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Title: Red oleanders A drama in one act Author: Rabindranath Tagore Release date: February 9, 2026 [eBook #77892] Language: English Original publication: London: Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1925 Credits: Tim Lindell, Dori Allard, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED OLEANDERS *** Transcriber’s Notes: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Bold text is surrounded by equal signs: =bold=. RED OLEANDERS [Illustration:(colophon)] MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MADRAS MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. TORONTO RED OLEANDERS A DRAMA IN ONE ACT BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON 1925 COPYRIGHT PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN RED OLEANDERS A DRAMA IN ONE ACT _The Curtain rises on a window covered by a network of intricate pattern in front of the Palace._ (_Nandini and Kishôr, a digger boy, come in._) _Kishôr_ Have you enough flowers, Nandini? Here, I have brought some more. _Nandini_ Run away, Kishôr, do,--back to your work, quick! You’ll be late again. _Kishôr_ I must steal some time from my digging and digging of nuggets to bring out flowers to you. _Nandini_ But they’ll punish you, my boy, if they know. _Kishôr_ You said you _must_ have red oleanders. I am glad they’re hard to find in this place. Only one tree I discovered after days of search, nearly hidden away behind a rubbish heap. _Nandini_ Show it me. I’ll go and gather the flowers myself. _Kishôr_ Don’t be cruel, Nandini. This tree is my one secret which none shall know. I’ve always envied Bishu, he can sing to you songs that are his own. From now I shall have flowers which you’ll have to take only from my hands. _Nandini_ But it breaks my heart to know that those brutes punish you. _Kishôr_ It makes these flowers all the more preciously mine. They come from my pain. _Nandini_ It pains me to accept anything which brings you hurt. _Kishôr_ I dream of dying one day for your sake, Nandini. _Nandini_ Is there nothing I can give you in return? _Kishôr_ Promise that you will accept flowers only from me every morning. _Nandini_ I will. But do be careful. _Kishôr_ No, no, I shall be rash and defy their blows. My homage shall be my daily triumph. [_Goes._ (_Professor comes in._) _Professor_ Nandini! _Nandini_ Yes, Professor! _Professor_ Why do you come and startle one, now and again, and then pass by? Since you awaken a cry in our hearts, what harm if you stop a moment in answer to it? Let us talk a little. _Nandini_ What need have you of me? _Professor_ If you talk of need, look over there!--You’ll see our tunnel-diggers creeping out of the holes like worms, with loads of things of need. In this Yaksha Town all our treasure is of gold, the secret treasure of the dust. But the gold which is you, beautiful one, is not of the dust, but of the light which never owns any bond. _Nandini_ Over and over again you say this to me. What makes you wonder at me so, Professor? _Professor_ The sunlight gleaming through the forest thickets surprises nobody, but the light that breaks through a cracked wall is quite a different thing. In Yaksha Town, you are this light that startles. Tell me, what d’you think of this place? _Nandini_ It puzzles me to see a whole city thrusting its head underground, groping with both hands in the dark. You dig tunnels in the underworld and come out with dead wealth that the earth has kept buried for ages past. _Professor_ The _Jinn_ of that dead wealth we invoke. If we can enslave him the whole world lies at our feet. _Nandini_ Then again, you hide your king behind a wall of netting. Is it for fear of people finding out that he’s a man? _Professor_ As the ghost of our dead wealth is fearfully potent so is our ghostly royalty, made hazy by this net, with its inhuman power to frighten people. _Nandini_ All you say is a kind of made-up talk. _Professor_ Of course made-up. The naked is without a credential, it’s the made-up clothes that define us. It delights me immensely to discuss philosophy with you. _Nandini_ That’s strange! You who burrow day and night in a mass of yellow pages, like your diggers in the bowels of the earth,--why waste your time on me? _Professor_ The privilege of wasting time proves one’s wealth of time. We poor drudges are insects in a hole in this solid toil, you are the evening star in the rich sky of leisure. When we see you, our wings grow restless. Come to my room. For a moment allow me to be reckless in my waste of time. _Nandini_ No, not now. I have come to see your king, in _his_ room. _Professor_ How can you enter through the screen? _Nandini_ I shall find my way through the network. _Professor_ Do you know, Nandini, I too live behind a network of scholarship. I am an unmitigated scholar, just as our king is an unmitigated king. _Nandini_ You are laughing at me, Professor. But tell me, when they brought me here, why didn’t they bring my Rañjan also? _Professor_ It’s their way to snatch things by fractions. But why should you want to drag your life’s treasure down amongst this dead wealth of ours? _Nandini_ Because I know he can put a beating heart behind these dead ribs. _Professor_ Your own presence is puzzling enough for our governors here; if Rañjan also comes they will be in despair. _Nandini_ They do not know how comic they are,--Rañjan will bring God’s own laughter in their midst and startle them into life. _Professor_ Divine laughter is the sunlight that melts ice, but not stones. Only the pressure of gross muscle can move our governors. _Nandini_ My Rañjan’s strength is like that of your river, Sankhini,--it can laugh and yet it can break. Let me tell you a little secret news of mine. I shall meet Rañjan to-day. _Professor_ Who told you that? _Nandini_ Yes, yes, we shall meet. The news has come. _Professor_ Through what way could news come and yet evade the Governor? _Nandini_ Through the same way that brings news of the coming Spring. _Professor_ You mean it’s in the air,--like the rumours which flush in the colour of the sky, or flutter in the dance of the wind? _Nandini_ I won’t say more now. When Rañjan comes you’ll see for yourself how rumours in the air come down on earth. _Professor_ Once she begins to talk of Rañjan there’s no stopping Nandini’s mouth! Well, well, I have my books, let me take my shelter behind them,--I dare not go on with this. (_Coming back after going a little way._) Nandini, let me ask you one thing. Aren’t you frightened of our Yaksha Town? _Nandini_ Why should I feel afraid? _Professor_ All creatures fear an eclipse, not the full sun. Yaksha Town is a city under eclipse. The Shadow Demon, who lives in the gold caves, has eaten into it. It is not whole itself, neither does it allow any one else to remain whole. Listen to me, don’t stay here. When you go, these pits will yawn all the wider for us, I know,--yet I say to you, fly; go and live happily with Rañjan where people in their drunken fury don’t tear the earth’s veil to pieces. (_Going a little way and then coming back._) Nandini, will you give me a flower from your chain of red oleanders? _Nandini_ Why, what will you do with it? _Professor_ How often have I thought that there is some omen in these ornaments of yours. _Nandini_ _I_ don’t know of any. _Professor_ Perhaps your fate knows. In that red there is not only beauty, but also the fascination of fear. _Nandini_ Fear! Even in me? _Professor_ I don’t know what event you have come to write with that crimson tint. There was the gardenia and the tuberose, there was white jasmine,--why did you leave them all and choose this flower? Do you know, we often choose our own fate thus, without knowing it! _Nandini_ Rañjan sometimes calls me Red Oleander. I feel that the colour of his love is red,--that red I wear on my neck, on my breast, on my arms. _Professor_ Well, just give me one of those flowers,--a moment’s gift,--let me try to understand the meaning of its colour. _Nandini_ Here, take it. Rañjan is coming to-day,--out of my heart’s delight I give it to you. [_Professor goes._ (_Gôkul, a digger, comes in._) _Gôkul_ Turn this way, woman! Who are you? I’ve never yet been able to understand you. _Nandini_ I’m nothing more than what you see. What need have you to understand me? _Gôkul_ I don’t trust what I can’t understand. For what purpose has the King brought you here? _Nandini_ Because I serve no purpose of his. _Gôkul_ You know some spell, I’m sure. You’re snaring everybody here. You’re a witch! Those who are bewitched by your beauty will come to their death. _Nandini_ That death will not be yours, Gôkul, never fear! You’ll die digging. _Gôkul_ Let me see, let me see, what’s that dangling over your forehead? _Nandini_ Only a tassel of red oleanders. _Gôkul_ What does it mean? _Nandini_ It has no meaning at all. _Gôkul_ I don’t believe you, one bit! You’re up to some trickery. Some evil will befall us before the day is out. That’s why you have got yourself up like this. Oh you terrible, terrible witch! _Nandini_ What makes you think me so terrible? _Gôkul_ You’re looking like an ominous torch with a red flame. Let me go and warn these fools.--Beware! Beware! [_He goes._ _Nandini_ (_knocking at the network_) Do you hear me? _A voice_ (_from behind the scenes_) I hear you. But don’t call me,--I have no time. _Nandini_ Let me come inside. My heart is full to-day. _Voice_ No, not into my room. _Nandini_ I have brought you a garland of white _kunda_ flowers. _Voice_ Wear it yourself. _Nandini_ My own garland is of red oleanders. _Voice_ I am like a mountain peak, my bareness is my adornment. _Nandini_ Like waterfalls running down the peak, this white flower-chain will sway on your breast. Open the netting, I want to come in. _Voice_ I can’t allow it. There’s no time. _Nandini_ Don’t you hear that song in the distance? _Voice_ What are they singing? _Nandini_ The autumn song: _Hark, ’tis Autumn calling: “Come, O, come away!”-- Her basket is heaped with corn._ Don’t you see the September sun is spreading the glow of the ripening corn in the air? _Drunken with the perfumed wine of wind, the sky seems to sway among the shivering corn, its sunlight trailing on the fields._ You too come out, King!--out into the fields. _Voice_ Fields! What could I do there? _Nandini_ The work there is much simpler than your work in Yaksha Town. _Voice_ It’s the simple which is impossible for me. A lake cannot run out dancing, like a frolicsome waterfall. Leave me now, I have no time. _Nandini_ The day you let me into your storehouse the blocks of gold did not surprise me,--what amazed me was the immense strength with which you lifted and arranged them. But can blocks of gold ever answer to the swinging rhythm of your arms in the same way as fields of corn? Are you not afraid, King, of handling the dead wealth of the earth? _Voice_ What is there to fear? _Nandini_ The living heart of the earth gives itself up in love and life and beauty, but when you rend its bosom and disturb the dead, you bring up with your booty the curse of its dark demon, blind and hard, cruel and envious. Don’t you see everybody here is either angry, or suspicious, or afraid? _Voice_ Curse? _Nandini_ Yes, the curse of grabbing and killing. _Voice_ But we bring up strength. Does not my strength please you, Nandini? _Nandini_ Indeed it does. Therefore I ask you, come out into the light, step on the ground, let the earth be glad. _Voice_ Do you know, Nandini, you too are half-hidden behind an evasion,--you mystery of beauty! I want to pluck you out of it, to grasp you within my closed fist, to handle you, scrutinise you,--or else to break you to pieces. _Nandini_ Whatever do you mean? _Voice_ Why can’t I strain out the tint of your oleanders and build a dream out of it to keep before my eyes? Those few frail petals guard it and hinder me. Within you there is the same hindrance, so strong because so soft. Nandini, will you tell me what you think of me? _Nandini_ Not now, you have no time. Let me go. _Voice_ No, no, don’t go. Do tell me what you think of me. _Nandini_ Have I not told you often enough? I think you are wonderful. Strength swelling up in your arms, like rolling clouds before a storm,--it makes my heart dance within me. _Voice_ And when your heart dances to see Rañjan, is that also---- _Nandini_ Let that be,--you have no time. _Voice_ There _is_ time,--for this; only tell me, then go. _Nandini_ That dance rhythm is different, you won’t understand. _Voice_ I will, I _must_ understand. _Nandini_ I can’t explain it clearly. Let me go. _Voice_ Tell me, at least, whether you like me. _Nandini_ Yes, I like you. _Voice_ The same as Rañjan? _Nandini_ Again the same question! I tell you, you don’t understand these things. _Voice_ I _do_ understand, a little. I know what the difference is between Rañjan and me. In me there is only strength, in Rañjan there is magic. _Nandini_ What d’you mean by magic? _Voice_ Shall I explain? Underground there are blocks of stone, iron, gold,--there you have the image of strength. On the surface grows the grass, the flower blossoms,--there you have the play of magic. I can extract gold from the fearsome depths of secrecy, but to wrest that magic from the near at hand I fail. _Nandini_ You have no end of things, yet why always covet? _Voice_ All I possess is so much dead weight. No increase of gold can create a particle of a touchstone, no increase of power can ever come up to youth. I can only guard by force. If I had Rañjan’s youth I could leave you free and yet hold you fast. My time is spent in knotting the binding rope, but, alas, everything else can be kept tied, except joy. _Nandini_ It is you who entangle yourself in your own net, then why keep on fretting? _Voice_ You will never understand. I, who am a desert, stretch out my hand to you, a tiny blade of grass, and cry: I am parched, I am bare, I am weary. The flaming thirst of this desert licks up one fertile field after another, only to enlarge itself,--it can never annex the life of the frailest of grasses. _Nandini_ One would never think you were so tired. _Voice_ One day, Nandini, in a far off land, I saw a mountain as weary as myself. I could not guess that all its stones were aching inwardly. One night I heard a noise, as if some giant’s evil dream had moaned and moaned and suddenly snapped asunder. Next morning I found the mountain had disappeared in the chasm of a yawning earthquake. That made me understand how overgrown power crushes itself inwardly by its own weight. I see in you something quite opposite. _Nandini_ What is it you see in me? _Voice_ The dance rhythm of the All. _Nandini_ I don’t understand. _Voice_ The rhythm that lightens the enormous weight of matter. To that rhythm the bands of stars and planets go about dancing from sky to sky, like so many minstrel boys. It is that rhythm, Nandini, that makes you so simple, so perfect. How small you are compared to me, yet I envy you. _Nandini_ You have cut yourself off from everybody and so deprived yourself. _Voice_ I keep myself apart, that it may become easy for me to plunder the world’s big treasure-houses. Nevertheless there are gifts that your little flower-like fingers can easily reach, but not all the strength of my body,--gifts hidden in God’s closed hand. That hand I must force open some day. _Nandini_ When you talk like that, I don’t follow you. Let me go. _Voice_ Go then; but here, I stretch out this hand of mine from my window, place your hand on it for a moment. _Nandini_ Only a hand, and the rest of you hidden? It frightens me! _Voice_ Everybody flies from me because they only see my hand. But if I wished to hold you with all of me, would you come to me, Nandini? _Nandini_ Why talk like this when you wouldn’t even let me come into your room? _Voice_ My busy time, overloaded with work, dragged along against obstruction, is not for you. On the day when you can arrive, full sail before the wind, into the bosom of my full leisure, the hour of welcome will strike. Even if that wind be a storm, all will be well. That hour is not yet come. _Nandini_ Rañjan will bring that delightful wind here, I tell you. He carries his holiday-time with him, even in his work. _Voice_ He has the red wine of oleanders to fill up his cup. But to me you want to pass on an empty leisure. Where is the wine? _Nandini_ Let me go now. _Voice_ Answer me first. _Nandini_ How to fulfil leisure you will learn from Rañjan. He is so beautiful. _Voice_ Beauty only responds to beauty. Its lute strings break when force tries to snatch an answer. But no more of this. Go, go away, or else there will be trouble. _Nandini_ I go. But I tell you, my Rañjan is coming to-day. You cannot prevent him. [_She goes._ (_Phágulal, the digger, and his wife Chandrá, come in._) _Phágulal_ My bottle, Chandrá? Out with it! _Chandrá_ What! Drink from early morning? _Phágulal_ Isn’t it our holiday? Yesterday was the fast day of the War Goddess. To-day they worship the Flag. _Chandrá_ Must you drink just because it’s a holiday? In our village home, on feast days, you never---- _Phágulal_ Freedom itself was enough for the holidays in our village. The caged bird spends its holiday knocking against the bars. In Yaksha Town holidays are more of a nuisance than work. _Chandrá_ Let’s go back home, then. _Phágulal_ The road to our home is closed for ever. _Chandrá_ How’s that? _Phágulal_ Our homes don’t yield them any profit. _Chandrá_ But are we closely fitted to their profits only,--like husks to grains of corn,--with nothing of us left over? _Phágulal_ Our mad Bishu says: to remain whole is useful only for the lamb itself; those who eat it prefer to leave out its horns and hooves, and even object to its bleating when butchered. There’s the madcap, singing as he goes. _Chandrá_ It’s only the last few days that his songs have burst forth. _Phágulal_ That’s true. _Chandrá_ He’s been possessed by Nandini. She draws his heart and his songs too. _Phágulal_ No wonder. _Chandrá_ Indeed! You’d better be careful. She’ll next be bringing out songs from _your_ throat,--which would be rough on our neighbours. The witch is up to all kinds of tricks, and is sure to bring misfortune. _Phágulal_ Bishu’s misfortune is nothing recent, he knew Nandini long before coming here. _Chandrá_ (_Calling out_) I say, Bishu, come this way. Maybe you’ll find somebody here also to listen to your singing,--it won’t be altogether thrown away. (_Bishu comes in, singing._) _Bishu_ (_sings_) _Boatman of my dreams, The sail is filled with a boisterous breeze and my mad heart sings to the lilt of the rocking of thy boat, at the call of the far away landing._ _Chandrá_ I know who the boatman of your dreams is. _Bishu_ How should you know from outside? You haven’t seen from inside my boat. _Chandrá_ Your boat is going to get wrecked one of these days, let me tell you,--by that pet Nandini of yours. (_Gôkul, the digger, comes in._) _Gôkul_ I say, Bishu, I don’t quite trust your Nandini. _Bishu_ Why, what has she done? _Gôkul_ She does nothing, that’s the rub. I don’t understand the way she goes on. _Chandrá_ To see her flaunting her prettiness all over the place makes me sick. _Gôkul_ We can trust features that are plain enough to understand. _Bishu_ I know the atmosphere of this place breeds contempt for beauty. There must be beauty even in hell; but nobody there can understand it, that’s their cruellest punishment. _Chandrá_ Maybe we are fools, but even our Governor here can’t stand her--d’you know that? _Bishu_ Take care, Chandrá, lest you catch the infection of our Governor’s eyes--then perhaps yours too will redden at the sight of us. What say you, Phágulal? _Phágulal_ To tell you the truth, brother, when I see Nandini, I feel ashamed to think of myself. I can’t utter a word when she’s there. _Gôkul_ The day will come when you’ll know her to your cost,--perhaps too late. [_Goes._ _Phágulal_ Bishu, your friend Chandrá wants to know why we drink. _Bishu_ God in his mercy has everywhere provided a liberal allowance of drink. We men with our arms supply the output of our muscles, you women with yours supply the wine of embraces. In this world there is hunger to force us to work; but there’s also the green of the woods, the gold of the sunshine, to make us drunk with their holiday-call. _Chandrá_ You call these things _drink_? _Bishu_ Yes, drinks of life, an endless stream of intoxication. Take my case. I come to this place; I am set to work burgling the underworld; for me nature’s own ration of spirits is stopped; so my inner man craves the artificial wine of the market place. (_Sings_) _My life, your sap has run dry, Fill then the cup with the wine of death, That flushes all emptiness with its laughter._ _Chandrá_ Come, brother, let us fly from here. _Bishu_ To that boundless tavern, underneath the blue canopy? Alas, the road is closed, and we seek consolation in the stolen wine of the prison house. No open sky, no leisure for us; so we have distilled the essence of all the song and laughter, all the sunlight of the twelve hours’ day into one draught of liquid fire. (_Sings_) _Thy sun is hidden amid a mass of murky cloud. Thy day has smudged itself black in dusty toil. Then let the dark night descend the last comrade of drunken oblivion. Let it cover thy tired eyes with the mist that will help thee desperately to lose thyself._ _Chandrá_ Well, well, Bishu, you men have gone to the dogs in Yaksha Town, if you like, but we women haven’t changed at all. _Bishu_ Haven’t you? Your flowers have faded, and you are all slavering for gold. _Chandrá_ No, never! _Bishu_ I say, yes. That Phágulal toils for hours over and above the twelve,--why? For a reason unknown to him, unknown even to you. But _I_ know. It’s your dream of gold that lashes him on to work, more severely than the foreman’s whip. _Chandrá_ Very well. Then why don’t we fly from here, and go back home? _Bishu_ Your Governor has closed the way as well as the will to return. If you go there to-day you will fly back here to-morrow, like a caged bird to its cage, hankering for its drugged food. _Phágulal_ I say, Bishu, once upon a time you came very near spoiling your eyesight poring over books; how is it they made you ply the spade along with the rest of us stupid boors? _Chandrá_ All this time we’ve been here, we haven’t got from Bishu the answer to this particular question. _Phágulal_ Yet we all know it. _Bishu_ Well, out with it then! _Phágulal_ They employed you to spy on us. _Bishu_ If you knew that, how is it you let me off alive? _Phágulal_ But, we knew also, that game was not in your line. _Chandrá_ How is it you couldn’t stick to such a comfortable job, brother? _Bishu_ Comfortable job? To stick to a living being like a carbuncle on his back? I said: “I must go home, my health is failing.” “Poor thing,” said the Governor, “how can you go home in such a state? However, there’s no harm in your trying.” Well, I did try. And then I found that, as soon as one enters the maw of Yaksha Town, its jaws shut fast, and the one road that remains open leads withinwards. Now I am swamped in that interior without hope and without light, and the only difference between you and me is, that the Governor looks down upon me even worse than upon you. Man despises the broken pot of his own creation more than the withered leaf fallen from the tree. _Phágulal_ What does that matter, Bishu? You have risen high in our esteem. _Bishu_ Discovery only means death. Where your favour falls there falls the Governor’s glance. The more noisily the yellow frogs welcome the black toad, the sooner their croaking points him out to the boa-constrictor. _Chandrá_ But when will your work be finished? _Bishu_ The calendar never records the last day. After the first day comes the second, after the second the third. There’s no such thing as getting finished here. We’re always digging--one yard, two yards, three yards. We go on raising gold nuggets,--after one nugget another, then more and more and more. In Yaksha Town figures follow one another in rows and never arrive at any conclusion. That’s why we are not men to them, but only numbers.--Phágu, what’s yours? _Phágulal_ I’m No. 47 V. _Bishu_ I’m 69 Ng. _Chandrá_ Brother, they’ve hoarded such heaps of gold, can’t they stop digging now? _Bishu_ There’s always an end to things of need, no doubt; so we stop when we’ve had enough to eat. But we don’t need drunkenness, therefore there’s no end to it. These nuggets are the drink--the solid drink--of our Gold King. Don’t you see? _Chandrá_ No, I don’t. _Bishu_ Cups in hand, we forget that we are chained to our limits. Gold blocks in hand, our master fancies he’s freed from the gravitation of the commonplace, and is soaring in the rarest of upper heights. _Chandrá_ In this season the villages are preparing for their harvest festival. Let’s go home. _Phágulal_ Don’t worry me, Chandrá. A thousand times over have I told you that in these parts there are high roads to the market, to the burning ground, to the scaffold,--everywhere except to the homeland. _Chandrá_ If we were to go to the Governor, and just tell him---- _Bishu_ Hasn’t your woman’s wit seen through the Governor yet? _Chandrá_ Why, he seems to be so nice and---- _Bishu_ Yes, nice and polished, like the crocodile’s teeth, which fit into one another with so thorough a bite that the King himself can’t unlock the jaw, even if he wants to. _Chandrá_ There comes the Governor. _Bishu_ Then it’s all up with us. He’s sure to have overheard---- _Chandrá_ Why, we haven’t said anything so very---- _Bishu_ Sister, we can only say the words,--they put in the meaning. (_The Governor comes in._) _Chandrá_ Sir Governor! _Governor_ Well, my child? _Chandrá_ Grant us leave to go home for a little. _Governor_ Why, aren’t the rooms we have given you excellent, much better than the ones at home? We have even kept a state watchman for your safety. Hallo, 69 Ng, to see you amongst these people reminds one of a heron come to teach paddy birds how to cut capers. _Bishu_ Sir, your jesting does not reassure me. Had my feet the strength to make others dance, would I not have run away from here, first thing? Especially after the striking examples I’ve seen of the fate that overtakes dancing masters in this country. As things are, one’s legs tremble even to walk straight. _Chandrá_ Give us leave, Sir Governor, do give us leave. Let us go just for once, and see our waving fields of barleycorn in the ear, and the ample shade of our banyan tree with its hanging roots. I cannot tell you how our hearts ache. Don’t you see that your men here work all day in the dark, and in the evening steep themselves in the denser dark of drunkenness? Have you no pity for them? _Governor_ My dear child, surely you know of our constant anxiety for their welfare. That is exactly why I have sent for our High Preacher, Kenarám Gosain himself, to give moral talks to the men. Their votive fees will pay for his upkeep. Every evening the Gosain will come and---- _Phágulal_ That won’t do, sir! Now, at worst, we get drunk of an evening, but if we are preached to every night, there’ll be manslaughter! _Bishu_ Hush, hush, Phágulal. (_Preacher Gosain comes in._) _Governor_ Talk of the Preacher and he appears. Your Holiness, I do you reverence. These workmen of ours sometimes feel disturbed in their weak minds. Deign to whisper in their ears some texts of peace. The need is urgent. _Gosain_ These people? Are they not the very incarnation of the sacred Tortoise of our scripture, that held up the sinking earth on its back? Because they meekly suppress themselves underneath their burden, the upper world can keep its head aloft. The very thought sends a thrill through my body! Just think of it, friend 47 V, yours is the duty of supplying food to this mouth which chants the holy name. With the sweat of your brow have you woven this wrap printed with the holy name, which exalts this devoted body. Surely that is no mean privilege. May you remain for ever undisturbed, is my benediction, for then the grace of God will abide with you likewise. My friends, repeat aloud the holy name of Hari, and all your burdens will be lightened. The name of Hari shall be taken in the beginning, in the middle, and at the end,--so say the scriptures. _Chandrá_ How sweet! It’s long since I have heard such words! Give, oh give me a little dust off your feet! _Phágulal_ Stop this waste of money, Governor. If it’s our offerings you want, we can stand it, but we’re fairly sick of this cant. _Bishu_ Once Phágulal runs amok it’s all over with the lot of you. Hush, hush, Phágulal! _Chandrá_ Are you bent on spoiling your chances both in this world and the next, you wretched man? You were never like this before. Nandini’s ill wind has blown upon you,--and no mistake. _Gosain_ What charming naïveté, Sir Governor! What’s in their heart is always on their lips. What can we teach them?--it’s they who’ll teach us a lesson. You know what I mean. _Governor_ I know where the root of the trouble is. I’ll have to take them in hand myself, I see. Meanwhile, pray go to the next parish and chant them the holy name,--the sawyers there have taken to grumbling, somewhat. _Gosain_ Which parish did you say? _Governor_ Parish T-D. No. 71 T is headman there. It ends to the left of where No. 65 of Row M lives. _Gosain_ My son, though Parish T-D may not yet be quieted, the whole Row of M’s have lately become steeped in a beautiful spirit of meekness. Still it is better to keep an extra police force posted in the parish some time longer. Because, as you know our scripture says,--pride is our greatest foe. After the strength of the police has helped to conquer pride, then comes our turn. I take my leave. _Chandrá_ Forgive these men, Your Holiness, and give them your blessing, that they may follow the right path. _Gosain_ Fear not, good woman, they’ll all end thoroughly pacified. [_The Gosain goes._ _Governor_ I say, 69 Ng, the temper of your parish seems to be somewhat strained. _Bishu_ That’s nothing strange. The Gosain called them the incarnation of the Tortoise. But, according to scripture, incarnations change; and, when the Tortoise gave place to the Boar, in place of hard shell came out aggressive teeth, so that all-suffering patience was transformed into defiant obstinacy. _Chandrá_ But, Sir Governor, don’t forget my request. _Governor_ I have heard it and will bear it in mind. [_He goes._ _Chandrá_ Ah now, didn’t you see how nice the Governor is? How he smiles every time he talks! _Bishu_ Crocodile’s teeth begin by smiling and end by biting. _Chandrá_ Where does his bite come in? _Bishu_ Don’t you know he’s going to make it a rule not to let the workmen’s wives accompany them here. _Chandrá_ Why? _Bishu_ We have a place in their account book as numbers, but women’s figures do not mate with figures of arithmetic. _Chandrá_ O dear! but have they no womenfolk of their own? _Bishu_ Their ladies are besotted with the wine of gold, even worse than their husbands. _Chandrá_ Bishu, you had a wife at home,--what’s become of her? _Bishu_ So long as I filled the honoured post of spy, they used to invite her to those big mansions to play cards with their ladies. Ever since I joined Phágulal’s set, all that was stopped, and she left me in a huff at the humiliation. _Chandrá_ For shame! But look, brother Bishu, what a grand procession! One palanquin after another! Don’t you see the sparkle of the jewelled fringes of the elephant-seats? How beautiful the out-riders on horseback look, as if they had bits of sunlight pinned on the points of their spears! _Bishu_ Those are the Governor’s and Deputy Governor’s ladies, going to the Flag-worship. _Chandrá_ Bless my soul, what a gorgeous array and how fine they look! I say, Bishu, if you hadn’t given up that job, would you have gone along with that set in this grand style?--and that wife of yours, surely---- _Bishu_ Yes, we too should have come to just such a pass. _Chandrá_ Is there no way going back,--none whatever? _Bishu_ There is,--through the gutter. _A distant voice_ Bishu, my mad one! _Bishu_ Yes, my mad girl! _Phágulal_ There’s Nandini. There’ll be no more of Bishu for us, for the rest of the day. _Chandrá_ Tell me, Bishu, what does she charm you with? _Bishu_ The charm of sorrow. _Chandrá_ Why do you talk so topsy-turvy? _Bishu_ She reminds me that there are sorrows, to forget which is the greatest of sorrow. _Phágulal_ Please to speak plainly, Bishu, otherwise it becomes positively annoying! _Bishu_ The pain of desire for the near belongs to the animal, the sorrow of aspiration for the far belongs to man. That far away flame of my eternal sorrow is revealed through Nandini. _Chandrá_ Brother, we don’t understand these things. But one thing I do understand and that is,--the less you men can make out a girl, the more she attracts you! We simple women,--our price is not so high, but we at least keep you on the straight path. I warn you, once for all, that girl with her noose of red oleanders will drag you to perdition. [_Chandrá and Phágulal go._ (_Nandini comes in._) _Nandini_ My mad one, did you hear their autumn songs this morning? _Bishu_ Is my morning like yours that I should hear singing? Mine is only a swept-away remnant of the weary night. _Nandini_ In my gladness of heart I thought I’d stand on the rampart and join in their song. But the guards would not let me, so I’ve come to you. _Bishu_ I am not a rampart. _Nandini_ You are _my_ rampart. When I come to you I seem to climb high, I find the open light. _Bishu_ Ever since coming to Yaksha Town the sky has dropped out of my life. I felt as if they had pounded me in the same mortar with all the fractions of men here, and rolled us into a solid lump. Then you came and looked into my face in a way that made me sure some light could still be seen through me. _Nandini_ In this closed fort a bit of sky survives only between you and me, my mad one. _Bishu_ Through that sky my songs can fly towards you. (_Sings_) _You keep me awake that I may sing to you, O Breaker of my sleep! And so my heart you startle with your call, O Waker of my grief! The shades of evening fall, the birds come to their nest. The boat arrives ashore, yet my heart knows no rest, O Waker of my grief!_ _Nandini_ The waker of your grief, Bishu? _Bishu_ Yes, you are my messenger from the unreachable shore. The day you came to Yaksha Town a gust of salt air knocked at my heart. _Nandini_ But I never had any message of this sorrow of which you sing. _Bishu_ Not even from Rañjan? _Nandini_ No, he holds an oar in each hand and ferries me across the stormy waters; he catches wild horses by the mane and rides with me through the woods; he shoots an arrow between the eyebrows of the tiger on the spring, and scatters my fear with loud laughter. As he jumps into our Nagai river and disturbs its current with his joyous splashing, so he disturbs me with his tumultuous life. Desperately he stakes his all on the game and thus has he won me. You also were there with us, but you held aloof, and at last something urged you one day to leave our gambling set. At the time of your parting you looked at my face in a way I could not quite make out. After that I’ve had no news of you for long. Tell me where you went off to then. _Bishu_ My boat was tied to the bank; the rope snapped; the wild wind drove it into the trackless unknown. _Nandini_ But who dragged you back from there to dig for nuggets here in Yaksha Town? _Bishu_ A woman. Just as a bird on the wing is brought to the ground by a chance arrow, so did she bring me down to the dust. I forgot myself. _Nandini_ How could she touch you? _Bishu_ When the thirsty heart despairs of finding water it’s easy enough for it to be deluded by a mirage, and driven in barren quest from desert to desert. One day, while I was gazing at the sunset clouds, she had her eye upon the golden spire of the Governor’s palace. Her glance challenged me to take her over there. In my foolish pride I vowed to do so. When I did bring her here, under the golden spire, the spell was broken. _Nandini_ I’ve come to take you away from here. _Bishu_ Since you have moved even the king of this place, what power on earth can prevent you? Tell me, don’t you feel afraid of him? _Nandini_ I did fear him from outside that screen. But now I’ve seen him inside. _Bishu_ What was he like? _Nandini_ Like a man from the epics,--his forehead like the gateway of a tower, his arms the iron bolts of some inaccessible fortress. _Bishu_ What did you see when you went inside? _Nandini_ A falcon was sitting on his left wrist. He put it on the perch and gazed at my face. Then, just as he had been stroking the falcon’s wings, he began gently to stroke my hand. After a while he suddenly asked: “Don’t you fear me, Nandini?” “Not in the least,” said I. Then he buried his fingers in my unbound hair and sat long with closed eyes. _Bishu_ How did you like it? _Nandini_ I liked it. Shall I tell you how? It was as if he were a thousand-year-old banyan tree, and I a tiny little bird; when I lit on a branch of his and had my little swing, he needs must have felt a thrill of delight to his very marrow. I loved to give that bit of joy to that lonely soul. _Bishu_ Then what did he say? _Nandini_ Starting up and fixing his spearpoint gaze on my face, he suddenly said: “I want to know you.” I felt a shiver run down my body and asked: “What is there to know?--I am not a manuscript!” “I know all there is in manuscripts,” said he, “but I don’t know you.” Then he became excited and cried: “Tell me all about Rañjan. Tell me how you love him.” I talked on: “I love Rañjan as the rudder in the water might love the sail in the sky, answering its rhythm of wind in the rhythm of waves.” He listened quietly, staring like a big greedy boy. All of a sudden he startled me by exclaiming: “Could you die for him?” “This very moment,” I replied. “Never,” he almost roared, as if in anger. “Yes, I could,” I repeated. “What good would that do you?” “I don’t know,” said I. Then he writhed and shouted: “Go away from my room, go, go at once, don’t disturb me in my work.” I could not understand what that meant. _Bishu_ He gets angry when he can’t understand. _Nandini_ Bishu, don’t you feel pity for him? _Bishu_ The day when God will be moved to pity for him, he will die. _Nandini_ No, no, you don’t know how desperately he wants to live. _Bishu_ You will see this very day what his living means. I don’t know whether you’ll be able to bear the sight. _Nandini_ There, look, there’s a shadow. I am sure the Governor has secretly heard what we’ve been saying. _Bishu_ This place is dark with the Governor’s shadow, it is everywhere. How do you like him? _Nandini_ I have never seen anything so lifeless,--like a cane stick cut from the cane bush,--no leaves, no roots, no sap in the veins. _Bishu_ Cut off from life, he spends himself in repressing life. _Nandini_ Hush, he will hear you. _Bishu_ He hears even when you are silent, which is all the more dangerous. When I am with the diggers I am careful in my speech, so much so that the Governor thinks I’m the sorriest of the lot, and spares me out of sheer contempt. But, my mad girl, when I am with you my mind scorns to be cautious. _Nandini_ No, no, you must not court danger. There comes the Governor. (_The Governor comes in._) _Governor_ Hallo, 69 Ng! you seem to be making friends with everybody, without distinction. _Bishu_ You may remember that I began by making friends even with you, only it was the distinction that stood in the way. _Governor_ Well, what are we discussing now? _Bishu_ We are discussing how to escape from this fortress of yours. _Governor_ Really? So recklessly, that you don’t even mind confessing it? _Bishu_ Sir Governor, it doesn’t need much cleverness to know that when a captive bird pecks at the bars it’s not in the spirit of caress. What does it matter whether that’s openly confessed or not? _Governor_ The captives’ want of love we were aware of, but their not fearing to admit it has become evident only recently. _Nandini_ Won’t you let Rañjan come? _Governor_ You will see him this very day. _Nandini_ I knew that; still, for your message of hope I wish you victory. Governor, take this garland of _kunda_ flowers. _Governor_ Why throw away the garland thus, and not keep it for Rañjan? _Nandini_ There _is_ a garland for him. _Governor_ Aha, I thought so! I suppose it’s the one hanging round your neck. The garland of victory may be of _kunda_ flowers, the gift of the hand; but the garland of welcome is of red oleanders, the gift of the heart. Well, let’s be quick in accepting what comes from the hand, for that will fade; as for the heart’s offering, the longer it waits the more precious it grows. [_The Governor goes._ _Nandini_ (_knocking at the window_) Do you hear? Let me come into your room. _Voice_ (_from behind the scenes_) Why always the same futile request? Who is that with you? A pair to Rañjan? _Bishu_ No, King, I am the obverse side of Rañjan, on which falls the shadow. _Voice_ What use has Nandini for you? _Bishu_ The use which music has for the hollow of the flute. _Voice_ Nandini, what is this man to you? _Nandini_ He’s my partner in music. My heart soars in his voice, my pain cries in his tunes,--that’s what he tells me. (_Sings_) _“I love, I love,”--’Tis the cry that breaks out from the bosom of earth and water._ _Voice_ So that’s your partner! What if I dissolved your partnership this very minute? _Nandini_ Why are you so cross? Haven’t you any companion yourself? _Voice_ Has the mid-day sun any companion? _Nandini_ Well, let’s change the subject. What’s that? what’s that in your hand? _Voice_ A dead frog. _Nandini_ What for? _Voice_ Once upon a time this frog got into a hole in a stone, and in that shelter it existed for three thousand years. I have learnt from it the secret of continuing to exist, but to live it does not know. To-day I felt bored and smashed its shelter. I’ve thus saved it from existing for ever. Isn’t that good news? _Nandini_ Your stone walls will also fall away from around me to-day,--I shall meet Rañjan. _Voice_ I want to see you both together. _Nandini_ You won’t be able to see from behind your net. _Voice_ I shall let you sit inside my room. _Nandini_ What will you do with us? _Voice_ Nothing, I only want to know you. _Nandini_ When you talk of knowing, it frightens me. _Voice_ Why? _Nandini_ I feel that you have no patience with things that cannot be known, but can only be felt. _Voice_ I dare not trust such things lest they should play me false. Now go away, don’t waste my time.--No, no, wait a little. Give me that tassel of red oleanders which hangs from your hair. _Nandini_ What will you do with it? _Voice_ When I look at those flowers it seems to me as if the red light of my evil star has appeared in their shape. At times I want to snatch them from you and tear them to pieces. Again I think that if Nandini were ever to place that spray of flowers on my head, with her own hands, then---- _Nandini_ Then what? _Voice_ Then perhaps I might die in peace. _Nandini_ Some one loves red oleanders and calls me by that name. It is in remembrance of him that I wear these flowers. _Voice_ Then, I tell you, they’re going to be _his_ evil star as well as _mine_. _Nandini_ Don’t say such things, for shame! I am going. _Voice_ Where? _Nandini_ I shall go and sit near the gate of your fort. _Voice_ Why? _Nandini_ When Rañjan comes he’ll see I am waiting for him. _Voice_ I should like to tread hard on Rañjan and grind him in the dust. _Nandini_ Why pretend to frighten me? _Voice_ Pretend, you say? Don’t you know I am really fearsome? _Nandini_ You seem to take pleasure in seeing people frightened at you. In our village plays Srikantha takes the part of a demon; when he comes on the stage, he is delighted if the children are terrified. You are like him. Do you know what I think? _Voice_ What is it? _Nandini_ The people here trade on frightening others. That’s why they have put you behind a network and dressed you fantastically. Don’t you feel ashamed to be got up like a bogeyman? _Voice_ How dare you! _Nandini_ Those whom you have scared all along will one day feel ashamed to be afraid. If my Rañjan were here, he would have snapped his fingers in your face, and not been afraid even if he died for it. _Voice_ Your impudence is something great. I should like to stand you up on the top of a heap of everything I’ve smashed throughout my life. And then---- _Nandini_ Then what? _Voice_ Then, like a squeezed bunch of grapes with its juice running out from between the gripping fingers, if I could but hold you tight with these two hands of mine,--and then--go, go, run away, at once, at once! _Nandini_ If you shout at me so rudely, I’ll stay on, do what you will! _Voice_ I long savagely to prove to you how cruel I am. Have you never heard moans from inside my room? _Nandini_ I have. Whose moaning was it? _Voice_ The hidden mystery of life, wrenched away by me, bewails its torn ties. To get fire from a tree you have to burn it. Nandini, there is fire within you too, red fire. One day I shall burn you and extract that also. _Nandini_ Oh, you are cruel! _Voice_ I must either gather or scatter. I can feel no pity for what I do not get. Breaking is a fierce kind of getting. _Nandini_ But why thrust out your clenched fist like that? _Voice_ Here, I take away my fist. Now fly, as the dove flies from the shadow of a hawk. _Nandini_ Very well, I will go, and not vex you any more. _Voice_ Here, listen, come back, Nandini! _Nandini_ What is it? _Voice_ On your face, there is the play of life in your eyes and lips; at the back of you flows your black hair, the silent fall of death. The other day when my hands sank into it they felt the soft calm of dying. I long to sleep with my face hidden inside those thick black clusters. You don’t know how tired I am! _Nandini_ Don’t you ever sleep? _Voice_ I feel afraid to sleep. _Nandini_ Let me sing you the latest song that I’ve learnt. (_Sings_) _“I love, I love” is the cry that breaks out from the bosom of earth and water. The sky broods like an aching heart, the horizon is tender like eyes misted with tears._ _Voice_ Enough! Enough! stop your singing! _Nandini_ (_Sings on_) _A lament heaves and bursts on the shore of the sea, The whispers of forgotten days are born in new leaves to die again._ See, Bishu, he has left the dead frog there and disappeared. He is afraid of songs. _Bishu_ The old frog in his heart yearns to die when it hears singing, that’s why he feels afraid. My mad girl, why is there a strange light on your face to-day, like the glow of a distant torch in the sky? _Nandini_ News has reached me, Rañjan is coming to-day. _Bishu_ How? _Nandini_ Let me tell you. Every day a pair of blue-throats[1] come and sit on the pomegranate tree in front of my window. Every night, before I sleep, I salute the pole star and say: Sacred star of constancy, if a feather from the wings of the blue-throats finds its way into my room, then I will know my Rañjan is coming. This morning, as soon as I woke, I found a feather on my bed. See, here it is under my breast-cloth. When I meet him I shall put this feather on his crest. _Bishu_ They say blue-throats’ wings are an omen of victory. _Nandini_ Rañjan’s way to victory lies through my heart. _Bishu_ No more of this; let me go to my work. _Nandini_ I shan’t let you work to-day. _Bishu_ What must I do then? _Nandini_ Sing that song of waiting. _Bishu_ (_Sings_) _He who ever wants me through the ages,-- is it not he who sits to-day by my wayside? I seem to remember a glimpse I had of his face, in the twilight dusk of some ancient year. Is it not he who sits to-day by the wayside?_ _Nandini_ Bishu, when you sing I cannot help feeling that I owe you much, but have never given anything to you. _Bishu_ I shall decorate my forehead with the mark of your never-giving, and go my way. No little-giving for me, in return for my song! Where will you go now? _Nandini_ To the wayside by which Rañjan is coming. [_They go._ (_The Governor and a Headman come in._) _Governor_ No, we can’t possibly allow Rañjan to enter this parish. _Headman_ I put him to work in the tunnels of Vajragarh. _Governor_ Well, what happened? _Headman_ He said he was not used to being made to work. The Headman of Vajragarh came with the police, but the fellow doesn’t know what fear is. Threaten him, he bursts out laughing. Asked why he laughs, he says solemnity is the mask of stupidity and he has come to take it off. _Governor_ Did you set him to work with the diggers? _Headman_ I did, I thought that pressure would make him yield. But on the contrary it seemed to lift the pressure from the diggers’ minds also. He cheered them up, and asked them to have a digger’s dance! _Governor_ Digger’s dance! What on earth is that? _Headman_ Rañjan started singing. Where were they to get drums?--they objected. Rañjan said, if there weren’t any drums, there were spades enough. So they began keeping time with the spades, making a joke of their digging up of nuggets. The Headman himself came over to reprimand them. “What style of work is this?” he thundered. “I have unbound the work,” said Rañjan. “It won’t have to be dragged out by main force any more, it will run along of itself, dancing.” _Governor_ The fellow is mad, I see. _Headman_ Hopelessly mad. “Use your spade properly,” shouted I. “Much better give me a guitar,” said he, smiling. _Governor_ But how did he manage to escape from Vajragarh and come up here? _Headman_ That I do not know. Nothing seems to fasten on to him. His boisterousness is infectious. The diggers are getting frisky. _Governor_ Hallo, isn’t that Rañjan himself,--going along the road, thrumming on an old guitar? Impudent rascal! He doesn’t even care to hide. _Headman_ Well, I never! Goodness alone knows how he broke through the wall! _Governor_ Go and seize him instantly! He must not meet Nandini in this parish, for anything. (_Enter Assistant Governor._) Where are you going? _Assistant Governor_ To arrest Rañjan. _Governor_ Where is the Deputy Governor? _Assistant Governor_ He is so much amused by this fellow that he doesn’t want to lay hands on him. He says the man’s laugh shows us what queer creatures we governors have grown into. _Governor_ I have an idea. Don’t arrest Rañjan. Send him on to the King’s sanctum. _Assistant Governor_ He refuses to obey our call, even in the King’s name. _Governor_ Tell him the King has made a slave-girl of his Nandini. _Assistant Governor_ But if the King---- _Governor_ Don’t you worry. Come on, I’ll go with you myself. [_They go._ (_Enter Professor and Antiquarian._) _Antiquarian_ I say, what is this infernal noise going on inside? _Professor_ The King, probably in a temper with himself, is engaged in breaking some of his own handiwork. _Antiquarian_ It sounds like big pillars crashing down one after another. _Professor_ There was a lake, at the foot of our hill over there, in which the waters of this Sankhini river used to gather. One day, suddenly, the rock to its left gave way, and the stored-up water rushed out laughing like mad. To see the King nowadays, it strikes me that his treasure lake has grown weary of its rock wall. _Antiquarian_ What did you bring me here for, Professor? _Professor_ Latterly he has begun to get angry with my science. He says it only burgles through one wall to reveal another behind it, and never reaches the inner chamber of the Life spirit. I thought that, perhaps in the study of antiquity, he might explore the secret of Life’s play. My knapsack has been rifled empty, now he can go on pocket-picking history. Do you see who that is passing by? _Antiquarian_ A girl wearing a grass-green robe. _Professor_ She has for her mantle the green joy of the earth. That is our Nandini. In this Yaksha Town there are governors, foremen, headmen, tunnel-diggers, scholars like myself; there are policemen, executioners, and undertakers,--altogether a beautiful assortment! Only _she_ is out of element. Midst the clamour of the market place she is a tuned-up lyre. There are days when the mesh of my studies is torn by the sudden breeze of her passing by, and through that rent my attention flies away _swish_, like a bird. _Antiquarian_ Good heavens, man! Are even your well-seasoned bones subject to these poetic fits? _Professor_ Life’s attraction, like the tidal wave, tears away mind from its anchorage of books. _Antiquarian_ Tell me, where am I to meet the King? _Professor_ There’s no means of meeting him. You’ll have to talk to him from outside this network. _Antiquarian_ We’re to converse with this net between us? _Professor_ Not the kind of whispered talk that may take place through a woman’s veil, but solidly concentrated conversation. Even the cows in his stall don’t dare to give milk, they yield their butter straight off! _Antiquarian_ Admirable! To extract the essential from the diluted, is what scholars aim at. _Professor_ But not what God in His creation aims at. He respects the fruit stones that are hard, but rejoices in the pulp that is sweet. _Antiquarian_ Professor, I see that your grey science is galloping fast towards grass-green. But I wonder how you can stand this King of yours. _Professor_ Shall I tell you the truth? I love him. _Antiquarian_ You don’t mean to say so? _Professor_ He is so great that even what is wrong with him will not be able to spoil him. (_The Governor comes in._) _Governor_ I say, man of science, so this is the person you volunteered to bring here. Our King flew into a passion at the very mention of his special subject. _Antiquarian_ May I ask why? _Governor_ The King says there is no age of history which may be called old. It is always an eternal extension of the present. _Antiquarian_ Can the front exist without the back? _Governor_ What he said was: “Time proceeds by revealing the new on his front; but the men of learning, suppressing that fact, will have it that Time ever carries the burden of the old on his back.” (_Nandini comes in hurriedly._) _Nandini_ What is happening? Who are they? _Governor_ Hallo, Nandini, is that you? I shall wear your _kunda_ chain late in the evening. When three-quarters of me can hardly be seen for the dark, then perchance a flower garland might become even me. _Nandini_ Look over there--what a piteous sight! Who are those people, going along with the guards, filing out from the back door of the King’s apartments? _Governor_ We call them the King’s leavings. _Nandini_ What does that mean? _Governor_ Some day you too will know its meaning; let it be for to-day. _Nandini_ But are these men? Have they flesh and marrow, life and soul? _Governor_ Maybe they haven’t. _Nandini_ Had they never any? _Governor_ Maybe they had. _Nandini_ Where then is it all gone now? _Governor_ Man of science, explain it if you can, I’m off. [_He goes._ _Nandini_ Alas, alas! I see amongst these shadows faces that I know. Surely that is our Anup and Upamanyu? Professor, they belong to our neighbouring village. Two brothers as tall as they were strong. They used to come and race their boats in our river on the fourteenth day of the moon in rainy June. Oh, who has brought them to this miserable plight? See, there goes Shaklu,--in sword play he used to win the prize garland before all the others. Anu-up! Shaklu-u! look this way; it’s I, your Nandini, Nandin of Isháni, your very next village. They won’t even raise their heads--heads lowered for ever! Who is that? Surely, it is Kanku! Ah misery me! Even a boy like him has been chewed dry and thrown away a piece of sugar cane. He was a very shy lad. He would sit by the sloping side of the river landing where I used to go and fetch water, pretending he had come to gather reeds for making arrows. How often have I mischievously teased him. Kanku, look back at me! Alas, he whose blood would dance in his veins at a mere sign from me, now leaves my call unanswered. Gone, gone, all the lights of our village are gone out! Professor, the steel is all eaten away, only the dark rust remains,--however did this happen? _Professor_ Nandini, your notice happens to be attracted towards the ashes, but turn your eyes towards the flame, and you will behold the brilliance of its writhing tongues. _Nandini_ I don’t follow you at all. _Professor_ Well, you have seen the King, haven’t you? I hear you were charmed by his appearance. _Nandini_ Of course I was! Isn’t he marvellous in his strength? _Professor_ That marvellousness is the credit side of the account, and this ghastliness is the debit. These small ones are consumed to ash, that the great ones may leap up in flame. This is the principle underlying all rise to greatness. _Nandini_ It’s a fiendish principle! _Professor_ It’s no use getting annoyed with a principle. Principles are neither good nor bad. That which happens _does_ happen. To go against it, is to knock your head against the law of being. _Nandini_ If this is the way of man’s being, I refuse to _be_, I want to depart with those shadows,--show me the way. _Professor_ When the time comes for showing us out, the great ones themselves will point the way. Before that, there’s no such nuisance as a way at all! You see how our Antiquarian has quietly slipped off, thinking he’ll fly and save himself. After going a few steps, he’ll soon discover that there’s a wire network stretched from post to post, from country to country. Nandini, I see, your temper is rising. The red oleanders against your flaming cheek are beginning to look like evening storm clouds gathering for a night of terror. _Nandini_ (_Knocking at the net window_) Listen, listen! _Professor_ Whom are you calling? _Nandini_ That King of yours, shrouded in his mist of netting. _Professor_ The door of the inner room has been closed. He won’t hear you. _Nandini_ (_Calling out_) Bishu, mad brother mine! _Professor_ What d’you want with _him_? _Nandini_ Why hasn’t he come back yet? I feel afraid. _Professor_ He was with you only a little while ago. _Nandini_ The Governor said he was wanted to identify Rañjan. I tried to go with him, but they wouldn’t let me. Whose groaning is that? _Professor_ It must be that wrestler of ours. _Nandini_ What wrestler? _Professor_ The world-famous Gajju, whose brother, Bhajan, had the bravado to challenge the King to a wrestling match, since when not even a thread of his loin cloth is anywhere to be seen. That put Gajju on his mettle, and he came on with great sound and fury. I told him at the outset that, if he wanted to dig in the tunnels underneath this kingdom, he was welcome,--he could at least drag on a dead and alive existence for some time. But if he wanted to make a show of heroics, that would not be tolerated for a moment. _Nandini_ Does it at all make for their well-being thus to keep watch and ward over these man-traps night and day? _Professor_ Well-being! There’s no question of “well” in it at all,--only “being.” That _being_ of theirs has expanded so terribly that, unless millions of men are pressed into service, who’s going to support its weight? So the net is spreading farther and farther. They must exist, you see. _Nandini_ Must they? If it is necessary to die in order to live like men, what harm in dying? _Professor_ Again that anger, the wild cry of red oleander? It is sweet, no doubt, yet what is true is true. If it gives you pleasure to say that one must die to live, well, say so by all means; but those who say that others must die that they themselves may live,--it’s only they who are actually alive. You may cry out that this shows a lack of humanity, but you forget, in your indignation, that this is what humanity itself happens to be. The tiger does not feed on the tiger, it’s only man who fattens on his fellow-man. (_The Wrestler totters in._) _Nandini_ Oh poor thing, see how he comes, staggering. Wrestler, lie down here. Professor, do see where he’s hurt. _Professor_ You won’t see any outward sign of a wound. _Wrestler_ All-merciful God, grant me strength once more in my life, if only for one little day! _Professor_ Why, my dear fellow? _Wrestler_ Just to wring that Governor’s neck! _Professor_ What has the Governor done to you? _Wrestler_ It’s he who brought about the whole thing. I never wanted to fight. Now, after egging me on, he goes about saying it’s my fault. _Professor_ Why, what interest had he in your fighting? _Wrestler_ They only feel safe when they rob the whole world of strength. Lord of Mercy, grant that I may be able to gouge his eyes out some day, to tear asunder his lying tongue! _Nandini_ How do you feel now, Wrestler? _Wrestler_ Altogether hollowed out! These demons know the magic art of sucking away not only strength but hope. If only once I could somehow,--O good God, but once,--everything is possible to Thy mercy,--if only I could fasten my teeth for once in the Governor’s throat! _Nandini_ Professor, help me to raise him. _Professor_ That would be a crime, Nandini, according to the custom of this land. _Nandini_ Wouldn’t it be a crime to let the man perish? _Professor_ That which there is none to punish may be a sin, but never a crime. Nandini, come away, come right away out of this. The tree spreads its root-fingers and does its grabbing underground, but there it does not bring forth its flowers. Flowers bloom on the branches which reach towards the light. My sweet Red Oleander, don’t try to probe our secrets in the depths of their dust. Be for us swaying in the air above, that we may gaze upwards to see you. There comes the Governor. He hates to see me talk to you. So I must go. _Nandini_ Why is he so dead against me? _Professor_ I can guess. You have touched his heart-strings. The longer it takes to tune them up, the more awful the discord meanwhile. (_The Professor goes, the Governor comes in._) _Nandini_ Sir Governor! _Governor_ Nandini, when our Gosain saw that _kunda_ garland of yours in my room, both his eyes,--but here he comes---- (_The Gosain comes in._) Your Holiness, accept my reverence. That garland was given to me by our Nandini here. _Gosain_ Ah indeed! the gift of a pure heart! God’s own white _kunda_ flowers! Their beauty remains unsullied even in the hands of a man of the world. This is what gives one faith in the power of virtue, and hope for the sinners’ redemption. _Nandini_ Please do something for this man, Your Reverence. There’s very little life left in him. _Gosain_ The Governor is sure to keep him as much alive as it is necessary for him to be. But, my child, these discussions ill become your lips. _Nandini_ So in this kingdom you follow some calculation in apportioning life? _Gosain_ Of course,--for mortal life has its limits. Our class of people have their great burden to bear, therefore we have to claim a larger portion of life’s sustenance for our share. That’s according to Almighty God’s own decree. _Nandini_ Reverend Sir, may I know what good God has so heavily charged you to do to these people? _Gosain_ The life that is unlimited gives no provocation to fight for its distribution. We Preachers have the charge of turning these people towards this unlimited life. So long as they remain content with that, we are their friends. _Nandini_ Then will this man with his very limited life have to remain lying here half dead? _Gosain_ Why should he remain lying down anyway? What say you, Governor? _Governor_ Quite right. Why should we let him lie? From now he won’t need to walk by his own strength alone, we shall carry him along with ours. Here, Gajju! _Wrestler_ Yes, Sir Governor! _Gosain_ Good Lord, his voice has already become ever so much reedier. It strikes me we shall be able to make him join our choir of the Holy Name. _Governor_ Gajju! _Wrestler_ At your service, Sir! _Governor_ Report yourself at the Headman’s quarters, parish Y-Z. _Nandini_ How can the poor man possibly walk? _Governor_ Look here, Nandini, it is our business to drive men. With the right kind of push a man can be made to go a good distance, even when he is at the point of collapse. Get along with you, Gajju! _Wrestler_ As you command, Sir! _Nandini_ Let me come over to the Headman’s quarters to help you. _Wrestler_ No. Don’t add to my troubles, I beg of you. [_The Wrestler goes._ _Nandini_ Governor, stay, tell me, whither have you taken my Bishu? _Governor_ Who am I that I should take him? The wind carries off the clouds,--if you think that to be a crime, make enquiries as to who is behind the wind. _Nandini_ Dear me, what an awful place! You are not men, and those you drive are not men, either,--you are winds and they are clouds! Reverend Gosain, I am sure, _you_ know where my Bishu is. _Gosain_ I know, for sure, that wherever he is, it’s for the best. _Nandini_ For whose best? _Gosain_ That you won’t understand-- Oh, I say, leave off, let go of that, it’s my rosary.--Hallo, Governor, what wild girl is this you have---- _Governor_ The girl has somehow managed to ensconce herself in a niche, safe from the laws of this land, and we can’t lay hands on her. Our King himself---- _Gosain_ Good heavens, now she’ll tear off my wrap of the Holy Name too. What unspeakable outrage! [_The Gosain flies._ _Nandini_ Governor, you _must_ tell me where you have taken Bishu. _Governor_ They have summoned him to the court of judgement. That’s all that there is to tell you. Let me go. _Nandini_ Because I am a woman, you are not afraid of me? God sends His thunderbolt through His messenger, the lightning spark--that bolt I have borne here with me; it will shatter the golden spire of your mastery. _Governor_ Then let me tell you the truth before I go. It’s you who have dragged Bishu into danger. _Nandini_ I? _Governor_ Yes, you! He was so long content to be quietly burrowing away underground like a worm. It’s you who taught him to spread the wings of death. O fire of the gods, you’ll yet draw forth many more to their fate.--Then at length will you and I come to our understanding, and that won’t be long. _Nandini_ So may it be. But tell me one thing before you go. Will you not let Rañjan come and see me? _Governor_ No, never. _Nandini_ Never, you say! I defy you to do your worst. This very day I am sure, absolutely sure, that he and I will meet! [_Governor goes._ (_Knocking and tugging at the network_) Listen, listen, King! Where’s your court of judgement? Open its door to me. (_Kishôr comes in._) Who is that? My boy, Kishôr! Do you know where Bishu is? _Kishôr_ Yes, Nandini, be ready to see him. I don’t know how it was, the Chief of the Guard took a fancy to my youthfulness and yielded to my entreaties. He has consented to take him along by this path. _Nandini_ Guard! Take him along? Is he then---- _Kishôr_ Yes, here they come. _Nandini_ What! Handcuffs on your wrists? Friend of my heart, where are they taking you like that? (_Bishu comes in under arrest._) _Bishu_ It’s nothing to be anxious about!--Guards, please wait a little, let me say a few words to her.--My wild girl, my heart’s joy, at last I am free. _Nandini_ What do you mean, Singer of my heart? I don’t understand your words. _Bishu_ When I used to be afraid, and try to avoid danger at every step, I seemed to be at liberty; but that liberty was the worst form of bondage. _Nandini_ What offence have you committed that they should take you away thus? _Bishu_ I spoke out the truth to-day, at last. _Nandini_ What if you did? _Bishu_ No harm at all! _Nandini_ Then why did they bind you like this? _Bishu_ What harm in that either? These chains will bear witness to the truth of my freedom. _Nandini_ Don’t they feel ashamed of themselves to lead you along the road chained like a beast? Aren’t they men too? _Bishu_ They have a big beast inside them, that’s why their heads are not lowered by the indignity of man, rather the inner brute’s tail swells and wags with pride at man’s downfall. _Nandini_ O dear heart! Have they been hurting you? What are these marks on your body? _Bishu_ They have whipped me, with the whips they use for their dogs. The string of that whip is made with the same thread which goes to the stringing of their Gosain’s rosary. When they tell their beads they don’t remember that; but probably their God is aware of it. _Nandini_ Let them bind me like that too, and take me away with you, my heart’s Joy! Unless I share some of your punishment I shan’t be able to touch food from to-day. _Kishôr_ I’m sure I can persuade them to take me in exchange for you. Let me take your place, Bishu. _Bishu_ Don’t be silly! _Kishôr_ Punishment won’t hurt me. I am young. I shall bear it with joy. _Nandini_ No, no, do not talk like that. _Kishôr_ Nandini, my absence has been noticed, their bloodhounds are after me. Allow me to escape the indignity awaiting me by taking shelter in a punishment I joyfully accept. _Bishu_ No, it won’t do for you to be caught--not for a while yet. There’s work for you, dear boy, and dangerous work too. Rañjan has come. You must find him out. _Kishôr_ Then I bid you farewell, Nandini. What is your message when I meet Rañjan? _Nandini_ This tassel of red oleanders (_hands it to him_). [_Kishôr goes._ _Bishu_ May you both be united once again. _Nandini_ That union will give me no pleasure now. I shall never be able to forget that I sent you away empty-handed. And what has that poor boy, Kishôr, got from me? _Bishu_ All the treasure hidden in his heart has been revealed to him by the fire you have lighted in his life. Nandini, I remind you, it’s for you to put that blue-throat’s feather on Rañjan’s crest.--There, do you hear them singing the harvest song? _Nandini_ I do, and it wrings my heart, to tears. _Bishu_ The play of the fields is ended now, and the field-master is taking the ripe corn home. Come on, Guards, let’s not linger any more. (_Sings_) _Mow the corn of the last harvest, bind it in sheaves. The remainder, let it return as dust unto the dust._ [_They go._ (_The Governor and a Doctor come in._) _Doctor_ I’ve seen him. I find the King dissatisfied with himself. That’s a disease, not of the body, but of the mind. _Governor_ What’s the remedy? _Doctor_ A big shock. Try and get up a big row, either with some other king, or amongst the people themselves! _Governor_ In other words, unless he is allowed to harm some one else, he will harm himself? _Doctor_ These big men are big babies. They must have plenty of play. When they get tired of one game, if you don’t supply them with another, they’ll break their toys. But be prepared, Governor, there isn’t much time to lose. _Governor_ I’ve read the signs long ago, and completed all arrangements. But what a pity! Just when our golden city has amassed wealth such as it never had before, to have to--never mind, you may go--I’ll think it over. [_Doctor goes._ (_A Headman comes in._) _Headman_ Did Your Lordship send for me? I am the Headman of Parish J. _Governor_ You are No. 321, aren’t you? _Headman_ Marvellous! Your Lordship remembers even my unworthy self! _Governor_ My wife will be driving out to-day. The post will be changed near your village, and you must see that she’s not detained. _Headman_ There’s a plague on the cattle of our parish, and not a single ox can be had to draw the car. Never mind, we can press the diggers into service. _Governor_ You know where you have to take her? To the garden-house, where the feast of the Flag-worship is to be held. _Headman_ I’ll see to it at once, but let me tell you one thing before I go. That 69 Ng, whom they call mad Bishu,--it’s high time to cure his madness. _Governor_ Why, how does he annoy you? _Headman_ Not so much by what he says or does, as by what he implies. _Governor_ There’s no need to worry about him any further. You understand! _Headman_ Really! That’s good news, indeed! Another thing. That 47 V, he’s rather too friendly with 69 Ng. _Governor_ I have observed that. _Headman_ Your Lordship’s observation is ever keen. Only, as you have to keep an eye on so many things, one or two may perchance escape your notice. For instance, there’s our No. 95, a distant connection of mine by marriage, ever ready to make sandals for the feet of Your Lordship’s sweeper out of his own ribs,--so irrepressibly loyal is he that even his wife hangs her head for very shame,--and yet up to now---- _Governor_ His name has been entered in the High Register. _Headman_ Ah, then his lifelong service will at last receive its reward! The news must be broken to him gently, because he gets epileptic fits, and supposing suddenly---- _Governor_ All right, we’ll see to that. Now be off, there’s no time. _Headman_ Just a word about another person,--though he’s my own brother-in-law. When his mother died, my wife brought him up with her own hands; yet for my master’s sake---- _Governor_ You can tell me about him another time. Run away now. _Headman_ There comes His Honour the Deputy Governor. Please speak a word to him on my behalf. He doesn’t look upon me with favour. I suspect that when 69 Ng used to enjoy the favour of free entry into the palace, he must have been saying things against me. _Governor_ I assure you, he never even mentioned your name. _Headman_ That’s just his cleverness! What can be more damaging than to suppress the name of a man, whose name is his best asset? These schemers have their different ways. No. 33 of our parish has an incurable habit of haunting Your Lordship’s private chamber. One is always afraid of his inventing goodness knows what calumnies about other people. And yet if one knew the truth about his own---- _Governor_ There’s positively no time to-day. Get away with you, quick! _Headman_ I make my salute. (_Coming back_) Just one word more lest I forget. No. 88 of our neighbouring parish started work on a miserable pittance, and before two years are out his income has run into thousands, not to speak of extras! Your Lordship’s mind is like that of the gods--a few words of hypocritical praise are enough to draw down the best of your boons. _Governor_ All right, all right,--that can keep for to-morrow. _Headman_ I’m not so mean as to suggest taking away the bread from his mouth. But Your Lordship should seriously consider whether it’s wise to keep him on at the Treasury. Our Vishnu Dutt knows him inside out. If you send---- _Governor_ I shall send for him this very day. But begone,--not another word! _Headman_ Your Lordship, my third son is getting to be quite a big boy. He came the other day to prostrate himself at your feet. After two days of dancing attendance outside, he had to go away without gaining admission to you. He feels it very bitterly. My daughter-in-law has made with her own hands an offering of sweet pumpkin for Your Lordship---- _Governor_ Oh confound you! Tell him to come day after to-morrow, he will be admitted. _Now, will you_---- (_Headman goes. The Deputy Governor comes in._) _Deputy Governor_ I’ve just sent on the dancing girls and musicians to the garden. _Governor_ And that little matter about Rañjan,--how far----? _Deputy Governor_ That kind of work is not in my line. The Assistant Governor has taken it upon himself to do the job. By this time his---- _Governor_ Does the King----? _Deputy Governor_ The King can’t possibly have understood. Some lie told by our men has goaded Rañjan to frenzy, and he’s rushing to the usual fate of----I detest the whole business. Moreover, I don’t think it right to deceive the King like this. _Governor_ That responsibility is mine. Now then, that girl must be---- _Deputy Governor_ Don’t talk of all that to me. The Headman who has been put on duty is the right man,--he doesn’t stick at any dirtiness whatever. _Governor_ Does that man Gosain know about this affair? _Deputy Governor_ I’m sure he can guess, but he’s careful not to know for certain. _Governor_ What’s his object? _Deputy Governor_ For fear of there being no way left open for saying: “I don’t believe it.” _Governor_ But what makes him take all this trouble? _Deputy Governor_ Don’t you see? The poor man is really two in one, clumsily joined,--Priest on the skin, Governor at the marrow. He has to take precious care to prevent the Governor part of him coming up to the surface, lest it should clash too much with his telling of beads. _Governor_ He might have dropped the beads altogether. _Deputy Governor_ No, for whatever his blood may be, his mind, in a sense, is really pious. If only he can tell his beads in his temple, and revel in slave-driving in his dreams, he feels happy. But for him, the true complexion of our God would appear too black. In fact, Gosain is placed here only to help our God to feel comfortable. _Governor_ My friend, I see the instinct of the Ruler doesn’t seem to match with the colour of your own blood, either! _Deputy Governor_ There’s hope still. Human blood is fast drying up. But I can’t stomach your No. 321 yet. When I’m obliged to embrace him in public, no holy water seems able to wash out the impurity of his touch. Here comes Nandini. _Governor_ Come away, I don’t trust you. I know the spell of Nandini has fallen on your eyes. _Deputy Governor_ I know that as well as you do. But you don’t seem to know that a tinge of her oleanders has got mixed with the colour of duty in _your_ eyes too--that’s what makes them so frightfully red. _Governor_ That may be. Fortunately for us, our mind knows not its own secret. Come away. [_They go._ (_Nandini comes in._) _Nandini_ (_Knocking and pushing at the network_) Listen, listen, listen! (_The Gosain comes in._) _Gosain_ Whom are you prodding like that? _Nandini_ That boa-constrictor of yours, who remains in hiding and swallows men. _Gosain_ Lord, lord! When Providence wishes to destroy the small, it does so by putting big words into their little mouths. See here, Nandini, believe me when I tell you that I aim at your welfare. _Nandini_ Try some more real method of doing me good. _Gosain_ Come to my sanctuary, let me chant you the Holy Name for a while. _Nandini_ What have I to do with the name? _Gosain_ You will gain peace of mind. _Nandini_ Shame, shame on me if I do! I shall sit and wait here at the door. _Gosain_ You have more faith in men than in God? _Nandini_ Your God of the Flagstaff,--he will never unbend. But the man who is lost to sight behind the netting, will he also remain bound in his network for ever? Go, go. It’s your trade to delude men with words, after filching away their lives. [_The Gosain goes._ (_Enter Phágulal and Chandrá._) _Phágulal_ Our Bishu came away with you, where is he now? Tell us the truth. _Nandini_ He has been made prisoner and taken away. _Chandrá_ You witch, you must have given information against him. You are their spy. _Nandini_ You don’t really believe that! _Chandrá_ What else are you doing here? _Phágulal_ Every person suspects every other person in this cursed place. Yet I have always trusted you, Nandini. In my heart I used to---- However, let that pass. But to-day it looks very very strange, I must say. _Nandini_ Perhaps it does. It may really be even as you say. Bishu has got into trouble for coming with me. He used to be quite safe in your company, he said so himself. _Chandrá_ They why did you decoy him away, you evil-omened creature? _Nandini_ Because he said he wanted to be free. _Chandrá_ A precious kind of freedom you have given him! _Nandini_ I could not understand all that he said, Chandrá. Why did he tell me that freedom could only be found by plunging down to the bottom of danger?--Phágulal, how could I save him who wanted to be free from the tyranny of safety? _Chandrá_ We don’t understand all this. If you can’t bring him back, you’ll have to pay for it. I’m not to be taken in by that coquettish prettiness of yours. _Phágulal_ What’s the use of idle bickering? Let’s gather a big crowd from the workmen’s lines, and then go and smash the prison gate. _Nandini_ I’ll come with you. _Phágulal_ What for? _Nandini_ To join in the breaking. _Chandrá_ As if you haven’t done quite enough breaking already, you sorceress! (_Gôkul comes in._) _Gôkul_ That witch must be burnt alive, before everything else. _Chandrá_ That won’t be punishment enough. First knock off that beauty of hers, with which she goes about ruining people. Weed it out of her face as the grass is weeded with a hoe. _Gôkul_ That I can do. Let this hammer just have a dance on her nose tip---- _Phágulal_ Beware! If you dare touch her---- _Nandini_ Stop, Phágulal. He’s a coward; he wants to strike me because he’s afraid of me. I don’t fear his blows one bit. _Gôkul_ Phágulal, you haven’t come to your senses yet. You think the Governor alone is your enemy. Well, I admire a straightforward enemy. But that sweet-mouthed beauty of yours---- _Nandini_ Ah, so you too admire the Governor, as the mud beneath his feet admires the soles of his shoes! _Phágulal_ Gôkul, the time has at length come to show your prowess, but not by fighting a girl. Come along with me. I’ll show you what to fight. [_Phágulal, Chandrá, and Gôkul go._ (_A band of men come in._) _Nandini_ Where are you going, my good men? _First man_ We carry the offering for the Flag-worship. _Nandini_ Have you seen Rañjan? _Second man_ I saw him once, five days ago, but not since. Ask those others who follow us. _Nandini_ Who are they? _Third man_ They are bearing wine for the Governors’ feast. (_The first batch goes, another comes in._) _Nandini_ Look here, red-caps, have you seen Rañjan? _First man_ I saw him the other day at the house of Headman Sambhu. _Nandini_ Where is he now? _Second man_ D’you see those men taking the ladies’ dresses for the feast? Ask them. They hear a lot of things that don’t reach our ears. (_Second batch go, a third come in._) _Nandini_ Do _you_ know, my men, where they have kept Rañjan? _First man_ Hush, hush! _Nandini_ I am sure you know. You _must_ tell me. _Second man_ What enters by our ears doesn’t come out by our mouths, that’s why we are still alive. Ask one of the men who are carrying the weapons. (_They go, others come in._) _Nandini_ Oh do stop a moment and listen to me. Tell me, where is Rañjan? _First man_ The auspicious hour draws near. It’s time for the King himself to come for the Flag-worship. Ask him about it when he steps out. We only know the beginning, not the end. [_They go._ _Nandini_ (_shaking the network violently_) Open the door. The time has come. _Voice_ (_behind the scenes_) But not for you. Go away from here. _Nandini_ You must hear _now_ what I have to say. It cannot wait for another time. _Voice_ You want Rañjan, I know. I have asked the Governor to fetch him at once. But don’t remain standing at the door when I come out for the worship, for then you’ll run great risk. _Nandini_ I have cast away all fear. You can’t drive me away. Happen what may, I’m not going to move till your door is opened. _Voice_ To-day’s for the Flag-worship. Don’t distract my mind. Get away from my door. _Nandini_ The gods have all eternity for their worship, they’re not pressed for time. But the sorrows of men cannot wait to reach other men, they have so very little time. _Voice_ I am tired, very tired. I go to the Flag-worship to revive my drooping spirit. Don’t unnerve me. _Nandini_ Pass over my body if you will, I shan’t move. _Voice_ Nandini, too much have I indulged you, so that you no longer fear me. But to-day you _shall_ be afraid! _Nandini_ I dare you to frighten me, as you do the rest. I scorn your indulgence! _Voice_ Do you indeed! Then I shall shatter your pride to-day. The time has come for me to reveal myself to you. _Nandini_ I await that revelation. Open your door. (_The door opens, the King appears._) Oh who is that,--lying on the floor,--is it not Rañjan himself? _King_ What did you say? Rañjan! How can that possibly be? _Nandini_ Yes, this is indeed my Rañjan. _King_ Then why did he not give his name? Why did he fling me his challenge? _Nandini_ Wake, Rañjan, it is I, your Red Oleander! King, why does he not wake? _King_ Deceived! These traitors have deceived me,--perdition take them! My own machine refuses my sway! Call the Governor--bring him to me handcuffed---- _Nandini_ King, they all say you know magic. Make him wake up for my sake. _King_ My magic can only put an end to waking.--Alas! I know not how to awaken. _Nandini_ Then lull me to sleep,--the same sleep! Oh, why did you work this havoc? I cannot bear it any more. _King_ I have killed youth. Yes, I have indeed killed youth,--all these years, with all my strength. The curse of youth, dead, is upon me. _Nandini_ Did he not take my name? _King_ He did,--in such a way that every vein in my body was set on fire. _Nandini_ (_to Rañjan_) My love, my brave one, here do I place this blue-throat’s feather in your crest. Your victory has begun from to-day, and I am its bearer. Ah, here is that tassel of my flowers in his hand. Then Kishôr must have met him---- But where is he? King, where is that boy? _King_ Which boy? _Nandini_ The boy who brought these flowers to Rañjan. _King_ That absurd little child! He came to defy me with his girlish face. _Nandini_ And then? Tell me! Quick! _King_ He burst himself against me, like a bubble. _Nandini_ King, the Time is indeed now come! _King_ Time for what? _Nandini_ For the last fight between you and me. _King_ But I can kill you in no time,--this instant. _Nandini_ From that very instant that death of mine will go on killing you every single moment. _King_ Be brave, Nandini, trust me. Make me your comrade to-day. _Nandini_ What would you have me do? _King_ To fight against me, but with your hand in mine. That fight has already begun. There is my flag. First I break the Flagstaff,--thus! Next it’s for you to tear its banner. Let your hand unite with mine to kill me, utterly kill me. That will be my emancipation. _Guards_ (_rushing up_) What are you doing, King? You dare break the Flagstaff, the holiest symbol of our divinity? The Flagstaff which has its one point piercing the heart of the earth and the other that of heaven! What a terrible sin,--on the very day of the Flag-worship! Comrades, let us go and inform our Governors. [_They run off._ _King_ A great deal of breaking remains to be done. You will come with me, Nandini? _Nandini_ I will. (_Phágulal comes in._) _Phágulal_ They won’t hear of letting Bishu off. I am afraid, they’ll----Who is this? The King! Oh you wicked witch,--conspiring with the King himself! O vile deceiver! _King_ What is the matter with you? What is that crowd out for? _Phágulal_ To break the prison gate. We may lose our lives, but we shan’t fall back. _King_ Why should you fall back? I too am out for breaking. Behold the first sign--my broken Flagstaff! _Phágulal_ What! This is altogether beyond us simple folk. Be merciful, Nandini, don’t deceive me. Am I to believe my eyes? _Nandini_ Brother, you have set out to win death. You have left no chance for deception to touch you. _Phágulal_ You too come along with us, our own Nandini! _Nandini_ That is what I’m still alive for, Phágulal. I wanted to bring my Rañjan amongst you. Look there, he has come, my hero, braving death! _Phágulal_ Oh, horror! Is that Rañjan lying there, silent? _Nandini_ Not silent. He leaves behind him in death his conquering call. He will live again, he cannot die. _Phágulal_ Ah, my Nandini, my beautiful one, was it for this you were waiting all these eager days? _Nandini_ I _did_ await his coming, and he _did_ come. I still wait to prepare for his coming again, and he _shall_ come again. Where is Chandrá? _Phágulal_ She has gone with her tears and prayers to the Governor, accompanied by Gôkul. I’m afraid Gôkul is seeking to take up service with the Governor. He will betray us. King, are you sure you don’t mistake us? We are out to break your own prison, I tell you! _King_ Yes, it is my _own_ prison. You and I must work together, for you cannot break it alone. _Phágulal_ As soon as the Governor hears of it, he will march with all his forces to prevent us. _King_ Yes, my fight is against them. _Phágulal_ But the soldiers will not obey you. _King_ _You_ will be on my side! _Phágulal_ Shall we be able to win through? _King_ We shall at least be able to die! At last I have found the meaning of death. I am saved! _Phágulal_ King, do you hear the tumult? _King_ There comes the Governor with his troops. How could he be so quick about it? He must have been prepared beforehand. They have used my own power against me. _Phágulal_ My men have not yet turned up. _King_ They will never come. The Governor is sure to get round them. _Nandini_ I had my last hope that they would bring my Bishu to me. Will that never be? _King_ No hope of that, I’m afraid. _Phágulal_ Then come along, Nandini, let us take you to a safe place first. The Governor will see red, if he but catches sight of you. _Nandini_ You want to banish me into the solitary exile of safety? (_Calling out_) Governor! Governor!--He has swung up my garland of _kunda_ flowers on his spear-head. I will dye that garland the colour of my oleanders with my heart’s blood.--Governor! He has seen me! Victory to Rañjan! [_Runs off._ _King_ (_calling after her_) Nandini! [_Follows her._ (_The Professor comes in._) _Phágulal_ Where are _you_ hurrying to, Professor? _Professor_ Some one said that the King has at last had tidings of the secret of Life, and has gone off in quest of it. I have thrown away my books to follow him. _Phágulal_ The King has just gone off to his death. He has heard Nandini’s call. _Professor_ The network is torn to shreds! Where is Nandini? _Phágulal_ She has gone before them all. We can’t reach her any more. _Professor_ It is only now that we shall reach her. She won’t evade us any longer. (_Professor rushes out, Bishu comes in._) _Bishu_ Phágulal, where is Nandini? _Phágulal_ How did you get here? _Bishu_ Our workmen have broken into the prison. There they are,--running off to fight. I came to look for Nandini. Where is she? _Phágulal_ She has gone in advance of us all. _Bishu_ Where? _Phágulal_ To the last freedom. Bishu, do you see who is lying there? _Bishu_ Rañjan! _Phágulal_ You see the red streak? _Bishu_ I understand,--their red marriage tie! _Phágulal_ They are united. _Bishu_ Now it is for me to take my last lonely journey.--Perhaps we may meet.--Perhaps she may want me to sing.--My mad girl, O my mad girl!-- Come, brother, on to the fight! _Phágulal_ To the fight! Victory to Nandini! _Bishu_ Victory to Nandini! _Phágulal_ Here is her wristlet of red oleanders. She has bared her arm to-day,--and left us. _Bishu_ Once I told her I would not take anything from her hand. I break my word and take this. Come along! [_They go._ (_Song in the distance._) _Hark ’tis Autumn calling,-- Come, O come away! The earth’s mantle of dust is filled with ripe corn! O the joy! the joy!_ CURTAIN FOOTNOTES: [1] _Nîlkantha_, a bird of good omen. _Printed in Great Britain by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE =GITANJALI. (Song Offerings.)= Translated by the Author. With an Introduction by W. B. YEATS, and a Portrait by W. ROTHENSTEIN. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. _ATHENÆUM._--“Mr. Tagore’s translations are of trance-like beauty.... The expanding sentiment of some of the poems wins, even through the alien medium of our English prose, a rhythm which in its strength and melody might recall familiar passages in the Psalms or Solomon’s Song.” =FRUIT-GATHERING. A Sequel to “Gitanjali.”= Crown 8vo 5s. net. _ATHENÆUM._--“The eighty-six pieces that fill this volume are pure jets of lyric feeling, aphorisms expressed in moving symbols, or fully developed parables and allegories ... several are as perfect in form as they are beautiful and poignant in content.” =GITANJALI AND FRUIT-GATHERING.= With Illustrations in colour and half-tone by NANDALAL BOSE, SURENDRANATH KAR, ABANINDRANATH TAGORE, and NOBINDRANATH TAGORE. Crown 8vo. 10s. net. =THE GARDENER. Lyrics of Love and Life.= Translated by the Author. With Portrait Crown 8vo. 5s. net. _DAILY MAIL._--“Flowers as fresh as sunrise.... One cannot tell what they have lost in the translation, but as they stand they are of extreme beauty.... They are simple, exalted, fragrant--episodes and incidents of every day transposed to faery.” =THE CRESCENT MOON. Child-Poems.= Translated by the Author. With 8 Illustrations in Colour. 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Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. _OBSERVER._--“An allegory of love’s meaning, clear as a pool in the sunshine.... This little work of beauty.” =THE KING OF THE DARK CHAMBER. A Play.= Translated by KSHITISH CHANDRA SEN. Crown 8vo. 6s. net. _PALL MALL GAZETTE._--“Altogether, the play is a beautiful piece of fanciful writing with a veiled purpose at the back of it.” =THE POST OFFICE. A Play.= Translated by DEVABRATA MUKERJEA. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. _MANCHESTER GUARDIAN._--“‘The Post Office’ is a delicate, wistful thing, coloured with beautiful imagery; for a moment it lifts a corner of the veil of worldly existence.” =THE CYCLE OF SPRING. A Play.= Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. _MANCHESTER GUARDIAN._--“The whole little drama is a spring-gift such as England has seldom received.” =SACRIFICE and other Plays.= Crown 8vo. 6s. net. _SCOTSMAN._--“All the pieces have a rare beauty of their own.” =THE HOME AND THE WORLD. A Novel.= Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. _SATURDAY REVIEW._--“In these days of indiscriminating praise, it is hard for a reviewer to find words with which to welcome properly a book so good as this.” =THE WRECK. A Novel.= Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. _MORNING POST._--“The story cannot fail to interest and delight.” =GORA. A Novel.= Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. _JOHN O’ LONDON’S WEEKLY._--“The author has created characters who seem too real to live between the covers of a book.” =MASHI and other Stories.= Crown 8vo. 6s. net. _OXFORD MAGAZINE._--“Full of pregnant pictures of Indian life and character, subdued but vivid in tone.” =HUNGRY STONES and other Stories.= Crown 8vo. 6s. net. _DAILY TELEGRAPH._--“Contains descriptive passages of rare vigour and beauty, and is embellished with imagery of a delicate and distinctive character.” =SĀDHANĀ: The Realisation of Life. Lectures.= Extra Crown 8vo. 6s. net. =NATIONALISM.= Extra Crown 8vo. 6s. net. =PERSONALITY. Lectures delivered in America.= Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 6s. net. =CREATIVE UNITY.= Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. =MY REMINISCENCES.= Illustrated. Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net =GLIMPSES OF BENGAL. Selected from the Letters of Rabindranath Tagore, 1885 to 1895.= Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. * * * * * =ONE HUNDRED POEMS OF KABIR.= Translated by RABINDRANATH TAGORE, assisted by EVELYN UNDERHILL. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. =RABINDRANATH TAGORE.= A Biographical Study. By ERNEST RHYS. Illustrated. Extra Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. net. =SIX PORTRAITS OF RABINDRANATH TAGORE.= By W. ROTHENSTEIN. Reproduced in Collotype. With Prefatory Note by MAX BEERBOHM. Imperial 4to. 10s. net. =THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MAHARSHI DEVENDRANATH TAGORE= (Father of RABINDRANATH TAGORE). Translated by SATYENDRANATH TAGORE and INDIRA DEVI. With Introduction by EVELYN UNDERHILL, and Portrait. Extra Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. =THE PHILOSOPHY OF RABINDRANATH TAGORE.= By Prof. S. RADHAKRISHNAN. 8vo. 8s. 6d. net. =SHANTINIKETAN: The Bolpur School of Rabindranath Tagore.= By W. W. PEARSON. With Introduction by RABINDRANATH TAGORE. Illustrated. Extra Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. Transcriber’s Notes Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens in words have been silently removed and some silently added when a predominant preference was found in the original book. Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text and inconsistent or archaic usage have been retained. Page 51: “Hullo, 69 Ng” replaced by “Hallo, 69 Ng”. Page 52: “banian tree” replaced by “banyan tree”. Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Bold text is surrounded by equal signs: =bold=. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED OLEANDERS *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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