiveness of this ascetic, that theants had thrown up their mound as high as his waist without beingdisturbed, and birds had built their nests in his hair. 

117. _And need no other nourishment_. 

The Hindús imagine that living upon air is a proof of the highestdegree of spirituality to which a man can attain. 

118. _A[s']oka-tree_. 

The A[s']oka (_Jonesia Asoka_) is one of the most beautiful ofIndian trees. Sir W. Jones observes that 'the vegetable worldscarce exhibits a richer sight than an A[s']oka-tree in full bloom'. It is about as high as an ordinary cherry-tree. The flowers arevery large, and beautifully diversified with tints oforange-scarlet, of pale yellow, and of bright orange, which forma variety of shades according to the age of the blossom. 

119. _And with his artless smiles Gladdens their hearts_. 

Chézy is enraptured with this verse: ' . . . Strophe incomparable, que tout père, ou plutôt toute mère, ne pourra lire sans sentirbattre son coeur, tant le poète a su y rendre, avec les nuancesles plus délicates, l'expression vivante de l'amour maternel. 'Compare Statius, Theb. , book v. Line 613. 

 'Heu ubi siderei vultus? ubi verba ligatis Imperfecta sonis? risusque et murmura soli Intellecta mihi?'

 120. _It is against propriety to make too minute inquiriesabout the wife of another man_. 

The Hindús were very careful to screen their wives from the curiosityof strangers; and their great lawgiver, Manu, enjoined that marriedwomen should be cautiously guarded by their husbands in the innerapartments (_antahpura_) appropriated to women (called by theMuhammadans, Haram, and in common parlance, in India _andar-mahall_). The chief duty of a married woman's life seems to have been to keep asquiet as possible, to know as little as possible, to hear, see, andinquire about nothing; and above all, to avoid being herself thesubject of conversation or inquiry; in short, the sole end and objectof her existence was to act as a good head-servant, yielding to herhusband a servile obedience, regulating the affairs of his family, preparing his daily food, and superintending his household. (Manu, ix. 11, 16. ) But notwithstanding the social restrictions to which womenwere subjected, even in the earlier periods of Indian history, itseems probable that they were not rigidly excluded from generalsociety until after the introduction of Muhammadan customs into India. It appears from the plays that they were allowed to go into public oncertain occasions; they took part in bridal processions, and werepermitted to enter the temples of the gods, [S']akoontalá appears inthe court of King Dushyanta and pleads her own cause; and Vásavadattá, in the Ratnávalí, holds a conversation with her father's envoy. Evenin later times, the presence of men, other than husbands or sons, inthe inner apartments, was far from being prohibited. See Wilson'sHindú Theatre, p. Xliii. 

121. _Her long hair Twined in a single braid_. 

Hindú women collect their hair into a single long braid as a signof mourning, when their husbands are dead or absent for a longperiod. 

122. _Shines forth from dim eclipse_. 

The following is the Hindú notion of an eclipse:--A certaindemon, which had the tail of a dragon, was decapitated by Vishnuat the churning of the ocean; but, as he had previously tasted ofthe Amrit or nectar reproduced at that time, he was therebyrendered immortal, and his head and tail, retaining theirseparate existence, were transferred to the stellar sphere. Thehead was called Ráhu, and became the cause of eclipses, byendeavouring at various times to swallow the sun and moon. So inthe Hitopade[s']a, line 192, the moon is said to be eaten by Ráhu. With regard to the love of the Moon for Rohiní, the fourth lunarconstellation, see note 53. 

123. _All unadorned_. 

That is, from the absence of colouring or paint. 

124. _The power of darkness_. 

According to Hindú philosophy there are three qualities orproperties which together make up or dominate humanity: 1. _Sattwa_, 'excellence' or 'goodness' (quiescence), whenceproceed truth, knowledge, purity, etc. 2. _Rajas_, 'passion'(activity), which produces lust, pride, falsehood, etc. , and isthe cause of pain. 3. _Tamas_, 'darkness' (inertia), whenceproceed ignorance, infatuation, delusion, mental blindness, etc. 

125. _Children of Brahmá's sons_. 

Ka[s']yapa and Adití were the children of Maríchi and Daksharespectively, and these last were the sons of Brahmá. 

126. _The ruler of the triple world_. 

That is, Indra, lord of heaven, earth, and the lower regions. Compare notes 110, 113. 

127. _Whom Vishnu, greater than the Self-existent_. 

Vishnu, as Náráyana, or the Supreme Spirit, moved over the watersbefore the creation of the world, and from his navel came the lotusfrom which Brahmá, the World's Creator, here called the Self-existent, sprang. As Vishnu, the Preserver, he became incarnate in variousforms; and chose Ka[s']yapa and Adití, from whom all human beingswere descended, as his medium of incarnation, especially in the Avatárin which he was called Upendra, 'Indra's younger brother. ' Hence itappears that the worshippers of Vishnu exalt him above the Creator. 

128. _The earth's seven sea-girt isles_. 

According to the mythical geography of the Hindús, the earthconsisted of seven islands, or rather insular continents, surrounded by seven seas. That inhabited by men was calledJambudwípa, and was in the centre, having in the middle of it thesacred mountain Meru or Sumeru, a kind of Mount Olympus inhabitedby the gods. About Jambu flowed the sea of salt-water whichextends to the second Dwípa, called Plaksha, which is in its turnsurrounded by a sea of sugar-cane juice. And so with the fiveother Dwípas, viz. Sálmali, Ku[S']a, Krauncha, [S']áka, and Pushkara, which are severally surrounded by the seas of wine, clarifiedbutter, curds, milk, and fresh water. 

129. _Bharata_. 

The name Bharata is derived from the root bhri (fero), 'tosupport. ' Many Indian princes were so named, but the mostcelebrated was this son of Dushyanta and [S']akoontalá, who soextended his empire that from him the whole of India was calledBharata-varsha or Bhárata-varsha; and whose descendants, the sonsof Dhritaráshtra and Pándu, by their quarrels, formed the subjectof the great epic poem called Mahá-bhárata. The Hindús at thepresent day continue to call India by the name Bhárata-varsha. 

180. _The Sage Bharata_. 

The Bharata here intended must not be confounded with the youngprince. He was a holy sage, the director or manager of the gods'dramas, and inventor of theatrical representations in general. Hewrote a work containing precepts and rules relating to everybranch of dramatic writing, which appears to have been lost, butis constantly quoted by the commentators. (See p. Xxix. )

131. _Saraswatí_. 

She is the goddess of speech and eloquence, patroness of the artsand sciences, and inventress of the Sanskrit language. There is afestival still held in her honour for two days, about February inevery year, when no Hindú will touch a pen or write a letter. Thecourts are all closed accordingly. 

132. _The purple self-existent god_. 

[S']iva is usually represented as borne on a bull; his colour, aswell as that of the animal he rides, being white, to denote thepurity of Justice, over which he presides. In his destroyingcapacity, he is characterized by the quality 'darkness, ' andnamed Rudra, Kála, etc. , when his colour is said to be purple orblack. Some refer the epithet 'purple' to the colour of histhroat; compare note 96. Self-existent, although properly a nameof the Supreme Being (Brahmá), is applied both to Vishnu and[S']iva by their votaries. 

134. _Whose vital Energy_. 

That is, [S']iva's wife, Párvatí, who was supposed to personify hisenergy or active power. Exemption from further transmigration, and absorption into the divine soul, was the _summum bonum_ ofHindú philosophy. Compare note 37. 

135. _By my divine faculty of meditation_. 

Celestial beings were endowed with a mental faculty (calleddhyána, pranidhána, etc. ), which enabled them to arrive at theknowledge of present and future events. 

136. _A roseate dye wherewith to stain The lady's feet_. 

That is, the soles of her feet. It was customary for Hindú ladiesto stain the soles of their feet of a red colour with the dyemade from lac--a minute insect bearing some resemblance to thecochineal--which punctures the bark of the Indian fig-tree, andsurrounds itself with the milky resinous juice of that tree. This custom is a alluded to in one of Paterson's Hindú odes--

 'The rose that humbly bowed to meet, With glowing lips, her hallowed feet, And lent them all its bloom. '

See Megha-dúta (Edit. Johnson), p. 32.