_The two friends_. Your Honour, we are frightened by this alarm of the elephant. Permit us to return to the cottage.

_a.n.u.suya_ (_to_ SHAKUNTALA). Shakuntala dear, Mother Gautami will be anxious. We must hurry and find her.

_Shakuntala_ (_feigning lameness_). Oh, oh! I can hardly walk.

_King_. You must go very slowly. And I will take pains that the hermitage is not disturbed.

_The two friends_. Your honour, we feel as if we knew you very well.

Pray pardon our shortcomings as hostesses. May we ask you to seek better entertainment from us another time?

_King_. You are too modest. I feel honoured by the mere sight of you.

_Shakuntala_. a.n.u.suya, my foot is cut on a sharp blade of gra.s.s, and my dress is caught on an amaranth twig. Wait for me while I loosen it.

(_She casts a lingering glance at the king, and goes out with her two friends_.)

_King_ (_sighing_). They are gone. And I must go. The sight of Shakuntala has made me dread the return to the city. I will make my men camp at a distance from the pious grove. But I cannot turn my own thoughts from Shakuntala.

It is my body leaves my love, not I; My body moves away, but not my mind; For back to her my struggling fancies fly Like silken banners borne against the wind. (_Exit_.)

ACT II

THE SECRET

(_Enter the clown_.)

_Clown_ (_sighing_). d.a.m.n! d.a.m.n! d.a.m.n! I'm tired of being friends with this sporting king. "There's a deer!" he shouts, "There's a boar!" And off he chases on a summer noon through woods where shade is few and far between. We drink hot, stinking water from the mountain streams, flavoured with leaves--nasty! At odd times we get a little tepid meat to eat. And the horses and the elephants make such a noise that I can't even be comfortable at night. Then the hunters and the bird-chasers--d.a.m.n 'em--wake me up bright and early. They do make an ear-splitting rumpus when they start for the woods. But even that isn't the whole misery. There's a new pimple growing on the old boil.

He left us behind and went hunting a deer. And there in a hermitage they say he found--oh, dear! oh, dear! he found a hermit-girl named Shakuntala. Since then he hasn't a thought of going back to town. I lay awake all night, thinking about it. What can I do? Well, I'll see my friend when he is dressed and beautified. (_He walks and looks about_.) h.e.l.lo! Here he comes, with his bow in his hand, and his girl in his heart. He is wearing a wreath of wild flowers! I'll pretend to be all knocked up. Perhaps I can get a rest that way. (_He stands, leaning on his staff. Enter the king, as described_.)

_King_ (_to himself_).

Although my darling is not lightly won, She seemed to love me, and my hopes are bright; Though love be balked ere joy be well begun, A common longing is itself delight.

(_Smiling_.) Thus does a lover deceive himself. He judges his love's feelings by his own desires.

Her glance was loving--but 'twas not for me; Her step was slow--'twas grace, not coquetry; Her speech was short--to her detaining friend.

In things like these love reads a selfish end!

_Clown_ (_standing as before_). Well, king, I can't move my hand. I can only greet you with my voice.

_King_ (_looking and smiling_). What makes you lame?

_Clown_. Good! You hit a man in the eye, and then ask him why the tears come.

_King_. I do not understand you. Speak plainly.

_Clown_. When a reed bends over like a hunchback, do you blame the reed or the river-current?

_King_. The river-current, of course.

_Clown_. And you are to blame for my troubles.

_King_. How so?

_Clown_. It's a fine thing for you to neglect your royal duties and such a sure job--to live in the woods! What's the good of talking?

Here I am, a Brahman, and my joints are all shaken up by this eternal running after wild animals, so that I can't move. Please be good to me. Let us have a rest for just one day.

_King_ (_to himself_). He says this. And I too, when I remember Kanva's daughter, have little desire for the chase. For

The bow is strung, its arrow near; And yet I cannot bend That bow against the fawns who share Soft glances with their friend.

_Clown_ (_observing the king_). He means more than he says. I might as well weep in the woods.

_King_ (_smiling_). What more could I mean? I have been thinking that I ought to take my friend's advice.

_Clown_ (_cheerfully_). Long life to you, then. (_He unstiffens_.)

_King_. Wait. Hear me out.

_Clown_. Well, sir?

_King_. When you are rested, you must be my companion in another task--an easy one.

_Clown_. Crushing a few sweetmeats?

_King_. I will tell you presently.

_Clown_. Pray command my leisure.

_King_. Who stands without? (_Enter the door-keeper_.)

_Door-keeper_. I await your Majesty's commands.

_King_. Raivataka, summon the general.

_Door-keeper_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He goes out, then returns with the general_.) Follow me, sir. There is his Majesty, listening to our conversation. Draw near, sir.

_General_ (_observing the king, to himself_). Hunting is declared to be a sin, yet it brings nothing but good to the king. See!

He does not heed the cruel sting Of his recoiling, tw.a.n.ging string; The mid-day sun, the dripping sweat Affect him not, nor make him fret; His form, though sinewy and spare, Is most symmetrically fair; No mountain-elephant could be More filled with vital strength than he.

(_He approaches_.) Victory to your Majesty! The forest is full of deer-tracks, and beasts of prey cannot be far off. What better occupation could we have?

_King_. Bhadrasena, my enthusiasm is broken. Madhavya has been preaching against hunting.

_General_ (_aside to the clown_). Stick to it, friend Madhavya. I will humour the king a moment. (_Aloud_.) Your Majesty, he is a chattering idiot. Your Majesty may judge by his own case whether hunting is an evil. Consider: