What is the subject of the songs?

The Disrobing of Winter.

But, Poet, we haven't read about that in any Mythology.

In the world-myth this song comes round in its turn. In the play of the seasons, each year, the mask of the Old Man, Winter, is pulled off, and the form of Spring is revealed in all its beauty.

Thus we see that the old is ever new.

Well, Poet, so much for the songs: but what about the remainder?

Oh, that is all about life.

Life? What is life?

This is how it runs: A band of young companions has run off in pursuit of one Old Man. They have taken a vow to catch him. They enter into a cave; they take hold of him, and then----

Then, what? What did they see?

Ah. That will be told in its own good time.

But, I haven't understood one thing. Your drama and your songs,--have they different subjects, or the same?

The same, King. The play of Spring in nature is the counterpart of the play of Youth in our lives. It is simply from the lyrical drama of the World Poet that I have stolen this plot.

Who, then, are the chief characters?

One is called the Leader.

Who is he, Poet?

He is the guiding impulse in our life. Another is Chandra.

Who is he?

He who makes life dear to us.

And who else?

Then there is Dada, to whom duty is the essence of life, not joy.

Is there any one else?

Yes, the blind Minstrel.

Blind?

Because he does not see with his eyes, therefore he sees with his whole body and mind and soul.

Who else is there, in your play, among the chief actors?

You are there, King.

I?

Yes, you, King. For if you stayed out of it, instead of coming into it, then the King would begin to abuse the Poet and send for Sruti-bhushan again. And then there would be no hope of salvation for him. For the World Poet himself would be defeated.

And the South Wind of Spring would have to retire, without receiving its homage.

ACT I

_The Heralds of Spring are abroad. There are songs in the rustling bamboo leaves, in birds' nests, and in blossoming branches._

SONG-PRELUDE

_The purple secondary curtain[1] goes up, disclosing the elevated rear stage with a skyey background of dark blue, on which appear the horn of the crescent moon and the silver points of stars.

Trees in the foreground, with two rope swings entwined with garlands of flowers. Flowers everywhere in profusion. On the extreme left the mouth of a dark cavern dimly seen. Boys representing the "Bamboo" disclosed, swinging._

[Footnote 1: Neither the secondary curtain nor the drop is again used during the play. The action is continuous, either on the front stage, or on the rear stage, the latter being darkened when not actually in use.]

SONG OF THE BAMBOO

_O South Wind, the Wanderer, come and rock me, Rouse me into the rapture of new leaves.

I am the wayside bamboo tree, waiting for your breath To tingle life into my branches._

_O South Wind, the Wanderer, my dwelling is in the end of the lane.

I know your wayfaring, and the language of your footsteps.

Your least touch thrills me out of my slumber, Your whisper gleans my secrets._

(_Enter a troop of girls, dancing, representing birds._)

SONG OF THE BIRD

_The sky pours its light into our hearts, We fill the sky with songs in answer.

We pelt the air with our notes When the air stirs our wings with its madness.

O Flame of the Forest, All your flower-torches are ablaze; You have kissed our songs red with the pa.s.sion of your youth.

In the spring breeze the mango-blossoms launch their messages to the unknown And the new leaves dream aloud all day.

O Sirish, you have cast your perfume-net round our hearts, Drawing them out in songs._

(_Disclosed among the branches of trees, suddenly lighted up, boys representing champak blossoms._)

SONG OF THE BLOSSOMING CHAMPAK

_My shadow dances in your waves, everflowing river, I, the blossoming champak, stand unmoved on the bank, with my flower-vigils.