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

MaTHAVYA.--Well, you must be my guardian-angel, and act the part of a very Vishnu[37] to me.

WARDER--[_entering_].--Sire, the chariot is ready, and only waits to conduct you to victory. But here is a messenger named Karabhaka, just arrived from your capital, with a message from the Queen, your mother.

KING--[_respectfully_].--How say you? a messenger from the venerable Queen?

WARDER.--Even so.

KING.--Introduce him at once.

WARDER.--I will, Sire. [_Goes out, and re-enters with Karabhaka_.]

Behold the King! Approach.

KARABHAKA.--Victory to the King! The Queen-mother bids me say that in four days from the present time she intends celebrating a solemn ceremony for the advancement and preservation of her son. She expects that your Majesty will honor her with your presence on that occasion.

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

MaTHAVYA.--You will have to take up an intermediate position between the two, like King Trisanku, who was suspended between heaven and earth, because the sage Viswamitra commanded him to mount up to heaven, and the G.o.ds ordered him down again.

KING.--I am certainly very much perplexed. For here, Two different duties are required of me In widely distant places; how can I In my own person satisfy them both?

Thus is my mind distracted and impelled In opposite directions, like a stream That, driven back by rocks, still rushes on, Forming two currents in its eddying course.

[_Reflecting_.] Friend Mathavya, as you were my playfellow in childhood, the Queen has always received you like a second son; go you, then, back to her and tell her of my solemn engagement to a.s.sist these holy men.

You can supply my place in the ceremony, and act the part of a son to the Queen.

MaTHAVYA.--With the greatest pleasure in the world; but don't suppose that I am really coward enough to have the slightest fear of those trumpery demons.

KING [_smiling_].--Oh! of course not; a great Brahman like you could not possibly give way to such weakness.

MaTHAVYA.--You must let me travel in a manner suitable to the King's younger brother.

KING.--Yes, I shall send my retinue with you, that there may be no further disturbance in this sacred forest.

MaTHAVYA [_with a strut_].--Already I feel quite like a young prince.

KING [_aside_].--This is a giddy fellow, and in all probability he will let out the truth about my present pursuit to the women of the palace.

What is to be done? I must say something to deceive him. [_Aloud to Mathavya, taking him by the hand_.] Dear friend, I am going to the hermitage wholly and solely out of respect for its pious inhabitants, and not because I have really any liking for Sakoontala, the hermit's daughter. Observe, What suitable communion could there be Between a monarch and a rustic girl?

I did but feign an idle pa.s.sion, friend, Take not in earnest what was said in jest.

MaTHAVYA.--Don't distress yourself; I quite understand.

[_Exeunt._

[36] The religious rites of holy men were often disturbed by certain evil spirits called Rakshasas, who were the determined enemies of piety and devotion.

[37] Vishnu, the Preserver, was one of the three princ.i.p.al G.o.ds.

PRELUDE TO ACT THIRD

Scene.--The Hermitage

_Enter a young Brahman, carrying bundles of Kusa-gra.s.s for the use of the sacrificing priests_.

YOUNG BRaHMAN.--How wonderful is the power of King Dushyanta! No sooner did he enter our hermitage, than we were able to proceed with our sacrificial rites, unmolested by the evil demons.

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

I must now, therefore, make haste and deliver to the sacrificing priests these bundles of Kusa-gra.s.s, to be strewn round the altar. [_Walking and looking about; then addressing someone off the stage_.] Why, Priyamvada, for whose use are you carrying that ointment of Usira-root and those lotus leaves with fibres attached to them? [_Listening for her answer_.]

What say you?--that Sakoontala is suffering from fever produced by exposure to the sun, and that this ointment is to cool her burning frame? Nurse her with care, then, Priyamvada, for she is cherished by our reverend Superior as the very breath of his nostrils. I, for my part, will contrive that soothing waters, hallowed in the sacrifice, be administered to her by the hands of Gautami.

[_Exit._

ACT THIRD

Scene.--The Sacred Grove

_Enter King Dushyanta, with the air of one in love_.

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

G.o.d of Love! G.o.d of the flowery shafts![38] we are all of us cruelly deceived by thee, and by the Moon, however deserving of confidence you may both appear.

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

Adorable G.o.d of love! hast thou no pity for me? [_In a tone of anguish_.] How can thy arrows be so sharp when they are pointed with flowers? Ah! I know the reason:

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

Yet, methinks, Welcome this anguish, welcome to my heart These rankling wounds inflicted by the G.o.d, Who on his scutcheon bears the monster-fish Slain by his prowess: welcome death itself, So that, commissioned by the lord of love, This fair one be my executioner.

Adorable divinity! Can I by no reproaches excite your commiseration?

Have I not daily offered at thy shrine Innumerable vows, the only food Of thine ethereal essence? Are my prayers Thus to be slighted? Is it meet that thou Shouldst aim thy shafts at thy true votary's heart, Drawing thy bow-string even to thy ear?

[_Pacing up and down in a melancholy manner_.] Now that the holy men have completed their rites, and have no more need of my services, how shall I dispel my melancholy? [_Sighing._ I have but one resource. Oh for another sight of the idol of my soul! I will seek her. [_Glancing at the sun._] In all probability, as the sun's heat is now at its height, Sakoontala is pa.s.sing her time under the shade of the bowers on the banks of the Malini, attended by her maidens. I will go and look for her there. [_Walking and looking about._] I suspect the fair one has but just pa.s.sed by this avenue of young-trees.

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

[_Feeling a breeze._] What a delicious breeze meets me in this spot!

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

[_Walking and looking about._] She must be somewhere in the neighborhood of this arbor of overhanging creepers, enclosed by plantations of cane.