_Watchman_

Is it your custom to answer questions by songs?

_Chandra_

Yes, otherwise the answer becomes too unintelligible.

_Watchman_

Then you think your songs intelligible?

_Chandra_

Yes, quite, because they contain music. (_They sing._)

_We move and move without rest.

World, the Rover, loves his comrades of the road.

His call comes across the sky.

The seasons lead the way, strewing the path with flowers._

_Watchman_

No ordinary being ever breaks out singing, like this, in the middle of talking.

_Chandra_

Again we are found out. We are no ordinary beings.

_Watchman_

Have you got no work to do?

_Chandra_

No, we are on a holiday.

_Watchman_

Why?

_Chandra_

Lest our time should all be wasted.

_Watchman_

I don't quite understand you.

_Chandra_

Then we shall be obliged to sing again.

_Watchman_

No, no. There's no need to do that. I don't hope to understand you any better, even if you do sing.

_Chandra_

Everybody has given up the hope of understanding us.

_Watchman_

But how can things get on with you, if you behave like this?

_Chandra_

Oh, there's no need for things to get on with us, so long as we ourselves get on.

_Watchman_

Mad! Quite mad! Raving mad!

_Chandra_

Why, here comes our Dada.

Dada, what made you lag behind?

_Chandra_

Don't you know? We are free as the wind, because we have no substance in us. But Dada is like the rain-cloud of August. He must stop, every now and then, to unburden himself.

_Dada_

Who are you?

_Ferryman_

I am the Ferryman.

_Dada_

And who are you?

_Watchman_

I am the Watchman.

_Dada_