No More Learning

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_. Anusuya, my foot is cut on a sharp blade of grass, 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_). Damn! Damn! Damn! 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--damn '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_. ) Hello! 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, twanging 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:

The hunter's form grows sinewy, strong, and light;
He learns, from beasts of prey, how wrath and fright
Affect the mind; his skill he loves to measure
With moving targets. 'Tis life's chiefest pleasure.

_Clown_ (_angrily_). Get out! Get out with your strenuous life! The
king has come to his senses. But you, you son of a slave-wench, can go
chasing from forest to forest, till you fall into the jaws of some old
bear that is looking for a deer or a jackal.

_King_. Bhadrasena, I cannot take your advice, because I am in the
vicinity of a hermitage. So for to-day

The horned buffalo may shake
The turbid water of the lake;
Shade-seeking deer may chew the cud,
Boars trample swamp-grass in the mud;
The bow I bend in hunting, may
Enjoy a listless holiday.

_General_. Yes, your Majesty.

_King_. Send back the archers who have gone ahead. And forbid the
soldiers to vex the hermitage, or even to approach it. Remember:

There lurks a hidden fire in each
Religious hermit-bower;
Cool sun-stones kindle if assailed
By any foreign power.

_General_. Yes, your Majesty.

_Clown_. Now will you get out with your strenuous life? (_Exit
general_. )

_King_ (_to his attendants_). Lay aside your hunting dress. And you,
Raivataka, return to your post of duty.

_Raivataka_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_. )

_Clown_. You have got rid of the vermin. Now be seated on this flat
stone, over which the trees spread their canopy of shade. I can't sit
down till you do.

_King_. Lead the way.

_Clown_. Follow me. (_They walk about and sit down_. )

_King_. Friend Madhavya, you do not know what vision is. You have not
seen the fairest of all objects.

_Clown_. I see you, right in front of me.

_King_. Yes, every one thinks himself beautiful. But I was speaking of
Shakuntala, the ornament of the hermitage.

_Clown_ (_to himself_). I mustn't add fuel to the flame. (_Aloud_. )
But you can't have her because she is a hermit-girl. What is the use
of seeing her?

_King_. Fool!

And is it selfish longing then,
That draws our souls on high
Through eyes that have forgot to wink,
As the new moon climbs the sky?

Besides, Dushyanta's thoughts dwell on no forbidden object.

_Clown_. Well, tell me about her.

_King_.
Sprung from a nymph of heaven
Wanton and gay,
Who spurned the blessing given,
Going her way;

By the stern hermit taken
In her most need:
So fell the blossom shaken,
Flower on a weed.

_Clown_ (_laughing_). You are like a man who gets tired of good dates
and longs for sour tamarind. All the pearls of the palace are yours,
and you want this girl!

_King_. My friend, you have not seen her, or you could not talk so.

_Clown_. She must be charming if she surprises _you_.

_King_. Oh, my friend, she needs not many words.

She is God's vision, of pure thought
Composed in His creative mind;
His reveries of beauty wrought
The peerless pearl of womankind.
So plays my fancy when I see
How great is God, how lovely she.

_Clown_. How the women must hate her!

_King_. This too is in my thought.

She seems a flower whose fragrance none has tasted,
A gem uncut by workman's tool,
A branch no desecrating hands have wasted,
Fresh honey, beautifully cool.

No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty,
Her blameless loveliness and worth,
Unless he has fulfilled man's perfect duty--
And is there such a one on earth?

_Clown_. Marry her quick, then, before the poor girl falls into the
hands of some oily-headed hermit.

_King_. She is dependent on her father, and he is not here.

_Clown_. But how does she feel toward you? _King_. My friend,
hermit-girls are by their very nature timid. And yet

When I was near, she could not look at me;
She smiled--but not to me--and half denied it;
She would not show her love for modesty,
Yet did not try so very hard to hide it.

_Clown_. Did you want her to climb into your lap the first time she
saw you?

_King_. But when she went away with her friends, she almost showed
that she loved me.

When she had hardly left my side,
"I cannot walk," the maiden cried,
And turned her face, and feigned to free
The dress not caught upon the tree.

_Clown_. She has given you some memories to chew on. I suppose that is
why you are so in love with the pious grove.

_King_. My friend, think of some pretext under which we may return to
the hermitage.

_Clown_. What pretext do you need? Aren't you the king?

_King_. What of that?

_Clown_. Collect the taxes on the hermits' rice.

_King_. Fool! It is a very different tax which these hermits pay--one
that outweighs heaps of gems.

The wealth we take from common men,
Wastes while we cherish;
These share with us such holiness
As ne'er can perish.

_Voices behind the scenes_. Ah, we have found him.

_King_ (_Listening_). The voices are grave and tranquil. These must be
hermits. (_Enter the door-keeper_. )

_Door-keeper_. Victory, O King. There are two hermit-youths at the
gate.

_King_. Bid them enter at once.

_Door-keeper_. Yes, your Majesty. (_He goes out, then returns with the
youths_. ) Follow me.

_First youth_ (_looking at the king_). A majestic presence, yet it
inspires confidence. Nor is this wonderful in a king who is half a
saint. For to him

The splendid palace serves as hermitage;
His royal government, courageous, sage,
Adds daily to his merit; it is given
To him to win applause from choirs of heaven
Whose anthems to his glory rise and swell,
Proclaiming him a king, and saint as well.

_Second youth_. My friend, is this Dushyanta, friend of Indra?

_First youth_. It is.

_Second youth_.

Nor is it wonderful that one whose arm
Might bolt a city gate, should keep from harm
The whole broad earth dark-belted by the sea;
For when the gods in heaven with demons fight,
Dushyanta's bow and Indra's weapon bright
Are their reliance for the victory.

_The two youths_ (_approaching_). Victory, O King!

_King_ (_rising_). I salute you.

_The two youths_. All hail! (_They offer fruit_. )

_King_ (_receiving it and bowing low_). May I know the reason of your
coming?

_The two youths_. The hermits have learned that you are here, and they
request----

_King_. They command rather.

_The two youths_. The powers of evil disturb our pious life in the
absence of the hermit-father. We therefore ask that you will remain a
few nights with your charioteer to protect the hermitage.

_King_. I shall be most happy to do so.

_Clown_ (_to the king_). You rather seem to like being collared this
way.

_King_. Raivataka, tell my charioteer to drive up, and to bring the
bow and arrows.

_Raivataka_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_)

_The two youths_.

Thou art a worthy scion of
The kings who ruled our nation
And found, defending those in need,
Their truest consecration.

_King_. Pray go before. And I will follow straightway.

_The two youths_. Victory, O King! (_Exeunt_. )

_King_. Madhavya, have you no curiosity to see Shakuntala?

_Clown_. I _did_ have an unending curiosity, but this talk about the
powers of evil has put an end to it.

_King_. Do not fear. You will be with me.

_Clown_. I'll stick close to your chariot-wheel. (_Enter the
door-keeper_. )

_Door-keeper_. Your Majesty, the chariot is ready, and awaits your
departure to victory. But one Karabhaka has come from the city, a
messenger from the queen-mother.

_King_ (_respectfully_). Sent by my mother?

_Door-keeper_. Yes.

_King_. Let him enter.

_Door-keeper_ (_goes out and returns with_ KARABHAKA). Karabhaka, here
is his Majesty. You may draw near.

_Karabhaka_ (_approaching and bowing low_). Victory to your Majesty.
The queen-mother sends her commands----

_King_. What are her commands?

_Karabhaka_. She plans to end a fasting ceremony on the fourth day
from to-day. And on that occasion her dear son must not fail to wait
upon her.

_King_. On the one side is my duty to the hermits, on the other my
mother's command. Neither may be disregarded. What is to be done?

_Clown_ (_laughing_). Stay half-way between, like Trishanku.

_King_. In truth, I am perplexed.

Two inconsistent duties sever
My mind with cruel shock,
As when the current of a river
Is split upon a rock.

(_He reflects_. ) My friend, the queen-mother has always felt toward
you as toward a son. Do you return, tell her what duty keeps me here,
and yourself perform the offices of a son.

_Clown_. You don't think I am afraid of the devils?

_King_ (_smiling_). O mighty Brahman, who could suspect it?

_Clown_. But I want to travel like a prince.

_King_. I will send all the soldiers with you, for the pious grove
must not be disturbed. _Clown_ (_strutting_). Aha! Look at the
heir-apparent!

_King_ (_to himself_). The fellow is a chatterbox. He might betray my
longing to the ladies of the palace. Good, then! (_He takes the clown
by the hand. Aloud_. ) Friend Madhavya, my reverence for the hermits
draws me to the hermitage. Do not think that I am really in love with
the hermit-girl. Just think:

A king, and a girl of the calm hermit-grove,
Bred with the fawns, and a stranger to love!
Then do not imagine a serious quest;
The light words I uttered were spoken in jest.

_Clown_. Oh, I understand that well enough. (_Exeunt ambo_. )


ACT III


THE LOVE-MAKING

(_Enter a pupil, with sacred grass for the sacrifice_. )

_Pupil_ (_with meditative astonishment_). How great is the power of
King Dushyanta! Since his arrival our rites have been undisturbed.

He does not need to bend the bow;
For every evil thing,
Awaiting not the arrow, flees
From the twanging of the string.

Well, I will take this sacred grass to the priests, to strew the
altar. (_He walks and looks about, then speaks to some one not
visible_. ) Priyamvada, for whom are you carrying this cuscus-salve and
the fibrous lotus-leaves? (_He listens_. ) What do you say? That
Shakuntala has become seriously ill from the heat, and that these
things are to relieve her suffering? Give her the best of care,
Priyamvada. She is the very life of the hermit-father. And I will give
Gautami the holy water for her. (_Exit. Enter the lovelorn king_. )

_King_ (_with a meditative sigh_).

I know that stern religion's power
Keeps guardian watch my maiden o'er;
Yet all my heart flows straight to her
Like water to the valley-floor.

Oh, mighty Love, thine arrows are made of flowers. How can they be so
sharp? (_He recalls something_. ) Ah, I understand.

Shiva's devouring wrath still burns in thee,
As burns the eternal fire beneath the sea;
Else how couldst thou, thyself long since consumed,
Kindle the fire that flames so ruthlessly?

Indeed, the moon and thou inspire confidence, only to deceive the host
of lovers.

Thy shafts are blossoms; coolness streams
From moon-rays: thus the poets sing;
But to the lovelorn, falsehood seems
To lurk in such imagining;
The moon darts fire from frosty beams;
Thy flowery arrows cut and sting.

And yet

If Love will trouble her
Whose great eyes madden me,
I greet him unafraid,
Though wounded ceaselessly.

O mighty god, wilt thou not show me mercy after such reproaches?

With tenderness unending
I cherished thee when small,
In vain--thy bow is bending;
On me thine arrows fall.
My care for thee to such a plight
Has brought me; and it serves me right.

I have driven off the powers of evil, and the hermits have dismissed
me. Where shall I go now to rest from my weariness? (_He sighs_.