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                       HARVARD ORIENTAL SERIES

               WITH THE COÖPERATION OF VARIOUS SCHOLARS



                                  BY

                       CHARLES ROCKWELL LANMAN

          WALES PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY


                             Volume Nine




                       CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

                   Published by Harvard University

                                 1905

       *       *       *       *       *




                         THE LITTLE CLAY CART

                            [MṚCCHAKAṬIKA]



                            A Hindu Drama

                     ATTRIBUTED TO KING SHŪDRAKA



          TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL SANSKRIT AND PRĀKRITS

                     INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE



                                  BY

                     ARTHUR WILLIAM RYDER, PH.D.

             INSTRUCTOR IN SANSKRIT IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY





                       CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

                   Published by Harvard University

                                 1905



                COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY HARVARD UNIVERSITY

       *       *       *       *       *




TO MY FATHER

WILLIAM HENRY RYDER

       *       *       *       *       *




CONTENTS


NOTE BY THE EDITOR OF THE SERIES

PREFACE BY THE TRANSLATOR


INTRODUCTION

THE AUTHOR AND THE PLAY

THE TRANSLATION

AN OUTLINE OF THE PLOT

DRAMATIS PERSONAE


TRANSLATION OF THE LITTLE CLAY CART

PROLOGUE

ACT I.    THE GEMS ARE LEFT BEHIND

ACT II.   THE SHAMPOOER WHO GAMBLED

ACT III.  THE HOLE IN THE WALL

ACT IV.   MADANIKĀ AND SHARVILAKA

ACT V.    THE STORM

ACT VI.   THE SWAPPING OF THE BULLOCK-CARTS

ACT VII.  ARYAKA'S ESCAPE

ACT VIII. THE STRANGLING OF VASANTASENĀ

ACT IX.   THE TRIAL

ACT X.    THE END


EPILOGUE

DEPARTURES OF THE TRANSLATION FROM PARAB'S TEXT

       *       *       *       *       *




NOTE BY THE EDITOR


With _the battle of the Sea of Japan another turning-point in the
brief course of recorded human history has been reached. Whatever the
outcome of the negotiations for peace, one thing is sure: for better,
for worse, and whether we will or no, the West must know the East, and
the East must know the West. With that knowledge will inevitably come
an interchange of potent influences, of influences that will affect
profoundly the religion and morals, the philosophy, the literature,
the art, in short, all the elements that make up the civilizations of
the two hemispheres. It is a part of the responsibility resting upon
the molders and leaders of the thought and life of our time, and upon
our Universities in particular, to see to it that these new forces,
mighty for good or for evil, are directed aright._

_The fruitfulness of those scions of Western civilization which the
Japanese have grafted upon their own stock is to-day the admiration
of the world. In our wonder, let us not forget that that stock is the
growth of centuries, and that it is rooted in a soil of racial character
informed by ethical ideals which we are wont to regard, with
arrogant self-complacency, as exclusively proper to Christianity, but
which were, in fact, inculcated twenty-four centuries ago through
precept and example by Gotama the Enlightened, or, as the Hindus
called him, Gotama the Buddha. It has often been said that India
has never influenced the development of humanity as a whole. Be that
as it may, it now seems no less probable than strange that she is yet
destined to do so, on the one hand, indirectly, through the influence
of Indian Buddhism upon Japan, and, on the other, directly, by the
diffusion in the West of a knowledge of her sacred writings, especially
those of Vedantism and Buddhism. To judge the East aright,
we must know not only what she is, but also how she has become what
she is; know, in short, some of the principal phases of her spiritual
history as they are reflected in her ancient literature, especially that
of India. To interpret to the West the thought of the East, to bring
her best and noblest achievements to bear upon our life_,--_that is to-day
the problem of Oriental philology._

_The Harvard Oriental Series embodies an attempt to present to Western
scholars, in trustworthy texts and translations, some of the greatest
works of the Hindu literature and philosophy and religion, together
with certain instruments, such as the Vedic Concordance or the History
of the Beast-fable, for their critical study or elucidation. Some
account of the volumes completed or in progress may be found at the
end of this book. Dr. Ryder, passing by for the present the more
momentous themes of religion and philosophy, has in this volume
attempted to show what the Indian genius, in its strength and in its
weakness, could do in the field of literature pure and simple. The
timeliness of the Series as a whole is an eloquent tribute to the
discernment of my loved and unforgotten pupil and friend, Henry Clarke
Warren. In him were united not only the will and the ability to
establish such a publication as this, but also the learning and
insight which enabled him to forecast in a general way its
possibilities of usefulness. He knew that the East had many a lesson
to teach the West; but whether the lesson be repose of spirit or
hygiene of the soldier in the field, whether it be the divine
immanence or simplicity of life or the overcoming of evil with good,
he knew that the first lesson to be taught us was the teachable habit
of mind._

C. R. L.

June, 1905




PREFACE


The text chosen as the basis of this translation is that given in the
edition of Parab,[1] and I have chosen it for the following reasons.
Parab's edition is the most recent, and its editor is a most admirable
Sanskrit scholar, who, it seems to me, has in several places
understood the real meaning of the text better than his predecessors.
This edition contains the comment of Pṛthvīdhara; it is far freer from
misprints than many texts printed in India, and, in respect to
arrangement and typography, it is clear and convenient. Besides, it is
easily obtainable and very cheap. This last consideration may prove to
be of importance, if the present translation should be found helpful
in the class-room. For the sake of cataloguers, I note that the proper
transliteration of the Sanskrit names of this title according to the
rules laid down by the American Library Association in its Journal for
1885, is as follows: Mṛcchakaṭika; Çūdraka; Pṛthvīdhara; Kāçīnātha
Pāṇḍuran̄ga Paraba; Nirṇaya-Sāgara.

The verse-numeration of each act follows the edition of Parab;
fortunately, it is almost identical with the numeration in the editions
of Godabole and Jīvānanda. For the convenience of those
who may desire to consult this book in connection with Stenzler's
edition, I have added references at the top of the page to that edition
as well as to the edition of Parab. In these references, the
letter P. stands for Parab, the letter S. for Stenzler.

There are a few passages in which I have deviated from Parab's
text. A list of such passages is given on page 177. From this list
I have omitted a few minor matters, such as slight misprints and
what seem to me to be errors in the _chāyā_; these matters, and the
passages of unusual interest or difficulty, I shall treat in a series
of notes on the play, which I hope soon to publish in the Journal
of the American Oriental Society. It is hardly necessary to give
reasons for the omission of the passage inserted by Nīlakaṇṭha
in the tenth act (Parab. 288.3-292.9). This passage is explicitly
declared by tradition to be an interpolation by another hand, and
it is clearly shown to be such by internal evidence. It will be noticed
that the omission of this passage causes a break in the verse-numeration
of the tenth act, where the verse-number 54 is followed
by the number 58.

Of the books which have been useful to me in the present work,
I desire to mention especially the editions of Stenzler, Godabole,
Jīvānanda Vidyāsāgara, and Parab; the commentaries of Pṛthvīdhara,
Lallādīkṣita, and Jīvānanda; further, the translations of
Wilson, Regnaud, and Böhtlingk.

A number of friends were kind enough to read my manuscript,
and each contributed something. I wish to mention especially my
friend and pupil, Mr. Walter E. Clark, of Harvard University,
whose careful reading of both text and translation was fruitful of
many good suggestions.

But by far my greatest personal indebtedness is to Professor
Lanman, whose generous interest in my work has never flagged
from the day when I began the study of Sanskrit under his guidance.
He has criticized this translation with the utmost rigor; indeed,
the pages are few which have not witnessed some improvement
from his hand. It is to him also that I owe the accuracy
and beauty which characterize the printed book: nothing has been
hard enough to weary him, nothing small enough to escape him.
And more than all else, I am grateful to him for the opportunity
of publishing in the Harvard Oriental Series; for this series is that
enterprise which, since the death of Professor Whitney, most
honorably upholds in this country the standards of accurate scholarship
set by the greatest of American Sanskritists.

ARTHUR W. RYDER

_Harvard University_

_May 23, 1905_

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The Mṛichchhakaṭika of Śūdraka with the commentary of
Pṛthvīdhara. Edited by Kāshināth Pāṇḍurang Parab. Bombay: Nirṇaya-Sāgar
Press. 1900. Price 1 Rupee. It may be had of O. Harrassowitz in Leipzig
for 2-1/2 Marks.]




INTRODUCTION

I. THE AUTHOR AND THE PLAY


Concerning the life, the date, and the very identity[2] of
King Shūdraka, the reputed author of The Little Clay Cart,
we are curiously ignorant. No other work is ascribed to him, and
we have no direct information about him, beyond the somewhat
fanciful statements of the Prologue to this play. There are, to be
sure, many tales which cluster about the name of King Shūdraka,
but none of them represents him as an author. Yet our very lack of
information may prove, to some extent at least, a disguised blessing.
For our ignorance of external fact compels a closer study of
the text, if we would find out what manner of man it was who
wrote the play. And the case of King Shūdraka is by no means
unique in India; in regard to every great Sanskrit writer,--so bare
is Sanskrit literature of biography,--we are forced to concentrate
attention on the man as he reveals himself in his works. First, however,
it may be worth while to compare Shūdraka with two other
great dramatists of India, and thus to discover, if we may, in what
ways he excels them or is excelled by them.

Kālidāsa, Shūdraka, Bhavabhūti--assuredly, these are the greatest
names in the history of the Indian drama. So different are these
men, and so great, that it is not possible to assert for any one of
them such supremacy as Shakspere holds in the English drama.
It is true that Kālidāsa's dramatic masterpiece, the Shakuntalā,
is the most widely known of the Indian plays. It is true that the
tender and elegant Kālidāsa has been called, with a not wholly fortunate
enthusiasm, the "Shakspere of India." But this rather exclusive
admiration of the Shakuntalā results from lack of information
about the other great Indian dramas. Indeed, it is partly due
to the accident that only the Shakuntalā became known in translation
at a time when romantic Europe was in full sympathy with
the literature of India.

Bhavabhūti, too, is far less widely known than Kālidāsa; and for this
the reason is deeper-seated. The austerity of Bhavabhūti's style, his
lack of humor, his insistent grandeur, are qualities which prevent his
being a truly popular poet. With reference to Kālidāsa, he holds a
position such as Aeschylus holds with reference to Euripides. He will
always seem to minds that sympathize with his grandeur[3] the greatest
of Indian poets; while by other equally discerning minds of another
order he will be admired, but not passionately loved.

Yet however great the difference between Kālidāsa, "the grace
of poetry,"[4] and Bhavabhūti, "the master of eloquence,"[5] these two
authors are far more intimately allied in spirit than is either of
them with the author of The Little Clay Cart. Kālidāsa and Bhavabhūti
are Hindus of the Hindus; the Shakuntalā and the Latter
Acts of Rāma could have been written nowhere save in India:
but Shūdraka, alone in the long line of Indian dramatists, has a
cosmopolitan character. Shakuntalā is a Hindu maid, Mādhava is
a Hindu hero; but Sansthānaka and Maitreya and Madanikā are
citizens of the world. In some of the more striking characteristics of
Sanskrit literature--in its fondness for system, its elaboration of
style, its love of epigram--Kālidāsa and Bhavabhūti are far truer
to their native land than is Shūdraka. In Shūdraka we find few
of those splendid phrases in which, as the Chinese[6] say, "it is only
the words which stop, the sense goes on,"--phrases like Kālidāsa's[7]
"there are doors of the inevitable everywhere," or Bhavabhūti's[8] "for
causeless love there is no remedy." As regards the predominance of
swift-moving action over the poetical expression of great truths,
The Little Clay Cart stands related to the Latter Acts of Rāma as
Macbeth does to Hamlet. Again, Shūdraka's style is simple and direct,
a rare quality in a Hindu; and although this style, in the passages
of higher emotion, is of an exquisite simplicity, yet Shūdraka
cannot infuse into mere language the charm which we find in Kālidāsa
or the majesty which we find in Bhavabhūti.

Yet Shūdraka's limitations in regard to stylistic power are not
without their compensation. For love of style slowly strangled originality
and enterprise in Indian poets, and ultimately proved the
death of Sanskrit literature. Now just at this point, where other
Hindu writers are weak, Shūdraka stands forth preëminent. Nowhere
else in the hundreds of Sanskrit dramas do we find such variety,
and such drawing of character, as in The Little Clay Cart;
and nowhere else, in the drama at least, is there such humor. Let
us consider, a little more in detail, these three characteristics of
our author; his variety, his skill in the drawing of character, his
humor.

To gain a rough idea of Shūdraka's variety, we have only to recall
the names of the acts of the play. Here The Shampooer who
Gambled and The Hole in the Wall are shortly followed by The
Storm; and The Swapping of the Bullock-carts is closely succeeded
by The Strangling of Vasantasenā. From farce to tragedy, from
satire to pathos, runs the story, with a breadth truly Shaksperian.
Here we have philosophy:

    _The lack of money is the root of all evil._                 (_i. 14_)

And pathos:

    _My body wet by tear-drops falling, falling;
      My limbs polluted by the clinging mud;
    Flowers from the graveyard torn, my wreath appalling;
    For ghastly sacrifice hoarse ravens calling,
      And for the fragrant incense of my blood._                 (_x. 3_)

And nature description:

    _But mistress, do not scold the lightning. She is your friend,
                  This golden cord that trembles on the breast
                  Of great Airāvata; upon the crest
                    Of rocky hills this banner all ablaze;
                  This lamp tn Indra's palace; but most blest
                    As telling where your most belovèd stays._   (_v. 33_)

And genuine bitterness:

    _Pride and tricks and lies and fraud
      Are in your face;
    False playground of the lustful god,
      Such is your face;
    The wench's stock in trade, in fine,
    Epitome of joys divine,
      I mean your face--
    For sale! the price is courtesy.
    I trust you'll find a man to buy
      Your face._                                                (_v. 36_)

It is natural that Shūdraka should choose for the expression of
matters so diverse that type of drama which gives the greatest
scope to the author's creative power. This type is the so-called
"drama of invention,"[9] a category curiously subordinated in India
to the heroic drama, the plot of which is drawn from history or
mythology. Indeed, The Little Clay Cart is the only extant drama
which fulfils the spirit of the drama of invention, as defined by the
Sanskrit canons of dramaturgy. The plot of the "Mālatī and Mādhava,"
or of the "Mallikā and Māruta," is in no true sense the invention
of the author; and The Little Clay Cart is the only drama
of invention which is "full of rascals."[10]

But a spirit so powerful as that of King Shūdraka could not be
confined within the strait-jacket of the minute, and sometimes
puerile, rules of the technical works. In the very title of the drama,
he has disregarded the rule[11] that the name of a drama of invention
should be formed by compounding the names of heroine and hero.[12]
Again, the books prescribe[13] that the hero shall appear in every act;
yet Chārudatta does not appear in acts ii., iv., vi., and viii. And
further, various characters, Vasantasenā, Maitreya, the courtier,
and others, have vastly gained because they do not conform too
closely to the technical definitions.

The characters of The Little Clay Cart are living men and women. Even
when the type makes no strong appeal to Western minds, as in the case
of Chārudatta, the character lives, in a sense in which Dushyanta[14]
or even Rāma[15] can hardly be said to live. Shūdraka's men are better
individualized than his women; this fact alone differentiates him
sharply from other Indian dramatists. He draws on every class of
society, from the high-souled Brahman to the executioner and the
housemaid.

His greatest character is unquestionably Sansthānaka, this
combination of ignorant conceit, brutal lust, and cunning, this greater
than Cloten, who, after strangling an innocent woman, can say:[16]
"Oh, come! Let's go and play in the pond." Most attractive characters
are the five[17] conspirators, men whose home is "east of Suez
and the ten commandments." They live from hand to mouth, ready
at any moment to steal a gem-casket or to take part in a revolution,
and preserving through it all their character as gentlemen and their
irresistible conceit. And side by side with them moves the hero
Chārudatta, the Buddhist beau-ideal of manhood,

    _A tree of life to them whose sorrows grow_,
    _Beneath its fruit of virtue bending low_.                   (_i. 48_)

To him, life itself is not dear, but only honor.[18] He values wealth
only as it supplies him with the means of serving others. We may,
with some justice, compare him with Antonio in The Merchant
of Venice. There is some inconsistency, from our point of view,
in making such a character the hero of a love-drama; and indeed,
it is Vasantasenā who does most of the love-making.[19]

Vasantasenā is a character with neither the girlish charm of
Shakuntalā[20] nor the mature womanly dignity of Sītā.[21] She is
more admirable than lovable. Witty and wise she is, and in her
love as true as steel; this too, in a social position which makes such
constancy difficult. Yet she cannot be called a great character; she
does not seem so true to life as her clever maid, Madanikā. In
making the heroine of his play a courtezan, Shūdraka follows a
suggestion of the technical works on the drama; he does not
thereby cast any imputation of ill on Vasantasenā's character. The
courtezan class in India corresponded roughly to the hetæræ of
ancient Greece or the geishas of Japan; it was possible to be a
courtezan and retain one's self-respect. Yet the inherited[22] way of
life proves distasteful to Vasantasenā; her one desire is to escape
its limitations and its dangers by becoming a legal wife.[23]

In Maitreya, the Vidūshaka, we find an instance of our author's
masterly skill in giving life to the dry bones of a rhetorical definition.
The Vidūshaka is a stock character who has something in
common with a jester; and in Maitreya the essential traits of the
character--eagerness for good food and other creature comforts,
and blundering devotion to his friend--are retained, to be sure,
but clarified and elevated by his quaint humor and his readiness
to follow Chārudatta even in death. The grosser traits of the typical
Vidūshaka are lacking. Maitreya is neither a glutton nor a fool,
but a simple-minded, whole-hearted friend.

The courtier is another character suggested by the technical
works, and transformed by the genius of Shūdraka. He is a man
not only of education and social refinement, but also of real nobility
of nature. But he is in a false position from the first, this
true gentleman at the wretched court of King Pālaka; at last he
finds the courage to break away, and risks life, and all that makes
life attractive, by backing Aryaka. Of all the conspirators, it is he
who runs the greatest risk. To his protection of Vasantasenā is
added a touch of infinite pathos when we remember that he was
himself in love with her.[24] Only when Vasantasenā leaves him[25] without
a thought, to enter Chārudatta's house, does he realize how
much he loves her; then, indeed, he breaks forth in words of the
most passionate jealousy. We need not linger over the other characters,
except to observe that each has his marked individuality,
and that each helps to make vivid this picture of a society that
seems at first so remote.

Shūdraka's humor is the third of his vitally distinguishing qualities.
This humor has an American flavor, both in its puns and in its
situations. The plays on words can seldom be adequately reproduced in
translation, but the situations are independent of language. And
Shūdraka's humor runs the whole gamut, from grim to farcical, from
satirical to quaint. Its variety and keenness are such that King
Shūdraka need not fear a comparison with the greatest of Occidental
writers of comedies.

It remains to say a word about the construction of the play. Obviously,
it is too long. More than this, the main action halts through acts ii.
to v., and during these episodic acts we almost forget that the main
plot concerns the love of Vasantasenā and Chārudatta. Indeed, we have in
The Little Clay Cart the material for two plays. The larger part of act
i. forms with acts vi. to x. a consistent and ingenious plot; while the
remainder of act i. might be combined with acts iii. to v. to make a
pleasing comedy of lighter tone. The second act, clever as it is, has
little real connection either with the main plot or with the story of
the gems. The breadth of treatment which is observable in this play is
found in many other specimens of the Sanskrit drama, which has set
itself an ideal different from that of our own drama. The lack of
dramatic unity and consistency is often compensated, indeed, by lyrical
beauty and charms of style; but it suggests the question whether we
might not more justly speak of the Sanskrit plays as dramatic poems than
as dramas. In The Little Clay Cart, at any rate, we could ill afford to
spare a single scene, even though the very richness and variety of the
play remove it from the class of the world's greatest dramas.


II. THE TRANSLATION

The following translation is sufficiently different from previous
translations of Indian plays to require a word of explanation. The
difference consists chiefly in the manner in which I have endeavored to
preserve the form of the original. The Indian plays are written in
mingled prose and verse; and the verse portion forms so large a part of
the whole that the manner in which it is rendered is of much importance.
Now this verse is not analogous to the iambic trimeter of Sophocles or
the blank verse of Shakspere, but roughly corresponds to the Greek
choruses or the occasional rhymed songs of the Elizabethan stage. In
other words, the verse portion of a Sanskrit drama is not narrative; it
is sometimes descriptive, but more commonly lyrical: each stanza sums up
the emotional impression which the preceding action or dialogue has made
upon one of the actors. Such matter is in English cast into the form of
the rhymed stanza; and so, although rhymed verse is very rarely employed
in classical Sanskrit, it seems the most appropriate vehicle for the
translation of the stanzas of a Sanskrit drama. It is true that we
occasionally find stanzas which might fitly be rendered in English blank
verse, and, more frequently, stanzas which are so prosaic as not to
deserve a rendering in English verse at all.[26] But, as the present
translation may be regarded as in some sort an experiment, I have
preferred to hold rigidly to the distinction found in the original
between simple prose and types of stanza which seem to me to correspond
to English rhymed verse.

It is obvious that a translation into verse, and especially into
rhymed verse, cannot be as literal as a translation into prose; this
disadvantage I have used my best pains to minimize. I hope it
may be said that nothing of real moment has been omitted from
the verses; and where lack of metrical skill has compelled expansion,
I have striven to make the additions as insignificant as
possible.

There is another point, however, in which it is hardly feasible to
imitate the original; this is the difference in the dialects used by the
various characters. In The Little Clay Cart, as in other Indian dramas,
some of the characters speak Sanskrit, others Prākrit. Now Prākrit is
the generic name for a number of dialects derived from the Sanskrit and
closely akin to it. The inferior personages of an Indian play, and, with
rare exceptions, all the women, speak one or another of these Prākrits.
Of the thirty characters of this play, for example, only five
(Chārudatta, the courtier, Aryaka, Sharvilaka, and the judge) speak
Sanskrit;[27] the others speak various Prākrit dialects. Only in the
case of Sansthānaka have I made a rude attempt to suggest the dialect by
substituting sh for s as he does. And the grandiloquence of Sharvilaka's
Sanskrit in the satirical portion of the third act I have endeavored to
imitate.

Whenever the language of the original is at all technical, the
translator labors under peculiar difficulty. Thus the legal terms
found in the ninth act are inadequately rendered, and, to some extent
at least, inevitably so; for the legal forms, or lack of forms,
pictured there were never contemplated by the makers of the English
legal vocabulary. It may be added here that in rendering from a
literature so artificial as the Sanskrit, one must lose not only the
sensuous beauty of the verse, but also many plays on words.

In regard to the not infrequent repetitions found in the text, I
have used my best judgment. Such repetitions have been given in
full where it seemed to me that the force or unity of the passage
gained by such treatment, or where the original repeats in full, as
in the case of v. 7, which is identical with iii. 29. Elsewhere, I have
merely indicated the repetition after the manner of the original.

The reader will notice that there was little effort to attain realism
in the presentation of an Indian play. He need not be surprised
therefore to find (page 145) that Vīraka leaves the court-room,
mounts a horse, rides to the suburbs, makes an investigation
and returns--all within the limits of a stage-direction. The
simplicity of presentation also makes possible sudden shifts of
scene. In the first act, for example, there are six scenes, which take
place alternately in Chārudatta's house and in the street outside.
In those cases where a character enters "seated" or "asleep," I have
substituted the verb "appear" for the verb "enter"; yet I am not
sure that this concession to realism is wise.

The system of transliteration which I have adopted is intended to render
the pronunciation of proper names as simple as may be to the English
reader. The consonants are to be pronounced as in English,[28] the
vowels as in Italian. Diacritical marks have been avoided, with the
exception of the macron. This sign has been used consistently[29] to
mark long vowels except _e_ and _o_, which are always long.
Three rules suffice for the placing of the accent. A long penult is
accented: Maitréya, Chārudatta. If the penult is short, the antepenult
is accented provided it be long: Sansthā́naka. If both penult and
antepenult of a four-syllabled word are short, the pre-antepenultimate
receives the accent: Mádanikā, Sthā́varaka.


III. AN OUTLINE OF THE PLOT

ACT I., entitled _The Gems are left Behind_. Evening of the first
day.--After the prologue, Chārudatta, who is within his house, converses
with his friend Maitreya, and deplores his poverty. While they are
speaking, Vasantasenā appears in the street outside. She is pursued by
the courtier and Sansthānaka; the latter makes her degrading offers of
his love, which she indignantly rejects. Chārudatta sends Maitreya from
the house to offer sacrifice, and through the open door Vasantasenā
slips unobserved into the house. Maitreya returns after an altercation
with Sansthānaka, and recognizes Vasantasenā. Vasantasenā leaves a
casket of gems in the house for safe keeping and returns to her home.

ACT II., entitled _The Shampooer who Gambled_. Second day.--The
act opens in Vasantasenā's house. Vasantasenā confesses to her
maid Madanikā her love for Chārudatta. Then a shampooer appears
in the street, pursued by the gambling-master and a gambler, who
demand of him ten gold-pieces which he has lost in the gambling-house.
At this point Darduraka enters, and engages the gambling-master
and the gambler in an angry discussion, during which the
shampooer escapes into Vasantasenā's house. When Vasantasenā
learns that the shampooer had once served Chārudatta, she pays his
debt; the grateful shampooer resolves to turn monk. As he leaves
the house he is attacked by a runaway elephant, and saved by
Karnapūraka, a servant of Vasantasenā.

ACT III., entitled _The Hole in the Wall_. The night following the
second day.--Chārudatta and Maitreya return home after midnight
from a concert, and go to sleep. Maitreya has in his hand the
gem-casket which Vasantasenā has left behind. Sharvilaka enters.
He is in love with Madanikā, a maid of Vasantasenā's, and is
resolved to acquire by theft the means of buying her freedom. He
makes a hole in the wall of the house, enters, and steals the casket
of gems which Vasantasenā had left. Chārudatta wakes to find
casket and thief gone. His wife gives him her pearl necklace with
which to make restitution.

ACT IV., entitled _Madanikā and Sharvilaka_. Third day.--Sharvilaka
comes to Vasantasenā's house to buy Madanikā's freedom.
Vasantasenā overhears the facts concerning the theft of her gem-casket
from Chārudatta's house, but accepts the casket, and gives
Madanikā her freedom. As Sharvilaka leaves the house, he hears
that his friend Aryaka, who had been imprisoned by the king, has
escaped and is being pursued. Sharvilaka departs to help him.
Maitreya comes from Chārudatta with the pearl necklace, to repay
Vasantasenā for the gem-casket. She accepts the necklace also, as
giving her an excuse for a visit to Chārudatta.

ACT V., entitled _The Storm_. Evening of the third day.--Chārudatta
appears in the garden of his house. Here he receives a servant
of Vasantasenā, who announces that Vasantasenā is on her
way to visit him. Vasantasenā then appears in the street with the
courtier; the two describe alternately the violence and beauty of the
storm which has suddenly arisen. Vasantasenā dismisses the courtier,
enters the garden, and explains to Chārudatta how she has
again come into possession of the gem-casket. Meanwhile, the storm
has so increased in violence that she is compelled to spend the night
at Chārudatta's house.

ACT VI., entitled _The Swapping of the Bullock-carts_. Morning of
the fourth day.--Here she meets Chārudatta's little son, Rohasena.
The boy is peevish because he can now have only a little clay cart
to play with, instead of finer toys. Vasantasenā gives him her
gems to buy a toy cart of gold. Chārudatta's servant drives up to
take Vasantasenā in Chārudatta's bullock-cart to the park, where
she is to meet Chārudatta; but while Vasantasenā is making ready,
he drives away to get a cushion. Then Sansthānaka's servant drives
up with his master's cart, which Vasantasenā enters by mistake.
Soon after, Chārudatta's servant returns with his cart. Then the
escaped prisoner Aryaka appears and enters Chārudatta's cart.
Two policemen come on the scene; they are searching for Aryaka.
One of them looks into the cart and discovers Aryaka, but agrees
to protect him. This he does by deceiving and finally maltreating
his companion.

ACT VII., entitled _Aryaka's Escape_. Fourth day.--Chārudatta
is awaiting Vasantasenā in the park. His cart, in which Aryaka lies
hidden, appears. Chārudatta discovers the fugitive, removes his
fetters, lends him the cart, and leaves the park.

ACT VIII., entitled _The Strangling of Vasantasenā_. Fourth
day.--A Buddhist monk, the shampooer of the second act, enters
the park. He has difficulty in escaping from Sansthānaka, who
appears with the courtier. Sansthānaka's servant drives in with the
cart which Vasantasenā had entered by mistake. She is discovered
by Sansthānaka, who pursues her with insulting offers of love.
When she repulses him, Sansthānaka gets rid of all witnesses,
strangles her, and leaves her for dead. The Buddhist monk enters
again, revives Vasantasenā, and conducts her to a monastery.

ACT IX., entitled _The Trial_. Fifth day.--Sansthānaka accuses
Chārudatta of murdering Vasantasenā for her money. In the course
of the trial, it appears that Vasantasenā had spent the night of the
storm at Chārudatta's house; that she had left the house the next
morning to meet Chārudatta in the park; that there had been a
struggle in the park, which apparently ended in the murder of a
woman. Chārudatta's friend, Maitreya, enters with the gems which
Vasantasenā had left to buy Chārudatta's son a toy cart of gold.
These gems fall to the floor during a scuffle between Maitreya and
Sansthānaka. In view of Chārudatta's poverty, this seems to establish
the motive for the crime, and Chārudatta is condemned to
death.

ACT X., entitled _The End_. Sixth day.--Two headsmen are conducting
Chārudatta to the place of execution. Chārudatta takes
his last leave of his son and his friend Maitreya. But Sansthānaka's
servant escapes from confinement and betrays the truth; yet he is
not believed, owing to the cunning displayed by his master. The
headsmen are preparing to execute Chārudatta, when Vasantasenā
herself appears upon the scene, accompanied by the Buddhist
monk. Her appearance puts a summary end to the proceedings.
Then news is brought that Aryaka has killed and supplanted the
former king, that he wishes to reward Chārudatta, and that he has
by royal edict freed Vasantasenā from the necessity of living as a
courtezan. Sansthānaka is brought before Chārudatta for sentence,
but is pardoned by the man whom he had so grievously injured.
The play ends with the usual Epilogue.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: For an illuminating discussion of these matters, the reader
is referred to Sylvain Lévi's admirable work, Le Théâtre Indien, Paris,
1890, pages 196-211.]

[Footnote 3: In his Mālatīmādhava, i. 8, he says: "Whoever they may be
who now proclaim their contempt for me,--they know something, but this
work was not for them. Yet there will arise a man of nature like mine
own; for time is endless, and the world is wide." This seems prophetic
of John Milton.]

[Footnote 4: Prasannarāghava, i. 22.]

[Footnote 5: Mahāvīracarita, i. 4.]

[Footnote 6: History of Chinese Literature, by H. A. Giles, pages 145-146.]

[Footnote 7: Shakuntalā, i. 15.]

[Footnote 8: Latter Acts of Rāma, v. 17.]

[Footnote 9: _Prakaraṇa._]

[Footnote 10: Dhūrtasaṁkula: Daçarūpa, iii. 38.]

[Footnote 11: _Sāhityadarpaṇa_, 428.]

[Footnote 12: As in Mālatī-mādhava.]

[Footnote 13: Daçarūpa, iii. 33.]

[Footnote 14: In Kālidāsa's Shakuntalā.]

[Footnote 15: In Bhavabhūti's Latter Acts of Rāma.]

[Footnote 16: See page 128.]

[Footnote 17: Aryaka, Darduraka, Chandanaka, Sharvilaka, and the courtier.]

[Footnote 18: See x. 27.]

[Footnote 19: See v. 46 and the following stage-direction.]

[Footnote 20: In Kālidāsa's play of that name.]

[Footnote 21: In Bhavabhūti's Latter Acts of Rāma.]

[Footnote 22: See viii. 43.]

[Footnote 23: See pages 65-66 and page 174.]

[Footnote 24: See viii. 38 and compare the words, "Yet love bids me
prattle," on page 86.]

[Footnote 25: Page 87.]

[Footnote 26: Stanzas of the latter sort in The Little Clay Cart are
vii. 2 and viii. 5.]

[Footnote 27: This statement requires a slight limitation; compare, for
example, the footnote to page 82.]

[Footnote 28: But the combination _th_ should be pronounced as in
_ant-hill_, not as in _thin_ or _this_; similarly _dh_ as in
_mad-house_; _bh_ as in _abhor._]

[Footnote 29: Except in the names Āryaka and Āhīnta, where typographical
considerations have led to the omission of the macron over the initial
letter; and except also in head-lines.]




DRAMATIS PERSONAE

CHĀRUDATTA, _a Brahman merchant_

ROHASENA, _his son_

MAITREYA, _his friend_

VARDHAMĀNAKA, _a servant in his house_

SANSTHĀNAKA, _brother-in-law of King_ PĀLAKA

STHĀVARAKA, _his servant_

_Another Servant of_ SANSTHĀNAKA

_A Courtier_

ARYAKA, _a herdsman who becomes king_

SHARVILAKA, _a Brahman, in love with_ MADANIKĀ

_A Shampooer, who becomes a Buddhist monk_

MĀTHURA, _a gambling-master_

DARDURAKA, _a gambler_

_Another Gambler_

KARNAPŪRAKA     }
KUMBHĪLAKA      } _servants of_ VASANTASENĀ

VĪRAKA          }
CHANDANAKA      } _policemen_

GOHA            }
AHĪNTA          } _headsmen_

_Bastard pages, in_ VASANTASENĀ'S _house_

_A Judge_, _a Gild-warden_, _a Clerk_, _and a Beadle_

VASANTASENĀ, _a courtezan_

_Her Mother_

MADANIKĀ, _maid to_ VASANTASENĀ

_Another Maid to_ VASANTASENĀ

_The Wife of_ CHĀRUDATTA

RADANIKĀ, _a maid in_ CHĀRUDATTA'S _house_


SCENE

UJJAYINĪ (_called also_ AVANTI) _and its Environs_




THE LITTLE CLAY CART

PROLOGUE

_Benediction upon the audience_


    His bended knees the knotted girdle holds,
    Fashioned by doubling of a serpent's folds;
    His sensive organs, so he checks his breath,
    Are numbed, till consciousness seems sunk in death;
    Within himself, with eye of truth, he sees
    The All-soul, free from all activities.
    May His, may Shiva's meditation be
    Your strong defense; on the Great Self thinks he,
    Knowing full well the world's vacuity.                       1

And again:

    May Shiva's neck shield you from every harm,
      That seems a threatening thunder-cloud, whereon,
    Bright as the lightning-flash, lies Gaurī's arm.             2

_Stage-director._ Enough of this tedious work, which fritters away
the interest of the audience! Let me then most reverently salute
the honorable gentlemen, and announce our intention to produce
a drama called "The Little Clay Cart." Its author was a man

    Who vied with elephants in lordly grace;
      Whose eyes were those of the chakora bird
    That feeds on moonbeams; glorious his face
      As the full moon; his person, all have heard,
    Was altogether lovely. First in worth
      Among the twice-born was this poet, known
    As Shūdraka far over all the earth,
      His virtue's depth unfathomed and alone.                   3

[1.14. S.

And again:

    The Sāmaveda, the Rigveda too,
    The science mathematical, he knew;
    The arts wherein fair courtezans excel,
    And all the lore of elephants as well.
    Through Shiva's grace, his eye was never dim;
    He saw his son a king in place of him.
    The difficult horse-sacrifice he tried
    Successfully; entered the fiery tide,
    One hundred years and ten days old, and died.                4

And yet again:

    Eager for battle; sloth's determined foe;
      Of scholars chief, who to the Veda cling;
    Rich in the riches that ascetics know;
    Glad, gainst the foeman's elephant to show
      His valor;--such was Shūdraka, the king.                   5

And in this work of his,

    Within the town, Avanti named,
    Dwells one called Chārudatta, famed
    No less for youth than poverty;
    A merchant's son and Brahman, he.

    His virtues have the power to move
    Vasantasenā's inmost love;
    Fair as the springtime's radiancy,
    And yet a courtezan is she.                                  6

    So here king Shūdraka the tale imparts
    Of love's pure festival in these two hearts,
    Of prudent acts, a lawsuit's wrong and hate,
    A rascal's nature, and the course of fate.                   7

[_He walks about and looks around him._] Why, this music-room of
ours is empty. I wonder where the actors have gone. [_Reflecting._]
Ah, I understand.

P. 4.7]

    Empty his house, to whom no child was born;
      Thrice empty his, who lacks true friends and sure;
    To fools, the world is empty and forlorn;
      But all that is, is empty to the poor.                     8

I have finished the concert. And I've been practising so long that
the pupils of my eyes are dancing, and I'm so hungry that my eyes
are crackling like a lotus-seed, dried up by the fiercest rays of the
summer sun. I'll just call my wife and ask whether there is anything
for breakfast or not.

Hello! here I am--but no! Both the particular occasion and the
general custom demand that I speak Prākrit. [_Speaking in Prākrit._]
Confound it! I've been practising so long and I'm so hungry that
my limbs are as weak as dried-up lotus-stalks. Suppose I go home
and see whether my good wife has got anything ready or not. [_He
walks about and looks around him._] Here I am at home. I'll just go
in. [_He enters and looks about._] Merciful heavens! Why in the world
is everything in our house turned upside down? A long stream of
rice-water is flowing down the street. The ground, spotted black
where the iron kettle has been rubbed clean, is as lovely as a girl
with the beauty-marks of black cosmetic on her face. It smells so
good that my hunger seems to blaze up and hurts me more than
ever. Has some hidden treasure come to light? or am I hungry
enough to think the whole world is made of rice? There surely isn't
any breakfast in our house, and I'm starved to death. But everything
seems topsyturvy here. One girl is preparing cosmetics, another
is weaving garlands of flowers. [_Reflecting._] What does it all
mean? Well, I'll call my good wife and learn the truth. [_He looks
toward the dressing-room._] Mistress, will you come here a moment?

[_Enter an actress._]

_Actress._ Here I am, sir.

_Director._ You are very welcome, mistress.

_Actress._ Command me, sir. What am I to do?

[3.8. S.

_Director._ Mistress, I've been practising so long and I'm so hungry
that my limbs are as weak as dried-up lotus-stalks. Is there anything
to eat in the house or not?

_Actress._ There's everything, sir.

_Director._ Well, what?

_Actress._ For instance--there's rice with sugar, melted butter, curdled
milk, rice; and, all together, it makes you a dish fit for
heaven. May the gods always be thus gracious to you!

_Director._ All that in our house? or are you joking?

_Actress._ [_Aside._] Yes, I will have my joke. [_Aloud._] It's in the
market-place, sir.

_Director._ [_Angrily._] You wretched woman, thus shall your own
hope be cut off! And death shall find you out! For my expectations,
like a scaffolding, have been raised so high, only to fall again.

_Actress._ Forgive me, sir, forgive me! It was only a joke.

_Director._ But what do these unusual preparations mean? One girl
is preparing cosmetics, another is weaving garlands, and the very
ground is adorned with sacrificial flowers of five different colors.

_Actress._ This is a fast day, sir.

_Director._ What fast?

_Actress._ The fast for a handsome husband.

_Director._ In this world, mistress, or the next?

_Actress._ In the next world, sir.

_Director._ [_Wrathfully._] Gentlemen! look at this. She is sacrificing
my food to get herself a husband in the next world.

_Actress._ Don't be angry, sir. I am fasting in the hope that you
may be my husband in my next birth, too.

_Director._ But who suggested this fast to you?

_Actress._ Your own dear friend Jūrnavriddha.

_Director._ [_Angrily._] Ah, Jūrnavriddha, son of a slave-wench!
When, oh, when shall I see King Pālaka angry with you? Then
you will be parted, as surely as the scented hair of some young
bride.

P. 8.10]

_Actress._ Don't be angry, sir. It is only that I may have you in the
next world that I celebrate this fast. [_She falls at his feet._]

_Director._ Stand up, mistress, and tell me who is to officiate at this
fast.

_Actress._ Some Brahman of our own sort whom we must invite.

_Director._ You may go then. And I will invite some Brahman of
our own sort.

_Actress._ Very well, sir.                              [_Exit._

_Director._ [_Walking about._] Good heavens! In this rich city of
Ujjayinī how am I to find a Brahman of our own sort? [_He looks
about him._] Ah, here comes Chārudatta's friend Maitreya. Good!
I'll ask him. Maitreya, you must be the first to break bread in
our house to-day.

_A voice behind the scenes._ You must invite some other Brahman.
I am busy.

_Director._ But, man, the feast is set and you have it all to yourself.
Besides, you shall have a present.

_The voice._ I said no once. Why should you keep on urging me?

_Director._ He says no. Well, I must invite some other Brahman.

                                                         [_Exit._

END OF THE PROLOGUE




ACT THE FIRST

THE GEMS ARE LEFT BEHIND


[_Enter, with a cloak in his hand, Maitreya._]

_Maitreya._

"You must invite some other Brahman. I am busy." And yet I really ought
to be seeking invitations from a stranger. Oh, what a wretched state of
affairs! When good Chārudatta was still wealthy, I used to eat my fill
of the most deliciously fragrant sweetmeats, prepared day and night with
the greatest of care. I would sit at the door of the courtyard, where I
was surrounded by hundreds of dishes, and there, like a painter with his
paint-boxes, I would simply touch them with my fingers and thrust them
aside. I would stand chewing my cud like a bull in the city market. And
now he is so poor that I have to run here, there, and everywhere, and
come home, like the pigeons, only to roost. Now here is this
jasmine-scented cloak, which Chārudatta's good friend Jūrnavriddha has
sent him. He bade me give it to Chārudatta, as soon as he had finished
his devotions. So now I will look for Chārudatta. [_He walks about and
looks around him._] Chārudatta has finished his devotions, and here he
comes with an offering for the divinities of the house.

[_Enter Chārudatta as described, and Radanikā._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Looking up and sighing wearily._]

    Upon my threshold, where the offering
      Was straightway seized by swans and flocking cranes,
    The grass grows now, and these poor seeds I fling
      Fall where the mouth of worms their sweetness stains.      9

[_He walks about very slowly and seats himself._]

_Maitreya_. Chārudatta is here. I must go and speak to him.
[_Approaching._] My greetings to you. May happiness be yours.

P. 13.1]

_Chārudatta._ Ah, it is my constant friend Maitreya. You are very
welcome, my friend. Pray be seated.

_Maitreya._ Thank you. [_He seats himself._] Well, comrade, here is a
jasmine-scented cloak which your good friend Jūrnavriddha has
sent. He bade me give it you as soon as you had finished your devotions.
[_He presents the cloak. Chārudatta takes it and remains
sunk in thought._] Well, what are you thinking about?

_Chārudatta._ My good friend,

    A candle shining through the deepest dark
      Is happiness that follows sorrow's strife;
    But after bliss when man bears sorrow's mark,
      His body lives a very death-in-life.                       10

_Maitreya._ Well, which would you rather, be dead or be poor?

_Chārudatta._ Ah, my friend,

    Far better death than sorrows sure and slow;
    Some passing suffering from death may flow,
    But poverty brings never-ending woe.                         11

_Maitreya._ My dear friend, be not thus cast down. Your wealth has
been conveyed to them you love, and like the moon, after she has
yielded her nectar to the gods, your waning fortunes win an added
charm.

_Chārudatta._ Comrade, I do not grieve for my ruined fortunes. But

    This is my sorrow. They whom I
    Would greet as guests, now pass me by.
    "This is a poor man's house," they cry.

    As flitting bees, the season o'er,
    Desert the elephant, whose store
    Of ichor[30] spent, attracts no more.                        12

_Maitreya._ Oh, confound the money! It is a trifle not worth thinking
about. It is like a cattle-boy in the woods afraid of wasps; it
doesn't stay anywhere where it is used for food.

[8.5. S.

_Chārud._ Believe me, friend. My sorrow does not spring

      From simple loss of gold;
    For fortune is a fickle, changing thing,
      Whose favors do not hold;
    But he whose sometime wealth has taken wing,
      Finds bosom-friends grow cold.                             13

Then too:

    A poor man is a man ashamed; from shame
    Springs want of dignity and worthy fame;
    Such want gives rise to insults hard to bear;
    Thence comes despondency; and thence, despair;
    Despair breeds folly; death is folly's fruit--
    Ah! the lack of money is all evils root!                     14

_Maitreya._ But just remember what a trifle money is, after all, and
be more cheerful.

_Chārudatta._ My friend, the poverty of a man is to him

    A home of cares, a shame that haunts the mind,
    Another form of warfare with mankind;
    The abhorrence of his friends, a source of hate
    From strangers, and from each once-loving mate;
    But if his wife despise him, then 't were meet
    In some lone wood to seek a safe retreat.
    The flame of sorrow, torturing his soul,
    Burns fiercely, yet contrives to leave him whole.            15

Comrade, I have made my offering to the divinities of the house.
Do you too go and offer sacrifice to the Divine Mothers at a place
where four roads meet.

_Maitreya._ No!

_Chārudatta._ Why not?

_Maitreya._ Because the gods are not gracious to you even when
thus honored. So what is the use of worshiping?

P. 16.8]

_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend, not so! This is the constant duty
of a householder.

    The gods feel ever glad content
    In the gifts, and the self-chastisement,
    The meditations, and the prayers,
    Of those who banish worldly cares.                           16

Why then do you hesitate? Go and offer sacrifice to the Mothers.

_Maitreya._ No, I'm not going. You must send somebody else. Anyway,
everything seems to go wrong with me, poor Brahman that
I am! It's like a reflection in a mirror; the right side becomes the
left, and the left becomes the right. Besides, at this hour of the
evening, people are abroad upon the king's highway--courtezans,
courtiers, servants, and royal favorites. They will take me now for
fair prey, just as the black-snake out frog-hunting snaps up the
mouse in his path. But what will you do sitting here?

_Chārudatta._ Good then, remain; and I will finish my devotions.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Voices behind the scenes._ Stop, Vasantasenā, stop!

[_Enter Vasantasenā, pursued by the courtier, by Sansthānaka, and the
servant._]

_Courtier._ Vasantasenā! Stop, stop!

    Ah, why should fear transform your tenderness?
    Why should the dainty feet feel such distress,
      That twinkle in the dance so prettily?
    Why should your eyes, thus startled into fear,
    Dart sidelong looks? Why, like the timid deer
      Before pursuing hunters, should you flee?                  17

_Sansthānaka._ Shtop,[31] Vasantasenā, shtop!

    Why flee? and run? and shtumble in your turning?
      Be kind! You shall not die. Oh, shtop your feet!
    With love, shweet girl, my tortured heart is burning.
      As on a heap of coals a piece of meat.                     18

[10.2 S.

_Servant._ Stop, courtezan, stop!

      In fear you flee
      Away from me,
    As a summer peahen should;
      But my lord and master
      Struts fast and faster,
    Like a woodcock in the wood.                                 19

_Courtier._ Vasantasenā! Stop, stop!

    Why should you tremble, should you flee,
    A-quiver like the plantain tree?
    Your garment's border, red and fair,
    Is all a-shiver in the air;
    Now and again, a lotus-bud
    Falls to the ground, as red as blood.
    A red realgar[32] vein you seem,
    Whence, smitten, drops of crimson stream.                    20

_Sansthānaka._ Shtop. Vasantasenā, shtop!

    You wake my passion, my desire, my love;
      You drive away my shleep in bed at night;
    Both fear and terror sheem your heart to move;
      You trip and shtumble in your headlong flight.
    But Rāvana forced Kuntī[33] to his will;
    Jusht sho shall I enjoy you to the fill.                     21

_Courtier._ Ah, Vasantasenā,

    Why should your fleeter flight
      Outstrip my flying feet?
    Why, like a snake in fright
    Before the bird-king's might,
      Thus seek to flee, my sweet?
    Could I not catch the storm-wind in his flight?
    Yet would not seize upon you, though I might.                22

P. 19.9]

_Sansthānaka_. Lishten to me, shir!

    Thish whip of robber Love, thish dancing-girl,
      Eater of fish, deshtroyer of her kin,
    Thish shnubnose, shtubborn, love-box, courtezan,
      Thish clothes-line, wanton creature, maid of sin--
    I gave her ten shweet names, and shtill
    She will not bend her to my will.                            23

_Courtier_.

    As courtier's fingers strike the lute's tense string,
      The dancing ear-ring smites your wounded cheek.
      Why should you flee, with dreadful terror weak,
    As flees the crane when heaven's thunders ring?              24

_Sansth_.

    Your jingling gems, girl, clink like anything;
      Like Draupadī you flee, when Rāma kisshed her.
    I'll sheize you quick, as once the monkey-king
      Sheized Subhadrā, Vishvāvasu's shweet shishter.            25

_Servant_.

    He's the royal protégé;
      Do whatever he may say.
    And you shall have good fish and flesh to eat.
      For when dogs have all the fish
      And the flesh that they can wish,
    Even carrion seems to them no longer sweet.                  26

_Courtier_. Mistress Vasantasenā,

    The girdle drooping low upon your hips
      Flashes as brilliant as the shining stars;
      The wondrous terror of your fleeing mars
    Your charms; for red realgar, loosened, slips
    As on an imaged god, from cheek and lips.                    27

_Sansth_.

    We're chasing you with all our main and might,
      As dogs a jackal when they hunt and find it;
    But you are quick and nimble in your flight,
      And shteal my heart with all the roots that bind it.       28

[11.23. S.

_Vasantasenā._ Pallavaka! Parabhritikā!

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter! a man! a man!

_Courtier._ Don't be a coward.

_Vasantasenā._ Mādhavikā! Mādhavikā!

_Courtier._ [_Laughing._] Fool! She is calling her servants.

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter! Is she calling a woman?

_Courtier._ Why, of course.

_Sansthānaka._ Women! I kill hundreds of 'em. I'm a brave man.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Seeing that no one answers._] Alas, how comes it that
my very servants have fallen away from me? I shall have to defend
myself by mother-wit.

_Courtier._ Don't stop the search.

_Sansthānaka._ Shqueal, Vasantasenā, shqueal for your cuckoo
Parabhritikā, or for your blosshom Pallavaka or for all the month of
May! Who's going to save you when I'm chasing you?

    Why shpeak of Bhīmasena? Or the shon
    Of Jamadagni, that thrice-mighty one?
    The ten-necked ogre? Shon of Kuntī fair?
    Jusht look at me! My fingers in your hair,
    Jusht like Duhshāsana, I'll tear, and tear.                  29

Look, look!

    My shword is sharp; good-by, poor head!
    Let's chop it off, or kill you dead.
    Then do not try my wrath to shun;
    When you musht die, your life is done.                       30

_Vasantasenā._ Sir, I am a weak woman.

_Courtier._ That is why you are still alive.

_Sansthānaka._ That is why you're not murdered.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Oh! his very courtesy frightens me. Come,
I will try this. [_Aloud._] Sir, what do you expect from this pursuit?
my jewels?

P. 24.7]

_Courtier._ Heaven forbid! A garden creeper, mistress Vasantasenā,
should not be robbed of its blossoms. Say no more about the jewels.

_Vasantasenā._ What is then your desire?

_Sansthānaka._ I'm a man, a big man, a regular Vāsudeva.[34] You
musht love me.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Indignantly._] Heavens! You weary me. Come, leave
me! Your words are an insult.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Laughing and clapping his hands._] Look, mashter,
look! The courtezan's daughter is mighty affectionate with me,
isn't she? Here she says "Come on! Heavens, you're weary. You're
tired!" No, I haven't been walking to another village or another
city. No, little mishtress, I shwear by the gentleman's head, I
shwear by my own feet! It's only by chasing about at your heels
that I've grown tired and weary.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] What! is it possible that the idiot does not
understand when she says "You weary me"? [_Aloud._] Vasantasenā,
your words have no place in the dwelling of a courtezan,

    Which, as you know, is friend to every youth;
    Remember, you are common as the flower
    That grows beside the road; in bitter truth,
    Your body has its price; your beauty's dower
    Is his, who pays the market's current rate:
    Then serve the man you love, and him you hate.               31

And again:

    The wisest Brahman and the meanest fool
    Bathe in the selfsame pool;
    Beneath the peacock, flowering plants bend low,
    No less beneath the crow;
    The Brahman, warrior, merchant, sail along
    With all the vulgar throng.
    You are the pool, the flowering plant, the boat;
    And on your beauty every man may dote.                       32

[13.22 S.

_Vasantasenā._ Yet true love would be won by virtue, not violence.

_Sansthānaka._ But, mashter, ever since the shlave-wench went into
the park where Kāma's[35] temple shtands, she has been in love with
a poor man, with Chārudatta, and she doesn't love me any more.
His house is to the left. Look out and don't let her shlip out of our
hands.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] Poor fool, he has said the very thing he should
have concealed. So Vasantasenā is in love with Chārudatta? The
proverb is right. Pearl suits with pearl. Well, I have had enough
of this fool. [_Aloud._] Did you say the good merchant's house was
to the left, you jackass?

_Sansthānaka._ Yes. His house is to the left.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Oh, wonderful! If his house is really at my
left hand, then the scoundrel has helped me in the very act of hurting
me, for he has guided me to my love.

_Sansthānaka._ But mashter, it's pitch dark and it's like hunting
for a grain of soot in a pile of shpotted beans. Now you shee Vasantasenā
and now you don't.

_Courtier._ Pitch dark it is indeed.

    The sudden darkness seems to steal
    The keenness of my sight;
    My open eyes, as with a seal,
    Are closed by blackest night.                                33

And again:

    Darkness anoints my body, and the sky
    Drops ointment of thick darkness, till mine eye
    Is all unprofitable grown to me,
    Like service done to them who cheat and lie.                 34

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter, I'm looking for Vasantasenā.

_Courtier._ Is there anything you can trace her by, jackass?

_Sansthānaka._ Like what, for inshtance?

P. 28.3]

_Courtier._ Like the tinkling of her jewels, for instance, or the fragrance
of her garlands.

_Sansthānaka._ I hear the shmell of her garlands, but my nose is
shtuffed so full of darkness that I don't shee the shound of her
jewels very clearly.

_Courtier._ [_To Vasantasenā. Aside._] Vasantasenā,

    'T is true, the night is dark, O timid maid,
    And like the lightning hidden in the cloud,
    You are not seen; yet you will be betrayed
    By fragrant garlands and by anklets loud.                    35

Have you heard me, Vasantasenā?

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Heard and understood. [_She removes
the ankle-rings, lays aside the garlands, and takes a few steps, feeling
her way._] I can feel the wall of the house, and here is a side-entrance.
But alas! my fingers tell me that the door is shut.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Chārudatta_ [_who is within the house_]. Comrade, my prayer is done.
Go now and offer sacrifice to the Mothers.

_Maitreya._ No, I'm not going.

_Chārudatta._ Alas!

    The poor man's kinsmen do not heed his will;
    The friends who loved him once, now stand afar;
    His sorrows multiply; his strength is nil;
    Behold! his character's bright-shining star
    Fades like the waning moon; and deeds of ill
    That others do, are counted to him still.                    36

And again:

    No man holds converse with him; none will greet
    With due respect the poor man when they meet.
    Where rich men hold a feast, if he draw near,
    He meets with scornful looks for looks of cheer.

[15.19. S.

    Where vulgar throngs are gathered, 't is the same;
    His scanty raiment wakes his heartfelt shame.
    Five are the deadly sins[36] we knew before;
    Alas! I find the sixth is--to be poor.                       37

And yet again:

    Ah, Poverty, I pity thee, that so
    To me thou clingest, as thy dearest friend;
    When my poor life has met its woeful end,
    I sadly wonder, whither thou wilt go.                        38

_Maitreya._ [_Betraying his embarrassment._] Well, comrade, if I must
go, at least let Radanikā go with me, to keep me company.

_Chārudatta._ Radanikā, you are to accompany Maitreya.

_Radanikā._ Yes, sir.

_Maitreya_. Mistress Radanikā, do you take the offering and the
candle while I open the side-door. [_He does so._]

_Vasantasenā._ It seems as if the door took pity on me and opened
of itself. I will lose no time, but enter. [_She looks in._] What? a
candle? Oh dear, oh dear! [_She puts it out with her skirt and enters._]

_Chārudatta._ What was that, Maitreya?

_Maitreya._ I opened the side-door and the wind came through all
in a lump and blew out the candle. Suppose you go out by the
side-door, Radanikā, and I will follow as soon as I have gone into
the courtyard and lighted the candle again.                    [_Exit._

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter! mashter! I'm looking for Vasantasenā.

_Courtier._ Keep on looking, keep on looking!

_Sansthānaka._ [_Does so._] Mashter! mashter! I've caught her! I've
caught her!

_Courtier._ Idiot, you've caught me.

_Sansthānaka._ You shtand right here, mashter, and shtay where
you're put. [_He renews the search and seizes the servant._] Mashter!
mashter! I've caught her! I've caught her!

P. 31.3]

_Servant._ Master, you've caught me, your servant.

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter here, shervant here! Mashter, shervant;
shervant, mashter. Now shtay where you're put, both of you. [_He
renews the search and seizes Radanikā by the hair._] Mashter! mashter!
Thish time I've caught her! I've caught Vasantasenā!

    Through the black night she fled, fled she;
      Her garland's shmell betrayed her;
    Like Chānakya caught Draupadī,
      I caught her hair and shtayed her.                         39

_Courtier._

    Ah, proud to be so young, so fair!
      Too high thy love must not aspire;
    For now thy blossom-fragrant hair,
      That merits richest gems and rare,
    Serves but to drag thee through the mire.                    40

_Sansth._

    I've got your head, girl, got it tight,
      By the hair, the locks, and the curls, too.
    Now shcream, shqueak, shqueal with all your might
      "Shiva! Ishvara! Shankara! Shambhu!"[37]                   41

_Radanikā._ [_In terror._] Oh, sirs, what does this mean?

_Courtier._ You jackass! It's another voice.

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter, the wench has changed her voice, the way a
cat changes her voice, when she wants shome cream of curdled milk.

_Courtier._ Changed her voice? Strange! Yet why so strange?

    She trod the stage; she learned the arts;
    She studied to deceive our hearts;
    And now she practises her parts.                             42

[_Enter Maitreya._]

_Maitreya._ Look! In the gentle evening breeze the flame of the
candle is fluttering like the heart of a goat that goes to the altar.

[_He approaches and discovers Radanikā._] Mistress Radanikā!

[17.17. S.

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter, mashter! A man! a man!

_Maitreya._ This is right, this is perfectly right, that strangers should
force their way into the house, just because Chārudatta is poor.

_Radanikā._ Oh, Maitreya, see how they insult me.

_Maitreya._ What! insult you? No, they are insulting us.

_Radanikā._ Very well. They are insulting you, then.

_Maitreya._ But they aren't using violence?

_Radanikā._ Yes, yes!

_Maitreya._ Really?

_Radanikā._ Really.

_Maitreya._ [_Raising his staff angrily._] No, sir! Man, a dog will show
his teeth in his own kennel, and I am a Brahman! My staff is crooked
as my fortunes, but it can still split a dry bamboo or a rascal's pate.

_Courtier._ Have mercy, O great Brahman, have mercy.

_Maitreya._ [_Discovers the courtier._] He is not the sinner. [_Discovers
Sansthānaka._] Ah, here is the sinner. Well, you brother-in-law to
the king, Sansthānaka, you scoundrel, you coward, this is perfectly
proper, isn't it? Chārudatta the good is a poor man now--true,
but are not his virtues an ornament to Ujjayinī? And so men break
into his house and insult his servants!

    Insult not him, laid low by poverty;
      For none are counted poor by mighty fate:
      Yet he who falls from virtue's high estate,
    Though he be rich, no man is poor as he.                     43

_Courtier._ [_Betraying his embarrassment._] Have mercy, O great
Brahman, have mercy. We intended no insolence; we merely mistook this
lady for another. For

    We sought an amorous maiden,

_Maitreya._ What! this one?

_Courtier._ Heaven forbid!

                                    one whose youth
      Is in the guidance of her own sweet will;
    She disappeared: unconscious of the truth,
      We did what seems a purposed deed of ill.                  44

P. 35.4]

I pray you, accept this all-in-all of humblest supplication. [_He drops
his sword, folds his hands, and falls at Maitreya's feet._]

_Maitreya._ Good man, rise, rise. When I reviled you, I did not know
you. Now I know you and I ask your pardon.

_Courtier._ It is I who should ask pardon. I will rise on one condition.

_Maitreya._ And that is--

_Courtier._ That you will not tell Chārudatta what has happened here.

_Maitreya._ I will be silent.

_Courtier._

    Brahman, this gracious act of thine
      I bow my neck to bear;
    For never could this sword of mine
      With virtue's steel compare.                               45

_Sansthānaka._ [_Indignantly._] But mashter, what makes you fold
your hands sho helplesshly and fall at the feet of thish manikin?

_Courtier._ I was afraid.

_Sansthānaka._ What were _you_ afraid of?

_Courtier._ Of Chārudatta's virtues.

_Sansthānaka._ Virtues? He? You can go into his houshe and not
find a thing to eat.

_Courtier._ No, no.

    His loving-kindness unto such as we
      Has brought him low at last;
    From him could no man learn what insults be,
      Or e'er his wealth was past.
    This well-filled pool, that in its summer day
    Gave others drink, itself is dried away.                     46

_Sansthānaka._ [_Impatiently._] Who is the shon of a shlave-wench
anyway?

    Brave Shvetaketu is he, Pāndu's child?
    Or Rādhā's shon, the ten-necked ogre wild?
    Or Indradatta? or again, is he
    Shon of brave Rāma and of fair Kuntī?
    Or Dharmaputra? Ashvatthāman bold?
    Perhaps Jatāyu's shelf, that vulture old?                    47

[19.19. S.

_Courtier._ Fool! I will tell you who Chārudatta is.

    A tree of life to them whose sorrows grow,
    Beneath its fruit of virtue bending low;
    Father to good men; virtue's touchstone he;
    The mirror of the learned; and the sea
    Where all the tides of character unite;
    A righteous man, whom pride could never blight;
    A treasure-house, with human virtues stored;
    Courtesy's essence, honor's precious hoard.
    He doth to life its fullest meaning give,
    So good is he; we others breathe, not live.                  48

Let us be gone.

_Sansthānaka._ Without Vasantasenā?

_Courtier._ Vasantasenā has disappeared.

_Sansthānaka._ How?

_Courtier._

    Like sick men's strength, or like the blind man's sight,
    Like the fool's judgment, like the sluggard's might,
    Like thoughtless scoundrels' store of wisdom's light,
    Like love, when foemen fan our slumbering wrath,
    So did _she_ vanish, when you crossed her path.              49

_Sansthānaka._ I'm not going without Vasantasenā.

_Courtier._ And did you never hear this?

    To hold a horse, you need a rein;
    To hold an elephant, a chain;
    To hold a woman, use a heart;
    And if you haven't one, depart.                              50

_Sansthānaka._ If you're going, go along. I'm not going.

_Courtier._ Very well. I will go.              [_Exit._

P. 38.2]

_Sansthānaka._ Mashter's gone, sure enough. [_To Maitreya._] Well,
you man with the head that looks like a caret, you manikin, take a
sheat, take a sheat.

_Maitreya._ We have already been invited to take a seat.

_Sansthānaka._ By whom?

_Maitreya._ By destiny.

_Sansthānaka._ Shtand up, then, shtand up!

_Maitreya._ We shall.

_Sansthānaka._ When?

_Maitreya._ When fate is kind again.

_Sansthānaka._ Weep, then, weep!

_Maitreya._ We have wept.

_Sansthānaka._ Who made you?

_Maitreya._ Poverty.

_Sansthānaka._ Laugh, then, laugh!

_Maitreya._ Laugh we shall.

_Sansthānaka._ When?

_Maitreya._ When Chārudatta is happy once more.

_Sansthānaka._ You manikin, give poor little Chārudatta thish messhage
from me. "Thish wench with golden ornaments and golden jewels, thish
female shtage-manager looking after the rehearsal of a new play, thish
Vasantasenā--she has been in love with you ever shince she went into the
park where Kāma's temple shtands. And when we tried to conciliate her by
force, she went into your houshe. Now if you shend her away yourshelf
and hand her over to me, if you reshtore her at once, without any
lawshuit in court, then I'll be friends with you forever. But if you
don't reshtore her, there will be a fight to the death." Remember:

    Shmear a pumpkin-shtalk with cow-dung;
      Keep your vegetables dried;
    Cook your rice in winter evenings;
      And be sure your meat is fried.
    Then let 'em shtand, and they will not
    Bothershomely shmell and rot.                                51

[21.17. S.

Tell it to him prettily, tell it to him craftily. Tell it to him sho that
I can hear it as I roosht in the dove-cote on the top of my own
palace. If you shay it different, I'll chew your head like an apple
caught in the crack of a door.

_Maitreya._ Very well. I shall tell him.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] Tell me, shervant. Is mashter really gone?

_Servant._ Yes, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ Then we will go as quickly as we can.

_Servant._ Then take your sword, master.

_Sansthānaka._ You can keep it.

_Servant._ Here it is, master. Take your sword, master.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Taking it by the wrong end._]

    My shword, red as a radish shkin,
      Ne'er finds the time to molder;
    Shee how it shleeps its sheath within!
      I put it on my shoulder.
    While curs and bitches yelp at me, I roam,
    Like a hunted jackal, home.                                  52

    [_Sansthānaka and the servant walk about, then exeunt._

_Maitreya._ Mistress Radanikā, you must not tell good Chārudatta
of this outrage. I am sure you would only add to the poor man's
sorrows.

_Radanikā._ Good Maitreya, you know Radanikā. Her lips are sealed.

_Maitreya._ So be it.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Chārudatta._ [_To Vasantasenā._] Radanikā, Rohasena likes the fresh
air, but he will be cold in the evening chill. Pray bring him into the
house, and cover him with this mantle. [_He gives her the mantle._]

P. 49.19]

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] See! He thinks I am his servant. [_She
takes the mantle and perceives its perfume. Ardently to herself._] Oh,
beautiful! The mantle is fragrant with jasmine. His youthful days
are not wholly indifferent to the pleasures of the world. [_She wraps
it about her, without letting Chārudatta see._]

_Chārudatta._ Come, Radanikā, take Rohasena and enter the heart
of the house.

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Ah me unhappy, that have little part
or lot in your heart!

_Chārudatta._ Come, Radanikā, will you not even answer? Alas!

    When man once sees that miserable day,
    When fate almighty sweeps his wealth away,
    Then ancient friendships will no longer hold,
    Then all his former bosom-friends grow cold.                 53

_Maitreya._ [_Drawing near to Radanikā._] Sir, here is Radanikā.

_Chārudatta._ Here is Radanikā? Who then is this--

    This unknown lady, by my robe
      Thus clinging, desecrated,

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Say rather "consecrated."

_Chārudatta._ Until she seems the crescent moon.
      With clouds of autumn[38] mated?                           54

But no! I may not gaze upon another's wife.

_Maitreya._ Oh, you need not fear that you are looking at another
man's wife. This is Vasantasenā, who has been in love with you
ever since she saw you in the garden where Kāma's temple stands.

_Chārudatta._ What! this is Vasantasenā? [_Aside._]

    My love for whom--my fortune spent--
    My wretched self in twain has rent.
    Like coward's anger, inward bent.                            55

[23. 19. S.

_Maitreya._ My friend, that brother-in-law of the king says--

_Chārudatta._ Well?

_Maitreya._ "This wench with golden ornaments and golden jewels,
this female stage-manager looking after the rehearsal of a new
play, this Vasantasenā--she has been in love with you ever since
she went into the park where Kāma's temple stands. And when we
tried to conciliate her by force, she went into your house."

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] "Tried to conciliate me by force"--truly,
I am honored by these words.

_Maitreya._ "Now if you send her away yourself and hand her over
to me, if you restore her at once, without any lawsuit in court,
then I'll be friends with you forever. Otherwise, there will be a
fight to the death."

_Chārudatta._ [_Contemptuously._] He is a fool. [_To himself._] How is
this maiden worthy of the worship that we pay a goddess! For now

    Although I bade her enter, yet she seeks
      To spare my poverty, nor enters here;
    Though men are known to her, yet all she speaks
      Contains no word to wound a modest ear.                    56

[_Aloud._] Mistress Vasantasenā, I have unwittingly made myself
guilty of an offense; for I greeted as a servant one whom I did not
recognize. I bend my neck to ask your pardon.

_Vasantasenā._ It is I who have offended by this unseemly intrusion.
I bow my head to seek your forgiveness.

_Maitreya._ Yes, with your pretty bows you two have knocked your
heads together, till they look like a couple of rice-fields. I also bow
my head like a camel colt's knee and beseech you both to stand
up. [_He does so, then rises._]

_Chārudatta._ Very well, let us no longer trouble ourselves with
conventions.

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] What a delightfully clever hint! But
it would hardly be proper to spend the night, considering how I
came hither. Well, I will at least say this much. [_Aloud._] If I am
to receive thus much of your favor, sir, I should be glad to leave
these jewels in your house. It was for the sake of the jewels that
those scoundrels pursued me.

P. 45.14]

_Chārudatta._ This house is not worthy of the trust.

_Vasantasenā._ You mistake, sir! It is to men that treasures are
entrusted, not to houses.

_Chārudatta._ Maitreya, will you receive the jewels?

_Vasantasenā._ I am much indebted to you. [_She hands him the
jewels._]

_Maitreya._ [_Receiving them._] Heaven bless you, madam.

_Chārudatta._ Fool! They are only entrusted to us.

_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] Then the thieves may take them, for all I care.

_Chārudatta._ In a very short time--

_Maitreya._ What she has entrusted to us, belongs to us.

_Chārudatta._ I shall restore them.

_Vasantasenā._ I should be grateful, sir, if this gentleman would
accompany me home.

_Chārudatta._ Maitreya, pray accompany our guest.

_Maitreya._ She walks as gracefully as a female swan, and you are
the gay flamingo to accompany her. But I am only a poor Brahman,
and wherever I go, the people will fall upon me just as dogs will
snap at a victim dragged to the cross-roads.

_Chārudatta._ Very well. I will accompany her myself. Let the
torches be lighted, to ensure our safety on the highway.

_Maitreya._ Vardhamānaka, light the torches.

_Vardhamānaka._ [_Aside to Maitreya._] What! light torches without
oil?

_Maitreya._ [_Aside to Chārudatta._] These torches of ours are like
courtezans who despise their poor lovers. They won't light up unless
you feed them.

[25.23. S.

_Chārudatta._ Enough, Maitreya! We need no torches. See, we have
a lamp upon the king's highway.

    Attended by her starry servants all,
      And pale to see as a loving maiden's cheeks,
    Rises before our eyes the moon's bright ball,
    Whose pure beams on the high-piled darkness fall
      Like streaming milk that dried-up marshes seeks.           57

[_His voice betraying his passion._] Mistress Vasantasenā, we have
reached your home. Pray enter. [_Vasantasenā gazes ardently at him,
then exit._] Comrade, Vasantasenā is gone. Come, let us go home.

    All creatures from the highway take their flight;
    The watchmen pace their rounds before our sight;
    To forestall treachery, is just and right,
    For many sins find shelter in the night.                     58

[_He walks about._] And you shall guard this golden casket by night,
and Vardhamānaka by day.

_Maitreya._ Very well.                           [_Exeunt ambo._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 30: During the mating season, a fragrant liquor exudes from
the forehead of the elephant. Of this liquor bees are very fond.]

[Footnote 31: The most striking peculiarity of Sansthānaka's
dialect--his substitution of _sh_ for _s_--I have tried to imitate in
the translation.]

[Footnote 32: Red arsenic, used as a cosmetic.]

[Footnote 33: Here, as elsewhere, Sansthānaka's mythology is wildly
confused. To a Hindu the effect must be ludicrous enough; but the humor
is necessarily lost in a translation. It therefore seems hardly worth
while to explain his mythological vagaries in detail.]

[Footnote 34: A name of Krishna, who is perhaps the most amorous
character in Indian story.]

[Footnote 35: Cupid.]

[Footnote 36: The five deadly sins are: the slaying of a Brahman, the
drinking of wine, theft, adultery with the wife of one's teacher, and
association with one guilty of these crimes.]

[Footnote 37: These are all epithets of the same god.]

[Footnote 38: Which look pretty, but do not rain. He doubtless means to
suggest that the cloak, belonging to a strange man, is as useless to
Vasantasenā as the veil of autumn clouds to the earth.]




ACT THE SECOND

THE SHAMPOOER[39] WHO GAMBLED


                          [_Enter a maid._]

_Maid._

I am sent with a message to my mistress by her mother. I must
go in and find my mistress. [_She walks about and looks around
her._] There is my mistress. She is painting a picture, and putting
her whole heart into it. I must go and speak to her.

[_Then appear the love-lorn Vasantasenā, seated, and Madanikā._]

_Vasantasenā._ Well, girl, and then--

_Madanikā._ But mistress, you were not speaking of anything. What
do you mean?

_Vasantasenā._ Why, what did I say?

_Madanikā._ You said, "and then"--

_Vasantasenā._ [_Puckering her brows._] Oh, yes. So I did.

_Maid._ [_Approaching._] Mistress, your mother sends word that you
should bathe and then offer worship to the gods.

_Vasantasenā._ You may tell my mother that I shall not take the
ceremonial bath to-day. A Brahman must offer worship in my place.

_Maid._ Yes, mistress.                                [_Exit._

_Madanikā._ My dear mistress, it is love, not naughtiness, that asks
the question--but what does this mean?

_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, Madanikā. How do I seem to you?

_Madanikā._ My mistress is so absent-minded that I know her heart
is filled with longing for somebody.

_Vasantasenā._ Well guessed. My Madanikā is quick to fathom
another's heart.

_Madanikā._ I am very, very glad. Yes, Kāma is indeed mighty, and
his great festival is welcome when one is young. But tell me, mistress,
is it a king, or a king's favorite, whom you worship?

[28.1. S.

_Vasantasenā._ Girl, I wish to love, not to worship.

_Madanikā._ Is it a Brahman that excites your passion, some youth
distinguished for very particular learning?

_Vasantasenā._ A Brahman I should have to reverence.

_Madanikā._ Or is it some young merchant, grown enormously
wealthy from visiting many cities?

_Vasantasenā._ A merchant, girl, must go to other countries and
leave you behind, no matter how much you love him. And the
separation makes you very sad.

_Madanikā._ It isn't a king, nor a favorite, nor a Brahman, nor a
merchant. Who is it then that the princess loves?

_Vasantasenā._ Girl! Girl! You went with me to the park where
Kāma's temple stands?

_Madanikā._ Yes, mistress.

_Vasantasenā._ And yet you ask, as if you were a perfect stranger.

_Madanikā._ Now I know. Is it the man who comforted you when
you asked to be protected?

_Vasantasenā._ Well, what was his name?

_Madanikā._ Why, he lives in the merchants' quarter.

_Vasantasenā._ But I asked you for his name.

_Madanikā._ His name, mistress, is a good omen in itself. His name
is Chārudatta.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Joyfully._] Good, Madanikā, good. You have guessed
it.

_Madanikā._ [_Aside._] So much for that. [_Aloud._] Mistress, they say
he is poor.

_Vasantasenā._ That is the very reason why I love him. For a courtezan
who sets her heart on a poor man is blameless in the eyes of
the world.

P. 59.14]

_Madanikā._ But mistress, do the butterflies visit the mango-tree
when its blossoms have fallen?

_Vasantasenā._ That is just why we call _that_ sort of a girl a butterfly.

_Madanikā._ Well, mistress, if you love him, why don't you go and
visit him at once?

_Vasantasenā._ Girl, if I should visit him at once, then, because he
can't make any return--no, I don't mean that, but it would be
hard to see him.

_Madanikā._ Is that the reason why you left your jewels with him?

_Vasantasenā._ You have guessed it.

       *       *       *       *       *

_A voice[40] behind the scenes_. Oh, sir, a shampooer owes me ten
gold-pieces, and he got away from us. Hold him, hold him! [_To the
fleeing shampooer._] Stop, stop! I see you from here. [_Enter hurriedly
a frightened shampooer._]

_Shampooer._ Oh, confound this gambling business!

    Freed from its tether, the ace--
      I might better say "ass"--how it kicks me!
    And the cast of the dice called the "spear"
      Proves true to its name; for it sticks me.                   1

        The keeper's whole attention
          Was busy with the score;
        So it took no great invention
          To vanish through the door.
        But I cannot stand forever
          In the unprotected street.
        Is there no one to deliver?
          I would fall before his feet.                                2

While the keeper and the gambler are looking somewhere else
for me, I'll just walk backwards into this empty temple and turn
goddess. [_He makes all sorts of gestures, takes his place, and waits._]

[_Enter Māthura and the gambler._]

[30.1. S.

_Māthura._ Oh, sir, a shampooer owes me ten gold-pieces, and he got
away from us. Hold him, hold him! Stop, stop! I see you from
here.

_Gambler._

    You may run to hell, if they'll take you in;
    With Indra, the god, you may stay:
    For there's never a god can save your skin.
    While Māthura wants his pay.                                 3

_Māthura._

    Oh, whither flee you, nimble rambler.
    You that cheat an honest gambler?
    You that shake with fear and shiver.
    All a-tremble, all a-quiver;
    You that cannot trip enough.
    On the level ground and rough;
    You that stain your social station,
    Family, and reputation!                                      4

_Gambler._ [_Examining the footprints._] Here he goes. And here the
tracks are lost.

_Māthura._ [_Gazes at the footprints. Reflectively._] Look! The feet are
turned around. And the temple hasn't any image. [_After a moment's
thought._] That rogue of a shampooer has gone into the temple
with his feet turned around.

_Gambler._ Let's follow him.

_Māthura._ All right. [_They enter the temple and take a good look,
then make signs to each other._]

_Gambler._ What! a wooden image?

_Māthura._ Of course not. It's stone. [_He shakes it with all his might,
then makes signs._] What do we care? Come, let's have a game. [_He
starts to gamble as hard as he can._]

_Shampooer._ [_Trying with all his might to repress the gambling
fever. Aside._] Oh, oh!

    Oh, the rattle of dice is a charming thing,
    When you haven't a copper left;
    It works like a drum on the heart of a king,
       Of all his realm bereft.                                  5

    For gamblers leap down a mountain steep--
       I know I shall not play.
    Yet the rattle of dice is as sweet as the peep
    Of nightingales in May.                                      6

_Gambler._ My turn, my turn!

P. 56.10]

_Māthura._ Not much! it's my turn.

_Shampooer._ [_Coming up quickly from behind._] Isn't it _my_ turn?

_Gambler._ We've got our man.

_Māthura._ [_Seizing him._] You jail-bird, you're caught. Pay me
my ten gold-pieces.

_Shampooer._ I'll pay you this very day.

_Māthura._ Pay me this very minute!

_Shampooer._ I'll pay you. Only have mercy!

_Māthura._ Come, will you pay me now?

_Shampooer._ My head is getting dizzy. [_He falls to the ground. The
others beat him with all their might._]

_Māthura._ There [_drawing the gamblers ring_] you're bound by
the gamblers' ring.

_Shampooer._ [_Rises. Despairingly._] What! bound by the gamblers'
ring? Confound it! That is a limit which we gamblers can't pass.
Where can I get the money to pay him?

_Māthura._ Well then, you must give surety.

_Shampooer._ I have an idea. [_He nudges the gambler._] I'll give you
half, if you'll forgive me the other half.

_Gambler._ All right.

_Shampooer._ [_To Māthura._] I'll give you surety for a half. You
might forgive me the other half.

_Māthura._ All right. Where's the harm?

_Shampooer._ [_Aloud._] You forgave me a half, sir?

[31.24. S.

_Māthura._ Yes.

_Shampooer._ [_To the gambler._] And you forgave me a half?

_Gambler._ Yes.

_Shampooer._ Then I think I'll be going.

_Māthura._ Pay me my ten gold-pieces! Where are you going?

_Shampooer._ Look at this, gentlemen, look at this! Here I just gave
surety to one of them for a half, and the other forgave me a half.
And even after that he is dunning me, poor helpless me!

_Māthura._ [_Seizing him._] My name is Māthura, the clever swindler,
and you're not going to swindle me this time. Pay up, jail-bird,
every bit of my money, and this minute, too.

_Shampooer._ How can I pay?

_Māthura._ Sell your father and pay.

_Shampooer._ Where can I get a father?

_Māthura._ Sell your mother and pay.

_Shampooer._ Where can I get a mother?

_Māthura._ Sell yourself and pay.

_Shampooer._ Have mercy! Lead me to the king's highway.

_Māthura._ Go ahead.

_Shampooer._ If it must be. [_He walks about._] Gentlemen, will you
buy me for ten gold-pieces from this gambling-master? [_He sees
a passer-by and calls out._] What is that? You wish to know what
I can do? I will be your house-servant. What! he has gone without
even answering. Well, here's another. I'll speak to him. [_He repeats
his offer._] What! this one too takes no notice of me. He is
gone. Confound it! I've had hard luck ever since Chārudatta lost
his fortune.

_Māthura._ Will you pay?

_Shampooer._ How can I pay? [_He falls down. Māthura drags him
about._] Good gentlemen, save me, save me! [_Enter Darduraka._]

P. 61.5]

_Darduraka._ Yes, gambling is a kingdom without a throne.

    You do not mind defeat at all;
    Great are the sums you spend and win;
    While kingly revenues roll in,
    Rich men, like slaves, before you fall.                      7

And again:

    You earn your coin by gambling,
    Your friends and wife by gambling,
    Your gifts and food by gambling;
    Your last cent goes by gambling.                             8

And again:

    My cash was taken by the trey;
    The deuce then took my health away;
    The ace then set me on the street;
    The four completed my defeat.                                9

[_He looks before him._] Here comes Māthura, our sometime
gambling-master. Well, as I can't escape, I think I'll put on my veil.
[_He makes any number of gestures with his cloak, then examines it._]

    This cloth is sadly indigent in thread;
    This lovely cloth lets in a lot of light;
    This cloth's protective power is nearly fled;
    This cloth is pretty when it's rolled up tight.              10

Yet after all, what more could a poor saint do? For you see,

    One foot I've planted in the sky,
    The other on the ground must lie.[41]
    The elevation's rather high,
    But the sun stands it. Why can't I?                          11

_Māthura._ Pay, pay!

_Shampooer._ How can I pay? [_Māthura drags him about._]

_Darduraka._ Well, well, what is this I see? [_He addresses a bystander._]
What did you say, sir? "This shampooer is being maltreated
by the gambling-master, and no one will save him"? I'll
save him myself. [_He presses forward._] Stand back, stand back!

[33.25. S.

[_He takes a look._] Well, if this isn't that swindler Māthura. And
here is the poor saintly shampooer; a saint to be sure,

    Who does not hang with bended head
      Rigid till set of sun,
    Who does not rub his back with sand
      Till boils begin to run,
    Whose shins dogs may not browse upon,
      As they pass him in their rambling.[42]
    Why should this tall and dainty man
      Be so in love with gambling?                               12

Well, I must pacify Māthura. [_He approaches._] How do you do,
Māthura? [_Māthura returns the greeting._]

_Darduraka._ What does this mean?

_Māthura._ He owes me ten gold-pieces.

_Darduraka._ A mere bagatelle!

_Māthura._ [_Pulling the rolled-up cloak from under Darduraka's
arm._] Look, gentlemen, look! The man in the ragged cloak calls
ten gold-pieces a mere bagatelle.

_Darduraka._ My good fool, don't I risk ten gold-pieces on a cast
of the dice? Suppose a man has money--is that any reason why
he should put it in his bosom and show it? But you,

    You'll lose your caste, you'll lose your soul,
    For ten gold-pieces that he stole,
    To kill a man that's sound and whole,
      With five good senses in him.                              13

_Māthura._ Ten gold-pieces may be a mere bagatelle to you, sir. To
me they are a fortune.

_Darduraka._ Well then, listen to me. Just give him ten more, and
let him go to gambling again.

_Māthura._ And what then?

_Darduraka._ If he wins, he will pay you.

P. 63.12]

_Māthura._ And if he doesn't win?

_Darduraka._ Then he won't pay you.

_Māthura._ This is no time for nonsense. If you say that, you can
give him the money yourself. My name is Māthura. I'm a swindler
and I play a crooked game, and I'm not afraid of anybody. You
are an immoral scoundrel.

_Darduraka._ Who did you say was immoral?

_Māthura._ You're immoral.

_Darduraka._ Your father is immoral. [_He gives the shampooer a
sign to escape._]

_Māthura._ You cur! That is just the way that you gamble.

_Darduraka._ That is the way I gamble?

_Māthura._ Come, shampooer, pay me my ten gold-pieces.

_Shampooer._ I'll pay you this very day. I'll pay at once. [_Māthura
drags him about._]

_Darduraka._ Fool! You may maltreat him when I am away, but
not before my eyes.

[_Māthura seizes the shampooer and hits him on the nose. The shampooer
bleeds, faints, and falls flat. Darduraka approaches and interferes.
Māthura strikes Darduraka, and Darduraka strikes back._]

_Māthura._ Oh, oh, you accursèd hound! But I'll pay you for this.

_Darduraka._ My good fool, I was walking peaceably along the
street, and you struck me. If you strike me to-morrow in court,
then you will open your eyes.

_Māthura._ Yes, I'll open my eyes.

_Darduraka._ How will you open your eyes?

_Māthura._ [_Opening his eyes wide._] This is the way I'll open my
eyes.

[_Darduraka throws dust in Māthura's eyes, and gives the shampooer
a sign to escape. Māthura shuts his eyes and falls down. The shampooer
escapes._]

[35.20. S.

_Darduraka._ [_Aside._] I have made an enemy of the influential
gambling-master Māthura. I had better not stay here. Besides, my
good friend Sharvilaka told me that a young herdsman named
Aryaka has been designated by a soothsayer as our future king.
Now everybody in my condition is running after him. I think I
will join myself to him.                               [_Exit._

_Shampooer._ [_Trembles as he walks away and looks about him._] Here
is a house where somebody has left the side-door open. I will go
in. [_He enters and perceives Vasantasenā._] Madam, I throw myself
upon your protection.

_Vasantasenā._ He who throws himself upon my protection shall be
safe. Close the door, girl. [_The maid does so._]

_Vasantasenā._ What do you fear?

_Shampooer._ A creditor, madam.

_Vasantasenā._ You may open the door now, girl.

_Shampooer._ [_To himself._] Ah! Her reasons for not fearing a creditor
are in proportion to her innocence. The proverb is right:

    The man who knows his strength and bears a load
    Proportioned to that strength, not more nor less,
    Is safe from stumbling and from sore distress,
    Although he wander on a dreary road.                         14

That means me.

_Māthura._ [_Wiping his eyes. To the gambler._] Pay, pay!

_Gambler._ While we were quarreling with Darduraka, sir, the
man escaped.

_Māthura._ I broke that shampooer's nose for him with my fist
Come on! Let's trace him by the blood. [_They do so._]

_Gambler._ He went into Vasantasenā's house, sir.

_Māthura._ Then that is the end of the gold-pieces.

_Gambler._ Let's go to court and lodge a complaint.

P. 67.1]

_Māthura._ The swindler would leave the house and escape. No, we
must besiege him and so capture him.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Vasantasenā gives Madanikā a sign._]

_Madanikā._ Whence are you, sir? or who are you, sir? or whose son
are you, sir? or what is your business, sir? or what are you afraid of?

_Shampooer._ Listen, madam. My birthplace is Pātaliputra, madam.
I am the son of a householder. I practise the trade of a shampooer.

_Vasantasenā._ It is a very dainty art, sir, which you have mastered.

_Shampooer._ Madam, as an art I mastered it. It has now become a
mere trade.

_Madanikā._ Your answers are most disconsolate, sir. Pray continue.

_Shampooer._ Yes, madam. When I was at home, I used to hear travelers
tell tales, and I wanted to see new countries, and so I came here. And
when I had come here to Ujjayinī, I became the servant of a noble
gentleman. Such a handsome, courteous gentleman! When he gave money
away, he did not boast; when he was injured, he forgot it. To cut a long
story short: he was so courteous that he regarded his own person as the
possession of others, and had compassion on all who sought his
protection.

_Madanikā._ Who may it be that adorns Ujjayinī with the virtues
which he has stolen from the object of my mistress' desires?

_Vasantasenā._ Good, girl, good! I had the same thought in mind.

_Madanikā._ But to continue, sir--

_Shampooer._ Madam, he was so compassionate and so generous that
now--

_Vasantasenā._ His riches have vanished?

_Shampooer._ I didn't say it. How did you guess it, madam?

_Vasantasenā._ What was there to guess? Virtue and money seldom
keep company. In the pools from which men cannot drink there
is so much the more water.

_Madanikā._ But sir, what is his name?

[37.23. S.

_Shampooer._ Madam, who does not know the name of this moon
of the whole world? He lives in the merchants' quarter. He whose
name is worthy of all honor is named Chārudatta.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Joyfully rising from her seat._] Sir, this house is your
own. Give him a seat, girl, and take this fan. The gentleman is
weary. [_Madanikā does as she is bid._]

_Shampooer._ [_Aside._] What! so much honor because I mentioned
Chārudatta's name? Heaven bless you, Chārudatta! You are the
only man in the world who really lives. All others merely breathe.
[_He falls at Vasantasenā's feet._] Enough, madam, enough. Pray
be seated, madam.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Seating herself._] Where is he who is so richly your
creditor, sir?

_Shamp._

    The good man's wealth consists in kindly deeds;
    All other wealth is vain and quickly flies.
    The man who honors not his neighbor's needs,
    Does that man know what honor signifies?                     15

_Vasantasenā._ But to continue--

_Shampooer._ So I became a servant in his employ. And when his
wealth was reduced to his virtue, I began to live by gambling. But
fate was cruel, and I lost ten gold-pieces.

_Māthura._ I am ruined! I am robbed!

_Shampooer._ There are the gambling-master and the gambler, looking
for me. You have heard my story, madam. The rest is your
affair.

_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā, the birds fly everywhither when the tree
is shaken in which they have their nests. Go, girl, and give the
gambling-master and the gambler this bracelet. And tell them that
this gentleman sends it. [_She removes a bracelet from her arm, and
gives it to Madanikā._]

_Madanikā._ [_Receiving the bracelet._] Yes, mistress. [_She goes out._]

P. 71.2]

_Māthura._ I am ruined! I am robbed!

_Madanikā._ Inasmuch as these two are looking up to heaven, and
sighing, and chattering, and fastening their eyes on the door, I
conclude that they must be the gambling-master and the gambler.
[_Approaching._] I salute you, sir.

_Māthura._ May happiness be yours.

_Madanikā._ Sir, which of you is the gambling-master?

_Māth._

    O maiden, fair but something less than shy,
    With red lip wounded in love's ardent play,
    On whom is bent that sweet, coquettish eye?
    For whom that lisp that steals the heart away?               16

_I_ haven't got any money. You'll have to look somewhere else.

_Madanikā._ You are certainly no gambler, if you talk that way.
Is there any one who _owes_ you money?

_Māthura._ There is. He owes ten gold-pieces. What of him?

_Madanikā._ In his behalf my mistress sends you this bracelet. No,
no! He sends it himself.

_Māthura._ [_Seizing it joyfully._] Well, well, you may tell the noble
youth that his account is squared. Let him come and seek delight
again in gambling.                   [_Exeunt Māthura and the gambler._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Madanikā._ [_Returning to Vasantasenā._] Mistress, the gambling-master
and the gambler have gone away well-pleased.

_Vasantasenā._ Go, sir, and comfort your kinsfolk.

_Shampooer._ Ah, madam, if it may be, these hands would gladly
practise their art in your service.

_Vasantasenā._ But sir, he for whose sake you mastered the art,
who first received your service, he should have your service still.

_Shampooer._ [_Aside._] A very pretty way to decline my services. How
shall I repay her kindness? [_Aloud._] Madam, thus dishonored as a
gambler, I shall become a Buddhist monk. And so, madam, treasure these
words in your memory: "He was a shampooer, a gambler, a Buddhist monk."

[40.1. S.

_Vasantasenā._ Sir, you must not act too precipitately.

_Shampooer._ Madam, my mind is made up. [_He walks about._]

    I gambled, and in gambling I did fall,
      Till every one beheld me with dismay.
    Now I shall show my honest face to all,
      And walk abroad upon the king's highway.                   17

[_Tumultuous cries behind the scenes._]

_Shampooer._ [_Listening._] What is this? What is this? [_Addressing
some one behind the scenes._] What did you say? "Post-breaker,
Vasantasenā's rogue elephant, is at liberty!" Hurrah! I must go
and see the lady's best elephant. No, no! What have I to do with
these things? I must hold to my resolution.                 [_Exit._

[_Then enter hastily Karnapūraka, highly delighted, wearing a gorgeous
mantle._]

_Karnapūraka._ Where is she? Where is my mistress?

_Madanikā._ Insolent! What can it be that so excites you? You do
not see your mistress before your very eyes.

_Karnapūraka._ [_Perceiving Vasantasenā._] Mistress, my service to
you.

_Vasantasenā._ Karnapūraka, your face is beaming. What is it?

_Karnapūraka._ [_Proudly._] Oh, mistress! You missed it! You didn't
see Karnapūraka's heroism to-day!

_Vasantasenā._ What, Karnapūraka, what?

_Karnapūraka._ Listen. Post-breaker, my mistress' rogue elephant,
broke the stake he was tied to, killed his keeper, and ran into the
street, making a terrible commotion. You should have heard the
people shriek,

    Take care of the babies, as quick as you can.
      And climb up a roof or a tree!
    The elephant rogue wants the blood of a man.
      Escape! Run away! Can't you see?                           18

P. 74.14]

And:

    How they lose their ankle-rings!
    Girdles, set with gems and things,
    Break away from fastenings!

    As they stumble, trip, and blunder,
    See the bracelets snap asunder,
    Each a tangled, pearly wonder!                               19

And that rogue of an elephant dives with his trunk and his feet
and his tusks into the city of Ujjayinī, as if it were a lotus-pond
in full flower. At last he comes upon a Buddhist monk.[43] And
while the man's staff and his water-jar and his begging-bowl fly
every which way, he drizzles water over him and gets him between
his tusks. The people see him and begin to shriek again,
crying "Oh, oh, the monk is killed!"

_Vasantasenā._ [_Anxiously._] Oh, what carelessness, what carelessness!

_Karnapūraka._ Don't be frightened. Just listen, mistress. Then,
with a big piece of the broken chain dangling about him, he picked
him up, picked up the monk between his tusks, and just then
Karnapūraka saw him, _I_ saw him, no, no! the slave who grows
fat on my mistress' rice-cakes saw him, stumbled with his left
foot over a gambler's score, grabbed up an iron pole out of a shop,
and challenged the mad elephant--

_Vasantasenā._ Go on! Go on!

_Karnap._

    I hit him--in a fit of passion, too--
      He really looked like some great mountain peak.
    And from between those tusks of his I drew
      The sacred hermit meek.                                    20

_Vasantasenā._ Splendid, splendid! But go on!

_Karnapūraka._ Then, mistress, all Ujjayinī tipped over to one side,
like a ship loaded unevenly, and you could hear nothing but "Hurrah,
hurrah for Karnapūraka!" Then, mistress, a man touched the
places where he ought to have ornaments, and, finding that he
hadn't any, looked up, heaved a long sigh, and threw this mantle
over me.

[41.19. S.

_Vasantasenā._ Find out, Karnapūraka, whether the mantle is perfumed
with jasmine or not.

_Karnapūraka._ Mistress, the elephant perfume is so strong that I
can't tell for sure.

_Vasantasenā._ Then look at the name.

_Karnapūraka._ Here is the name. You may read it, mistress. [_He
hands her the mantle._]

_Vasantasenā._ [_Reads._] Chārudatta. [_She seizes the mantle eagerly
and wraps it about her._]

_Madanikā._ The mantle is very becoming to her, Karnapūraka.

_Karnapūraka._ Oh, yes, the mantle is becoming enough.

_Vasantasenā._ Here is your reward, Karnapūraka. [_She gives him
a gem._]

_Karnapūraka._ [_Taking it and bowing low._] Now the mantle is
most wonderfully becoming.

_Vasantasenā._ Karnapūraka, where is Chārudatta now?

_Karnapūraka._ He started to go home along this very street.

_Vasantasenā._ Come, girl! Let us go to the upper balcony and see
Chārudatta.                                     [_Exeunt omnes._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 39: Perhaps masseur would be more accurate.]

[Footnote 40: That of Māthura, the keeper of the gambling house.]

[Footnote 41: A humorously exaggerated reference to Indian ascetic
practices.]

[Footnote 42: See note on page 33.]

[Footnote 43: The shampooer, whose transformation is astonishingly
sudden.]




ACT THE THIRD

THE HOLE IN THE WALL


[_Enter Chārudatta's servant, Vardhamānaka._]

_Vardh._

    A master, kindly and benevolent,
    His servants love, however poor he be.
    The purse-proud, with a will on harshness bent,
    Pays service in the coin of cruelty.                         1

And again:

    A bullock greedy for a feast of corn
    You never can prevent;
    A wife who wants her lord to wear a horn
    You never can prevent;
    A man who loves to gamble night and morn
    You never can prevent;
    And blemishes[44] that with a man are born
    You never can prevent.                                       2

It is some time since Chārudatta went to the concert. It is past
midnight, and still he does not come. I think I will go into the
outer hall and take a nap. [_He does so._]

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter Chārudatta and Maitreya._]

_Chārudatta._ How beautifully Rebhila sang! The lute is indeed a
pearl, a pearl not of the ocean.

    Gently the anxious lover's heart befriending,
    Consoling when true lovers may not meet,
    To love-lorn souls the dearest comforts sending,
    It adds to sweetest love its more of sweet.              3

_Maitreya._ Well then, let's go into the house.

_Chārudatta._ But how wonderfully Master Rebhila sang!

[44.1. S

_Maitreya._ There are just two things that always make me laugh.
One is a woman talking Sanskrit, and the other is a man who tries
to sing soft and low. Now when a woman talks Sanskrit, she is like
a heifer with a new rope through her nose; all you hear is "soo,
soo, soo." And when a man tries to sing soft and low, he reminds
me of an old priest muttering texts, while the flowers in his chaplet
dry up. No, I don't like it!

_Chārudatta._ My friend, Master Rebhila sang most wonderfully
this evening. And still you are not satisfied.

    The notes of love, peace, sweetness, could I trace,
      The note that thrills, the note of passion too,
    The note of woman's loveliness and grace--
      Ah, my poor words add nothing, nothing new!
    But as the notes in sweetest cadence rang,
    I thought it was my hidden love who sang.                    4

    The melody of song, the stricken strings
    In undertone that half-unconscious clings,
    More clearly sounding when the passions rise,
    But ever sweeter as the music dies.
    Words that strong passion fain would say again,
    Yet checks their second utterance--in vain;
    For music sweet as this lives on, until
    I walk as hearing sweetest music still.                      5

_Maitreya._ But see, my friend! The very dogs are sound asleep in
the shops that look out on the market. Let us go home. [_He looks
before him._] Look, look! The blessèd moon seems to give place to
darkness, as she descends from her palace in heaven.

_Chārudatta._ True.

    The moon gives place to darkness as she dips
    Behind the western mountain; and the tips
    Of her uplifted horns alone appear,
    Like two sharp-pointed tusks uplifted clear,
    Where bathes an elephant in waters cool,
    Who shows naught else above the jungle pool.                 6

P. 89.1]

_Maitreya._ Well, here is our house. Vardhamānaka, Vardhamānaka,
open the door!

_Vardhamānaka._ I hear Maitreya's voice. Chārudatta has returned.
I must open the door for him. [_He does so._] Master, I salute you.
Maitreya, I salute you too. The couch is ready. Pray be seated.
[_Chārudatta and Maitreya enter and seat themselves._]

_Maitreya._ Vardhamānaka, call Radanikā to wash our feet.

_Chārudatta._ [_Compassionately._] She sleeps. Do not wake her.

_Vardhamānaka._ I will bring the water, Maitreya, and you may
wash Chārudatta's feet.

_Maitreya._ [_Angrily._] Look, man. He acts like the son of a slave
that he is, for he is bringing water. But he makes me wash your
feet, and I am a Brahman.

_Chārudatta._ Good Maitreya, do you bring the water, and Vardhamānaka
shall wash my feet.

_Vardhamānaka._ Yes, Maitreya. Do you bring the water. [_Maitreya
does so. Vardhamānaka washes Chārudatta's feet, then moves away._]

_Chārudatta._ Let water be brought for the Brahman's feet.

_Maitreya._ What good does water do my feet? I shall have to roll
in the dirt again, like a beaten ass.

_Vardhamānaka._ Maitreya, you are a Brahman.

_Maitreya._ Yes, like a slow-worm among all the other snakes, so
am I a Brahman among all the other Brahmans.

_Vardhamānaka._ Maitreya, I will wash your feet after all. [_He does
so._] Maitreya, this golden casket I was to keep by day, you by
night. Take it.                [_He gives it to Maitreya, then exit._

_Maitreya._ [_Receiving the casket._] The thing is here still. Isn't there
a single thief in Ujjayinī to steal the wretch that robs me of my
sleep? Listen. I am going to take it into the inner court.

[46.1. S.

_Chārud._

    Such lax attention we can ill afford.
      If we are trusted by a courtezan,
      Then, Brahman, prove yourself an honest man,
    And guard it safely, till it be restored.                    7

[_He nods, repeating the stanza_ "The melody of song, the stricken
strings:" _page_ 44.]

_Maitreya._ Are you going to sleep?

_Chārudatta._ Yes, so it seems.

    For conquering sleep, descending on mine eyes,
      First smites the brow with unresisted blow;
    Unseen, elusive, like old age, she tries
      To gather strength by weakening her foe.                   8

_Maitreya._ Then let's go to sleep. [_He does so._]

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter Sharvilaka._[45]]

_Sharv._

    I made an entrance for my body's round
      By force of art and arms, a path to deeds!
    I skinned my sides by crawling on the ground,
    Like a snake that sloughs the skin no longer sound:
      And now I go where my profession leads.                    9

[_He gazes at the sky. Joyfully._] See! The blessèd moon is setting.
For well I know,

    My trade would fain from watchmen's eyes be shrouded;
      Valiant, I force the dwelling of another.
    But see, the stars in deepest dark are clouded,
      And the night shields me like a careful mother.            10

I made a breach in the orchard wall and entered. And now I must force my
way into the inner court as well.

    Yes, let men call it vulgar, if they will,
      The trade that thrives while sleeps the sleepyhead;
    Yes, knavery, not bravery, call it still,
      To overreach confiding folk a-bed.

P. 86.9]

    Far better blame and hissing, fairly won.
      Than the pay of genuflecting underlings;
    This antique path was trod by Drona's son,
      Who slew the sleeping, unsuspecting kings.                 11

But where shall I make the breach?

    Where is the spot which falling drops decayed?
      For each betraying sound is deadened there.
    No yawning breach should in the walls be made,
      So treatises on robbery declare.
    Where does the palace crumble? Where the place
      That niter-eaten bricks false soundness wear?
    Where shall I 'scape the sight of woman's face?
      Fulfilment of my wishes waits me there.                    12

[_He feels the wall._] Here is a spot weakened by constant sun and
sprinkling and eaten by saltpeter rot. And here is a pile of dirt
thrown up by a mouse. Now heaven be praised! My venture prospers.
This is the first sign of success for Skanda's[46] sons. Now first
of all, how shall I make the breach? The blessèd Bearer of the
Golden Lance[47] has prescribed four varieties of breach, thus: if
the bricks are baked, pull them out; if they are unbaked, cut
them; if they are made of earth, wet them; if they are made of
wood, split them. Here we have baked bricks; ergo, pull out the
bricks.

    Now what shall be the shape I give the breach?
      A "lotus," "cistern," "crescent moon," or "sun"?
    "Oblong," or "cross," or "bulging pot"? for each
      The treatises permit. Which one? which one?
    And where shall I display my sovereign skill,
    That in the morning men may wonder still?                    13

In this wall of baked bricks, the "bulging pot" would be effective. I
will make that.

[47.16. S.

    At other walls that I have pierced by night,
      And at my less successful ventures too,
    The crowd of neighbors gazed by morning light,
      Assigning praise or blame, as was my due.                  14

Praise to the boon-conferring god, to Skanda of immortal youth!
Praise to him, the Bearer of the Golden Lance, the Brahman's
god, the pious! Praise to him, the Child of the Sun! Praise to him,
the teacher of magic, whose first pupil I am! For he found pleasure
in me and gave me magic ointment,

    With which so I anointed be,
    No watchman's eye my form shall see;
    And edged sword that falls on me
    From cruel wounds shall leave me free.                       15

[_He anoints himself._] Alas, I have forgotten my measuring line.
[_Reflecting._] Aha! This sacred cord[48] shall be my measuring line.
Yes, the sacred cord is a great blessing to a Brahman, especially to one
like me. For, you see,

    With this he measures, ere he pierce a wall,
      And picks the lock, when jewels are at stake.
    It serves as key to bolted door and hall,
      As tourniquet for bite of worm and snake.                  16

The measuring is done. I begin my task. [_He does so, then takes a
look._] My breach lacks but a single brick. Alas, I am bitten by a
snake. [_He binds his finger with the sacred cord, and manifests the
workings of poison._] I have applied the remedy, and now I am restored.
[_He continues his work, then gazes._] Ah, there burns a candle.
See!

    Though jealous darkness hems it round,
      The golden-yellow candle from its place
    Shines through the breach upon the ground,
      Like a streak of gold upon the touchstone's face.          17

P. 87.9]

[_He returns to his work._] The breach is finished. Good! I enter.
But no, I will not enter yet. I will shove a dummy in. [_He does
so._] Ah, no one is there. Praise be to Skanda! [_He enters and looks
about._] See! Two men asleep. Come, for my own protection I will
open the door. But the house is old and the door squeaks. I must
look for water. Now where might water be? [_He looks about, finds
water, and sprinkles the door. Anxiously._] I hope it will not fall
upon the floor and make a noise. Come, this is the way. [_He puts
his back against the door and opens it cautiously._] Good! So much
for that. Now I must discover whether these two are feigning
sleep, or whether they are asleep in the fullest meaning of the
term. [_He tries to terrify them, and notes the effect._] Yes, they must
be asleep in the fullest meaning of the term. For see!

    Their breath first calmly rises, ere it sink;
      Its regularity all fear defies.
      Unmoving in their socket-holes, the eyes
    Are tightly closed, and never seem to wink.
    The limbs relaxed, at ease the bodies lie,
      I see their feet beyond the bedstead peep,
    The lighted candle vexes not the eye;
      It would, if they were only feigning sleep.                18

[_He looks about him._] What! a drum? And here is a flute. And
here, a snare-drum. And here, a lute. And reed-pipes. And yonder,
manuscripts. Is this the house of a dancing-master? But no!
When I entered, I was convinced that this was a palatial residence.
Now then, is this man poor in the fullest meaning of the term, or,
from fear of the king or of thieves, does he keep his property
buried? Well, my own property is buried, too. But I will scatter
the seeds that betray subterranean gold. [_He does so._] The scattered
seeds nowhere swell up. Ah, he is poor in the fullest meaning
of the term. Good! I go.

_Maitreya._ [_Talking in his sleep._] Look, man. I see something like
a hole in the wall. I see something like a thief. You had better
take this golden casket.

[49.7. S

_Sharvilaka._ I wonder if the man has discovered that I have entered,
and is showing off his poverty in order to make fun of me.
Shall I kill him, or is the poor devil talking in his sleep? [_He takes
a look._] But see! This thing wrapped in a ragged bath-clout, now
that I inspect it by the light of my candle, is in truth a jewel-casket
Suppose I take it. But no! It is hardly proper to rob a
man of good birth, who is as poor as I am. I go.

_Maitreya._ My friend, by the wishes of cows and Brahmans[49] I conjure
you to take this golden casket.

_Sharvilaka._ One may not disregard the sacred wish of a cow and
the wish of a Brahman. I will take it. But look! There burns the
candle. I keep about me a moth for the express purpose of extinguishing
candles. I will let him enter the flame. This is his place
and hour. May this moth which I here release, depart to flutter
above the flame in varying circles. The breeze from the insect's
wings has translated the flame into accursèd darkness. Or shall I
not rather curse the darkness brought by me upon my Brahmanic
family? For my father was a man who knew the four Vedas, who
would not accept a gift; and I, Sharvilaka, his son, and a Brahman,
I am committing a crime for the sake of that courtezan girl
Madanikā. Now I will grant the Brahman's wish. [_He reaches out
for the casket._]

_Maitreya._ How cold your fingers are, man!

_Sharvilaka._ What carelessness! My fingers are cold from touching
water. Well, I will put my hand in my armpit [_He warms his left hand
and takes the casket._]

_Maitreya._ Have you got it?

_Sharvilaka._ I could not refuse a Brahman's request. I have it.

P. 80.9]

_Maitreya._ Now I shall sleep as peacefully as a merchant who has
sold his wares.

_Sharvilaka._ O great Brahman, sleep a hundred years! Alas that a
Brahman family should thus be plunged in darkness for the sake
of Madanikā, a courtezan! Or better, I myself am thus plunged
in darkness.

    A curse on poverty, I say!
      'T is stranger to the manly will;
    This act that shuns the light of day
      I curse indeed, but do it still.                           19

Well then, I must go to Vasantasenā's house to buy Madanikā's
freedom. [_He walks about and looks around him._] Ah, I think I
hear footsteps. I hope they are not those of policemen. Never mind.
I will pretend to be a pillar, and wait. But after all, do policemen
exist for me, for Sharvilaka? Why, I am

    A cat for crawling, and a deer for flight,
    A hawk for rending, and a dog for sight
    To judge the strength of men that wake or sleep,
    A snake, when 't is advisable to creep,
    Illusion's self, to seem a saint or rogue,
    Goddess of Speech in understanding brogue;
    A light in blackest night, in holes a lizard I can be,
    A horse on terra firma, and a ship upon the sea.             20

And again:

    Quick as a snake, and steady as a hill;
    In flight the prince of birds can show no greater skill;
    In searching on the ground I am as keen as any hare,
    In strength I am a lion, and a wolf to rend and tear.        21

_Radanikā._ [_Entering._] Dear me! Vardhamānaka went to sleep
in the outer court, and now he is not there. Well, I will call
Maitreya. [_She walks about._]

[51.1. S.

_Sharvilaka._ [_Prepares to strike down Radanikā, but first takes a
look._] What! a woman? Good! I go.                        [_Exit._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Radanikā._ [_Recoiling in terror._] Oh, oh, a thief has cut a hole in
the wall of our house and is escaping, I must go and wake Maitreya.
[_She approaches Maitreya._] Oh, Maitreya, get up, get up!
A thief has cut a hole in the wall of our house and has escaped.

_Maitreya._ [_Rising._] What do you mean, wench? "A hole in the
wall has cut a thief and has escaped"?

_Radanikā._ Poor fool! Stop your joking. Don't you see it?

_Maitreya._ What do you mean, wench? "It looks as if a second
door had been thrown open"? Get up, friend Chārudatta, get up!
A thief has made a hole in the wall of our house and has escaped.

_Chārudatta._ Yes, yes! A truce to your jests!

_Maitreya._ But it isn't a jest. Look!

_Chārudatta._ Where?

_Maitreya._ Why, here.

_Chārudatta._ [_Gazing._] What a very remarkable hole!

    The bricks are drawn away below, above;
      The top is narrow, but the center wide;
      As if the great house-heart had burst with pride,
    Fearing lest the unworthy share its love.                    22

To think that science should be expended on a task like this!

_Maitreya._ My friend, this hole must have been made by one of
two men; either by a stranger, or else for practice by a student
of the science of robbery. For what man here in Ujjayinī does
not know how much wealth there is in our house?

_Chārud._

    Stranger he must have been who made the breach,
      His customed harvest in my house to reap;
    He has not learned that vanished riches teach
      A calm, untroubled sleep.

    He saw the sometime greatness of my home
      And forced an entrance; for his heart did leap
    With short-lived hope; now he must elsewhere roam,
      And over broken hopes must sorely weep.                    23

Just think of the poor fellow telling his friends: "I entered the
house of a merchant's son, and found--nothing."

P. 92.4]

_Maitreya._ Do you mean to say that you pity the rascally robber? Thinks
he--"Here's a great house. Here's the place to carry off a jewel-casket
or a gold-casket." [_He remembers the casket. Despondently. Aside._]
Where _is_ that golden casket? [_He remembers the events of the night.
Aloud._] Look, man! You are always saying "Maitreya is a fool, Maitreya
is no scholar." But I certainly acted wisely in handing over that golden
casket to you. If I hadn't, the son of a slave would have carried it
off.

_Chārudatta._ A truce to your jests!

_Maitreya._ Just because I'm a fool, do you suppose I don't even
know the place and time for a jest?

_Chārudatta._ But when did this happen?

_Maitreya._ Why, when I told you that your fingers were cold.

_Chārudatta._ It might have been. [_He searches about. Joyfully._]
My friend, I have something pleasant to tell you.

_Maitreya._ What? Wasn't it stolen?

_Chārudatta._ Yes.

_Maitreya._ What is the pleasant news, then?

_Chārudatta._ The fact that he did not go away disappointed.

_Maitreya._ But it was only entrusted to our care.

_Chārudatta._ What! entrusted to our care? [_He swoons._]

_Maitreya._ Come to yourself, man. Is the fact that a thief stole what
was entrusted to you, any reason why you should swoon?

53.5. S.]

_Chārudatta._ [_Coming to himself._] Ah, my friend,

    Who will believe the truth?
      Suspicion now is sure.
    This world will show no ruth
      To the inglorious poor.                                    24

Alas!   If envious fate before
        Has wooed my wealth alone.
      Why should she seek my store
        Of virtue as her own?                                    25

_Maitreya._ I intend to deny the whole thing. Who gave anybody
anything? who received anything from anybody? who was a witness?

_Chārudatta._ And shall I tell a falsehood now?

    No! I will beg until I earn
      The wherewithal my debt to pay.
    Ignoble falsehood I will spurn.
      That steals the character away.                            26

_Radanikā._ I will go and tell his good wife. [_She goes out, returning
with Chārudatta's wife._]

_Wife._ [_Anxiously._] Oh! Is it true that my lord is uninjured, and
Maitreya too?

_Radanikā._ It is true, mistress. But the gems which belong to the
courtezan have been stolen. [_Chārudatta's wife swoons._] O my good
mistress! Come to yourself!

_Wife._ [_Recovering._] Girl, how can you say that my lord is uninjured?
Better that he were injured in body than in character. For
now the people of Ujjayinī will say that my lord committed this
crime because of his poverty. [_She looks up and sighs._] Ah, mighty
Fate! The destinies of the poor, uncertain as the water-drops which
fall upon a lotus-leaf, seem to thee but playthings. There remains
to me this one necklace, which I brought with me from my mother's
house. But my lord would be too proud to accept it. Girl,
call Maitreya hither.

P. 95.7]

_Radanikā._ Yes, mistress. [_She approaches Maitreya._] Maitreya,
my lady summons you.

_Maitreya._ Where is she?

_Radanikā._ Here. Come!

_Maitreya._ [_Approaching._] Heaven bless you!

_Wife._ I salute you, sir. Sir, will you look straight in front of you?

_Maitreya._ Madam, here stands a man who looks straight in front
of him.

_Wife._ Sir, you must accept this.

_Maitreya._ Why?

_Wife._ I have observed the Ceremony of the Gems. And on this
occasion one must make as great a present as one may to a Brahman.
This I have not done, therefore pray accept this necklace.

_Maitreya._ [_Receiving the necklace._] Heaven bless you! I will go
and tell my friend.

_Wife._ You must not do it in such a way as to make me blush,
Maitreya.                                              [_Exit._

_Maitreya._ [_In astonishment._] What generosity!

       *       *       *       *       *

_Chārudatta._ How Maitreya lingers! I trust his grief is not leading
him to do what he ought not. Maitreya, Maitreya!

_Maitreya._ [_Approaching._] Here I am. Take that. [_He displays the
necklace._]

_Chārudatta._ What is this?

_Maitreya._ Why, that is the reward you get for marrying such a
wife.

_Chārudatta._ What! my wife takes pity on me? Alas, now am I
poor indeed!

    When fate so robs him of his all,
    That on her pity he must call,
    The man to woman's state doth fall,
      The woman is the man.                                      27

But no, I am not poor. For I have a wife

    Whose love outlasts my wealthy day;
      In thee a friend through good and ill;
    And truth that naught could take away:
      Ah! this the poor man lacketh still.                       28

[55.9. S.

Maitreya, take the necklace and go to Vasantasenā. Tell her in
my name that we have gambled away the golden casket, forgetting
that it was not our own, that we trust she will accept this
necklace in its place.

_Maitreya._ But you must not give away this necklace, the pride of
the four seas, for that cheap thing that was stolen before we had
a bite or a drink out of it.

_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend.

    She showed her trust in leaving us her treasure;
    The price of confidence has no less measure.                 29

Friend, I conjure you by this gesture, not to return until you have
delivered it into her hands. Vardhamānaka, do you speedily

    Fill up the opening with the selfsame bricks;
      Thus will I thwart the process of the law,
    For the blemish of so great a scandal sticks.                30

And, friend Maitreya, you must show your pride by not speaking
too despondently.

_Maitreya._ How can a poor man help speaking despondently?

_Chārudatta._ Poor I am not, my friend. For I have a wife

    Whose love outlasts my wealthy day;
      In thee a friend through good and ill;
    And truth that naught could take away:
      Ah, this the poor man lacketh still.                       (28)

Go then, and after performing rites of purification, I will offer
my morning prayer.                                    [_Exeunt omnes._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 44: This refers to Chārudatta's generosity, which continues
after his wealth has vanished.]

[Footnote 45: The following scene satirises the Hindu love of system and
classification.]

[Footnote 46: The patron saint of thieves.]

[Footnote 47: An epithet of Skanda.]

[Footnote 48: The sacrificial cord, which passes over the left shoulder
and under the right arm, is worn constantly by members of the three
upper castes.]

[Footnote 49: Sacred creatures.]




ACT THE FOURTH

MADANIKA AND SHARVILAKA


[_Enter a maid._]

_Maid._

I am entrusted with a message for my mistress by her mother.
Here is my mistress. She is gazing at a picture and is talking
with Madanikā. I will go to her. [_She walks about. Then enter
Vasantasenā as described, and Madanikā._]

_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā girl, is this portrait really like Chārudatta?

_Madanikā._ Very like.

_Vasantasenā._ How do you know?

_Madanikā._ Because my mistress' eyes are fastened so lovingly
upon it.

_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā girl, do you say this because courtezan
courtesy demands it?

_Madanikā._ But mistress, is the courtesy of a girl who lives in a
courtezan's house, necessarily false?

_Vasantasenā._ Girl, courtezans meet so many kinds of men that
they do learn a false courtesy.

_Madanikā._ But when the eyes of my mistress find such delight in
a thing, and her heart too, what need is there to ask the reason?

_Vasantasenā._ But I should not like to have my friends laugh at me.

_Madanikā._ You need not be afraid. Women understand women.

_Maid._ [_Approaching._] Mistress, your mother sends word that a
covered cart is waiting at the side-door, and that you are to take
a drive.

_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, is it Chārudatta who invites me?

_Maid._ Mistress, the man who sent ornaments worth ten thousand
gold-pieces with the cart--

[58.6. S.

_Vasantasenā._ Is who?

_Maid._ Is the king's brother-in-law, Sansthānaka.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Indignantly._] Go! and never come again on such
an errand.

_Maid._ Do not be angry, mistress. I was only sent with the message.

_Vasantasenā._ But it is the message which makes me angry.

_Maid._ But what shall I tell your mother?

_Vasantasenā._ Tell my mother never to send me another such
message, unless she wishes to kill me.

_Maid._ As you will. [_Exit._]       [_<Enter Sharvilaka._]

_Sharv._

    Blame for my sin I laid upon the night;
      I conquered sleep and watchmen of the king;
    But darkness wanes, and in the sun's clear light
      My light is like the moon's--a faded thing.                1

And again:

    Whoever cast at me a passing look,
      Or neared me, anxious, as they quickly ran,
    All such my laden soul for foes mistook;
      For sin it was wherein man's fear began.                   2

Well, it was for Madanikā's sake that I did the deed of sin.

    I paid no heed to any one who talked with serving-men;
      The houses ruled by women-folk--these I avoided most;
    And when policemen seemed to have me almost in their ken,
      I stood stock-still and acted just exactly like a post.
    A hundred such manoeuvres did I constantly essay,
    And by such means succeeded in turning night to day.         3

[_He walks about._]

_Vasantasenā._ Girl, lay this picture on my sofa and come back at
once with a fan.

_Madanikā._ Yes, mistress.               [_Exit with the picture._

_Sharvilaka._ This is Vasantasenā's house. I will enter. [_He does so._]

P. 101.11]

I wonder where I can find Madanikā. [_Enter Madanikā with the
fan. Sharvilaka discovers her._] Ah, it is Madanikā.

    Surpassing Madana[50] himself in charm,
      She seems the bride of Love, in human guise;
    Even while my heart the flames of passion harm,
      She brings a sandal[51] coolness to my eyes.               4

Madanikā!

_Madanikā._ [_Discovers Sharvilaka._] Oh, oh, oh, Sharvilaka! I am so
glad, Sharvilaka. Where have you been?

_Sharvilaka._ I will tell you. [_They gaze at each other passionately._]

_Vasantasenā._ How Madanikā lingers! I wonder where she is. [_She
looks through a bull's-eye window._] Why, there she stands, talking
with a man. Her loving glance does not waver, and she gazes as
if she would drink him in. I imagine he must be the man who
wishes to make her free. Well, let her stay, let her stay. Never interrupt
anybody's happiness. I will not call her.

_Madanikā._ Tell me, Sharvilaka. [_Sharvilaka looks about him uneasily._]
What is it, Sharvilaka? You seem uneasy.

_Sharvilaka._ I will tell you a secret. Are we alone?

_Madanikā._ Of course we are.

_Vasantasenā._ What! a deep secret? I will not listen.

_Sharvilaka._ Tell me, Madanikā. Will Vasantasenā take a price for
your freedom?

_Vasantasenā._ The conversation has to do with me? Then I will
hide behind this window and listen.

_Madanikā._ I asked my mistress about it, Sharvilaka, and she said
that if she could have _her_ way, she would free all her servants for
nothing. But Sharvilaka, where did you find such a fortune that
you can think of buying my freedom from my mistress?

_Sharvilaka._

    A victim to my pauper plight,
      And your sweet love to win,
    For you, my timid maid, last night
      I did the deed of sin.                                     5

[60.16. S.

_Vasantasenā._ His face is tranquil. It would be troubled, if he had
sinned.

_Madanikā._ Oh, Sharvilaka! For a mere nothing--for a woman--you
have risked both things!

_Sharvilaka._ What things?

_Madanikā._ Your life and your character.

_Sharvilaka._ My foolish girl, fortune favors the brave.

_Madanikā._ Oh, Sharvilaka! Your character was without a stain.
You didn't do anything _very_ bad, did you, when for my sake you
did the deed of sin?

_Sharv._

    The gems that magnify a woman's charm,
    As flowers the creeping plant, I do not harm.
    I do not rob the Brahman of his pelf,
    Nor seize the sacrificial gold myself.
    I do not steal the baby from the nurse,
    Simply because I need to fill my purse.
    Even as a thief, I strive with main and might
    For just distinction 'twixt the wrong and right.             6

And so you may tell Vasantasenā this:

    These ornaments were made for you to don,
      Or so it seems to me;
    But as you love me, never put them on
      Where other folks may see.                                 7

_Madanikā._ But Sharvilaka, ornaments that nobody may see, and
a courtezan--the two things do not hang together. Give me the
jewels. I want to see them.

_Sharvilaka._ Here they are. [_He gives them to her with some uneasiness._]

_Madanikā._ [_Examining the jewels._] It seems to me I have seen
these before. Tell me. Where did you get them?

P. 104.15]

_Sharvilaka._ What does that matter to you, Madanikā? Take them.

_Madanikā._ [_Angrily._] If you can't trust me, why do you wish to
buy my freedom?

_Sharvilaka._ Well, this morning I heard in the merchants' quarter
that the merchant Chārudatta--

[_Vasantasenā and Madanikā swoon._]

_Sharvilaka._ Madanikā! Come to yourself! Why is it that now

    Your figure seems to melt in limp despair,
    Your eyes are wildly rolling here and there?
    That when I come, sweet girl, to make you free,
    You fall to trembling, not to pitying me?                    8

_Madanikā._ [_Coming to herself._] O you reckless man! When you
did what you ought not to have done for my sake, you didn't kill
anybody or hurt anybody in that house?

_Sharvilaka._ Madanikā, Sharvilaka does not strike a terrified man
or a man asleep. I did not kill anybody nor hurt anybody.

_Madanikā._ Really?

_Sharvilaka._ Really.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Recovering consciousness._] Ah, I breathe again.

_Madanikā._ Thank heaven!

_Sharvilaka._ [_Jealously._] What does this "Thank heaven" mean,
Madanikā?

    I sinned for you, when love had made me pine,
      Although my house was good since time began;
    Love took my virtue, but my pride is mine.
      _You_ call me friend and love another man?                 9

[_Meaningly._]

    A noble youth is like a goodly tree;
      His wealth, the fruit so fair;
    The courtezan is like a bird; for she
      Pecks him and leaves him bare.                             10

    Love is a fire, whose flame is lust,
      Whose fuel is gallantry,
    Wherein our youth and riches must
      Thus sacrificèd be.                                        11

[62.16. S.

_Vasantasenā._ [_With a smile._] His excitement is a little out of
place.

_Sharvilaka._ Yes!

    Those men are fools, it seems to me,
      Who trust to women or to gold;
    For gold and girls, 'tis plain to see.
      Are false as virgin snakes and cold.                       12

    Love not a woman; if you ever do,
      She mocks at you, and plays the gay deceiver:
    Yet if she loves you, you may love her too;
      But if she doesn't, leave her.                             13

Too true it is that

    A courtezan will laugh and cry for gold;
      She trusts you not, but waits your trustful hour.
    If virtue and a name are yours, then hold!
      Avoid her as you would a graveyard flower.                 14

And again:

    As fickle as the billows of the sea,
      Glowing no longer than the evening sky,
    A woman takes your gold, then leaves you free;
      You're worthless, like cosmetics, when you're dry.         15

Yes, women are indeed fickle.

    One man perhaps may hold her heart in trust,
      She lures another with coquettish eyes,
    Sports with another in unseemly lust,
      Another yet her body satisfies.                            16

As some one has well said:

    On mountain-tops no lotuses are grown;
      The horse's yoke no ass will ever bear;
    Rice never springs from seeds of barley sown;
      A courtezan is not an honest fair.                         17

Accursèd Chārudatta, you shall not live! [_He takes a few steps._]

P. 107.11]

_Madanikā._ [_Seizing the hem of his garment._] O you foolish man!
Your anger is so ridiculous.

_Sharvilaka._ Ridiculous? how so?

_Madanikā._ Because these jewels belong to my mistress.

_Sharvilaka._ And what then?

_Madanikā._ And she left them with that gentleman.

_Sharvilaka._ What for?

_Madanikā._ [_Whispers._] That's why.

_Sharvilaka._ [_Sheepishly._] Confound it!

    The sun was hot one summer day;
    I sought the shadow, there to stay:
    Poor fool! the kindly branch to pay,
    I stole its sheltering leaves away.                          18

_Vasantasenā._ How sorry he seems. Surely, he did this thing in
ignorance.

_Sharvilaka._ What is to be done now, Madanikā?

_Madanikā._ Your own wit should tell you that.

_Sharvilaka._ No. For you must remember,

    Nature herself gives women wit;
    Men learn from books a little bit.                           19

_Madanikā._ Sharvilaka, if you will take my advice, restore the
jewels to that righteous man.

_Sharvilaka._ But Madanikā, what if he should prosecute me?

_Madanikā._ No cruel heat comes from the moon.

_Vasantasenā._ Good, Madanikā, good!

_Sharvilaka._ Madanikā,

    For what I did, I feel no grief nor fear:
      Why tell me of this good man's virtues high?
    Shame for my baseness touches me more near;
      What can this king do to such rogues as I?                 20

Nevertheless, your suggestion is inconsistent with prudence. You
must discover some other plan.

[64.16. S.

_Madanikā._ Yes, there is another plan.

_Vasantasenā._ I wonder what it will be.

_Madanikā._ Pretend to be a servant of that gentleman, and give
the jewels to my mistress.

_Sharvilaka._ And what then?

_Madanikā._ Then you are no thief, Chārudatta has discharged his
obligation, and my mistress has her jewels.

_Sharvilaka._ But isn't this course too reckless?

_Madanikā._ I tell you, give them to her. Any other course is too
reckless.

_Vasantasenā._ Good, Madanikā, good! Spoken like a free woman.

_Sharvilaka._

    Risen at last is wisdom's light.
      Because I followed after you;
    When clouds obscure the moon by night,
      'Tis hard to find a guide so true.                         21

_Madanikā._ Then you must wait here a moment in Kāma's shrine,
while I tell my mistress that you have come.

_Sharvilaka._ I will.

_Madanikā._ [_Approaches Vasantasenā._] Mistress, a Brahman has
come from Chārudatta to see you.

_Vasantasenā._ But girl, how do you know that he comes from
Chārudatta?

_Madanikā._ Should I not know my own, mistress?

_Vasantasenā._ [_Shaking her head and smiling. Aside._] Splendid!
[_Aloud._] Bid him enter.

_Madanikā._ Yes, mistress. [_Approaching Sharvilaka._] Enter, Sharvilaka.

_Sharvilaka._ [_Approaches. With some embarrassment._] My greetings
to you.

P. 110.8]

_Vasantasenā._ I salute you, sir. Pray be seated.

_Sharvilaka._ The merchant sends this message: "My house is so
old that it is hard to keep this casket safe. Pray take it back."
[_He gives it to Madanikā, and starts to leave._]

_Vasantasenā._ Sir, will you undertake a return commission of mine?

_Sharvilaka._ [_Aside._] Who will carry it? [_Aloud._] And this commission
is--

_Vasantasenā._ You will be good enough to accept Madanikā.

_Sharvilaka._ Madam, I do not quite understand.

_Vasantasenā._ But I do.

_Sharvilaka._ How so?

_Vasantasenā._ Chārudatta told me that I was to give Madanikā to
the man who should return these jewels. You are therefore to
understand that he makes you a present of her.

_Sharvilaka._ [_Aside._] Ah, she sees through me. [_Aloud._] Good,
Chārudatta, good!

    On virtue only set your heart's desire;
      The righteous poor attain to heights whereto
    The wicked wealthy never may aspire.                         22

And again:

    On virtue let the human heart be set;
    To virtue nothing serves as check or let
    The moon, attaining unattainable, is led
    By virtue to her seat on Shiva's head.                       23

_Vasantasenā._ Is my driver there? [_Enter a servant with a
bullock-cart._]

_Servant._ Mistress, the cart is ready.

_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā girl, you must show me a happy face.
You are free. Enter the bullock-cart. But do not forget me.

_Madanikā._ [_Weeping._] My mistress drives me away. [_She falls at
her feet._]

_Vasantasenā._ You are now the one to whom honor should be
paid.[52] Go then, enter the cart. But do not forget me.

[66.17. S.

_Sharvilaka._ Heaven bless you! and you, Madanikā,

    Turn upon her a happy face,
    And hail with bended head the grace
    That gives you now the name of wife.
    As a veil to keep you safe through life.                     24

[_He enters the bullock-cart with Madanikā, and starts away._]

_A voice behind the scenes._ Men! Men! We have the following
orders from the chief of police: "A soothsayer has declared that
a young herdsman named Aryaka is to become king. Trusting to
this prophecy, and alarmed thereat, King Pālaka has taken him
from his hamlet, and thrown him into strict confinement. Therefore
be watchful, and every man at his post."

_Sharvilaka._ [_Listening._] What! King Pālaka has imprisoned my
good friend Aryaka? And here I am, a married man. Confound it!
But no,

    Two things alone--his friend, his wife--
      Deserve man's love below;
    A hundred brides may forfeit life
      Ere he should suffer so.                                   25

Good! I will get out [_He does so._]

_Madanikā._ [_Folding her hands. Tearfully._] My lord, if you must,
at least bring me first to your parents.

_Sharvilaka._ Yes, my love. I will. I had the same thought in mind.
[_To the servant._] My good fellow, do you know the house of the
merchant Rebhila?

_Servant._ Certainly.

_Sharvilaka._ Bring my wife thither.

_Servant._ Yes, sir.

_Madanikā_. If you desire it, dear. But dear, you must be very
careful.                                         [_Exit._

P. 113.6]

_Sharvilaka._ Now as for me,

    I'll rouse my kin, the kitchen cabinet.
      Those high in fame by strength of good right arm,
    And those who with the king's contempt have met,
      And royal slaves, to save my friend from harm:
        Like old Yaugandharāyana
        For the good king Udayana.                               26

And again:

    My friend has causeless been confined
    By wicked foes of timid kind;
    I fly, I fly to free him soon,
    Like the eclipse-oppressèd moon.                [_Exit._]    27

_Maid._ [_Entering._] Mistress, I congratulate you. A Brahman has
come with a message from Chārudatta.

_Vasantasenā._ Ah, this is a joyful day. Show him every mark of
respect, girl, and have him conducted hither by one of the pages.

_Maid._ Yes, mistress.                               [_Exit._

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter Maitreya with a page._]

_Maitreya._ Well! Rāvana, the king of the demons, travels with his
chariot that they call the "Blossom." He earned it by his penances.
Now I am a Brahman, and though I never performed any penances,
I travel with another sort of a blossom--a woman of the town.

_Maid._ Sir, will you inspect our gateway.

_Maitreya._ [_Gazes admiringly._] It has just been sprinkled and
cleaned and received a coat of green. The threshold of it is pretty
as a picture with the offerings of all sorts of fragrant flowers. It
stretches up its head as if it wanted to peep into the sky. It is
adorned with strings of jasmine garlands that hang down and toss
about like the trunk of the heavenly elephant. It shines with its
high ivory portal. It is lovely with any number of holiday banners
that gleam red as great rubies and wave their coquettish fingers as
they flutter in the breeze and seem to invite me to enter. Both
sides are decorated with holiday water-jars of crystal, which are
charming with their bright-green mango twigs, and are set at the
foot of the pillars that sustain the portal. The doors are of gold,
thickly set with diamonds as hard to pierce as a giant's breast.
It actually wearies a poor devil's envy. Yes, Vasantasenā's house-door
is a beautiful thing. Really, it forcibly challenges the attention
of a man who doesn't care about such things.

[68.16. S.

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the first court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the first court
are rows of balconies brilliant as the moon, or as sea-shells, or as
lotus-stalks; whitened by handfuls of powder strewn over them;
gleaming with golden stairways inlaid with all sorts of gems: they
seem to gaze down on Ujjayinī with their round faces, the crystal
windows, from which strings of pearls are dangling. The porter sits
there and snoozes as comfortably as a professor. The crows which
they tempt with rice-gruel and curdled milk will not eat the
offering, because they can't distinguish it from the mortar. Show
me the way, madam.

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the second court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the second
court the cart-bullocks are tied. They grow fat on mouthfuls of
grass and pulse-stalks which are brought them, right and left, by
everybody. Their horns are smeared with oil. And here is another,
a buffalo, snorting like a gentleman insulted. And here is a ram[53]
having his neck rubbed, like a prize-fighter after the fight. And
here are others, horses having their manes put in shape. And here
in a stall is another, a monkey, tied fast like a thief. [_He looks in
another direction._] And here is an elephant, taking from his drivers
a cake of rice and drippings and oil. Show me the way, madam.

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the third court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the third court
are these seats, prepared for young gentlemen to sit on. A half-read
book is lying on the gaming-table. And the table itself has
its own dice, made out of gems. And here, again, are courtezans
and old hangers-on at court, past masters in the war and peace of
love, wandering about and holding in their fingers pictures painted
in many colors. Show me the way, madam.

P. 117.4]

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the fourth court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the fourth
court the drums that maiden fingers beat are booming like the
thunder; the cymbals are falling, as the stars fall from heaven when
their merit is exhausted;[54] the pipe is discoursing music as sweet
as the humming of bees. And here, again, is a lute that somebody
is holding on his lap like a girl who is excited by jealousy and
love, and he is stroking it with his fingers. And here, again, are
courtezan girls that sing as charmingly as honey-drunken bees,
and they are made to dance and recite a drama with love in it.
And water-coolers are hanging in the windows so as to catch the
breeze. Show me the way, madam.

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the fifth court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the fifth court
the overpowering smell of asafetida and oil is attractive enough
to make a poor devil's mouth water. The kitchen is kept hot all
the time, and the gusts of steam, laden with all sorts of good
smells, seem like sighs issuing from its mouth-like doors. The
smell of the preparation of all kinds of foods and sauces makes me
smack my lips. And here, again, is a butcher's boy washing a mess
of chitterlings as if it were an old loin-cloth. The cook is preparing
every kind of food. Sweetmeats are being constructed, cakes
are being baked. [_To himself._] I wonder if I am to get a chance to
wash my feet and an invitation to eat what I can hold. [_He looks
in another direction._] There are courtezans and bastard pages,
adorned with any number of jewels, just like Gandharvas[55] and
Apsarases.[56] Really, this house is heaven. Tell me, who are you
bastards anyway?

[70.13. S.

_Pages._ Why, we are bastard pages--

    Petted in a stranger's court.
      Fed on stranger's food,
    Stranger's money makes us sport--
      Not so very good.
    Stranger women gave us birth.
      Stranger men begot;
    Baby elephants in mirth,
      We're a bastard lot.                                       28

_Maitreya._ Show me the way, madam.

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the sixth court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the sixth
court they are working in gold and jewels. The arches set with
sapphires look as if they were the home of the rainbow. The jewelers
are testing the lapis lazuli, the pearls, the corals, the topazes,
the sapphires, the cat's-eyes, the rubies, the emeralds, and all the
other kinds of gems. Rubies are being set in gold. Golden ornaments
are being fashioned. Pearls are being strung on a red cord.
Pieces of lapis lazuli are being cleverly polished. Shells are being
pierced. Corals are being ground. Wet bundles of saffron are being
dried. Musk is being moistened. Sandalwood is being ground
to make sandal-water. Perfumes are being compounded. Betel-leaves
and camphor are being given to courtezans and their lovers.
Coquettish glances are being exchanged. Laughter is going on.
Wine is being drunk incessantly with sounds of glee. Here are
men-servants, here are maid-servants, and here are men who forget
child and wife and money. When the courtezans, who have
drunk the wine from the liquor-jars, give them the mitten, they--drink.
Show me the way, madam.

P. 121.5]

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the seventh court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the seventh
court the mated doves are sitting comfortably in their snug dovecotes,
billing and cooing and nothing else, and perfectly happy.
And there is a parrot in a cage, chanting like a Brahman with a
bellyful of curdled milk and rice. And here, again, is a talking
thrush, chattering like a housemaid who spreads herself because
somebody noticed her. A cuckoo, her throat still happy from tasting
all sorts of fruit-syrups, is cooing like a procuress. Rows of
cages are hanging from pegs. Quails are being egged on to fight.
Partridges are being made to talk. Caged pigeons are being provoked.
A tame peacock that looks as if he was adorned with all
sorts of gems is dancing happily about, and as he flaps his wings,
he seems to be fanning the roof which is distressed by the rays
of the sun. [_He looks in another direction._] Here are pairs of flamingos
like moonbeams rolled into a ball, that wander about after
pretty girls, as if they wanted to learn how to walk gracefully.
And here, again, are tame cranes, walking around like ancient
eunuchs. Well, well! This courtezan keeps a regular menagerie of
birds. Really, the courtezan's house seems to me like Indra's heaven.
Show me the way, madam.

_Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the eighth court.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Madam, who is this in the
silk cloak, adorned with such astonishingly tautologous ornaments,
who wanders about, stumbling and stretching his limbs?

_Maid._ Sir, this is my mistress' brother.

_Maitreya._ What sort of ascetic exercises does a man have to perform,
in order to be born as Vasantasenā's brother? But no,

    He may be shiny, may be greasy,
      And perfumed may he be.
    And yet I warn you to go easy;
      He's a graveyard champak-tree.                             29

[_He looks in another direction._] But madam, who is that in the
expansive garment, sitting on the throne? She has shoes on her
greasy feet.

[72.9. S.

_Maid._ Sir, that is my mistress' mother.

_Maitreya._ Lord! What an extensive belly the dirty old witch has
got! I suppose they couldn't put that superb portal on the house
till after they had brought the idol in?

_Maid._ Rascal! You must not make fun of our mother so. She is
pining away under a quartan ague.

_Maitreya._ [_Bursts out laughing._] O thou blessèd quartan ague!
Look thou upon a Brahman, even upon me, with this thy favor!

_Maid._ Rascal! May death strike you.

_Maitreya._ [_Bursts out laughing._] Why, wench, a pot-belly like
that is better dead.

    Drinking brandy, rum, and wine,
      Mother fell extremely ill.
    If mother now should peak and pine,
      A jackal-pack would have its fill.                         30

Well, I have seen Vasantasenā's palace with its many incidents
and its eight courts, and really, it seems as if I had seen the triple
heaven in a nut-shell. I haven't the eloquence to praise it. Is this
the house of a courtezan, or a piece of Kubera's[57] palace? Where's
your mistress?

_Maid._ She is here in the orchard. Enter, sir.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! What a beautiful orchard!
There are any number of trees planted here, and they are
covered with the most wonderful flowers. Silken swings are hung
under the thick-set trees, just big enough for a girl to sit in. The
golden jasmine, the shephālikā, the white jasmine, the jessamine,
the navamallikā, the amaranth, the spring creeper, and all the other
flowers have fallen of themselves, and really, it makes Indra's heaven
look dingy. [_He looks in another direction._] And the pond here
looks like the morning twilight, for the lilies and red lotuses are
as splendid as the rising sun. And again:

    The ashoka-tree, whose twigs so merry
      And crimson flowers have just appeared,
    Seems like a battling mercenary,
      With clotting crimson gore besmeared.                      31

Good! Now where's your mistress?

P. 126.7]

_Maid._ If you would stop star-gazing, sir, you would see her.

_Maitreya._ [_Perceives Vasantasenā and approaches._] Heaven bless
you!

_Vasantasenā._ [_Speaking in Sanskrit._[58]] Ah, Maitreya! [_Rising._] You
are very welcome. Here is a seat. Pray be seated.

_Maitreya._ When you are seated, madam. [_They both seat themselves._]

_Vasantasenā._ Is the merchant's son well?

_Maitreya._ Well, madam.

_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, good Maitreya,

    Do friends, like birds, yet seek a shelter free
    Beneath the modest boughs of this fair tree,
    Whose leaves are virtues, confidence its root,
    Its blossoms honor, good its precious fruit?                 32

_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] A good description by a naughty woman.
[_Aloud._] They do, indeed.

_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, what is the purpose of your coming?

_Maitreya._ Listen, madam. The excellent Chārudatta folds his
hands[59] and requests--

_Vasantasenā._ [_Folding her hands._] And commands--

_Maitreya._ He says he imagined that that golden casket was his
own and gambled it away. And nobody knows where the gambling-master
has gone, for he is employed in the king's business.

[74.9. S.

_Maid._ Mistress, I congratulate you. The gentleman has turned
gambler.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] It was stolen by a thief, and he is so proud
that he says he gambled it away. I love him for that.

_Maitreya._ He requests that you will therefore be good enough to
accept in its place this necklace of pearls.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Shall I show him the jewels? [_Reflecting._]
No, not yet.

_Maitreya._ Why don't you take this necklace?

_Vasantasenā._ [_Laughs and looks at her friend._] Why should I not
take the necklace, Maitreya? [_She takes it and lays it away. Aside._]
How is it possible that drops of honey fall from the mango-tree,
even after its blossoms are gone? [_Aloud._] Sir, pray tell the worthy
gambler Chārudatta in my name that I shall pay him a visit this
evening.

_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] What else does she expect to get out of a visit
to our house? [_Aloud._] Madam, I will tell him--[_Aside_ to have
nothing more to do with this courtezan.                      [_Exit._

_Vasantasenā._ Take these jewels, girl. Let us go and bring cheer
to Chārudatta.

_Maid._ But mistress, see! An untimely storm is gathering.

_Vasant._

    The clouds may come, the rain may fall forever,
      The night may blacken in the sky above;
    For this I care not, nor I will not waver;
      My heart is journeying to him I love.                      33

Take the necklace, girl, and come quickly.          [_Exeunt omnes._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 50: A name of Kāma, the god of love.]

[Footnote 51: Used as a refrigerant.]

[Footnote 52: That is to say. You are now a legal wife, while I am still
a courtesan.]

[Footnote 53: "Rams in India are commonly trained to fight." WILSON.]

[Footnote 54: Virtuous souls after death may become stars; but when
their stellar happiness equals the sum of their acquired merit, they
fall to earth again.]

[Footnote 55: The choristers of heaven.]

[Footnote 56: The nymphs of heaven.]

[Footnote 57: The god of wealth.]

[Footnote 58: This shows the excellence of Vasantasenā's education.
Women, as an almost invariable rule, speak Prākrit.]

[Footnote 59: A gesture of respectful entreaty.]




ACT THE FIFTH

THE STORM


[_The love-lorn Chārudatta appears, seated._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Looks up._]

    An untimely storm[60] is gathering. For see!
    The peacocks gaze and lift their fans on high;
      The swans forget their purpose to depart;
    The untimely storm afflicts the blackened sky,
      And the wistful lover's heart.                             1

And again:

    The wet bull's belly wears no deeper dye;
      In flashing lightning's golden mantle clad,
      While cranes, his buglers, make the heaven glad,
    The cloud, a second Vishnu,[61] mounts the sky.              2

And yet again:

    As dark as Vishnu's form, with circling cranes
    To trumpet him, instead of bugle strains,
      And garmented in lightning's silken robe.
    Approaches now the harbinger of rains.                       3

    When lightning's lamp is lit, the silver river
      Impetuous falls from out the cloudy womb;
      Like severed lace from heaven-cloaking gloom,
    It gleams an instant, then is gone forever.                  4

    Like shoaling fishes, or like dolphins shy,
    Or like to swans, toward heaven's vault that fly,
      Like paired flamingos, male and mate together,
    Like mighty pinnacles that tower on high.
      In thousand forms the tumbling clouds embrace,
      Though torn by winds, they gather, interlace,
    And paint the ample canvas of the sky.                       5

    The sky is black as Dhritarāshtra's face;
    Proud as the champion of Kuru's race.
      The haughty peacock shrills his joy abroad;
    The cuckoo, in Yudhishthira's sad case,
      Is forced to wander if he would not die;
      The swans must leave their forest-homes and fly,
    Like Pāndu's sons, to seek an unknown place.                 6

[_Reflecting._] It is long since Maitreya went to visit Vasantasenā.
And even yet he does not come.      [_Enter Maitreya._]

[76.20. S.

_Maitreya._ Confound the courtezan's avarice and her incivility! To
think of her making so short a story of it! Over and over she
repeats something about the affection she feels, and then without
more ado she pockets the necklace. She is rich enough so that
she might at least have said: "Good Maitreya, rest a little. You
must not go until you have had a cup to drink." Confound the
courtezan! I hope I 'll never set eyes on her again. [_Wearily._]
The proverb is right. "It is hard to find a lotus-plant without a
root, a merchant who never cheats, a goldsmith who never steals,
a village-gathering without a fight, and a courtezan without avarice."
Well, I 'll find my friend and persuade him to have nothing
more to do with this courtezan. [_He walks about until he discovers
Chārudatta._] Ah, my good friend is sitting in the orchard. I 'll
go to him. [_Approaching._] Heaven bless you! May happiness be
yours.

_Chārudatta._ [_Looking up._] Ah, my friend Maitreya has returned.
You are very welcome, my friend. Pray be seated.

_Maitreya._ Thank you.

_Chārudatta._ Tell me of your errand, my friend.

_Maitreya._ My errand went all wrong.

P. 132.8]

_Chārudatta._ What! did she not accept the necklace?

_Maitreya._ How could we expect such a piece of luck? She put
her lotus-tender hands to her brow,[62] and took it.

_Chārudatta._ Then why do you say "went wrong"?

_Maitreya._ Why not, when we lost a necklace that was the pride
of the four seas for a cheap golden casket, that was stolen before
we had a bite or a drink out of it?

_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend.

    She showed her trust in leaving us her treasure;
    The price of confidence has no less measure.                 7

_Maitreya._ Now look here! I have a second grievance. She tipped
her friend the wink, covered her face with the hem of her dress,
and laughed at me. And so, Brahman though I am, I hereby fall
on my face before you and beg you not to have anything more
to do with this courtezan. That sort of society does any amount
of damage. A courtezan is like a pebble in your shoe. It hurts
before you get rid of it. And one thing more, my friend. A courtezan,
an elephant, a scribe, a mendicant friar, a swindler, and an
ass--where these dwell, not even rogues are born.

_Chārudatta._ Oh, my friend, a truce to all your detraction! My
poverty of itself prevents me. For consider:

    The horse would gladly hasten here and there,
      But his legs fail him, for his breath departs.
    So men's vain wishes wander everywhere,
      Then, weary grown, return into their hearts.               8

Then too, my friend:

    If wealth is thine, the maid is thine,
      For maids are won by gold;

[_Aside._ And not by virtue cold. _Aloud._]

    But wealth is now no longer mine,
    And her I may not hold.                                      9

[78.23. S.

_Maitreya._ [_Looks down. Aside._] From the way he looks up and
sighs, I conclude that my effort to distract him has simply increased
his longing. The proverb is right. "You can't reason with
a lover." [_Aloud._] Well, she told me to tell you that she would
have to come here this evening. I suppose she isn't satisfied with
the necklace and is coming to look for something else.

_Chārudatta._ Let her come, my friend. She shall not depart unsatisfied.
                                           [_Enter Kumbhīlaka._]

_Kumbhīlaka._ Listen, good people.

    The more it rains in sheets,
      The more my skin gets wet;
    The more the cold wind beats,
      The more I shake and fret.                                 10

[_He bursts out laughing._]

    I make the sweet flute speak from seven holes,
      I make the loud lute speak on seven strings;
    In singing, I essay the donkey's rôles:
      No god can match my music when he sings.                   11

My mistress Vasantasenā said to me "Kumbhīlaka, go and tell Chārudatta
that I am coming." So here I am, on my way to Chārudatta's house. [_He
walks about, and, as he enters, discovers Chārudatta._] Here is
Chārudatta in the orchard. And here is that wretched jackanapes, too.
Well, I'll go up to them. What! the orchard-gate is shut? Good! I'll
give this jackanapes a hint. [_He throws lumps of mud._]

_Maitreya._ Well! Who is this pelting me with mud, as if I were
an apple-tree inside of a fence?

_Chārudatta._ Doubtless the pigeons that play on the roof of the
garden-house.

_Maitreya._ Wait a minute, you confounded pigeon! With this
stick I'll bring you down from the roof to the ground, like an
over-ripe mango. [_He raises his stick and starts to run._]

P. 136.8]

_Chārudatta._ [_Holding him back by the sacred cord._] Sit down, my
friend. What do you mean? Leave the poor pigeon alone with his
mate.

_Kumbhīlaka._ What! he sees the pigeon and doesn't see me? Good!
I'll hit him again with another lump of mud. [_He does so._]

_Maitreya._ [_Looks about him._] What! Kumbhīlaka? I'll be with you
in a minute. [_He approaches and opens the gate._] Well, Kumbhīlaka,
come in. I'm glad to see you.

_Kumbhīlaka._ [_Enters._] I salute you, sir.

_Maitreya._ Where do you come from, man, in this rain and darkness?

_Kumbhīlaka._ You see, she's here.

_Maitreya._ Who's she? Who's here?

_Kumbhīlaka._ She. See? She.

_Maitreya._ Look here, you son of a slave! What makes you sigh
like a half-starved old beggar in a famine, with your "shesheshe"?

_Kumbhīlaka._ And what makes you hoot like an owl with your
"whowhowho"?

_Maitreya._ All right. Tell me.

_Kumbhīlaka._ [_Aside._] Suppose I say it this way. [_Aloud._] I'll give
you a riddle, man.

_Maitreya._ And I'll give you the answer with my foot on your
bald spot.

_Kumbhīlaka._ Not till you've guessed it. In what season do the
mango-trees blossom?

_Maitreya._ In summer, you jackass.

_Kumbhīlaka._ [_Laughing._] Wrong!

_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] What shall I say now? [_Reflecting._] Good! I'll
go and ask Chārudatta. [_Aloud._] Just wait a moment. [_Approaching
Chārudatta._] My friend, I just wanted to ask you in what
season the mango-trees blossom.

[81.3. S.

_Chārudatta._ You fool, in spring, in _vasanta._

_Maitreya._ [_Returns to Kumbhīlaka._] You fool, in spring, in _vasanta_.

_Kumbhīlaka._ Now I 'll give you another. Who guards thriving
villages?

_Maitreya._ Why, the guard.

_Kumbhīlaka._ [_Laughing._] Wrong!

_Maitreya._ Well, I'm stuck. [_Reflecting._] Good! I'll ask Chārudatta
again. [_He returns and puts the question to Chārudatta._]

_Chārudatta._ The army, my friend, the _senā_.

_Maitreya._ [_Comes back to Kumbhīlaka._] The army, you jackass, the
_senā_.

_Kumbhīlaka._ Now put the two together and say 'em fast.

_Maitreya._ Senā-vasanta.

_Kumbhīlaka._ Say it turned around.

_Maitreya._ [_Turns around._] Senā-vasanta.

_Kumbhīlaka._ You fool! you jackanapes! Turn the parts of the thing
around!

_Maitreya._ [_Turns his feet around._] Senā-vasanta.

_Kumbhīlaka._ You fool! Turn the parts of the word around!

_Maitreya._ [_After reflection._] Vasanta-senā.

_Kumbhīlaka._ She's here.

_Maitreya._ Then I must tell Chārudatta. [_Approaching._] Well,
Chārudatta, your creditor is here.

_Chārudatta._ How should a creditor come into my family?

_Maitreya._ Not in the family perhaps, but at the door. Vasantasenā
is here.

_Chārudatta._ Why do you deceive me, my friend?

_Maitreya._ If you can't trust me, then ask Kumbhīlaka here.
Kumbhīlaka, you jackass, come here.

P. 140.4]

_Kumbhīlaka._ [_Approaching._] I salute you, sir.

_Chārudatta._ You are welcome, my good fellow. Tell me, is Vasantasenā
really here?

_Kumbhīlaka._ Yes, she's here. Vasantasenā is here.

_Chārudatta._ [_Joyfully._] My good fellow, I have never let the
bearer of welcome news go unrewarded. Take this as your recompense.
[_He gives him his mantle._]

_Kumbhīlaka._ [_Takes it and bows. Gleefully._] I'll tell my mistress.

                                                               [_Exit._

_Maitreya._ Do you see why she comes in a storm like this?

_Chārudatta._ I do not quite understand, my friend.

_Maitreya._ I know. She has an idea that the pearl necklace is
cheap, and the golden casket expensive. She isn't satisfied, and
she has come to look for something more.

_Chārudatta._ [_Aside._] She shall not depart unsatisfied.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Then enter the love-lorn Vasantasenā, in a splendid garment, fit
for a woman who goes to meet her lover, a maid with an umbrella,
and the courtier._]

_Courtier._ [_Referring to Vasantasenā._]

    Lakshmī[63] without the lotus-flower is she,
      Loveliest arrow of god Kāma's bow,[64]
    The sweetest blossom on love's magic tree.

    See how she moves, so gracefully and slow!
      In passion's hour she still loves modesty;
    In her, good wives their dearest sorrow know.

    When passion's drama shall enacted be.
      When on love's stage appears the passing show,
      A host of wanderers shall bend them low.
    Glad to be slaves in such captivity.                         12

[82.94. S.

See, Vasantasenā, see!

    The clouds hang drooping to the mountain peaks,
    Like a maiden's heart, that distant lover seeks:
    The peacocks startle, when the thunder booms,
    And fan the heaven with all their jeweled plumes.            13

And again:

    Mud-stained, and pelted by the streaming rain,
    To drink the falling drops the frogs are fain;
    Full-throated peacocks love's shrill passion show,
    And nīpa flowers like brilliant candles glow;
    Unfaithful clouds obscure the hostage moon,
    Like knaves, unworthy of so dear a boon;
    Like some poor maid of better breeding bare,
    The impatient lightning rests not anywhere.                  14

_Vasantasenā._[65] Sir, what you say is most true. For

    The night, an angry rival, bars my way;
      Her thunders fain would check and hinder me:
    "Fond fool! with him I love thou shalt not stay,
      'T is I, 't is I, he loves," she seems to say,
      "Nor from my swelling bosom shall he flee."                15

_Courtier._ Yes, yes. That is right. Scold the night.

_Vasantasenā._ And yet, sir, why scold one who is so ignorant of
woman's nature! For you must remember:

    The clouds may rain, may thunder ne'er so bold,
      May flash the lightning from the sky above;
    That woman little recks of heat or cold,
      Who journeys to her love.                                  16

_Courtier._ But see, Vasantasenā! Another cloud,

    Sped by the fickle fury of the air--
      A flood of arrows in his rushing streams,
    His drum, the roaring thunder's mighty blare,
      His banner, living lightning's awful gleams--

    Rages within the sky, and shows him bold
      'Mid beams that to the moon allegiance owe,
    Like a hero-king within the hostile hold
      Of his unwarlike foe.                                      17

P. 142.9]

_Vasantasenā._ True, true. And more than this:

    As dark as elephants, these clouds alone
      Fall like a cruel dart--
    With streaks of lightning and with white birds strewn--
      To wound my wretched heart.
    But, oh, why should the heron, bird of doom,
      With that perfidious sound[66]
    Of "Rain! Rain! Rain!"--grim summons to the tomb
    For her who spends her lonely hours in gloom--
      Strew salt upon the wound?                                 18

_Courtier._ Very true, Vasantasenā. And yet again:

    It seems as if the sky would take the guise
      Of some fierce elephant to service bred;
    The lightning like a waving streamer flies,
      And white cranes serve to deck his mighty head.            19

_Vasantasenā._ But look, sir, look!

    Clouds, black as wet tamāla-leaves, the ball
      Of heaven hide from our sight;
    Rain-smitten homes of ants decay and fall
      Like beasts that arrows smite;
    Like golden lamps within a lordly hall
      Wander the lightnings bright;
    As when men steal the wife of some base thrall,
      Clouds rob the moon of light.                              20

_Courtier._ See, Vasantasenā, see!

    Clouds, harnessed in the lightning's gleams,
      Like charging elephants dash by;
    At Indra's bidding, pour their streams,
    Until with silver cords it seems
      That earth is linked with sky.                             21

[84.14. S.

And look yonder!

    As herds of buffaloes the clouds are black;
      The winds deny them ease;
    They fly on lightning wings and little lack
      Of seeming troubled seas.

    Smitten with falling drops, the fragrant sod,
    Upon whose bosom greenest grasses nod,
    Seems pierced with pearls, each pearl an arrowy rod.         22

_Vasantasenā._ And here is yet another cloud.

    The peacock's shrill-voiced cry
    Implores it to draw nigh;
    And ardent cranes on high
    Embrace it lovingly.

    The wistful swans espy
    The lotus-sweeter sky;
    The darkest colors lie
    On heaven clingingly.                                        23

_Courtier._ True. For see!

    A thousand lotuses that bloom by night,
    A thousand blooming when the day is bright,
    Nor close nor ope their eyes to heaven's sight;
      There is no night nor day.

    The face of heaven, thus shrouded in the night,
    Is only for a single instant bright,
    When momentary lightning gives us sight;
      Else is it dark alway.

    Now sleeps the world as still as in the night
    Within the house of rain where naught is bright,
    Where hosts of swollen clouds seem to our sight
      One covering veil of gray.                                 24

P. 143.20]

_Vasantasenā._ True. And see!

    The stars are lost like mercies given
      To men of evil heart;
    Like lonely-parted wives, the heaven
      Sees all her charms depart.
    And, molten in the cruel heat
      Of Indra's bolt, it seems
    As if the sky fell at our feet
      In liquid, flowing streams.                                25

And yet again:

    The clouds first darkly rise, then darkly fall,
    Send forth their floods of rain, and thunder all;
    Assuming postures strange and manifold,
    Like men but newly blest with wealth untold.                 26

_Courtier._ True.

    The heaven is radiant with the lightning's glare;
      Its laughter is the cry of myriad cranes;
    Its voice, the bolts that whistle through the air;
      Its dance, that bow whose arrows are the rains.
    It staggers at the winds, and seems to smoke
    With clouds, which form its black and snaky cloak.           27

_Vasantasenā._ O shameless, shameless sky!

      To thunder thus, while I
      To him I love draw nigh.
    Why do thy thunders frighten me and pain?
    Why am I seized upon by hands of rain?                       28

O Indra, mighty Indra!

    Did I then give thee of my love before,
    That now thy clouds like mighty lions roar?
    Ah no! Thou shouldst not send thy streaming rain,
    To fill my journey to my love with pain.                     29

[83.23. S.

Remember:

    For Ahalyā's sweet sake thou once didst lie;
      Thou knowest lover's pain.
    As thou didst suffer then, now suffer I;
      O cruel, cease thy rain.                                   30

And yet:

    Thunder and rain and lighten hundredfold
      Forth from thy sky above;
    The woman canst thou not delay nor hold
      Who journeys to her love.                                  31

    Let thunders roar, for men were cruel ever;
    But oh, thou maiden lightning! didst thou never
      Know pains that maidens know?                              32

_Courtier._ But mistress, do not scold the lightning. She is your
friend,

    This golden cord that trembles on the breast
    Of great Airāvata;[67] upon the crest
      Of rocky hills this banner all ablaze;
    This lamp in Indra's palace; but most blest
      As telling where your most beloved stays.                  33

_Vasantasenā._ And here, sir, is his house.

_Courtier._ You know all the arts, and need no instruction now.
Yet love bids me prattle. When you enter here, you must not
show yourself too angry.

    Where anger is, there love is not;
    Or no! except for anger hot,
      There is no love.

    Be angry! make him angry then!
    Be kind! and make him kind again--
      The man you love.                                          34

So much for that. Who is there? Let Chārudatta know, that

P. 145.17]

    While clouds look beautiful, and in the hour
    Fragrant with nīpa and kadamba flower,
    She comes to see her lover, very wet.
    With dripping locks, but pleased and loving yet.
    Though lightning and though thunder terrifies,
    She comes to see you; 't is for you she sighs.
    The mud still soils the anklets on her feet,
    But in a moment she will have them sweet.                    35

_Chārudatta._ [_Listening._] My friend, pray discover what this means.

_Maitreya._ Yes, sir. [_He approaches Vasantasenā. Respectfully._]
Heaven bless you!

_Vasantasenā._ I salute you, sir. I am very glad to see you. [_To the
courtier._] Sir, the maid with the umbrella is at your service.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] A very clever way to get rid of me. [_Aloud._]
Thank you. And mistress Vasantasenā,

    Pride and tricks and lies and fraud
      Are in your face;
    False playground of the lustful god,
      Such is your face;
    The wench's stock in trade, in fine,
    Epitome of joys divine,
      I mean, your face--
    For sale! the price is courtesy.
    I trust you'll find a man to buy
      Your face.                                    [_Exit._]    36

_Vasantasenā._ Good Maitreya, where is your gambler?

_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] "Gambler"? Ah, she's paying a compliment to
my friend. [_Aloud._] Madam, here he is in the dry orchard.

_Vasantasenā._ But sir, what do you call a dry orchard?

_Maitreya._ Madam, it's a place where there's nothing to eat or
drink, [_Vasantasenā smiles._] Pray enter, madam.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside to her maid._] What shall I say when I enter?

[87.17. S.

_Maid._ "Gambler, what luck this evening?"

_Vasantasenā._ Shall I dare to say it?

_Maid._ When the time comes, it will say itself.

_Maitreya._ Enter, madam.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Enters, approaches Chārudatta, and strikes him with
the flowers which she holds._] Well, gambler, what luck this evening?

_Chārudatta._ [_Discovers her._] Ah, Vasantasenā is here. [_He rises
joyfully._] Oh, my belovèd,

    My evenings pass in watching ever,
      My nights from sighs are never free;
    This evening cannot else than sever--
      In bringing you--my grief and me.                          37

You are very, very welcome. Here is a seat. Pray be seated.

_Maitreya._ Here is a seat. Be seated, madam. [_Vasantasenā sits, then
the others._]

_Chārudatta._ But see, my friend,

    The dripping flower that decks her ear, droops down,
          And one sweet breast
    Anointed is, like a prince who wears the crown,
          With ointment blest.                                   38

My friend, Vasantasenā's garments are wet. Let other, and most
beautiful, garments be brought.

_Maitreya._ Yes, sir.

_Maid._ Good Maitreya, do you stay here. I will wait upon my mistress.
[_She does so._]

_Maitreya._ [_Aside to Chārudatta._] My friend, I'd just like to ask
the lady a question.

_Chārudatta._ Then do so.

_Maitreya._ [_Aloud._] Madam, what made you come here, when it
is so stormy and dark that you can't see the moon?

_Maid._ Mistress, the Brahman is very plain-spoken.

P. 148.17]

_Vasantasenā._ You might better call him clever.

_Maid._ My mistress came to ask how much that pearl necklace is
worth.

_Maitreya._ [_Aside to Chārudatta._] There! I told you so. She thinks
the pearl necklace is cheap, and the golden casket is expensive.
She isn't satisfied. She has come to look for something more.

_Maid._ For my mistress imagined that it was her own, and gambled
it away. And nobody knows where the gambling-master has gone,
for he is employed in the king's business.

_Maitreya._ Madam, you are simply repeating what somebody said
before.

_Maid._ While we are looking for him, pray take this golden casket.
[_She displays the casket._ _Maitreya hesitates._] Sir, you examine
it very closely. Did you ever see it before?

_Maitreya._ No, madam, but the skilful workmanship captivates
the eye.

_Maid._ Your eyes deceive you, sir. This _is_ the golden casket.

_Maitreya._ [_Joyfully._] Well, my friend, here is the golden casket,
the very one that thieves stole from our house.

_Chārudatta._ My friend,

    The artifice we tried before,
    Her stolen treasure to restore,
    Is practised now on us. But no,
    I cannot think 't is really so.                              39

_Maitreya._ But it is so. I swear it on my Brahmanhood.

_Chārudatta._ This is welcome news.

_Maitreya._ [_Aside to Chārudatta._] I'm going to ask where they
found it.

_Chārudatta._ I see no harm in that.

_Maitreya._ [_Whispers in the maid's ear._] There!

_Maid._ [_Whispers in Maitreya's ear._] So there!

[89.19. S.

_Chārudatta._ What is it? and why are we left out?

_Maitreya._ [_Whispers in Chārudatta's ear._] So there!

_Chārudatta._ My good girl, is this really the same golden casket?

_Maid._ Yes, sir, the very same.

_Chārudatta._ My good girl, I have never let the bearer of welcome
news go unrewarded. Take this ring as your recompense. [_He
looks at his finger, notices that the ring is gone, and betrays his
embarrassment._]

_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] I love you for that.

_Chārudatta._ [_Aside to Maitreya._] Alas,

    When in this world a man has lost his all,
      Why should he set his heart on longer life?
    His angers and his favors fruitless fall,
      His purposes and powers are all at strife.                 40

    Like wingless birds, dry pools, or withered trees,
    Like fangless snakes--the poor are like to these.            41

    Like man-deserted houses, blasted trees,
    Like empty wells--the poor are like to these.
    For them no pleasant hours serve happy ends;
    They are forgotten of their sometime friends.                42

_Maitreya._ But you must not grieve thus beyond reason. [_He
bursts out laughing. Aloud._] Madam, please give me back my
bath-clout.

_Vasantasenā._ Chārudatta, it was not right that you should show
your distrust of me by sending me this pearl necklace.

_Chārudatta._ [_With an embarrassed smile._] But remember, Vasantasenā,

    Who will believe the truth?
      Suspicion now is sure.
    This world will show no ruth
      To the inglorious poor.                                    43

P. 152.4]

_Maitreya._ Tell me, girl, are you going to sleep here to-night?

_Maid._ [_Laughing._] But good Maitreya, you show yourself most
remarkably plain-spoken now.

_Maitreya._ See, my friend, the rain enters again in great streams,
as if it wanted to drive people away when they are sitting comfortably
together.

_Chārudatta._ You are quite right.

    The falling waters pierce the cloud,
      As lotus-shoots the soil;
    And tears the face of heaven shroud,
      Who weeps the moon's vain toil.                            44

And again:

    In streams as pure as thoughts to good men given,
      But merciless as darts that Arjun hurls,
    And black as Baladeva's cloak, the heaven
      Seems to pour out all Indra's hoarded pearls.              45

See, my belovèd, see!

    The heaven is painted with the blackest dye,
      And fanned by cool and fragrant evening airs;
    Red lightning, glad in union, clasps the sky
    With voluntary arms, and shows on high
      The love that maiden heart to lover bears.                 46

[_Vasantasenā betrays her passion, and throws her arms about Chārudatta.
Chārudatta feels her touch, and embraces her._]

_Chārudatta._

    More grimly yet, O thunder, boom;
      For by thy grace and power
    My love-distracted limbs now bloom
      Like the kadamba flower.
    Her dear touch all my being thrills,
    And love my inmost spirit fills.                             47

_Maitreya._ Confound you, storm! You are no gentleman, to
frighten the lady with the lightning.

[91.20. S.

_Chārudatta._

      Do not rebuke the storm, my friend.
    Let ceaseless rain a hundred years endure,
      The lightning quiver, and the thunder peal;
    For what I deemed impossible is sure:
      Her dear-loved arms about my neck I feel.                  48

And oh, my friend,

    He only knows what riches are,
    Whose love comes to him from afar,
    Whose arms that dearest form enfold,
    While yet with rain 't is wet and cold.                      49

Vasantasenā, my belovèd,

    The masonry is shaken; and so old
    The awning, that 't will not much longer hold.
    Heavy with water is the painted wall,
    From which dissolving bits of mortar fall.                   50

[_He looks up._] The rainbow! See, my belovèd, see!

    See how they yawn, the cloudy jaws of heaven,
    As by a tongue, by forkèd lightning riven;
      And to the sky great Indra's fiery bow
    In lieu of high-uplifted arms is given.                      51

Come, let us seek a shelter. [_He rises and walks about._]

    On palm-trees shrill,
    On thickets still,
    On boulders dashing,
    On waters splashing,
    Like a lute that, smitten, sings,
    The rainy music rings.                                       52

                                                     [_Exeunt omnes._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 60: In Indian love poetry, the rainy season is the time when
lovers most ardently long to be united.]

[Footnote 61: In allusion to Vishnu's name, Krishna, "black."]

[Footnote 62: A gesture of respect.]

[Footnote 63: The goddess of wealth and beauty, usually represented with
a lotus.]

[Footnote 64: Kāma's (Cupid's) arrows are flowers.]

[Footnote 65: Throughout this scene, Vasantasenā's verses are in
Sanskrit. Compare note 1 on page 73.]

[Footnote 66: The cry of the heron resembles the Sanskrit word for
"rain." Indian love-poetry often paints the sorrow, even unto death, of
her whose beloved does not return before the rainy season.]

[Footnote 67: The elephant of Indra. Indra is the god of the
thunderstorm.]




ACT THE SIXTH

THE SWAPPING OF THE BULLOCK-CARTS


[_Enter a maid._]

_Maid._

Isn't my mistress awake yet? Well, I must go in and wake
her. [_She walks about. Vasantasenā appears, dressed, but still
asleep. The maid discovers her._] It is time to get up, mistress. The
morning is here.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Awakening._] What! is the night over? is it morning?

_Maid._ For us it is morning. But for my mistress it appears to be
night still.

_Vasantasenā._ But girl, where is your gambler?

_Maid._ Mistress, after giving Vardhamānaka his orders, Chārudatta
went to the old garden Pushpakaranda.

_Vasantasenā._ What orders?

_Maid._ To have the bullock-cart ready before daylight; for, he
said, Vasantasenā was to come--

_Vasantasenā._ Where, girl?

_Maid._ Where Chārudatta is.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Embraces the maid._] I did not have a good look at
him in the evening. But to-day I shall see him face to face. Tell
me, girl. Have I found my way into the inner court?

_Maid._ You have found your way not only into the inner court,
but into the heart of every one who lives here.

_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, are Chārudatta's servants vexed?

_Maid._ They will be.

_Vasantasenā._ When?

_Maid._ When my mistress goes away.

_Vasantasenā._ But not so much as I shall be. [_Persuasively._] Here,
girl, take this pearl necklace. You must go and give it to my lady
sister, his good wife. And give her this message: "Worthy Chārudatta's
virtues have won me, made me his slave, and therefore your
slave also. And so I hope that these pearls may adorn your neck."

[94.3. S.

_Maid._ But mistress, Chārudatta will be angry with you.

_Vasantasenā._ Go. He will not be angry.

_Maid._ [_Takes the necklace._] Yes, mistress. [_She goes out, then
returns._] Mistress, his lady wife says that her lord made you a present
of it, and it would not be right for her to accept it. And further, that
you are to know that her lord and husband is her most excellent
adornment.

[_Enter Radanikā, with Chārudatta's little son._]

_Radanikā._ Come, dear, let's play with your little cart.

_Rohasena._ [_Peevishly._] I don't like this little clay cart, Radanikā.
Give me my gold cart.

_Radanikā._ [_Sighing wearily._] How should we have anything to do
with gold now, my child? When your papa is rich again, then you
shall have a gold cart to play with. But I'll amuse him by taking
him to see Vasantasenā. [_She approaches Vasantasenā._] Mistress,
my service to you.

_Vasantasenā._ I am glad to see you, Radanikā. But whose little
boy is this? He wears no ornaments, yet his dear little face makes
my heart happy.

_Radanikā._ This is Chārudatta's son, Rohasena.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Stretches out her arms._] Come, my boy, and put
your little arms around me. [_She takes him on her lap._] He looks
just like his father.

_Radanikā._ More than looks like him, he _is_ like him. At least I
think so. His father is perfectly devoted to him.

_Vasantasenā._ But what is he crying about?

_Radanikā._ He used to play with a gold cart that belongs to the
son of a neighbor. But that was taken away, and when he asked
for it, I made him this little clay cart. But when I gave it to him,
he said "I don't like this little clay cart, Radanikā. Give me my
gold cart."

P. 158.10]

_Vasantasenā._ Oh, dear! To think that this little fellow has to suffer
because others are wealthy. Ah, mighty Fate! the destinies of men,
uncertain as the water-drops which fall upon a lotus-leaf, seem to
thee but playthings! [_Tearfully._] Don't cry, my child. You shall
have a gold cart to play with.

_Rohasena._ Who is she, Radanikā?

_Vasantasenā._ A slave of your father's, won by his virtues.

_Radanikā._ My child, the lady is your mother.

_Rohasena._ That's a lie, Radanikā. If the lady is my mother, why
does she wear those pretty ornaments?

_Vasantasenā._ My child, your innocent lips can say terrible things.
[_She removes her ornaments. Weeping._] Now I am your mother.
You shall take these ornaments and have a gold cart made for you.

_Rohasena._ Go away! I won't take them. You're crying.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Wiping away her tears._] I'll not cry, dear. There!
go and play. [_She fills the clay cart with her jewels._] There, dear,
you must have a little gold cart made for you.

                                      [_Exit Radanikā, with Rohasena._

[_Enter Vardhamānaka, driving a bullock-cart._]

_Vardhamānaka._ Radanikā, Radanikā! Tell mistress Vasantasenā
that the covered cart is standing ready at the side-door.

_Radanikā._ [_Entering._] Mistress, Vardhamānaka is here, and he
says that the cart is waiting at the side-door.

_Vasantasenā._ He must wait a minute, girl, while I get ready.

_Rad._ Wait a minute, Vardhamānaka, while she gets ready.   [_Exit._

_Vardhamānaka._ Hello, I've forgotten the cushion. I must go and
get it. But the nose-rope makes the bullocks skittish. I suppose I
had better take the cart along with me.                     [_Exit._

[96.14. S.

_Vasantasenā._ Bring me my things, girl. I must make myself ready.
[_She does so._]

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter, driving a bullock-cart, Sthāvaraka, servant to Sansthānaka._]

_Sthāvaraka._ Sansthānaka, the king's brother-in-law, said to me
"Take a bullock-cart, Sthāvaraka, and come as quick as you can
to the old garden Pushpakaranda." Well, I'm on my way there.
Get up, bullocks, get up! [_He drives about and looks around._]
Why, the road is blocked with villagers' carts. What am I to do
now? [_Haughtily._] Get out of my way, you! Get out of my way!
[_He listens._] What's that? you want to know whose cart this is?
This cart belongs to Sansthānaka, the king's brother-in-law. So
get out of my way--and this minute, too! [_He looks about._] Why,
here's a man going in the other direction as fast as he can. He is
trying to hide like a runaway gambler, and he looks at me as if I
were the gambling-master. I wonder who he is. But then, what
business is it of mine? I must get there as soon as I can. Get out
of my way, you villagers, get out of my way! What's that? you
want me to wait a minute and put a shoulder to your wheel? Confound
you! A brave man like me, that serves Sansthānaka, the
king's brother-in-law, put a shoulder to your wheel? After all, the
poor fellow is quite alone. I'll do it. I'll stop my cart at the side-door
to Chārudatta's orchard. [_He does so._] I'm coming!           [_Exit._

_Maid._ Mistress, I think I hear the sound of wheels. The cart
must be here.

_Vasantasenā._ Come, girl. My heart grows impatient. Go with me
to the side-door.

_Maid._ Follow me, mistress.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Walks about._] You have earned a rest, girl.

_Maid._ Thank you, mistress.                                [_Exit._

_Vasantasenā._ [_Feels her right eye twitch_[68] _as she enters the
cart._] Why should my right eye twitch now? But the sight of Chārudatta
will smooth away the bad omen. [_Enter Sthāvaraka._]

P. 169.8]

_Sthāvaraka._ I've cleared the carts out of the way, and now I'll
go ahead. [_He mounts and drives away. To himself._] The cart has
grown heavy. But I suppose it only seems so, because I got tired
helping them with that wheel. Well, I'll go along. Get up, bullocks,
get up!

_A voice behind the scenes._ Police! Police! Every man at his post!
The young herdsman has just broken jail, killed the jailer, broken
his fetters, escaped, and run away. Catch him! Catch him!

[_Enter, in excited haste, Aryaka, an iron chain on one foot. Covering
his face, he walks about._]

_Sthāvaraka._ [_To himself._] There is great excitement in the city. I
must get out of the way as fast as I possibly can.              [_Exit._

_Aryaka._

    I leave behind me that accursèd sea
    Of human woe and human misery,
      The prison of the king.
    Like elephants that break their chains and flee,
    I drag a fettered foot most painfully
      In flight and wandering.                                   1

King Pālaka was frightened by a prophecy, took me from the
hamlet where I lived, fettered me, and thrust me into a solitary
cell, there to await my death. But with the help of my good friend
Sharvilaka I escaped. [_He sheds tears._]

    If such my fate, no sin is mine at least,
    That he should cage me like a savage beast.
    A man may fight with kings, though not with fate--
    And yet, can helpless men contend with great?                2

Whither shall I go with my wretchedness? [_He looks about._] Here is the
house of some good man who hasn't locked the side-door.

    The house is old, the door without a lock,
        The hinges all awry.
    Some man, no doubt, who feels misfortune's shock
        As cruelly as I.                                         3

[96.18. S.

I will enter here and wait.

_A voice behind the scenes._ Get up, bullocks, get up!

_Aryaka._ [_Listening._] Ah, a bullock-cart is coming this way.

    If this should prove to be a picnic rig,
      Its occupants not peevishly inclined;
    Some noble lady's waiting carriage trig;
      Or rich man's coach, that leaves the town behind--
    And if it empty be, fate proving kind,
    'T would seem a godsend to my anxious mind.                  4

[_Enter Vardhamānaka with the bullock-cart._]

_Vardhamānaka._ There, I've got the cushion. Radanikā, tell mistress
Vasantasenā that the cart is ready and waiting for her to get
in and drive to the old garden Pushpakaranda.

_Aryaka._ [_Listening._] This is a courtezan's cart, going out of the
city. Good, I'll climb in. [_He approaches cautiously._]

_Vardhamānaka._ [_Hears him coming._] Ah, the tinkling of ankle-rings!
The lady is here. Mistress, the nose-rope makes the bullocks
skittish. You had better climb in behind. [_Aryaka does so._]
The ankle-rings tinkle only when the feet are moving, and the
sound has ceased. Besides, the cart has grown heavy. I am sure the
lady must have climbed in by this time. I'll go ahead. Get up,
bullocks, get up! [_He drives about. Enter Vīraka._]

_Vīraka._ Come, come! Jaya, Jayamāna, Chandanaka, Mangala,
Phullabhadra, and the rest of you!

    So calm, when the herdsman, slipping his tether,
    Breaks jail and the heart of the king together?              5

Here! You stand at the east gate of the main street, you at the
west, you at the south, you at the north. I'll climb up the broken
wall here with Chandanaka and take a look. Come on, Chandanaka,
come on! This way! [_Enter Chandanaka, in excitement._]

P. 166.5]

_Chandanaka._ Come, come! Vīraka, Vishalya, Bhīmāngada, Dandakāla,
Dandashūra, and the rest of you!

    Come quick, my reliables! Work! Now begin!
    Lest the old king go out, and a new king come in.            6
    Search gardens, and dives, and the town, and the street,
    The market, the hamlet, wherever you meet                    7
    With what looks suspicious. Now, Vīraka, say,
    Who saved the young herdsman that just broke away?           8
    Who was born when the sun in his eighth mansion stood,
    Or the moon in her fourth, or when Jupiter could
    Be seen in his sixth, or when Saturn was resting
    In his ninth, in her sixth house when Venus was nesting,
    Or Mars in his fifth?[69] Who will dare to be giving
    The herdsman protection, while I am still living?         9, 10

_Vīraka._ Chandanaka, you mercenary!

    I swear on your heart, he's been long out of prison,
    For the herdsman escaped ere the sun was half risen.         11

_Vardhamānaka._ Get up, bullocks, get up!

_Chandanaka._ [_Discovers him._] Look, man, look!

    A covered cart is moving in the middle of the road;
    Investigate it, whose it is, and where it takes its load!    12

_Vīraka._ [_Discovers him._] Here, driver, stop your cart! Whose cart
is this? who is in it? where is it going?

_Vardhamānaka._ This is Chārudatta's cart. Mistress Vasantasenā
is in it. I am taking her to the old garden Pushpakaranda to meet
Chārudatta.

_Vīraka._ [_Approaches Chandanaka._] The driver says it is Chārudatta's
cart; that Vasantasenā is in it; that he is taking her to the
old garden Pushpakaranda.

_Chandanaka._ Then let it pass.

_Vīraka._ Without inspection?

[101.3. S.

_Chandanaka._ Certainly.

_Vīraka._ On whose authority?

_Chandanaka._ On Chārudatta's.

_Vīraka._ Who is Chārudatta, or who is Vasantasenā, that the cart
should pass without inspection?

_Chandanaka._ Don't you know Chārudatta, man? nor Vasantasenā?
If you don't know Chārudatta, nor Vasantasenā, then you don't
know the moon in heaven, nor the moonlight.

    Who does n't know this moon of goodness, virtue's lotus-flower,
    This gem of four broad seas, this savior in man's luckless hour?    13
    These two are wholly worshipful, our city's ornaments,
    Vasantasenā, Chārudatta, sea of excellence.                  14

_Vīraka._ Well, well, Chandanaka! Chārudatta? Vasantasenā?

    I know them perfectly, as well as I know anything;
    But I do not know my father when I 'm serving of my king.    15

_Aryaka._ [_To himself._] In a former existence the one must have been
my enemy, the other my kinsman. For see!

    Their business is the same; their ways
      Unlike, and their desire:
    Like flames that gladden wedding days,
      And flames upon the pyre.                                  16

_Chandanaka._ You are a most careful captain whom the king
trusts. I am holding the bullocks. Make your inspection.

_Vīraka._ You too are a corporal whom the king trusts. Make the
inspection yourself.

_Chandanaka._ If I make the inspection, that 's just the same as if
you had made it?

_Vīraka._ If you make the inspection, that 's just the same as if
King Pālaka had made it.

P. 171.5]

_Chandanaka._ Lift the pole, man! [_Vardhamānaka does so._]

_Aryaka._ [_To himself._] Are the policemen about to inspect me?
And I have no sword, worse luck! But at least,

    Bold Bhīma's spirit I will show;
      My arm shall be my sword.
    Better a warrior's death than woe
      That cells and chains afford.                              17

But the time to use force has not yet come. [_Chandanaka enters
the cart and looks about._] I seek your protection.

_Chandanaka._ [_Speaking in Sanskrit._] He who seeks protection
shall be safe.

_Aryaka._

    Whene'er he fight, that man will suffer hurts,
      Will be abandoned of his friends and kin,
    Becomes a mock forever, who deserts
      One seeking aid; 't is an unpardoned sin.                  18

_Chandanaka._ What! the herdsman Aryaka? Like a bird that flees
from a hawk, he has fallen into the hand of the fowler. [_Reflecting._]
He is no sinner, this man who seeks my protection and sits
in Chārudatta's cart. Besides, he is the friend of good Sharvilaka,
who saved my life. On the other hand, there are the king's orders.
What is a man to do in a case like this? Well, what must be, must
be. I promised him my protection just now.

    He who gives aid to frightened men,
      And joys his neighbor's ills to cure,
    If he must die, he dies; but then,
      His reputation is secure.                                  19

[_He gets down uneasily._] I saw the gentleman--[_correcting himself_]
I mean, the lady Vasantasenā, and she says "Is it proper, is
it gentlemanly, when I am going to visit Chārudatta, to insult me
on the highway?"

_Vīraka._ Chandanaka, I have my suspicions.

_Chandanaka._ Suspicions? How so?

[103.2. S.

_Vir._ You gurgled in your craven throat; it seems a trifle shady.
       You said "I saw the gentleman," and then "I saw the lady."      20

That's why I'm not satisfied.

_Chandanaka._ What's the matter with you, man? We southerners
don't speak plain. We know a thousand dialects of the barbarians--the
Khashas, the Khattis, the Kadas, the Kadatthobilas, the
Karnātas, the Karnas, the Prāvaranas, the Drāvidas, the Cholas,
the Chīnas, the Barbaras, the Kheras, the Khānas, the Mukhas, the
Madhughātas, and all the rest of 'em, and it all depends on the way
we feel whether we say "he" or "she," "gentleman" or "lady."

_Vīraka._ Can't I have a look, too? It's the king's orders. And the
king trusts me.

_Chandanaka._ I suppose the king doesn't trust _me_!

_Vīraka._ Is n't it His Majesty's command?

_Chandanaka._ [_Aside_] If people knew that the good herdsman escaped
in Chārudatta's cart, then the king would make Chārudatta
suffer for it.  What's to be done? [_Reflecting._] I'll stir up a quarrel
the way they do down in the Carnatic. [_Aloud._] Well, Vīraka, I
made one inspection myself--my name is Chandanaka--and you
want to do it over again. Who are you?

_Vīraka._ Confound it! Who are you, anyway?

_Chandanaka._ An honorable and highly respectable person, and you
don't remember your own family.

_Vīraka._ [_Angrily._] Confound you! What is my family?

_Chandanaka._ Who speaks of such things?

_Vīraka._ Speak!

_Chandanaka._ I think I'd better not.

    I know your family, but I won't say;
    'T would not be modest, such things to betray;
    What good's a rotten apple anyway?                           21

_Vīraka._ Speak, speak! [_Chandanaka makes a significant gesture._]
Confound you! What does that mean?

P. 175.1]

_Chand._

    A broken whetstone in one hand--a thing
    That looks like scissors in the other wing--
    To trim the scrubby beards that curl and cling,
    And you--why, you 're a captain of the king!                 22

_Vīraka._ Well, Chandanaka, you highly respectable person, you
don't remember your own family either.

_Chandanaka._ Tell me. What is the family I belong to, I, Chandanaka,
pure as the moon?

_Vīraka._ Who speaks of such things?

_Chandanaka._ Speak, speak! [_Vīraka makes a significant gesture._]
Confound you! What does that mean?

_Vīraka._ Listen.

    Your house is pure; your father is a drum,
    Your mother is a kettledrum, you scum!
    Your brother is a tambourine--tum, tum!
    And you--why, you 're a captain of the king!                 23

_Chandanaka._ [_Wrathfully._] I, Chandanaka, a tanner! You can look
at the cart.

_Vīraka._ You! driver! turn the cart around. I want to look in.

[_Vardhamānaka does so. Vīraka starts to climb in. Chandanaka
seizes him violently by the hair, throws him down, and kicks him._]

_Vīraka._ [_Rising. Wrathfully._] Confound you! I was peaceably going
about the king's business, when you seized me violently by the
hair and kicked me. So listen! If I don't have you drawn and
quartered in the middle of the court-room, my name's not Vīraka.

_Chandanaka._ All right. Go to court or to a hall of justice. What
do I care for a puppy like you?

_Vīraka._ I will.                                             [_Exit._

_Chandanaka._ [_Looks about him._] Go on, driver, go on! If anybody
asks you, just say "The cart has been inspected by Chandanaka
and Vīraka." Mistress Vasantasenā, let me give you a passport.
[_He hands Aryaka a sword._]

[105.11. S.

_Aryaka._ [_Takes it. Joyfully to himself._]

    A sword, a sword! My right eye twitches fast.[70]
    Now all is well, and I am safe at last.                      24

_Chandanaka._ Madam,

    As I have given you a passage free,
    So may I live within your memory.
    To utter this, no selfish thoughts could move;
    Ah no, I speak in plenitude of love.                         25

_Aryaka._

    Chandanaka is rich in virtues pure;
    My friend is he--Fate willed it--true and tried.
    I 'll not forget Chandanaka, be sure,
    What time the oracle is justified.                           26

_Chand._

    May Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma, Three in One,
    Protect thee, and the Moon, and blessèd Sun;
    Slay all thy foes, as mighty Pārvatī
    Slew Shumbha and Nishumbha--fearfully.                       27

[_Exit Vardhamānaka, with the bullock-cart. Chandanaka looks toward
the back of the stage._] Aha! As he goes away, my good friend
Sharvilaka is following him. Well, I 've made an enemy of Vīraka,
the chief constable and the king's favorite; so I think I too had
better be following him, with all my sons and brothers.

                                                          [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 68: A bad omen, in the case of a woman.]

[Footnote 69: Lallādīkṣita says that these horoscopes indicate
respectively distress, colic, stupidity, poverty, sorrow, destruction.]

[Footnote 70: A good omen, in the case of a man.]




ACT THE SEVENTH

ARYAKA'S ESCAPE


[_Enter Chārudatta and Maitreya._]

_Maitreya._

How beautiful the old garden Pushpakaranda is.

_Chārudatta._ You are quite right, my friend. For see!

    The trees, like merchants, show their wares;
    Each several tree his blossoms bears,
    While bees, like officers, are flitting,
    To take from each what toll is fitting.                      1

_Maitreya._ This simple stone is very attractive. Pray be seated.

_Chārudatta._ [_Seats himself._] How Vardhamānaka lingers, my friend!

_Maitreya._ I told Vardhamānaka to bring Vasantasenā and come
as quickly as he could.

_Chārudatta._ Why then does he linger?

    Is he delayed by some slow-moving load?
      Has he returned with broken wheel or traces?
    Obstructions bid him seek another road?
      His bullocks, or himself, choose these slow paces?         2

[_Enter Vardhamānaka with the bullock-cart, in which Aryaka lies
hidden._]

_Vardhamānaka._ Get up, bullocks, get up!

_Aryaka._ [_Aside._]

    And still I fear the spies that serve the king;
    Escape is even yet a doubtful thing,
    While to my foot these cursèd fetters cling.

    Some good man 't is, within whose cart I lie,
    Like cuckoo chicks, whose heartless mothers fly,
    And crows must rear the fledglings, or they die.             3

I have come a long distance from the city. Shall I get out of the
cart and seek a hiding-place in the grove? or shall I wait to see
the owner of the cart? On second thoughts, I will not hide myself
in the grove; for men say that the noble Chārudatta is ever
helpful to them that seek his protection. I will not go until I have
seen him face to face.

[108.3. S.

    'T will bring contentment to that good man's heart
      To see me rescued from misfortune's sea.
    This body, in its suffering, pain, and smart,
      Is saved through his sweet magnanimity.                    4

_Vardhamānaka._ Here is the garden. I 'll drive in. [_He does so._]
Maitreya!

_Maitreya._ Good news, my friend. It is Vardhamānaka's voice.
Vasantasenā must have come.

_Chārudatta._ Good news, indeed.

_Maitreya._ You son of a slave, what makes you so late?

_Vardhamānaka._ Don't get angry, good Maitreya. I remembered
that I had forgotten the cushion, and I had to go back for it, and
that is why I am late.

_Chārudatta._ Turn the cart around, Vardhamānaka. Maitreya, my
friend, help Vasantasenā to get out.

_Maitreya._ Has she got fetters on her feet, so that she can't get
out by herself? [_He rises and lifts the curtain of the cart._] Why,
this is n't mistress Vasantasenā--this is Mister Vasantasena.

_Chārudatta._ A truce to your jests, my friend. Love cannot wait.
I will help her to get out myself. [_He rises._]

_Aryaka._ [_Discovers him._] Ah, the owner of the bullock-cart! He
is attractive not only to the ears of men, but also to their eyes.
Thank heaven! I am safe.

_Chārudatta._ [_Enters the bullock-cart and discovers Aryaka._] Who
then is this?

    As trunk of elephant his arms are long,
    His chest is full, his shoulders broad and strong,
      His great eyes restless-red;[71]
    Why should this man be thus enforced to fight--
    So noble he--with such ignoble plight,
      His foot to fetters wed?                                   5

P. 180.14]

Who are you, sir?

_Aryaka._ I am one who seeks your protection, Aryaka, by birth a
herdsman.

_Chārudatta._ Are you he whom King Pālaka took from the hamlet
where he lived and thrust into prison?

_Aryaka._ The same.

_Chārudatta._

    'T is fate that brings you to my sight;
    May I be reft of heaven's light,
    Ere I desert you in your hapless plight.                     6

[_Aryaka manifests his joy._]

_Chārudatta._ Vardhamānaka, remove the fetters from his foot.

_Vardhamānaka._ Yes, sir. [_He does so._] Master, the fetters are removed.

_Aryaka._ But you have bound me with yet stronger fetters of love.

_Maitreya._ Now you may put on the fetters yourself. He is free
anyway. And it 's time for us to be going.

_Chārudatta._ Peace! For shame!

_Aryaka._ Chārudatta, my friend, I entered your cart somewhat
unceremoniously. I beg your pardon.

_Chārudatta._ I feel honored that you should use no ceremony with
me.

_Aryaka._ If you permit it, I now desire to go.

_Chārudatta._ Go in peace.

_Aryaka._ Thank you. I will alight from the cart.

_Chārudatta._ No, my friend. The fetters have but this moment
been removed, and you will find walking difficult. In this spot
where men seek pleasure, a bullock-cart will excite no suspicion.
Continue your journey then in the cart.

[110.4. S.

_Aryaka._  I thank you, sir.

_Chārud._  Seek now thy kinsmen. Happiness be thine!

_Aryaka._  Ah, I have found thee, blessèd kinsman mine!

_Chārud._  Remember me, when thou hast cause to speak.

_Aryaka._  Thy name, and not mine own, my words shall seek.

_Chārud._  May the immortal gods protect thy ways!

_Aryaka._  Thou didst protect me, in most perilous days.

_Chārud._  Nay, it was fate that sweet protection lent.

_Aryaka._  But thou wast chosen as fate's instrument.            7

_Chārudatta._  King Pālaka is aroused, and protection will prove
difficult. You must depart at once.

_Aryaka._  Until we meet again, farewell.                  [_Exit._

_Chārud._

    From royal wrath I now have much to fear;
    It were unwise for me to linger here.
    Then throw the fetters in the well; for spies
    Serve to their king as keen, far-seeing eyes.                8

[_His left eye twitches._] Maitreya, my friend, I long to see Vasantasenā.
For now, because

    I have not seen whom I love best,
    My left eye twitches; and my breast
    Is causeless-anxious and distressed.                         9

Come, let us go. [_He walks about._] See! a Buddhist monk approaches,
and the sight bodes ill. [_Reflecting._] Let him enter by
that path, while we depart by this.                        [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 71: Lallādīkṣita says that these are signs of royalty.]




ACT THE EIGHTH

THE STRANGLING OF VASANTASENA


[_Enter a monk, with a wet garment in his hand._]

_Monk._

    Ye ignorant, lay by a store of virtue!
    Restrain the belly; watch eternally,
      Heeding the beat of contemplation's[72] drum,
    For else the senses--fearful thieves they be--
      Will steal away all virtue's hoarded sum.                  1

And further: I have seen that all things are transitory, so that now
I am become the abode of virtues alone.

    Who slays the Five Men,[73] and the Female Bane,[74]
      By whom protection to the Town[75] is given,
    By whom the Outcaste[76] impotent is slain,
      He cannot fail to enter into heaven.                       2

    Though head be shorn and face be shorn,
      The heart unshorn, why should man shave him?
    But he whose inmost heart is shorn
      Needs not the shaven head to save him.                     3

I have dyed this robe of mine yellow. And now I will go into the
garden of the king's brother-in-law, wash it in the pond, and go
away as soon as I can. [_He walks about and washes the robe._]

_A voice behind the scenes._  Shtop, you confounded monk, shtop!

_Monk._ [_Discovers the speaker. Fearfully._ ] Heaven help me! Here
is the king's brother-in-law, Sansthānaka. Just because one monk
committed an offense, now, wherever he sees a monk, whether it
is the same one or not, he bores a hole in his nose and drives him
around like a bullock. Where shall a defenseless man find a defender?
But after all, the blessèd Lord Buddha is my defender.

[119.90. S.

[_Enter the courtier, carrying a sword, and Sansthānaka._]

_Sansthānaka._  Shtop, you confounded monk, shtop! I'll pound
your head like a red radish[77] at a drinking party. [_He strikes him._]

_Courtier._  You jackass, you should not strike a monk who wears
the yellow robes of renunciation. Why heed him? Look rather
upon this garden, which offers itself to pleasure.

    To creatures else forlorn, the forest trees
    Do works of mercy, granting joy and ease;
    Like a sinner's heart, the park unguarded lies,
    Like some new-founded realm, an easy prize.                  4

_Monk._  Heaven bless you! Be merciful, servant of the Blessèd
One!

_Sansthānaka._  Did you hear that, shir? He's inshulting me.

_Courtier._  What does he say?

_Sansthānaka._  Shays I'm a shervant. What do you take me for?
a barber?

_Courtier._  A servant of the Blessèd One he calls you, and this is
praise.

_Sansthānaka._  Praise me shome more, monk!

_Monk._  You are virtuous! You are a brick!

_Sansthānaka._  Shee? He shays I'm virtuous. He shays I'm a brick.
What do you think I am? a materialistic philosopher? or a watering-trough?
or a pot-maker?[78]

_Courtier._  You jackass, he praises you when he says that you are
virtuous, that you are a brick.

_Sansthānaka._  Well, shir, what did he come here for?

_Monk._  To wash this robe.

_Sansthānaka._  Confound the monk! My shishter's husband gave me
the finesht garden there is, the garden Pushpakaranda. Dogs and
jackals drink the water in thish pond. Now I'm an arishtocrat. I'm
a man, and I don't even take a bath. And here you bring your
shtinking clothes, all shtained with shtale bean-porridge, and wash
'em! I think one good shtroke will finish you.

P. 187.7]

_Courtier._ You jackass, I am sure he has not long been a monk.

_Sansthānaka._ How can you tell, shir?

_Courtier._ It doesn't take much to tell that, See!

    His hair is newly shorn; the brow still white;
      The rough cloak has not yet the shoulder scarred;
    He wears it awkwardly; it clings not tight;
      And here above, the fit is sadly marred.                   5

_Monk._ True, servant of the Blessèd One. I have been a monk but
a short time.

_Sansthānaka._ Then why haven't you been one all your life? [_He
beats him._]

_Monk._ Buddha be praised!

_Courtier._ Stop beating the poor fellow. Leave him alone. Let him
go.

_Sansthānaka._ Jusht wait a minute, while I take counshel.

_Courtier._ With whom?

_Sansthānaka._ With my own heart.

_Courtier._ Poor fellow! Why didn't he escape?

_Sansthānaka._ Blesshèd little heart, my little shon and mashter, shall
the monk go, or shall the monk shtay? [_To himself._] Neither go,
nor shtay. [_Aloud._] Well, shir, I took counshel with my heart, and
my heart shays--

_Courtier._ Says what?

_Sansthānaka._ He shall neither go, nor shtay. He shall neither
breathe up, nor breathe down. He shall fall down right here and
die, before you can shay "boo."

_Monk._ Buddha be praised! I throw myself upon your protection.

_Courtier._ Let him go.

[114.24. S.

_Sansthānaka._ Well, on one condition.

_Courtier._ And what is that?

_Sansthānaka._ He musht shling mud in, without making the water
dirty. Or better yet, he musht make the water into a ball, and
shling it into the mud.

_Courtier._ What incredible folly!

    The patient earth is burdened by
      So many a fool, so many a drone,
    Whose thoughts and deeds are all awry--
      These trees of flesh, these forms of stone.                6

[_The monk makes faces at Sansthānaka._]

_Sansthānaka._ What does he mean?

_Courtier._ He praises you.

_Sansthānaka._ Praise me shome more! Praise me again! [_The monk
does so, then exit._]

_Courtier._ See how beautiful the garden is, you jackass.

    See yonder trees, adorned with fruit and flowers,
      O'er which the clinging creepers interlace;
    The watchmen guard them with the royal powers;
      They seem like men whom loving wives embrace.              7

_Sansthānaka._ A good deshcription, shir.

    The ground is mottled with a lot of flowers;
      The blosshom freight bends down the lofty trees;
    And, hanging from the leafy tree-top bowers,
      The monkeys bob, like breadfruit in the breeze.            8

_Courtier._ Will you be seated on this stone bench, you jackass?

_Sansthānaka._ I am sheated. [_They seat themselves._] Do you know,
shir, I remember that Vasantasenā even yet. She is like an inshult.
I can't get her out of my mind.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] He remembers her even after such a repulse.
For indeed,

    The mean man, whom a woman spurns,
        But loves the more;
    The wise man's passion gentler burns,
        Or passes o'er.                                          9

P. 190.16]

_Sansthānaka._ Shome time has passhed, shir, shince I told my shervant
Sthāvaraka to take the bullock-cart and come as quick as
he could. And even yet he is not here. I 've been hungry a long
time, and at noon a man can't go a-foot. For shee!

    The shun is in the middle of the shky,
      And hard to look at as an angry ape;
    Like Gāndhārī, whose hundred shons did die,
      The earth is hard dishtresshed and can't eshcape.          10

_Courtier._ True.

    The cattle all--their cuds let fall--
      Lie drowsing in the shade;
    In heated pool their lips to cool,
      Deer throng the woodland glade;
    A prey to heat, the city street
      Makes wanderers afraid;
    The cart must shun the midday sun,
      And thus has been delayed.                                 11

_Sansthānaka._ Yesshir,

    Fasht to my head the heated shun-beam clings;
    Birds, flying creatures, alsho wingèd things
    Resht in the branches of the trees, while men,
    People, and pershons shigh and shigh again;
    At home they tarry, in their houses shtay,
    To bear the heat and burden of the day.                      12

Well, shir, that shervant is n't here yet. I 'm going to shing shomething
to passh the time. [_He sings._] There, shir, did you hear
what I shang?

_Courtier._ What shall I say? Ah, how melodious!

[116.23. S.

_Sansthānaka._ Why _should n't_ it be malodorous?

    Of nut-grass and cumin I make up a pickle,
    Of devil's-dung, ginger, and orris, and treacle;
    That's the mixture of perfumes I eagerly eat;
    Why should n't my voice be remarkably shweet?                13

Well, shir, I 'm jusht going to shing again, [_He does so._] There,
shir, did you hear what I shang?

_Courtier._ What shall I say? Ah, how melodious!

_Sansthānaka._ Why _should n't_ it be malodorous?

    Of the flesh of the cuckoo I make up a chowder,
    With devil's-dung added, and black pepper powder;
    With oil and with butter I shprinkle the meat:
    Why should n't my voice be remarkably shweet?                14

But shir, the shervant is n't here yet.

_Courtier._ Be easy in your mind. He will be here presently.

[_Enter Vasantasenā in the bullock-cart, and Sthāvaraka._]

_Sthāvaraka._ I 'm frightened. It is already noon. I hope Sansthānaka,
the king's brother-in-law, will not be angry. I must drive
faster. Get up, bullocks, get up!

_Vasantasenā._ Alas! That is not Vardhamānaka's voice. What does
it mean? I wonder if Chārudatta was afraid that the bullocks
might become weary, and so sent another man with another cart.
My right eye twitches. My heart is all a-tremble. There is no one
in sight. Everything seems to dance before my eyes.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Hearing the sound of wheels._] The cart is here, shir.

_Courtier._ How do you know?

_Sansthānaka._ Can't you shee? It shqueaks like an old hog.

_Courtier._ [_Perceives the cart._] Quite true. It is here.

_Sansthānaka._ Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my shlave, are you here?

_Sthāvaraka._ Yes, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ Is the cart here?

P. 194.9]

_Sthāvaraka._ Yes, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ Are the bullocks here?

_Sthāvaraka._ Yes, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ And are you here?

_Sthāvaraka._ [_Laughing._] Yes, master, I am here too.

_Sansthānaka._ Then drive the cart in.

_Sthāvaraka._ By which road?

_Sansthānaka._ Right here, where the wall is tumbling down.

_Sthāvaraka._ Oh, master, the bullocks will be killed. The cart will
go to pieces. And I, your servant, shall be killed.

_Sansthānaka._ I'm the king's brother-in-law, man. If the bullocks
are killed, I 'll buy shome more. If the cart goes to pieces, I 'll
have another one made. If you are killed, there will be another
driver.

_Sthāvaraka._ Everything will be replaced--except me.

_Sansthānaka._ Let the whole thing go to pieces. Drive in over the
wall.

_Sthāvaraka._ Then break, cart, break with your driver. There will
be another cart. I must go and present myself to my master. [_He
drives in._] What! not broken? Master, here is your cart.

_Sansthānaka._ The bullocks not shplit in two? and the ropes not
killed? and you too not killed?

_Sthāvaraka._ No, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ Come, shir. Let's look at the cart. You are my
teacher, shir, my very besht teacher. You are a man I reshpect,
my intimate friend, a man I delight to honor. Do you enter the
cart firsht.

_Courtier._ Very well. [_He starts to do so._]

_Sansthānaka._ Not much! Shtop! Is thish your father's cart, that
you should enter it firsht? I own thish cart. I 'll enter it firsht.

_Courtier._ I only did what you said.

[119.8. S.

_Sansthānaka._ Even if I do shay sho, you ought to be polite enough
to shay "After you, mashter."

_Courtier._ After you, then.

_Sansthānaka._ Now I 'll enter. Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my
shlave, turn the cart around.

_Sthāvaraka._ [_Does so._] Enter, master.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Enters and looks about, then hastily gets out in terror,
and falls on the courtier's neck._] Oh, oh, oh! You're a dead
man! There's a witch, or a thief, that's sitting and living in my
bullock-cart. If it's a witch, we 'll both be robbed. If it's a thief,
we 'll both be eaten alive.

_Courtier._ Don't be frightened. How could a witch travel in a
bullock-cart? I hope that the heat of the midday sun has not
blinded you, so that you became the victim of an hallucination
when you saw the shadow of Sthāvaraka with the smock on it.

_Sansthānaka._ Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my shlave, are you
alive?

_Sthāvaraka._ Yes, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ But shir, there's a woman sitting and living in the
bullock-cart. Look and shee!

_Courtier._ A woman?

    Then let us bow our heads at once and go,
      Like steers whose eyes the falling raindrops daze;
    In public spots my dignity I show;
      On high-born dames I hesitate to gaze.                     15

_Vasantasenā._ [_In amazement. Aside._] Oh, oh! It is that thorn in
my eye, the king's brother-in-law. Alas! the danger is great. Poor
woman! My coming hither proves as fruitless as the sowing of a
handful of seeds on salty soil. What shall I do now?

_Sansthānaka._ Thish old shervant is afraid and he won't look into
the cart. Will you look into the cart, shir?

_Courtier._ I see no harm in that. Yes, I will do it.

P. 198.12]

_Sansthānaka._ Are those things jackals that I shee flying into the
air, and are those things crows that walk on all fours? While the
witch is chewing him with her eyes, and looking at him with her
teeth, I 'll make my eshcape.

_Courtier._ [_Perceives Vasantasenā. Sadly to himself._] Is it possible?
The gazelle follows the tiger. Alas!

    Her mate is lovely as the autumn moon,
    Who waits for her upon the sandy dune;
    And yet the swan will leave him? and will go
    To dance attendance on a common crow?                        16

[_Aside to Vasantasenā._] Ah, Vasantasenā! This is neither right,
nor worthy of you.

    Your pride rejected him before,
      Yet now for gold, and for your mother's will

_Vasantasenā._ No! [_She shakes her head._]

_Courtier._ Your nature knows your pride no more;
              You honor him, a common woman still.               17

Did I not tell[79] you to "serve the man you love, and him you
hate"?

_Vasantasenā._ I made a mistake in the cart, and thus I came
hither. I throw myself upon your protection.

_Courtier._ Do not fear. Come, I must deceive him. [_He returns to
Sansthānaka._] Jackass, there is indeed a witch who makes her
home in the cart.

_Sansthānaka._ But shir, if a witch is living there, why are n't you
robbed? And if it 's a thief, why are n't you eaten alive?

_Courtier._ Why try to determine that? But if we should go back
on foot through the gardens until we came to the city, to Ujjayinī,
what harm would that do?

_Sansthānaka._ And if we did, what then?

[121.7. S.

_Courtier._ Then we should have some exercise, and should avoid
tiring the bullocks.

_Sansthānaka._ All right. Sthāvaraka, my shlave, drive on. But no!
Shtop, shtop! I go on foot before gods and Brahmans? Not much!
I 'll go in my cart, sho that people shall shee me a long way off,
and shay "There he goes, our mashter, the king's brother-in-law."

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] It is hard to convert poison into medicine. So
be it, then. [_Aloud._] Jackass, this is Vasantasenā, come to visit
you.

_Vasantasenā._ Heaven forbid!

_Sansthānaka._ [_Gleefully._] Oh, oh! To visit me, an arishtocrat, a
man, a regular Vāsudeva?

_Courtier._ Yes.

_Sansthānaka._ This is an unheard-of piece of luck. That other time
I made her angry, sho now I 'll fall at her feet and beg her pardon.

_Courtier._ Capital!

_Sansthānaka._ I 'll fall at her feet myshelf. [_He approaches
Vasantasenā._] Little mother, mamma dear, lishten to my prayer.

    I fold my hands and fall before thy feet--
    Thine eyes are large, thy teeth are clean and neat,
      Thy finger-nails are ten--forgive thy shlave
    What, love-tormented, he offended, shweet.                   18

_Vasantasenā._ [_Angrily._] Leave me! Your words are an insult! [_She
spurns him with her foot._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Wrathfully._]

    Thish head that mother and that mamma kissed,
    That never bent to worship god, I wist,
    Upon thish head she dared to plant her feet,
    Like jackals on the carrion they meet.                       19

Sthāvaraka, you shlave, where did you pick her up?

_Sthāvaraka._ Master, the highway was blocked by villagers' wagons.
So I stopped my cart near Chārudatta's orchard, and got out. And
while I was helping a villager with his wagon, I suppose she mistook
this cart for another, and climbed in.

P. 201.14]

_Sansthānaka._ Oho! she mishtook my cart for another? and did n't
come to shee me? Get out of my cart, get out! You 're going to
visit your poor merchant's shon, are you? Those are my bullocks
you 're driving. Get out, get out, you shlave! Get out, get out!

_Vasantasenā._ Truly, you honor me when you say that I came to
see Chārudatta. Now what must be, must be.

_Sansthānaka._

    These hands of mine, ten-finger-naily,
      These hands sho lotush-leafy,
    Are itching-anxious, girl, to dally
      With you; and in a jiffy
    I 'll drag Your Shweetness by the hair
      From the cart wherein you ride,
    As did Jatāyu Bāli's fair,
      The monkey Bāli's bride.                                   20

_Courtier._

    So virtuous ladies may not be
    Insulted thus despitefully;
    Nor garden creepers may not be
    Robbed of their leaves so cruelly.                           21

Stand up, man. I will help her to alight. Come, Vasantasenā! [_Vasantasenā
alights and stands apart._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] The flame of wrath was kindled when she
despised my proposition, and now it blazes up because she kicked
me. Sho now I 'll murder her. Good! Thish way. [_Aloud._] Well,
shir, what do you want?

    A cloak with fringes hanging down and all,
      Tied with a hundred shtrings? or good ragout,
    To make you shmack your greedy lips and call
      "Chuhoo, chuhoo, chukku, chuhoo, chuhooo"?                 22

_Courtier._ Well?

_Sansthānaka._ Do me a favor.

[123.11. S.

_Courtier._ Certainly. Anything, unless it be a sin.

_Sansthānaka._ There's not a shmell of a shin in it, shir. Not a perfume!

_Courtier._ Speak, then.

_Sansthānaka._ Murder Vasantasenā.

_Courtier._ [_Stopping his ears._]

    A tender lady, gem of this our city,
      A courtezan whose love was stainless ever--
    If I should kill her, sinless, without pity.
      What boat would bear me on the gloomy river?               23

_Sansthānaka._ I'll give you a boat. And beshides, in thish deserted
garden, who'll shee you murdering her?

_Courtier._

    The regions ten,[80] the forest gods, the sky,
      The wind, the moon, the sun whose rays are light,
    Virtue, my conscience--these I cannot fly,
      Nor earth, that witnesses to wrong and right.              24

_Sansthānaka._ Well then, put your cloak over her and murder her.

_Courtier._ You fool! You scoundrel!

_Sansthānaka._ The old hog is afraid of a shin. Never mind. I'll pershuade
Sthāvaraka, my shlave. Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my
shlave, I'll give you golden bracelets.

_Sthāvaraka._ And I'll wear them.

_Sansthānaka._ I'll have a golden sheat made for you.

_Sthāvaraka._ And I'll sit on it.

_Sansthānaka._ I'll give you all my leavings.

_Sthāvaraka._ And I'll eat them.

_Sansthānaka._ I'll make you the chief of all my shervants.

_Sthāvaraka._ Master, I'll be the chief.

_Sansthānaka._ You only have to attend to what I shay.

_Sthāvaraka._ Master, I will do anything, unless it be a sin.

P. 205.12]

_Sansthānaka._ There's not a shmell of a shin in it.

_Sthāvaraka._ Then speak, master.

_Sansthānaka._ Murder Vasantasenā.

_Sthāvaraka._ Oh, master, be merciful! Unworthy as I am, I brought
this worthy lady hither, because she mistook this bullock-cart for
another.

_Sansthānaka._ You shlave, ain't I your mashter?

_Sthāvaraka._ Master of my body, not of my character. Be merciful,
master, be merciful! I am afraid.

_Sansthānaka._ You're my shlave. Who are you afraid of?

_Sthāvaraka._ Of the other world, master.

_Sansthānaka._ Who is thish "other world"?

_Sthāvaraka._ Master, it is a rewarder of righteousness and sin.

_Sansthānaka._ What is the reward of righteoushness?

_Sthāvaraka._ To be like my master, with plenty of golden ornaments.

_Sansthānaka._ What is the reward of shin?

_Sthāvaraka._ To be like me, eating another man's bread. That is
why I will do no sin.

_Sansthānaka._ Sho you won't murder her? [_He beats him with all
his might._]

_Sthāvaraka._ You may beat me, master. You may kill me, master.
I will do no sin.

    A luckless, lifelong slave am I,
    A slave I live, a slave I die;
    But further woe I will not buy,
      I will not, will not sin.                                  25

_Vasantasenā._ Sir, I throw myself upon your protection.

_Courtier._ Pardon him, jackass! Well done, Sthāvaraka!

    Does this poor, miserable slave
    Seek virtue's meed beyond the grave?
    And is his lord indifferent?
    Then why are not such creatures sent
    To instant hell, whose sinful store
    Grows great, who know not virtue more?                       26

[125.14. S.

And again:

    Ah, cruel, cruel is our fate,
    And enters through the straitest gate;
    Since he is slave, and you are lord,
    Since he does not enjoy your hoard,
    Since you do not obey his word.                              27

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] The old jackal is afraid of a shin, and the
"lifelong shlave" is afraid of the other world. Who am I afraid of,
I, the king's brother-in-law, an arishtocrat, a man? [_Aloud._] Well,
shervant, you "lifelong shlave," you can go. Go to your room and
resht and keep out of my way.

_Sthāvaraka._ Yes, master. [_To Vasantasenā._] Madam, I have no
further power.                                                [_Exit._

_Sansthānaka._ [_Girds up his loins._] Wait a minute, Vasantasenā,
wait a minute. I want to murder you.

_Courtier._ You will kill her before my eyes? [_He seizes him by the
throat._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Falls to the ground._] Shir, you 're murdering your
mashter. [_He loses consciousness, but recovers._]

    I always fed him fat with meat,
    And gave him butter too, to eat;
    Now for the friend in need I search;
    Why does he leave me in the lurch?                           28

[_After reflection._] Good! I have an idea. The old jackal gave her
a hint by shaking his head at her. Sho I 'll shend him away, and
then I 'll murder Vasantasenā. That's the idea. [_Aloud._] Shir, I
was born in a noble family as great as a wine-glass. How could I
do that shin I shpoke about? I jusht shaid it to make her love me.

P. 209.3]

_Courtier._ Why should you boast of this your noble birth?

    'T is character that makes the man of worth;
    But thorns and weeds grow rank in fertile earth.             29

_Sansthānaka._ She 's ashamed to confessh her love when you 're here.
Please go. My shervant Sthāvaraka has gone too after getting a
beating. He may be running away. Catch him, shir, and come back
with him.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._]

    Vasantasenā is too proud to own.
      While I am near, her love for one so crude;
    So now I leave her here with him alone;
      Love's confidences long for solitude.                      30

[_Aloud._] Very well. I go.

_Vasantasenā._ [_Seizing the hem of his garment._] Did I not throw
myself upon your protection?

_Courtier._ Do not fear, Vasantasenā. Jackass, Vasantasenā is a
pledge, committed to your hand.

_Sansthānaka._ All right. Jusht let her be committed to my hand.
It 's a pledge that I 'll execute.

_Courtier._ Are you honest?

_Sansthānaka._ Honesht.

_Courtier._ [_Takes a few steps._] No! If I go, the wretch might kill
her. I will conceal myself for a moment, and see what he intends
to do. [_He stands apart._]

_Sansthānaka._ Good! I 'll murder her. But no! Perhaps thish tricky
trickshter, thish Brahman, thish old jackal, has gone and hidden
himshelf; he might raise a howl like the jackal he is. I 'll jusht do
thish to deceive him. [_He gathers flowers and adorns himself._]
Vasantasenā, my love, my love! Come!

_Courtier._ Yes, he has turned lover. Good! I am content. I will
go.                                                      [_Exit._

[127.12. S.

_Sansthānaka._

    I 'll give you gold, I 'll call you shweet;
    My turbaned head adores your feet.
    Why not love me, my clean-toothed girl?
    Why worship such a pauper churl?                             31

_Vasantasenā._ How can you ask? [_She bows her head and recites
the following verses._]

    O base and vile! O wretch! What more?
      Why tempt me now with gold and power?
    The honey-loving bees adore
      The pure and stainless lotus flower.                       32

    Though poverty may strike a good man low,
    Peculiar honor waits upon his woe;
    And 't is the glory of a courtezan
    To set her love upon an honest man.                          33

And I, who have loved the mango-tree, I cannot cling to the
locust-tree.

_Sansthānaka._ Wench, you make that poor little Chārudatta into
a mango-tree, and me you call a locusht-tree, not even an acacia!
That 's the way you abuse me, and even yet you remember Chārudatta.

_Vasantasenā._ Why should I not remember him who dwells in my
heart?

_Sansthānaka._ Thish very minute I 'm going to shtrangle "him who dwells
in your heart," and you too. Shtand shtill, you poor-merchant-man's
lover!

_Vasantasenā._ Oh speak, oh speak again these words that do me honor!

_Sansthānaka._ Jusht let poor Chārudatta--the shon of a shlave--reshcue
you now!

_Vasantasenā._ He would rescue me, if he saw me.

_Sansthānaka._

    Is he the king of gods? the royal ape?
    Shon of a nymph? or wears a demon's shape?
    The kingly deity of wind and rain?
    The offshpring of the Pāndu-princes' bane?
    A prophet? or a vulture known afar?
    A shtatesman? or a beetle? or a shtar?                       34

P. 212.11]

But even if he was, he could n't reshcue you.

    As Sītā in the Bhārata
    Was killed by good old Chānakya,
    Sho I intend to throttle thee,
    As did Jatāyu Draupadī.                                      35

[_He raises his arm to strike her._]

_Vasantasenā._ Mother! where are you? Oh, Chārudatta! my heart's
longing is unfulfilled, and now I die! I will scream for help. No!
It would bring shame on Vasantasenā, should she scream for help.
Heaven bless Chārudatta!

_Sansthānaka._ Does the wench shpeak that rashcal's name even
yet? [_He seizes her by the throat._] Remember him, wench, remember
him!

_Vasantasenā._ Heaven bless Chārudatta!

_Sansthānaka._ Die, wench! [_He strangles her. Vasantasenā loses
consciousness, and falls motionless._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Gleefully._]

    Thish bashketful of shin, thish wench,
      Thish foul abode of impudence--
    She came to love, she shtayed to blench,
      For Death's embrace took every sense.
    But why boasht I of valorous arms and shtout?
    She shimply died because her breath gave out.
    Like Sītā in the Bhārata, she lies.
    Ah, mother mine! how prettily she dies.                      36

[129.4. S.

    She would not love me, though I loved the wench;
      I shaw the empty garden, set the shnare,
    And frightened her, and made the poor girl blench.
      My brother! Oh, my father! Thish is where
    You misshed the shight of heroism shtout;
    Your brother and your shon here blosshomed out
    Into a man; like Mother Draupadī,
    You were not there, my bravery to shee.                      37

Good! The old jackal will be here in a minute. I 'll shtep ashide
and wait. [_He does so._] [_Enter the courtier, with Sthāvaraka._]

_Courtier._ I have persuaded the servant Sthāvaraka to come back,
and now I will look for the jackass. [_He walks about and looks
around him._] But see! A tree has fallen by the roadside, and killed
a woman in its fall. O cruel! How couldst thou do this deed of
shame? And when I see that a woman was slain by thy fatal fall,
I too am felled to the earth. Truly, my heart's fear for Vasantasenā
was an evil omen. Oh, heaven grant that all may yet be well!
[_He approaches Sansthānaka._] Jackass, I have persuaded your servant
Sthāvaraka to return.

_Sansthānaka._ How do you do, shir? Sthāvaraka, my little shon,
my shlave, how do you do?

_Sthāvaraka._ Well, thank you.

_Courtier._ Give me my pledge.

_Sansthānaka._ What pledge?

_Courtier._ Vasantasenā.

_Sansthānaka._ She's gone.

_Courtier._ Where?

_Sansthānaka._ Right after you.

_Courtier._ [_Doubtfully._] No, she did not go in that direction.

_Sansthānaka._ In what direction did you go?

_Courtier._ Toward the east.

_Sansthānaka._ Well, she went shouth.[81]

_Courtier._ So did I.

P. 216.2]

_Sansthānaka._ She went north.

_Courtier._ This is nonsense. My heart is not satisfied. Speak the
truth.

_Sansthānaka._ I shwear by your head, shir, and my own feet. You
may be easy in your heart. I murdered her.

_Courtier._ [_Despairingly._] You really killed her?

_Sansthānaka._ If you don't believe my words, then shee the firsht
heroic deed of Sansthānaka, the king's brother-in-law. [_He points
out the body._]

_Courtier._ Alas! Ah, woe is me! [_He falls in a swoon._]

_Sansthānaka._ Hee, hee! The gentleman is calm enough now!

_Sthāvaraka._ Oh, sir! Come to yourself! I am the first murderer,
for I brought the bullock-cart hither without looking into it.

_Courtier._ [_Comes to himself. Mournfully._] Alas, Vasantasenā!

    The stream of courtesy is dried away,
      And happiness to her own land doth flee,
    Sweet gem of gems, that knew love's gentle play,
      Love's mart and beauty's! Joy of men like me!
    Thy mirth-shored stream, that kind and healing river--
    Alas! is perished, lost, and gone forever!                   38

[_Tearfully._] Ah, woe is me!

    What sin is yet to come, or woe,
      Now thou hast done this deed of hate?
    Like sin's foul self, hast thou laid low
      The sinless goddess of our state.                          39

[_Aside._] Ah! Perhaps the wretch means to lay this sin to my
charge. I must go hence. [_He walks about. Sansthānaka approaches
and holds him back._] Scoundrel! Touch me not. I have done with
you. I go.

_Sansthānaka._ Aha! Firsht you murder Vasantasenā, then you
abuse me, and now where will you run to? And sho a man like me
has n't anybody to protect him.

[131.8. S.

_Courtier._ You are an accursèd scoundrel!

_Sansth._

    I'll give you countless wealth, a piece of gold,
    A copper, and a cap, to have and hold.
    And sho the fame of thish great deed shall be
    A common property, and shan't touch me.                      40

_Courtier._ A curse upon you! Yours, and yours only, be the deed.

_Sthāvaraka._ Heaven avert the omen! [_Sansthānaka bursts out
laughing._]

_Courtier._

    Be enmity between us! Cease your mirth!
    Damned be a friendship that so shames my worth!
    Never may I set eyes on one so low!
    I fling you off, an unstrung, broken bow.                    41

_Sansthānaka._ Don't be angry. Come, let's go and play in the pond.

_Courtier._

    Unstained my life, and yet it seems to me
      Your friendship stains, and mocks my sinlessness,
    You woman-murderer! How could I be
    A friend to one whom women ever see
      With eyes half-closed in apprehension's stress?            42

[_Mournfully._] Vasantasenā,

    When thou, sweet maid, art born again,
      Be not a courtezan reborn,
    But in a house which sinless men,
      And virtuous, and good, adorn.                             43

_Sansthānaka._ Firsht you murder Vasantasenā in my old garden
Pushpakaranda, and now where will you run to? Come, defend
yourshelf in court before my shishter's husband! [_He holds him
back._]

_Courtier._ Enough, you accursèd scoundrel! [_He draws his sword._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Recoiling in terror._] Shcared, are you? Go along,
then.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] It would be folly to remain here. Well, I will
go and join myself to Sharvilaka, Chandanaka, and the rest.     [_Exit._

P. 219.5]

_Sansthānaka._ Go to hell. Well, my little shon Sthāvaraka, what
kind of a thing is thish that I 've done?

_Sthāvaraka._ Master, you have committed a terrible crime.

_Sansthānaka._ Shlave! What do you mean by talking about a crime?
Well, I 'll do it thish way. [_He takes various ornaments from his
person._] Take these gems. I give 'em to you. Whenever I want to
wear them, I 'll take them back again, but the resht of the time
they are yours.

_Sthāvaraka._ They should be worn only by my master. What have
I to do with such things?

_Sansthānaka._ Go along! Take these bullocks, and wait in the tower
of my palace until I come.

_Sthāvaraka._ Yes, master.                                 [_Exit._

_Sansthānaka._ The gentleman has made himshelf invisible. He
wanted to save himshelf. And the shlave I 'll put in irons in the palace
tower, and keep him there. And sho the shecret will be shafe.
I 'll go along, but firsht I 'll take a look at her. Is she dead, or shall
I murder her again? [_He looks at Vasantasenā._] Dead as a doornail!
Good! I 'll cover her with thish cloak. No, it has my name
on it. Shome honesht man might recognize it. Well, here are shome
dry leaves that the wind has blown into a heap. I 'll cover her
with them. [_He does so, then pauses to reflect._] Good! I 'll do it
thish way. I 'll go to court at once, and there I 'll lodge a complaint.
I 'll shay that the merchant Chārudatta enticed Vasantasenā into
my old garden Pushpakaranda, and killed her for her money.

    Yesh, Chārudatta musht be shlaughtered now,
      And I 'll invent the plan, forgetting pity;
    The shacrificing of a sinless cow
      Is cruel in the kindesht-hearted city.                     44

Now I 'm ready to go. [_He starts to go away, but perceives something
that frightens him._] Goodnessh gracioush me! Wherever I
go, thish damned monk comes with his yellow robes. I bored a hole
in his nose once and drove him around, and he hates me. Perhaps
he'll shee me, and will tell people that I murdered her. How shall
I eshcape? [_He looks about._] Aha! I 'll jump over the wall where
it is half fallen down, and eshcape that way.

[133.8. S.

    I run, I run, I go,
    In heaven, on earth below,
      In hell, and in Ceylon,
      Hanūmat's peaks upon--
    Like Indra's self, I go.                       [_Exit._]     45

[_Enter hurriedly the Buddhist monk, ex-shampooer._]

_Monk._ I 've washed these rags of mine. Shall I let them dry on a
branch? no, the monkeys would steal them. On the ground? the
dust would make them dirty again. Well then, where shall I spread
them out to dry? [_He looks about._] Ah, here is a pile of dry leaves
which the wind has blown into a heap. I 'll spread them out on
that. [_He does so._] Buddha be praised! [_He sits down._] Now I will
repeat a hymn of the faith.

    Who slays the Five Men, and the Female Bane,
      By whom protection to the Town is given,
    By whom the Outcaste impotent is slain,
      He cannot fail to enter into heaven.                       (2)

After all, what have I to do with heaven, before I have paid my
debt to Vasantasenā, my sister in Buddha? She bought my freedom
for ten gold-pieces from the gamblers, and since that day I
regard myself as her property. [_He looks about._] What was that?
a sigh that arose from the leaves? It cannot be.

    The heated breezes heat the leaves,
    The wetted garment wets the leaves,
    And so, I guess, the scattered leaves
    Curl up like any other leaves.                               46

[_Vasantasenā begins to recover consciousness, and stretches out her
hand._]

P. 222.12]

_Monk._ Ah, there appears a woman's hand, adorned with beautiful gems.
What! a second hand? [_He examines it with the greatest care._] It seems
to me, I recognize this hand. Yes, there is no doubt about it. Surely,
this is the hand that saved me. But I must see for myself. [_He uncovers
the body, looks at it, and recognizes it._] It _is_ my sister in Buddha.
[_Vasantasenā pants for water._] Ah, she seeks water, and the pond is
far away. What shall I do? An idea! I will hold this robe over her and
let it drip upon her. [_He does so. Vasantasenā recovers consciousness,
and raises herself. The monk fans her with his garment._]

_Vasantasenā._ Who are you, sir?

_Monk._ Has my sister in Buddha forgotten him whose freedom
she bought for ten gold-pieces?

_Vasantasenā._ I seem to remember, but not just as you say. It
were better that I had slept never to waken.

_Monk._ What happened here, sister in Buddha?

_Vasantasenā._ [_Despairingly._] Nothing but what is fitting--for a
courtezan.

_Monk._ Sister in Buddha, support yourself by this creeper[82] that
clings to the tree, and rise to your feet [_He bends down the creeper.
Vasantasenā takes it in her hand, and rises._]

_Monk._ In yonder monastery dwells one who is my sister in the
faith. There shall my sister in Buddha be restored before she returns
home. You must walk very slowly, sister. [_He walks about
and looks around him._] Make way, good people, make way! This is
a young lady, and I am a monk, yet my conduct is above reproach.

   The man whose hands, whose lips are free from greed,
    Who curbs his senses, he is man indeed.
    He little recks, if kingdoms fall or stand;
    For heaven is in the hollow of his hand.                     47

                                                          [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 72: An allusion to the practice by which the Buddhists induced
a state of religious ecstasy.]

[Footnote 73: The five senses.]

[Footnote 74: Ignorance.]

[Footnote 75: The body.]

[Footnote 76: The conceit of individuality.]

[Footnote 77: Used as an appetiser.]

[Footnote 78: The elaborate puns of this passage can hardly be
reproduced in a translation.]

[Footnote 79: See page 13.]

[Footnote 80: The four cardinal points, the four intermediate points,
the zenith, and the nadir.]

[Footnote 81: The region of Yama, god of death.]

[Footnote 82: A monk may not touch a woman.]




ACT THE NINTH

THE TRIAL


[_Enter a beadle._]

_Beadle._

The magistrates said to me "Come, beadle, go to the
court-room, and make ready the seats." So now I am on my way to set the
court-room in order. [_He walks about and looks around him._] Here is
the court-room, I will enter. [_He enters, sweeps, and puts a seat in
its place._] There! I have tidied up the court-room and put the seats in
readiness, and now I will go and tell the magistrates. [_He walks about
and looks around him._] But see! Here comes that arrant knave, the
king's brother-in-law. I will go away without attracting his attention.
[_He stands apart. Enter Sansthānaka, in gorgeous raiment._]

_Sansth._

    I bathed where water runs and flows and purls;
      I shat within a garden, park, and grove
    With women, and with females, and with girls,
      Whose lovely limbs with grace angelic move.                1

    My hair is shometimes done up tight, you shee;
      In locks, or curls, it hangs my forehead o'er;
    Shometimes 't is matted, shometimes hanging free;
      And then again, I wear a pompadour.
    I am a wonder, I'm a wondrous thing.
    And the husband of my shishter is the king.                  2

And beshides, I 've found a big hole, like a worm that has crawled
into the knot of a lotush-root, and is looking for a hole to creep
out at. Now who was I going to accuse of thish wicked deed? [_He
recalls something._] Oh, yesh! I remember. I was going to accuse
poor Chārudatta of thish wicked deed. Beshides, he's poor. They 'll
believe anything about him. Good! I 'll go to the court-room and
lodge a public complaint against Chārudatta, how he shtrangled
Vasantasenā and murdered her. Sho now I 'm on my way to the
court-room. [_He walks about and looks around him._] Here is the
court-room. I 'll go in. [_He enters and looks about._] Well, here are
the sheats, all arranged. While I 'm waiting for the magishtrates,
I 'll jusht sit down a minute on the grass. [_He does so._]

P. 226.10]

_Beadle._ [_Walks about in another direction, and looks before him._]
Here come the magistrates. I will go to them. [_He does so._]

[_Enter the judge, accompanied by a gild-warden, a clerk, and others._]

_Judge._ Gild-warden and clerk!

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ We await your bidding.

_Judge._ A trial depends to such an extent upon others that the task
of the magistrates--the reading of another's thoughts--is most
difficult.

    Men often speak of deeds that no man saw,
    Matters beyond the province of the law;
    Passion so rules the parties that their lies,
    Hide their offenses from judicial eyes;
    This side and that exaggerate a thing,
    Until at last it implicates the king;
    To sum it up: false blame is easy won,
    A true judge little praised, or praised by none.             3

And again:

    Men often point to sins that no man saw,
    And in their anger scorn the patient law;
    In court-rooms even the righteous with their lies
    Hide their offenses from judicial eyes;
    And those who did the deed are lost to view,
    Who sinned with plaintiff and defendant too;
    To sum it up: false blame is easy won,
    A true judge little praised, or praised by none.             4

For the judge must be

    Learnèd, and skilled in tracing fraud's sly path,
    And eloquent, insensible to wrath;
    To friend, foe, kinsman showing equal grace,
    Reserving judgment till he know the case;
    Untouched by avarice, in virtue sound.
    The weak he must defend, the knave confound;
    An open door to truth, his heart must cling
    To others' interests, yet shun each thing
    That might awake the anger of the king.                      5

[137.94. S.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ And do men speak of defects in your
virtue? If so, then they speak of darkness in the moonlight.

_Judge._ My good beadle, conduct me to the court-room.

_Beadle._ Follow me, Your Honor. [_They walk about._] Here is the
court-room. May the magistrates be pleased to enter. [_All enter._]

_Judge._ My good beadle, do you go outside and learn who desires
to present a case.

_Beadle._ Yes, sir. [_He goes out._] Gentlemen, the magistrates ask if
there is any here who desires to present a case.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Gleefully._] The magishtrates are here. [_He struts
about._] I desire to present a cashe, I, an arishtocrat, a man, a
Vāsudeva, the royal brother-in-law, the brother-in-law of the king.

_Beadle._ [_In alarm._] Goodness! The king's brother-in-law is the first
who desires to present a case. Well! Wait a moment, sir. I will inform
the magistrates at once. [_He approaches the magistrates._] Gentlemen,
here is the king's brother-in-law who has come to court,
desiring to present a case.

_Judge._ What! the king's brother-in-law is the first who desires to
present a case? Like an eclipse at sunrise, this betokens the ruin
of some great man. Beadle, the court will doubtless be very busy
to-day. Go forth, my good man, and say "Leave us for to-day.
Your suit cannot be considered."

_Beadle._ Yes, Your Honor. [_He goes out, and approaches Sansthānaka._]
Sir, the magistrates send word that you are to leave them for to-day;
that your suit cannot be considered.

P. 229.13]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Wrathfully._] Confound it! Why can't my shuit be
conshidered? If it is n't conshidered, then I 'll tell my brother-in-law,
King Pālaka, my shishter's husband, and I 'll tell my shishter
and my mother too, and I 'll have thish judge removed, and another
judge appointed. [_He starts to go away._]

_Beadle._ Oh, sir! Brother-in-law of the king! Wait a moment. I
will inform the magistrates at once. [_He returns to the Judge._] The
brother-in-law of the king is angry, and says--[_He repeats Sansthānaka's
words._]

_Judge._ This fool might do anything. My good man, tell him to
come hither, that his suit will be considered.

_Beadle._ [_Approaching Sansthānaka._] Sir, the magistrates send
word that you are to come in, that your suit will be considered.
Pray enter, sir.

_Sansthānaka._ Firsht they shay it won't be conshidered, then they
shay it will be conshidered. The magishtrates are shcared. Whatever
I shay, I 'll make 'em believe it. Good! I 'll enter. [_He enters
and approaches the magistrates._] I am feeling very well, thank you.
Whether you feel well or not--that depends on me.

_Judge._ [_Aside._] Well, well! We seem to have a highly cultivated
plaintiff. [_Aloud._] Pray be seated.

_Sansthānaka._ Well! Thish floor belongs to me. I 'll sit down wherever
I like. [_To the gild-warden._] I'll sit here. [_To the beadle._]
Why should n't I sit here? [_He lays his hand on the Judge's head._]
I 'll sit here. [_He sits down on the floor._]

_Judge._ You desire to present a case?

_Sansthānaka._ Of courshe.

_Judge._ Then state the case.

_Sansthānaka._ I 'll whishper it. I was born in the great family of
a man as glorioush as a wine-glass.

    My father's father of the king--in law;
    The king, he is my daddy's son-in-law;
    And I am brother to the king--in law;
    And the husband of my shishter is the king.                  6

[140.1. S.

_Judge._ All this we know.

    Why should you boast of this your noble birth?
    'T is character that makes the man of worth;
    But thorns and weeds grow rank in fertile earth.             7

State your case.

_Sansthānaka._ I will, but even if I was guilty, he wouldn't do
anything to me. Well, my shishter's husband liked me, and gave
me the besht garden there is, the old garden Pushpakaranda, to
play in and look after. And there I go every day to look at it, to
keep it dry, to keep it clean, to keep it blosshoming, to keep it
trimmed. But fate decreed that I shaw--or rather, I didn't _shee_--the
proshtrate body of a woman.

_Judge._ Do you know who the unfortunate woman was?

_Sansthānaka._ Hello, magishtrates! Why shouldn't I know? A
woman like that! the pearl of the city! adorned with a hundred
golden ornaments! Shomebody's unworthy shon enticed her into
the old garden Pushpakaranda when it was empty, and for a
mere trifle--for her money!--shtrangled Vasantasenā and killed
her. But _I_ didn't--[_He breaks off, and puts his hand over his
mouth._]

_Judge._ What carelessness on the part of the city police! Gild-warden
and clerk, write down the words "I didn't," as the first
article in the case.

_Clerk._ Yes, sir. [_He does so._] Sir, it is written.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] Goodnessh! Now I've ruined myshelf, like
a man that shwallows a cake of rice and milk in a hurry. Well,
I'll get out of it thish way. [_Aloud._] Well, well, magishtrates! I
was jusht remarking that I didn't shee it happen. What are you
making thish hullabaloo about? [_He wipes out the written words
with his foot._]

P. 233.3]

_Judge._ How do you know that she was strangled--and for her
money?

_Sansthānaka._ Hello! Why shouldn't I think sho, when her neck
was shwollen and bare, and the places where you wear jewels
did n't have any gold on them?

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ That seems plausible.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] Thank heaven! I breathe again. Hooray!

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Upon whom does the conduct of this
case depend?

_Judge._ The case has a twofold aspect.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ How so?

_Judge._ We have to consider the allegations, then the facts. Now
the investigation of the allegations depends upon plaintiff and defendant.
But the investigation of the facts must be carried out by
the wisdom of the judge.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Then the conduct of the case depends
upon the presence of Vasantasenā's mother?

_Judge._ Precisely. My good beadle, summon Vasantasenā's mother,
without, however, giving her cause for anxiety.

_Beadle._ Yes, Your Honor. [_He goes out, and returns with the
mother of the courtezan._] Follow me, madam.

_Mother._ My daughter went to the house of a friend to enjoy her
youth. But now comes this gentleman--long life to him!--and
says "Come! The judge summons you." I find myself quite bewildered.
My heart is palpitating. Sir, will you conduct me to the
court-room?

_Beadle._ Follow me, madam. [_They walk about._] Here is the court-room.
Pray enter, madam. [_They enter._]

_Mother._ [_Approaching._] Happiness be yours, most worthy gentlemen.

_Judge._ My good woman, you are very welcome. Pray be seated.

[141.24. S.

_Mother._ Thank you. [_She seats herself._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Abusively._] You 're here, are you, you old bawd?

_Judge._ Tell me. Are you Vasantasenā's mother?

_Mother._ I am.

_Judge._ Whither has Vasantasenā gone at this moment?

_Mother._ To the house of a friend.

_Judge._ What is the name of her friend?

_Mother._ [_Aside._] Dear me! Really, this is very embarrassing.
[_Aloud._] Any one else might ask me this, but not a judge.

_Judge._ Pray do not be embarrassed. The conduct of the case puts
the question.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ The conduct of the case puts the question.
You incur no fault. Speak.

_Mother._ What! the conduct of the case? If that is so, then listen,
worthy gentlemen. There lives in the merchants' quarter the
grandson of the merchant Vinayadatta, the son of Sāgaradatta,
a man whose name is a good omen in itself--that name is Chārudatta.
In his house my daughter enjoys her youth.

_Sansthānaka._ Did you hear that? Write those words down. My
contention is with Chārudatta.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ It is no sin for Chārudatta to be her
friend.

_Judge._ The conduct of this case demands the presence of Chārudatta.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Exactly.

_Judge._ Dhanadatta, write as the first article in the case "Vasantasenā
went to the house of Chārudatta." But must we summon the
worthy Chārudatta also? No, the conduct of the case summons
him. Go, my good beadle, summon Chārudatta,--but gently, without
haste, without giving him cause for anxiety, respectfully, as it
were incidentally,--with the words "The judge wishes to see you."

P. 236.11]

_Beadle._ Yes, Your Honor. [_He goes out, then returns with Chārudatta._]
Follow me, sir.

_Chārudatta._ [_Thoughtfully._]

    My character and kin are known
      Unto the king who rules our state;
    And in this summons there is shown
      A doubt begotten of my wretched fate.                      8

[_Reflectively. Aside._]

    Ah! Were there those, the man to recognize
      Who met me on the road, from bondage freed?
    Or did the king, who sees through cunning spies,
      Learn that my cart was lent him in his need?
    Why should I else be forced to tread the street,
    Like one accused of crime, my judge to meet?                 9

But why consider thus? I must go to the court-room. My good
beadle, conduct me to the court.

_Beadle._ Follow me, sir. [_They walk about._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Apprehensively._] And what means this?

    Hear how the gloomy raven hoarsely croaks;
      The slaves of justice summon me again;
    My left eye twitches; these repeated strokes
      Of threatened evil frighten me and pain.                   10

_Beadle._ Follow me, sir, gently and without haste.

_Chārudatta._ [_Walks about and looks before him._]

    Upon the withered tree, a crow
      Turns to the sun;
    His left eye falls on me. Ah, woe!
      My doubt is done.                                          11

[_He looks in another direction._] But see! a snake!

    His eye is fixed upon me; and his back
    Flashes like antimony's lustrous black;
    His long tongue quivers; four white fangs appear;
    His belly swells and coils. He slumbered here,
    This prince of serpents, till I crossed his path,
    And now he darts upon me in his wrath.                       12

[143.21. S.

And more than this:

    I slip, although the ground has felt no rain;
    My left eye, and my left arm throb again;
    Another bird is screaming overhead;
    All bodes a cruel death, and hope is fled.                   13

Surely, the gods will grant that all may yet be well.

_Beadle._ Follow me, sir. Here is the court-room. Pray enter.

_Chārudatta._ [_Enters and looks about._] How wonderfully splendid
is the court-room. For it seems an ocean,

    Whose waters are the king's advisers, deep
    In thought; as waves and shells it seems to keep
    The attorneys; and as sharks and crocodiles
    It has its spies that stand in waiting files;
    Its elephants and horses[83] represent
    The cruel ocean-fish on murder bent;
    As if with herons of the sea, it shines
    With screaming pettifoggers' numerous lines;
    While in the guise of serpents, scribes are creeping
      Upon its statecraft-trodden shore: the court
    The likeness of an ocean still is keeping,
      To which all harmful-cruel beasts resort.                  14

Come! [_As he enters, he strikes his head against the door. Reflectively._]
Alas! This also?

    My left eye throbs; a raven cries;
      A serpent coils athwart my path.
    My safety now with heaven lies.                              15

But I must enter. [_He does so._]

P. 238.16]

_Judge._ This is Chārudatta.

    A countenance like his, with clear-cut nose,
    Whose great, wide-opened eye frank candor shows,
      Is not the home of wantonness;
    With elephants, with horses, and with kine,
    The outer form is inner habit's sign;
      With men no less.                                          16

_Chārudatta._ My greetings to the officers of justice. Officials, I salute
you.

_Judge._ [_Betraying his agitation._] You are very welcome, sir. My
good beadle, give the gentleman a seat.

_Beadle._ [_Brings a seat._] Here is a seat. Pray be seated, sir.
[_Chārudatta seats himself._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Angrily._] You're here, are you, you woman-murderer?
Well! Thish is a fine trial, thish is a jusht trial, where they
give a sheat to thish woman-murderer. [_Haughtily._] But it's all
right. They can give it to him.

_Judge._ Chārudatta, have you any attachment, or affection, or
friendship, with this lady's daughter?

_Chārudatta._ What lady?

_Judge._ This lady. [_He indicates Vasantasenā's mother._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Rising._] Madam, I salute you.

_Mother._ Long life to you, my son! [_Aside._] So this is Chārudatta.
My daughter's youth is in good hands.

_Judge._ Sir, is the courtezan your friend? [_Chārudatta betrays his
embarrassment._]

_Sansthānaka._

    He tries to hide the deed he did;
      He lies, from shame or fear;
    He murdered her, of her got rid
    For gold, and thinks the deed is hid;
      Not sho his mashter here.                                  17

[145.18. S.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Speak, Chārudatta. Do not be ashamed.
This is a lawsuit.

_Chārudatta._ [_In embarrassment._] Officials, how can I testify that
a courtezan is my friend? But at worst, it is youth that bears the
blame, not character.

_Judge._

    The case is hard; then banish shame,
      Though it oppress your heart;
    Speak truth with fortitude, and aim
      To set deceit apart.                                       18

Do not be embarrassed. The conduct of the case puts the question.

_Chārudatta._ Officer, with whom have I a lawsuit?

_Sansthānaka._ [_Arrogantly._] With me!

_Chārudatta._ A lawsuit with you is unendurable!

_Sansthānaka._ Well, well, woman-murderer! You murder a woman
like Vasantasenā who used to wear a hundred gems, and now you
try deceitful deceivings to hide it!

_Chārudatta._ You are a fool.

_Judge._ Enough of him, good Chārudatta. Speak the truth. Is the
courtezan your friend?

_Chārudatta._ She is.

_Judge._ Sir, where is Vasantasenā?

_Chārudatta._ She has gone home.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ How did she go? When did she go? Who
accompanied her?

_Chārudatta._ [_Aside._] Shall I say that she went unobserved?

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Speak, sir.

_Chārudatta._ She went home. What more shall I say?

_Sansthānaka._ She was enticed into my old garden Pushpakaranda,
and was shtrangled for her money. Now will you shay that she
went home?

_Chārudatta._ Man, you are crazy.

    The very clouds of heaven wet not you;
      Your lips are like the blue-jay's wing-tip worn,
    Yes, full as fickle with their speech untrue,
      And like the winter lotus lustre-lorn.                     19

P. 241.19]

_Judge._ [_Aside._]

    Take the Himalayan hills within your hand,
    And swim from ocean strand to ocean strand,
    And hold within your grasp the fleeting wind:
    Then may you think that Chārudatta sinned.                   20

[_Aloud._] This is the noble Chārudatta. How could he commit this crime?
[_He repeats the verse_ "A countenance like his:" _page 141._]

_Sansthānaka._ Why thish partiality in a lawshuit?

_Judge._ Away, you fool!

    Illiterate, you gloss the Sacred Law,
      And still your tongue uninjured find?
    The midday sun with steadfast eye you saw,
      And are not straightway stricken blind?
    You thrust your hand into the blazing fire,
      And draw it forth, unscathed and sound?
    Drag Chārudatta's virtue in the mire,
      Nor sink beneath this yawning ground?                      21

How could the noble Chārudatta commit a crime?

    Of all the riches of the mighty sea
      Only the swelling waters now are left,
    Because, without consideration, he--
      For others' good--himself of all has reft.
    And should this high-souled man, this store-house where
      All gems of virtue gather and unite,
    For lucre's sake, so foul a trespass dare
      That in it even his foe could not delight?                 22

_Mother._ You scoundrel! When the golden casket that was left
with him as a pledge was stolen by thieves at night, he gave in
place of it a pearl necklace that was the pride of the four seas.
And he should now, for a mere trifle--for her money!--do this
sin? Oh, my child, come back to me, my daughter! [_She weeps._]

[147.16. S.

_Judge._ Noble Chārudatta, did she go on foot, or in a bullock-cart?

_Chārudatta._ I did not see her when she went. Therefore I do not
know whether she went on foot, or in a bullock-cart.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter Vīraka, in anger._]

_Vīraka._

    My anger was so prodded to the quick,
    By that dishonoring, insulting kick,
    And so I brooded, till at last the night
    Unwilling yielded to the dawning light.                      23

So now I will go to the court-room. [_He enters._] May happiness
be the lot of these honorable gentlemen.

_Judge._ Ah, it is Vīraka, the captain of the guard. Vīraka, what
is the purpose of your coming?

_Vīraka._ Well! I was looking for Aryaka, in all the excitement
about his escape from prison. I had my suspicions about a covered
bullock-cart that was coming, and wanted to look in. "You 've
made one inspection, man, I must make another," said I, and then
I was kicked by the highly respectable Chandanaka. You have
heard the matter, gentlemen. The rest is your affair.

_Judge._ My good man, do you know to whom the bullock-cart
belonged?

_Vīraka._ To this gentleman here, Chārudatta. And the driver said
that Vasantasenā was in it, and was on her way to have a good
time in the old garden Pushpakaranda.

_Sansthānaka._ Lishten to that, too!

_Judge._

    This moon, alas, though spotless-bright,
    Is now eclipsed, and robbed of light;
    The bank is fallen; the waves appear
    Befouled, that once were bright and clear.                   24

P. 244.8]

Vīraka, we will investigate your case here later. Mount the horse
that stands before the court-room door, go to the garden Pushpakaranda,
and see whether a woman has perished there or not.

_Vīraka._ Yes, sir. [_He goes out, then returns._] I have been there.
And I saw the body of a woman, torn by wild beasts.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ How do you know that it was the body
of a woman?

_Vīraka._ That I perceived from the traces of hair and arms and
hands and feet.

_Judge._ Alas for the difficulties which are caused by the actions
of men!

    The more one may apply his skill,
    The harder is the matter still;
    Plain are indeed the law's demands,
    Yet judgment insecurely stands
    As some poor cow on shifting sands.                          25

_Chārudatta._ [_Aside._]

    As bees, when flowers begin to blow,
    Gather to sip the honey, so
    When man is marked by adverse fate,
    Misfortunes enter every gate.                                26

_Judge._ Noble Chārudatta, speak truth!

_Chārudatta._

    A mean and jealous creature, passion-blind,
    Sets all his soul, some fatal means to find
    To slay the man he envies; shall his lies
    By evil nature prompted, win the prize?
    No! he is unregarded by the wise.                            27

And more than this:

    The creeper's beauty would I never blight,
      Nor pluck its flowers; should I not be afraid
    To seize her hair so lovely-long, and bright
      As wings of bees, and slay a weeping maid?                 28

[149.15. S.

_Sansthānaka._ Hello, magishtrates! How can you inveshtigate the
cashe with such partiality? Why, even now you let thish shcoundrel
Chārudatta shtay on his sheat.

_Judge._ My good beadle, so be it [_The beadle follows Sansthānaka's
suggestion._]

_Chārudatta._ Consider, magistrates, consider what you are doing!
[_He leaves his seat, and sits on the floor._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Dancing about gleefully. Aside._] Fine! The shin
that I did falls on another man's head. Sho I 'll sit where Chārudatta
was. [_He does so._] Look at me, Chārudatta, and confessh
that you murdered her.

_Chārudatta._ Magistrates!

    A mean and jealous creature, passion-blind,
    Sets all his soul, some fatal means to find
    To slay the man he envies; shall his lies,
    By evil nature prompted, win the prize?
    No! he is unregarded by the wise.                            (27)

[_Sighing. Aside._]

    My friend Maitreya! Oh, this cruel blow!
      My wife, thou issue of a spotless strain!
    My Rohasena! Here am I, laid low
    By sternest fate; and thou, thou dost not know
      That all thy childish games are played in vain.
      Thou playest, heedless of another's pain!                  29

But Maitreya I sent to Vasantasenā, that he might bring me tidings
of her, and might restore the jewels which she gave my child,
to buy him a toy cart. Why then does he linger?

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter Maitreya with the gems._]

P. 246.19]

_Maitreya._ Chārudatta bade me go to Vasantasenā, to return her jewels,
and he said to me: "Maitreya, Vasantasenā adorned my dear Rohasena with
her own jewels, and sent him thus to his mother. It was fitting that she
should give him the jewels, but not that we should receive them.
Therefore restore them to her." So now I will go to Vasantasenā's house.
[_He walks about and looks around, then speaks to a person behind the
scenes._] Ah, it is Master Rebhila. Oh, Master Rebhila, why do you seem
so exceedingly troubled? [_He listens._] What! do you mean to say that
my dear friend Chārudatta has been summoned to court? That can hardly be
an insignificant matter. [_He reflects._] I will go to Vasantasenā's
house later, but now I will go to the court-room. [_He walks about and
looks around._] Here is the court-room. I will go in at once. [_He
enters._] May happiness be the lot of the magistrates. Where is my
friend?

_Judge._ Here.

_Maitreya._ My friend, I wish you happiness.

_Chārudatta._ It will be mine.

_Maitreya._ And peace.

_Chārudatta._ That too will be mine.

_Maitreya._ My friend, why do you seem so exceedingly troubled?
And why were you summoned?

_Chārudatta._ My friend,

    A scoundrel I, who bear the blame,
      Nor seek in heaven to be blest;
    A maid--or goddess--'t is the same--
      But _he_ will say the rest.                                30

_Maitreya._ What? what?

_Chārudatta._ [_Whispers._] That is it.

_Maitreya._ Who says that?

_Chārudatta._ [_Indicating Sansthānaka._] This poor fellow is the
instrument that fate uses to accuse me.

[131.12. S.

_Maitreya._ [_Aside to Chārudatta._] Why don't you simply say that
she went home?

_Chārudatta._ Though I say it, it is not believed, so unfortunate is
my condition.

_Maitreya._ But gentlemen! He adorned the city of Ujjayinī with
mansions, cloisters, parks, temples, pools, and fountains, and he
should be mad enough to commit such a crime--and for a mere
trifle? [_Wrathfully._] You offspring of a loose wench, you brother-in-law
of the king, Sansthānaka, you libertine, you slanderer, you
buffoon, you gilded monkey, say it before me! This friend of mine
does n't even draw a flowering jasmine creeper to himself, to gather
the blossoms, for fear that a twig might perhaps be injured.
How should he commit a crime like this, which heaven and earth
call accursèd? Just wait, you son of a bawd! Wait till I split your
head into a hundred pieces with this staff of mine, as crooked as
your heart.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Angrily._] Lishten to that, gentlemen! I have a
quarrel, or a lawshuit, with Chārudatta. What right has a man
with a pate that looks like a caret, to shplit my head into a hundred
pieces? Not much! You confounded rashcal! [_Maitreya raises
his staff and repeats his words. Sansthānaka rises angrily and strikes
him. Maitreya strikes back. During the scuffle the jewels fall from
Maitreya's girdle._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Picks up the jewels and examines them. Excitedly._]
Look, gentlemen, look! These are the poor girl's jewels! [_Pointing
to Chārudatta._] For a trifle like thish he murdered her, and killed
her too. [_The magistrates all bow their heads._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Aside to Maitreya._]

    'T is thus my fate would vent its gall,
    That at this moment they should fall,
      These gems--and with them, I.                              31

_Maitreya._ But why don't you simply tell the truth?

P. 250.1]

_Chārudatta._ My friend,

    The king perceives with blinded eye,
      Nor on the truth that eye will bend;
    Though telling all, I cannot fly
      A wretched and inglorious end.                             32

_Judge._ Alas! Alas!

    With Mars strives Jupiter, and dies;
    Beside them both there seems to rise
    A comet-planet[84] in the skies.                             33

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ [_Looking at the casket. To Vasantasenā's
mother._] Madam, pray examine this golden casket attentively, to
see whether it be the same or not.

_Mother._ [_Examining the casket._] It is similar, but not the same.

_Sansthānaka._ Oh, you old bawd! You confessh it with your eyes,
and deny it with your lips.

_Mother._ Away, you scoundrel!

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Speak carefully. Is it the same or not?

_Mother._ Sir, the craftsman's skill captivates the eye. But it is not
the same.

_Judge._ My good woman, do you know these jewels?

_Mother._ No, I said. No! I don't recognize them; but perhaps they
were made by the same craftsman.

_Judge._ Gild-warden, see!

    Gems often seem alike in many ways,
    When the artist's mind on form and beauty plays;
    For craftsmen imitate what they have seen,
    And skilful hands remake what once has been.                 34

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Do these jewels belong to Chārudatta?

_Chārudatta._ Never!

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ To whom then?

[153.12. S.

_Chārudatta._ To this lady's daughter.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ How did she lose them?

_Chārudatta._ She lost them. Yes, so much is true.

_Gild-warden and Clerk._ Chārudatta, speak the truth in this matter.
For you must remember,

    Truth brings well-being in its train;
      Through speaking truth, no evils rise;
    Truth, precious syllable!--Refrain
      From hiding truth in lies.                                 35

_Chārudatta._ The jewels, the jewels! I do not know. But I do know
that they were taken from my house.

_Sansthānaka._ Firsht you take her into the garden and murder
her. And now you hide it by tricky trickinessh.

_Judge._ Noble Chārudatta, speak the truth!

    Merciless lashes wait to smite
      This moment on thy tender flesh;
    And we--we can but think it right.                           36

_Chārudatta._

    Of sinless sires I boast my birth,
      And sin in me was never found;
    Yet if suspicion taints my worth,
      What boots it though my heart be sound?                    37

[_Aside._] And yet I know not what to do with life, so I be robbed
of Vasantasenā. [_Aloud._] Ah, why waste words?

    A scoundrel I, who bear the blame,
      Nor think of earth, nor heaven blest;
    That sweetest maid, in passion's flame--
      But _he_ will say the rest.                                38

_Sansthānaka._ Killed her! Come, you shay it too. "I killed her."

_Chārudatta._ You have said it.

_Sansthānaka._ Lishten, my mashters, lishten! He murdered her! No
one but him! Doubt is over. Let punishment be inflicted on the
body of thish poor Chārudatta.

P. 253.1]

_Judge._ Beadle, we must do as the king's brother-in-law says.
Guardsmen, lay hold on this Chārudatta. [_The guardsmen do so._]

_Mother._ Be merciful, good gentlemen, be merciful! [_She repeats what
she had said before, beginning_ "When the golden casket:" _page 143._]
If my daughter is killed, she is killed. Let him live for me--bless him!
And besides, a lawsuit is a matter between plaintiff and defendant. I am
the real plaintiff. So let him go free!

_Sansthānaka._ You shlave, get out of the way! What have you got
to shay about him?

_Judge._ Go, madam. Guardsmen, conduct her forth.

_Mother._ Oh, my child, my son!                    [_Exit weeping._

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] I 've done shomething worthy of myshelf.
Now I 'll go.                                              [_Exit._

_Judge._ Noble Chārudatta, the decision lies with us, but the rest
depends on the king. And yet, beadle, let King Pālaka be reminded
of this:

    The Brahman who has sinned, our laws declare,
      May not be slain, but banished from the realm,
    And with his wealth entire abroad may fare.                  39

_Beadle._ Yes, Your Honor. [_He goes out, then reënters in tears._]
Oh, sirs, I was with the king. And King Pālaka says: "Inasmuch
as he killed Vasantasenā for such a trifle, these same jewels shall
be hung about his neck, the drum shall be beaten, he shall be conducted
to the southern burying-ground, and there impaled." And
whoever else shall commit such a crime, shall be punished with
the like dreadful doom.

_Chārudatta._ Oh, how wanton is this act of King Pālaka! Nevertheless,

    Although his counsellors may plunge a king
      Into injustice' dangers great,
    Yet he will reap the woe and suffering;
      And 't is a righteous fate.                                40

[155.10. S.

And more than this:

    They who pervert the king's true bent,
      The white crow's part who play,
    Have slain their thousands innocent,
      And slay, and slay, and slay.                              41

My friend Maitreya, go, greet the mother of my son in my name
for the last time. And keep my son Rohasena free from harm.

_Maitreya._ When the root is cut away, how can the tree be saved?

_Chārudatta._ No, not so.

    When man departs to worlds above,
      In living son yet liveth he;
    Bestow on Rohasena love
      No less than that thou gavest me.                          42

_Maitreya._ Oh, my friend! I will prove myself your friend by continuing
the life that you leave unfinished.

_Chārudatta._ And let me see Rohasena for a single moment.

_Maitreya._ I will. It is but fitting.

_Judge._ My good beadle, remove this man. [_The beadle does so._]
Who is there? Let the headsmen receive their orders. [_The guardsmen
loose their hold on Chārudatta, and all of them go out._]

_Beadle._ Come with me, sir.

_Chārudatta._ [_Mournfully repeats the verse, page 146, beginning_ "My
friend Maitreya!" _Then, as if speaking to one not present._]

    If you had proved my conduct by the fire,
      By water, poison, scales, and thus had known
      That I deserved that saws should bite my bone,
    My Brahman's frame, more could I not desire.
      You trust a foeman, slay me thus? 'T is well.
      With sons, and sons' sons, now you plunge to hell!         43

I come! I come!                                    [_Exeunt omnes._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 83: Elephants were employed as executioners; and, according to
Lallādīkṣita, the horses served the same purpose.]

[Footnote 84: This refers to the fallen jewels.]




ACT THE TENTH

THE END


[_Enter Chārudatta, accompanied by two headsmen._]

_Headsmen._

    Then think no longer of the pain;
    In just a second you 'll be slain.
    We understand the fashions new
    To fetter you and kill you too.
    In chopping heads we never fail,
    Nor when the victim we impale.                               1

Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way! This is the noble Chārudatta.

    The oleander on his brow,
    In headsmen's hands you see him now;
    Like a lamp whose oil runs nearly dry,
    His light fades gently, ere it die.                          2

_Chārudatta._ [_Gloomily._]

    My body wet by tear-drops falling, falling;
      My limbs polluted by the clinging mud;
    Flowers from the graveyard torn, my wreath appalling;
    For ghastly sacrifice hoarse ravens calling,
      And for the fragrant incense of my blood.                  3

_Headsmen._ Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way!

    Why gaze upon the good man so?
    The ax of death soon lays him low.
    Yet good men once sought shelter free,
    Like birds, upon this kindly tree.                           4

Come, Chārudatta, come!

_Chārudatta._ Incalculable are the ways of human destiny, that I
am come to such a plight!

    Red marks of hands in sandal paste
    O'er all my body have been placed;
    The man, with meal and powder strewn,
    Is now to beast of offering grown.                           5

[157.19. S.

[_He gazes intently before him._] Alas for human differences!
[_Mournfully._]

    For when they see the fate that I must brave,
      With tears for death's poor victim freely given,
    The citizens cry "shame," yet cannot save,--
      Can only pray that I attain to heaven.                     6

_Headsmen._ Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way! Why do
you gaze upon him?

    God Indra moving through the sky,[85]
      The calving cow, the falling star,
    The good man when he needs must die,--
      These four behold not from afar.                           7

_Goha._ Look, Ahīnta! Look, man!

    While he, of citizens the best,
    Goes to his death at fate's behest,
    Does heaven thus weep that he must die?
    Does lightning paint the cloudless sky?                      8

_Ahīnta._ Goha, man,

    The heaven weeps not that he must die,
    Nor lightning paints the cloudless sky;
    Yet streams are falling constantly
    From many a woman's clouded eye.                             9

And again:

    While this poor victim to his death is led,
      No man nor woman here but sorely weeps;
    And so the dust, by countless tear-drops fed,
      Thus peacefully upon the highway sleeps.                   10

_Chārudatta._ [_Gazes intently. Mournfully._]

    These women, in their palaces who stay,
      From half-shut windows peering, thus lament,
    "Alas for Chārudatta! Woe the day!"
      And pity-streaming eyes on me are bent.                    11

P. 258.12]

_Headsmen._ Come, Chārudatta, come! Here is the place of proclamation.
Beat the drum and proclaim the sentence.

Listen, good people, listen! This is the noble Chārudatta, son
of Sāgaradatta, and grandson of the merchant Vinayadatta. This
malefactor enticed the courtezan Vasantasenā into the deserted
old garden Pushpakaranda, and for a mere trifle murdered her by
strangling. He was taken with the booty, and confessed his guilt.
Therefore are we under orders from King Pālaka to execute him.
And if any other commit such a crime, accursèd in this world and
the next, him too King Pālaka condemns to the like punishment.

_Chārudatta._ [_Despondently. Aside._]

    By hundred sacrifices purified,
        My radiant name
    Was once proclaimed by countless altars' side,
        And knew no blame.
    Now comes my hour of death, and evil men
        Of baser fame
    In public spots proclaim it once again,
        But linked with shame.                                   12

[_He looks up and stops his ears._]

    Vasantasenā! Oh, my belovèd!
    From thy dear lips, that vied with coral's red,
      Betraying teeth more bright than moonbeams fair,
    My soul with heaven's nectar once was fed.
    How can I, helpless, taste that poison dread,
      To drink shame's poisoned cup how can I bear?              13

_Headsmen._ Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way!

    This treasure-house, with pearls of virtue stored,
      This bridge for good men o'er misfortune's river,
    This gem now robbed of all its golden hoard,
      Departs our town to-day, departs forever.                  14

[159.15. S.

And again:

    Whom fortune favors, find
    That all the world is kind;
    Whose happy days are ended,
    Are rarely thus befriended.                                  15

_Chārudatta._ [_Looks about him._]

    Their faces with their garments' hem now hiding,
      They stand afar, whom once I counted friends:
    Even foes have smiles for men with Fortune biding:
      But friends prove faithless when good fortune ends.        16

_Headsmen._ They are out of the way. The street is cleared. Lead
on the condemned criminal.

_Chārudatta._ [_Sighing._]

    My friend Maitreya! Oh, this cruel blow!
      My wife, thou issue of a spotless strain!
    My Rohasena! Here am I, laid low
    By sternest fate; and thou, thou dost not know
      That all thy childish games are played in vain.
      Thou playest, heedless of another's pain!                  (ix. 29)

       *       *       *       *       *

_Voices behind the scenes._ My father! Oh, my friend!

_Chārudatta._ [_Listens. Mournfully._] You are a leader in your own
caste. I would beg a favor at your hands.

_Headsmen._ From _our_ hands you would receive a favor?

_Chārudatta._ Heaven forbid! Yet a headsman is neither so wanton
nor so cruel as King Pālaka. That I may be happy in the other
world, I ask to see the face of my son.

_Headsmen._ So be it.

_A voice behind the scenes._ My father! oh, my father! [_Chārudatta
hears the words, and mournfully repeats his request._]

_Headsmen._ Citizens, make way a moment. Let the noble Chārudatta
look upon the face of his son. [_Turning to the back of the
stage._] This way, sir! Come on, little boy!

P. 261.15]

[_Enter Maitreya, with Rohasena._]

_Maitreya._ Make haste, my boy, make haste! Your father is being
led to his death.

_Rohasena._ My father! oh, my father!

_Maitreya._ Oh, my friend! Where must I behold you now?

_Chārudatta._ [_Perceives his son and his friend._] Alas, my son! Alas,
Maitreya! [_Mournfully._] Ah, woe is me!

    Long, too long, shall I thirst in vain
      Through all my sojourn dread;
    This vessel[86] small will not contain
      The water for the dead.                                    17

What may I give my son? [_He looks at himself, and perceives the
sacrificial cord._] Ah, this at least is mine.

    The precious cord that Brahmans hold
    Is unadorned with pearls and gold;
      Yet, girt therewith, they sacrifice
    To gods above and fathers[87] old.                           18

[_He gives Rohasena the cord._]

_Goha._ Come, Chārudatta! Come, man!

_Ahīnta._ Man, do you name the noble Chārudatta's name, and forget
the title? Remember:

    In happy hours, in death, by night, by day,
      Roving as free as a yet unbroken colt,
    Fate wanders on her unrestricted way.                        19

And again:

    Life will depart his body soon;
      Shall our reproaches bow his head?
    Although eclipse may seize the moon,
      We worship while it seems but dead.                        20

_Rohasena._ Oh, headsmen, where are you leading my father?

[161.10. S.

_Chārudatta._ My darling,

    About my neck I needs must wear
      The oleander-wreath;
    Upon my shoulder I must bear
    The stake, and in my heart the care
      Of near-approaching death.
    I go to-day to meet a dastard's ending,
    A victim, at the fatal altar bending.                        21

_Goha._ My boy,

    Not we the headsmen are,
      Though born of headsman race;
    Thy father's life who mar,
      These, these are headsmen base.                            22

_Rohasena._ Then why do you murder my father?

_Goha._ Bless you, 't is the king's orders must bear the blame, not we.

_Rohasena._ Kill me, and let father go free.

_Goha._ Bless you, may you live long for saying that!

_Chārudatta._ [_Tearfully embracing his son._]

    This treasure--love--this taste of heaven,
    To rich and poor alike is given;
    Than sandal better, or than balm,
    To soothe the heart and give it calm.                        23

    About my neck I needs must wear
      The oleander-wreath,
    Upon my shoulder I must bear
    The stake, and in my heart the care
      Of near-approaching death.
    I go to-day to meet a dastard's ending,
    A victim, at the fatal altar bending.                        (21)

[_He looks about. Aside._]

    Their faces with their garments' hem now hiding,
      They stand afar, whom once I counted friends:
    Even foes have smiles                                        (16)

P. 264.7]

_Maitreya._ My good men, let my dear friend Chārudatta go free,
and kill me instead.

_Chārudatta._ Heaven forbid! [_He looks about. Aside._] Now I understand.

                       for men with Fortune biding;
    But friends prove faithless when good fortune ends.          (16)

[_Aloud._]

    These women, in their palaces who stay,
      From half-shut windows peering, thus lament,
    "Alas for Chārudatta! Woe the day!"
      And pity-streaming eyes on me are bent.                    (11)

_Goha._ Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way!

    Why gaze upon the good man so,
    When shame his living hope lays low?
    The cord was broken at the well,
    And down the golden pitcher fell.                            24

_Chārudatta._ [_Mournfully._]

    From thy dear lips, that vied with coral's red,
      Betraying teeth more bright than moonbeams fair,
    My soul with heaven's nectar once was fed.
    How can I, helpless, taste that poison dread,
      To drink shame's poisoned cup how can I bear?              (13)

_Ahīnta._ Proclaim the sentence again, man.    [_Goha does so._]

_Chārud._

    So lowly fallen! till shame my virtues blur,
      Till such an ending seem not loss, but gain!
      Yet o'er my heart there creeps a saddening pain,
    To hear them cry abroad "_You_ murdered _her_!"              25

[162.18. S.

[_Enter Sthāvaraka, fettered, in the palace tower._]

_Sthāvaraka._ [_After listening to the proclamation. In distress._]
What! the innocent Chārudatta is being put to death? And my
master has thrown me into chains! Well, I must shout to them.--Listen,
good gentlemen, listen! It was I, wretch that I am, who
carried Vasantasenā to the old garden Pushpakaranda, because
she mistook my bullock-cart for another. And then my master,
Sansthānaka, found that she would not love him, and it was he,
not this gentleman, who murdered her by strangling.--But they
are so far away that no one hears me. What shall I do? Shall I cast
myself down? [_He reflects._] If I do, then the noble Chārudatta
will not be put to death. Yes, through this broken window I will
throw myself down from the palace tower. Better that I should
meet my end, than that the noble Chārudatta should perish, this
tree of life for noble youths. And if I die in such a cause, I have
attained heaven. [_He throws himself down._] Wonderful! I did not
meet my end, and my fetters are broken. So I will follow the
sound of the headsmen's voices. [_He discovers the headsmen, and
hastens forward._] Headsmen, headsmen, make way!

_Headsmen._ For whom shall we make way?

_Sthāvaraka._ Listen, good gentlemen, listen! It was I, wretch that
I am, who carried Vasantasenā to the old garden Pushpakaranda,
because she mistook my bullock-cart for another. And then my
master, Sansthānaka, found that she would not love him, and it
was he, not this gentleman, who murdered her by strangling.

_Chārudatta._ Thank heaven!

    But who thus gladdens this my latest morn,
    When in Time's snare I struggle all forlorn,
    A streaming cloud above the rainless corn?                   26

Listen! do you hear what I say?

    Death have I never feared, but blackened fame;
    My death were welcome, coming free from shame,
    As were a son, new-born to bear my name.                     27

And again:

    That small, weak fool, whom I have never hated,
    Stained me with sin wherewith himself was mated,
    An arrow, with most deadly poison baited.                    28

_Headsmen._ Are you telling the truth, Sthāvaraka?

P. 266.13]

_Sthāvaraka._ I am. And to keep me from telling anybody, he cast
me into chains, and imprisoned me in the tower of his palace.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter Sansthānaka._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Gleefully._]

    I ate a shour and bitter dish
    Of meat and herbs and shoup and fish;
    I tried at home my tongue to tickle
    With rice-cakes plain, and rice with treacle.                29

[_He listens._] The headsmen's voices! They shound like a broken brass
cymbal. I hear the music of the fatal drum and the kettle-drums, and sho
I shuppose that that poor man, Chārudatta, is being led to the place of
execution. I musht go and shee it. It is a great delight to shee my
enemy die. Beshides, I 've heard that a man who shees his enemy being
killed, is sure not to have shore eyes in his next birth. I acted like a
worm that had crept into the knot of a lotush-root. I looked for a hole
to crawl out at, and brought about the death of thish poor man,
Chārudatta. Now I 'll climb up the tower of my own palace, and have a
look at my own heroic deeds. [_He does so and looks about._] Wonderful
what a crowd there is, to shee that poor man led to his death! What
would it be when an arishtocrat, a big man like me, was being led to his
death? [_He gazes._] Look! There he goes toward the shouth, adorned like
a young shteer. But why was the proclamation made near my palace tower,
and why was it shtopped? [_He looks about._] Why, my shlave Sthāvaraka
is gone, too. I hope he has n't run away and betrayed the shecret. I
musht go and look for him. [_He descends and approaches the crowd._]

_Sthāvaraka._ [_Discovers him._] There he comes, good masters!

_Headsmen._

    Give way! Make room! And shut the door!
    Be silent, and say nothing more!
    Here comes a mad bull through the press,
    Whose horns are sharp with wickedness.                       30

[164.16. S.

_Sansthānaka._ Come, come, make way! [_He approaches._] Sthāvaraka,
my little shon, my shlave, come, let 's go home.

_Sthāvaraka._ You scoundrel! Are you not content with the murder
of Vasantasenā? Must you try now to murder the noble Chārudatta,
that tree of life to all who loved him?

_Sansthānaka._ I am beautiful as a pot of jewels. I kill no woman!

_Bystanders._ Oho! _you_ murdered her, not the noble Chārudatta.

_Sansthānaka._ Who shays that?

_Bystanders._ [_Pointing to Sthāvaraka._] This honest man.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Fearfully. Aside._] Merciful heavens! Why did n't
I chain that shlave Sthāvaraka fasht? Why, he was a witnessh of
my crime. [_He reflects._] I 'll do it thish way. [_Aloud._] Lies, lies,
good gentlemen. Why, I caught the shlave shtealing gold, and I
pounded him, and murdered him, and put him in chains. He hates
me. What he shays can't be true. [_He secretly hands Sthāvaraka
a bracelet, and whispers._] Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my shlave,
take thish and shay shomething different.

_Sthāvaraka._ [_Takes it._] Look, gentlemen, look! Why, he is trying
to bribe me with gold.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Snatches the bracelet from him._] That 's the gold that
I put him in chains for. [_Angrily._] Look here, headsmen! I put
him in charge of my gold-chest, and when he turned thief, I murdered
him and pounded him. If you don't believe it, jusht look
at his back.

_Headsmen._ [_Doing so._] Yes, yes. When a servant is branded that
way, no wonder he tells tales.

_Sthāvaraka._ A curse on slavery! A slave convinces nobody.
[_Mournfully._] Noble Chārudatta, I have no further power. [_He
falls at Chārudatta's feet._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Mournfully._]

    Rise, rise! Kind soul to good men fallen on pain!
      Brave friend who lendest such unselfish aid!
    Thy greatest toil to save me was in vain,
      For fate would not. Thy duty now is paid.                  31

P. 270.15]

_Headsmen._ Beat your servant, master, and drive him away.

_Sansthānaka._ Out of the way, you! [_He drives Sthāvaraka away._]
Come, headsmen, what are you waiting for? Kill him.

_Headsmen._ Kill him yourself, if you are in a hurry.

_Rohasena._ Oh, headsmen, kill me and let father go free.

_Sansthānaka._ Yesh, shon _and_ father, kill them both.

_Chārudatta._ This fool might do anything. Go, my son, to your
mother.

_Rohasena._ And what should I do then?

_Chārud._

    Go with thy mother to a hermitage;
      No moment, dear, delay;
    Lest of thy father's fault thou reap the wage,
      And tread the selfsame way.                                32

And you, my friend, go with him.

_Maitreya._ Oh, my friend, have you so known me as to think that
I can live without you?

_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend. Your life is your own. You may
not throw it away.

_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] True. And yet I cannot live apart from my
friend. And so, when I have taken the boy to his mother, I will
follow my friend even in death. [_Aloud._] Yes, my friend, I will
take him to her at once. [_He embraces Chārudatta, then falls at
his feet. Rohasena does the same, weeping._]

_Sansthānaka._ Look here! Did n't I tell you to kill Chārudatta, and
his shon, too? [_At this, Chārudatta betrays fear._]

_Headsmen._ We have n't any orders from the king to kill Chārudatta, and
his son, too. Run away, boy, run away! [_They drive Rohasena away._]
Here is the third place of proclamation. Beat the drum! [_They proclaim
the sentence again._]

[167.1. S.

_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] But the citizens don't believe it. [_Aloud._]
Chārudatta, you jackanapes, the citizens don't believe it. Shay it
with your own tongue, "I murdered Vasantasenā." [_Chārudatta remains
silent._] Look here, headsmen! The man won't shpeak, the
jackanapes Chārudatta. Jusht make him shpeak. Beat him a few
times with thish ragged bamboo, or with a chain.

_Goha._ [_Raises his arm to strike._] Come, Chārudatta, speak!

_Chārudatta._ [_Mournfully._]

    Now am I sunk so deep in sorrow's sea,
      I know no fear, I know no sadness more;
    Yet even now one flame still tortures me,
      That men should say I slew whom I adore.                   33

[_Sansthānaka repeats his words._]

_Chārudatta._ Men of my own city!

    A scoundrel I, who bear the blame,
      Nor seek in heaven to be blest;
    A maid--or goddess--'t is the same--
      But _he_ will say the rest.                                (ix. 30)

_Sansthānaka._ Killed her!

_Chārudatta._ So be it.

_Goha._ It 's your turn to kill him, man.

_Ahīnta._ No, yours.

_Goha._ Well, let 's reckon it out. [_He does so at great length._] Well,
if it 's my turn to kill him, we will just let it wait a minute.

_Ahīnta._ Why?

_Goha._ Well, when my father was going to heaven, he said to me,
"Son Goha, if it 's your turn to kill him, don't kill the sinner too
quick."

_Ahīnta._ But why?

_Goha._ "Perhaps," said he, "some good man might give the money
to set him free. Perhaps a son might be born to the king, and to
celebrate the event, all the prisoners might be set free. Perhaps
an elephant might break loose, and the prisoner might escape in
the excitement. Perhaps there might be a change of kings, and all
the prisoners might be set free."

P. 274.8]

_Sansthānaka._ What? What? A change of kings?

_Goha._ Well, let 's reckon it out, whose turn it is.

_Sansthānaka._ Oh, come! Kill Chārudatta at once. [_He takes Sthāvaraka,
and withdraws a little._]

_Headsmen._ Noble Chārudatta, it is the king's commandment that
bears the blame, not we headsmen. Think then of what you needs
must think.

_Chārudatta._

      Though slandered by a cruel fate,
      And stained by men of high estate,
    If that my virtue yet regarded be,
      Then she who dwells with gods above
      Or wheresoever else--my love--
    By her sweet nature wipe the stain from me!                  34

Tell me. Whither would you have me go?

_Goha._ [_Pointing ahead._] Why, here is the southern burying-ground,
and when a criminal sees that, he says good-by to life in
a minute. For look!

    One half the corpse gaunt jackals rend and shake,
      And ply their horrid task;
    One half still hangs impaled upon the stake,
      Loud laughter's grinning mask.                             35

_Chārudatta._ Alas! Ah, woe is me! [_In his agitation he sits down._]

_Sansthānaka._ I won't go yet. I 'll jusht shee Chārudatta killed. [_He
walks about, gazing._] Well, well! He shat down.

_Goha._ Are you frightened, Chārudatta?

_Chārudatta._ [_Rising hastily._] Fool!

    Death have I never feared, but blackened fame;
    My death were welcome, coming free from shame,
    As were a son, new-born to bear my name.                     (27)

[169.3. S.

_Goha._ Noble Chārudatta, the moon and the sun dwell in the vault
of heaven, yet even they are overtaken by disaster. How much
more, death-fearing creatures, and men! In this world, one rises
only to fall, another falls only to rise again. But from him who has
risen and falls, his body drops like a garment. Lay these thoughts
to heart, and be strong. [_To Ahīnta._] Here is the fourth place of
proclamation. Let us proclaim the sentence. [_They do so once
again._]

_Chārudatta._

    Vasantasenā! Oh, my belovèd!
    From thy dear lips, that vied with coral's red,
      Betraying teeth more bright than moonbeams fair,
    My soul with heaven's nectar once was fed.
    How can I, helpless, taste that poison dread,
      To drink shame's poisoned cup how can I bear?              (13)

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter, in great agitation, Vasantasenā and the Buddhist monk._]

_Monk._ Strange! My monkish life did me yeoman service when it
proved necessary to comfort Vasantasenā, so untimely wearied, and
to lead her on her way. Sister in Buddha, whither shall I lead you?

_Vasantasenā._ To the noble Chārudatta's house. Revive me with
the sight of him, as the night-blooming water-lily is revived by
the sight of the moon.

_Monk._ [_Aside._] By which road shall I enter? [_He reflects._] The
king's highway--I 'll enter by that. Come, sister in Buddha!
Here is the king's highway. [_Listening._] But what is this great
tumult that I hear on the king's highway?

_Vasantasenā._ [_Looking before her._] Why, there is a great crowd
of people before us. Pray find out, sir, what it means. All Ujjayinī
tips to one side, as if the earth bore an uneven load.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Goha._ And here is the last place of proclamation. Beat the drum!
Proclaim the sentence! [_They do so._] Now, Chārudatta, wait!
Don't be frightened. You will be killed very quickly.

P. 277.12]

_Chārudatta._ Ye blessèd gods!

_Monk._ [_Listens. In terror._] Sister in Buddha, Chārudatta is being
led to his death for murdering _you_.

_Vasantasenā._ [_In terror._] Alas! For my wretched sake the noble
Chārudatta put to death? Quick, quick! Oh, lead me thither!

_Monk._ Hasten, oh, hasten, sister in Buddha, to comfort the noble
Chārudatta while he yet lives. Make way, gentlemen, make way!

_Vasantasenā._ Make way, make way!

       *       *       *       *       *

_Goha._ Noble Chārudatta, it is the king's commandment that bears
the blame. Think then of what you needs must think.

_Chārudatta._ Why waste words?

      Though slandered by a cruel fate,
      And stained by men of high estate,
    If that my virtue yet regarded be,
      Then she who dwells with gods above
      Or wheresoever else--my love--
    By her sweet nature wipe the stain from me!                  (34)

_Goha._ [_Drawing his sword._] Noble Chārudatta, lie flat and be
quiet. With one stroke we will kill you and send you to heaven.

[_Chārudatta does so. Goha raises his arm to strike. The sword falls
from his hand._] What is this?

    I fiercely grasped within my hand
    My thunderbolt-appalling brand;
    Why did it fall upon the sand?                               36

But since it did, I conclude that the noble Chārudatta is not to
die. Have mercy, O mighty goddess of the Sahya hills! If only
Chārudatta might be saved, then hadst thou shown favor to our
headsman caste.

_Ahīnta._ Let us do as we were ordered.

_Goha._ Well, let us do it. [_They make ready to impale Chārudatta._]

[170.23. S.

_Chārud._

      Though slandered by a cruel fate,
      And stained by men of high estate,
    If that my virtue yet regarded be,
      Then she who dwells with gods above
      Or wheresoever else--my love--
    By her sweet nature wipe the stain from me!                  (34)

_Monk and Vasantasenā._ [_Perceiving what is being done._] Good
gentlemen! Hold, hold!

_Vasantasenā._ Good gentlemen! I am the wretch for whose sake
he is put to death.

_Goha._ [_Perceiving her._]

    Who is the woman with the streaming hair
      That smites her shoulder, loosened from its bands?
    She loudly calls upon us to forbear,
      And hastens hither with uplifted hands.                    37

_Vasantasenā._ Oh, Chārudatta! What does it mean? [_She falls on
his breast._]

_Monk._ Oh, Chārudatta! What does it mean? [_He falls at his feet._]

_Goha._ [_Anxiously withdrawing._] Vasantasenā?--At least, we did
not kill an innocent man.

_Monk._ [_Rising._] Thank heaven! Chārudatta lives.

_Goha._ And shall live a hundred years!

_Vasantasenā._ [_Joyfully._] And I too am brought back to life again.

_Goha._ The king is at the place of sacrifice. Let us report to him
what has taken place. [_The two headsmen start to go away._]

_Sansthānaka._ [_Perceives Vasantasenā. In terror._] Goodnessh! who
brought the shlave back to life? Thish is the end of me. Good!
I 'll run away.             [_He runs away._]

_Goha._ [_Returning._] Well, did n't we have orders from the king to
put the man to death who murdered Vasantasenā? Let us hunt
for the king's brother-in-law.             [_Exeunt the two headsmen._

P. 281.1]

_Chārudatta._ [_In amazement._]

    Who saves me from the uplifted weapon's scorn,
    When in Death's jaws I struggled all forlorn,
    A streaming cloud above the rainless corn?                   38

[_He gazes at her._]

    Is this Vasantasenā's counterfeit?
      Or she herself, from heaven above descended?
    Or do I but in madness see my sweet?
      Or has her precious life not yet been ended?               39

Or again:

    Did she return from heaven,
      That I might rescued be?
    Was her form to another given?
      Is this that other she?                                    40

_Vasantasenā._ [_Rises tearfully and falls at his feet._] O noble
Chārudatta, I am indeed the wretch for whose sake you are fallen upon
this unworthy plight.

_Voices behind the scenes._ A miracle, a miracle! Vasantasenā lives.
[_The bystanders repeat the words._]

_Chārudatta._ [_Listens, then rises suddenly, embraces Vasantasenā,
and closes his eyes. In a voice trembling with emotion._] My love!
You _are_ Vasantasenā!

_Vasantasenā._ That same unhappy woman.

_Chārudatta._ [_Gazes upon her. Joyfully._] Can it be? Vasantasenā
herself? [_In utter happiness._]

    Her bosom bathed in streaming tears,
      When in Death's power I fell,
    Whence is she come to slay my fears,
      Like heavenly magic's spell?                               41

Vasantasenā! Oh, my belovèd!

    Unto my body, whence the life was fleeting,
      And all for thee, thou knewest life to give.
    Oh, magic wonderful in lovers' meeting!
      What power besides could make the dead man live?           42

[172.17. S.

But see, my belovèd!

    My blood-red garment seems a bridegroom's cloak,
    Death's garland seems to me a bridal wreath;
            My love is near.
    And marriage music seems the fatal stroke
    Of drums that heralded my instant death;
            For she is here.                                     43

_Vasantasenā._ You with your utter kindliness, what can it be that
you have done?

_Chārudatta._ My belovèd, he said that I had killed you.

    For ancient hatred's sake, my mighty foe,
    Hell's victim now, had almost laid me low.                   44

_Vasantasenā._ [_Stopping her ears._] Heaven avert the omen! It was
he, the king's brother-in-law, who killed me.

_Chārudatta._ [_Perceiving the monk._] But who is this?

_Vasantasenā._ When that unworthy wretch had killed me, this
worthy man brought me back to life.

_Chārudatta._ Who are you, unselfish friend?

_Monk._ You do not remember me, sir. I am that shampooer, who
once was happy to rub your feet. When I fell into the hands of
certain gamblers, this sister in Buddha, upon hearing that I had
been your servant, bought my freedom with her jewels. Thereupon
I grew tired of the gambler's life, and became a Buddhist
monk. Now this lady made a mistake in her bullock-cart, and so
came to the old garden Pushpakaranda. But when that unworthy
wretch learned that she would not love him, he murdered her by
strangling. And I found her there.

P. 283.11]

_Loud voices behind the scenes._

    Unending victory to Shiva be,
      Who Daksha's offering foiled;
    And victory may Kārttikeya see,
      Who Krauncha smote and spoiled;

    And victory to Aryaka the king--
      His mighty foe he kills--
    Far over all the earth's expansive ring,
    That earth her joyous flag abroad may fling,
      The snowy banner of Kailāsa's hills.                       45

       *       *       *       *       *

[_Enter hurriedly Sharvilaka._]

_Sharv._

    Yes, Pālaka, the royal wretch, I slew,
    Anointing Aryaka good king and true;
      And now, like sacrificial flowers, I wed
      The king's commandment to my bended head,
    To give sad Chārudatta life anew.                            46

    The foe whose powers and friends had fled, he slew,
    Consoled and comforted his subjects true;
      And earth's broad sovereignty has gladly wed
      His power, and bent to him her lowly head,
    Who toward his foe plays Indra's part anew.                  47

[_He looks before him._] Ah! There he will be found, where the
people are thus gathered together. Oh, that this deed of King
Aryaka might be crowned with the rescued life of noble Chārudatta!
[_He quickens his steps._] Make way, you rascals! [_He discovers
Chārudatta. Joyfully._] Is Chārudatta yet living, and Vasantasenā?
Truly, our sovereign's wishes are fulfilled.

    Now, thanks to heaven, from sorrow's shoreless sea
    I see him saved by her he loved, set free
    By that sweet bark, that knew her course to steer
    With virtue's tackle and with goodness' gear.
    He seems the moon, whose light shines clear at last,
    When all the sad eclipse is overpast.                        48

Yet how shall I approach him, who have so grievously sinned
against him? But no! Honesty is always honorable. [_He approaches
and folds his hands. Aloud._] O noble Chārudatta!

_Chārudatta._ Who are you, sir?

[174.13. S.

_Sharvilaka._

    I forced your house in manner base,
      And stole the gems there left behind;
      But though this sin oppress my mind,
    I throw myself upon your grace.                              49

_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend. Thereby you showed your faith
in me. [_He embraces him._]

_Sharvilaka._ And one thing more:

    The very noble Aryaka,
      To save his family and name,
    Has slain the wretched Pālaka,
      A victim at the altar's flame.                             50

_Chārudatta._ What say you?

_Sharvilaka._

    'T was your cart helped him on his way,
      Who sought the shelter of your name;
    He slew King Pālaka to-day,
      A victim at the altar's flame.                             51

_Chārudatta._ Sharvilaka, did you set free that Aryaka, whom Pālaka
took from his hamlet, and confined without cause in the tower?

_Sharvilaka._ I did.

_Chārudatta._ This is indeed most welcome tidings.

_Sharvilaka._ Scarcely was your friend Aryaka established in Ujjayinī,
when he bestowed upon you the throne of Kushāvatī, on
the bank of the Venā. May you graciously receive this first token
of his love. [_He turns around._] Come, lead hither that rascal, that
villain, the brother-in-law of the king!

_Voices behind the scenes._ We will, Sharvilaka.

_Sharvilaka._ Sir, King Aryaka declares that he won this kingdom
through your virtues, and that you are therefore to have some
benefit from it.

_Chārudatta._ The kingdom won through my virtues?

       *       *       *       *       *

_Voices behind the scenes._ Come on, brother-in-law of the king, and
reap the reward of your insolence. [_Enter Sansthānaka, guarded,
with his hands tied behind his back._]

P. 285.18]

_Sansthānaka._ Goodnessh gracious!

    It came to pass, I ran away
    Like any ass, and had my day.
    They drag me round, a prishoner,
    As if they 'd found a naughty cur.                           52

[_He looks about him._] They crowd around me, though I 'm a relative
of the king's. To whom shall I go for help in my helplesshnessh?
[_He reflects._] Good! I 'll go to the man who gives help and
shows mercy to the shuppliant. [_He approaches._] Noble Chārudatta,
protect me, protect me! [_He falls at his feet._]

_Voices behind the scenes._ Noble Chārudatta, leave him to us! let
us kill him!

_Sansthānaka._ [_To Chārudatta._] O helper of the helplessh, protect
me!

_Chārudatta._ [_Mercifully._] Yes, yes. He who seeks protection shall
be safe.

_Sharvilaka._ [_Impatiently._] Confound him! Take him away from
Chārudatta! [_To Chārudatta._] Tell me. What shall be done with
the wretch?

    Shall he be bound and dragged until he dies?
    Shall dogs devour the scoundrel as he lies?
    If he should be impaled, 't would be no blunder,
    Nor if we had the rascal sawn asunder.                       53

_Chārudatta._ Will you do as I say?

_Sharvilaka._ How can you doubt it?

_Sansthānaka._ Chārudatta! Mashter! I sheek your protection. Protect
me, protect me! Do shomething worthy of yourshelf. I 'll
never do it again!

_Voices of citizens behind the scenes._ Kill him! Why should the
wretch be allowed to live?

[176.8. S.

[_Vasantasenā takes the garland of death from Chārudatta's neck,
and throws it upon Sansthānaka._]

_Sansthānaka._ You shlave-wench, be merciful, be merciful! I 'll
never murder you again. Protect me!

_Sharvilaka._ Come, take him away! Noble Chārudatta, say what
shall be done with the wretch.

_Chārudatta._ Will you do as I say?

_Sharvilaka._ How can you doubt it?

_Chārudatta._ Really?

_Sharvilaka._ Really.

_Chārudatta._ Then let him be immediately--

_Sharvilaka._ Killed?

_Chārudatta._ No, no! Set free.

_Sharvilaka._ What for?

_Chārud._

    The humbled foe who seeks thine aid,
    Thou mayst not smite with steely blade--

_Sharvilaka._ All right. We will have the dogs eat him alive.

_Chārudatta._ No, no!

    Be cruelty with kindness paid.                               54

_Sharvilaka._ Wonderful! What shall I do? Tell me, sir.

_Chārudatta._ Why, set him free.

_Sharvilaka._ It shall be done.

_Sansthānaka._ Hooray! I breathe again.        [_Exit, with the guards._

_Sharvilaka._ Mistress Vasantasenā, the king is pleased to bestow
upon you the title "wedded wife."

_Vasantasenā._ Sir, I desire no more.

_Sharvilaka._ [_Places the veil[88] upon Vasantasenā. To Chārudatta._]
Sir, what shall be done for this monk?

_Chārudatta._ Monk, what do you most desire?

_Monk._ When I see this example of the uncertainty of all things,
I am twice content to be a monk.

P. 292.16]

_Chārudatta._ His purpose is not to be changed, my friend. Let him
be appointed spiritual father over all the monasteries in the land.

_Sharvilaka._ It shall be done.

_Monk._ It is all that I desire.

_Vasantasenā._ Now I am indeed brought back to life.

_Sharvilaka._ What shall be done for Sthāvaraka?

_Chārudatta._ Let the good fellow be given his freedom. Let those
headsmen be appointed chiefs of all the headsmen. Let Chandanaka
be appointed chief of all the police in the land. Let the brother-in-law
of the king continue to act exactly as he acted in the past.

_Sharvilaka._ It shall be done. Only _that_ man--leave him to me,
and I 'll kill him.

_Chārudatta._

    He who seeks protection shall be safe.
    The humbled foe who seeks thine aid,
    Thou mayst not smite with steely blade.
    Be cruelty with kindness paid.                               (54)

_Sharvilaka._ Then tell me what I may yet do for you.

_Chārudatta._ Can there be more than this?

    I kept unstained my virtue's even worth,
      Granted my enemy his abject suit;
      Friend Aryaka destroyed his foeman's root,
    And rules a king o'er all the steadfast earth.

    This dear-loved maiden is at last mine own,
      And you united with me as a friend.
    And shall I ask for further mercies, shown
      To me, who cannot sound these mercies' end?                58

    Fate plays with us like buckets at the well,
    Where one is filled, and one an empty shell,
      Where one is rising, while another falls;
    And shows how life is change--now heaven, now hell.          59

Yet may the wishes of our epilogue be fulfilled.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 85: That is, the lightning.]

[Footnote 86: Rohasena is himself conceived as the receptacle of the
water which a son must pour as a drink-offering to his dead father.]

[Footnote 87: The Manes or spirits of the blessèd dead.]

[Footnote 88: A token of honorable marriage. Compare page 66.]




EPILOGUE

[178.9. S.


    May kine yield streaming milk, the earth her grain,
    And may the heaven give never-failing rain,
      The winds waft happiness to all that breathes,
    And all that lives, live free from every pain.

    In paths of righteousness may Brahmans tread,
    And high esteem their high deserving wed;
    May kings in justice' ways be ever led,
    And earth, submissive, bend her grateful head.               60

                                              [_Exeunt omnes._]




A LIST OF PASSAGES

IN WHICH THE TRANSLATION DEPARTS FROM PARAB'S TEXT


35.15: Here _nirmitāḥ_ is apparently a mere misprint for _nirjitāḥ_.

45.11: The addition of _uṭṭhedha tti_ seems almost necessary.

53.10; 54.9; 55.11; 62.7; 66.7: In these passages I have substituted
"shampooer" for "gambler," to prevent confusion of the shampooer with
the unnamed gambler.

57.13: I have added the stage-direction _dyūtakaramaṇḍalīṁ kṛtvā_.

67.5: Read _kaṁ_ for _kiṁ_.

72.9: Read _ajjo bandhuaṇaṁ samassāsiduṁ_ for Parab's _ajja bandhuaṇo
samassasadu_.

73.5: We should probably read _bīhacchaṁ_ (_bībhatsam_) for
_vīhatthaṁ_.

87.3: The words _cikitsāṁ kṛtvā_ seem to be part of the text, not of
the stage-direction.

97.13: I regard _nayasya_ as one word, not two (_na yasya_).

100.12: Read _rakṣān_ for _rakṣyān_.

114.5: Read _ṇaaraṇārī-_ for _ṇaraṇārī-_.

125.8-11: These lines I have omitted.

126.4: Read _accharīa-_ (_āçcarya-_) for _accharīdi-_.

170.8: Read _eka-_ for _ekā-_.

178.11: Read _vaḍḍhamāṇao_ for _vaḍḍhamāṇaa_.

184.9: Read _a_ (_ca_) for _ka_.

217.15: Whatever _çavoḍiaṁ_ may be, I have translated it in accordance
with Lallādīkṣita's gloss, _saveṣṭikam_.

226.2: Apparently _khala-_ is a misprint for _khaṇa-_.

238.10: Read _-ruciram_ for _-racitam_.

259.16: Read _udvīkṣya_ for _udvījya_.

262.4: Read _-bhājanam_ for _-bhojanam_.

262.14: Read _paḍicchidaṁ_ (_pratīṣṭam_) for _paḍicchiduṁ_.

265.6: Read _tvayā_ for _mayā_.

284.14: The words _atha vā_ plainly belong to the text, not to the
stage-direction.

287.2: I take _paurāḥ_ as part of the stage-direction.

288.3-292.9: This passage I have omitted: compare page xii.

       *       *       *       *       *