No More Learning

But shall not my arrow see you? Stand
still. Do not hope to escape by clinging to my friend.

My arrow, flying when the bow is bent,
Shall slay the wretch and spare the innocent;
When milk is mixed with water in a cup,
Swans leave the water, and the milk drink up.

(_He takes aim. Enter_ MATALI _and the clown_. )

_Matali_. O King, as Indra, king of the gods, commands,

Seek foes among the evil powers alone;
For them your bow should bend;
Not cruel shafts, but glances soft and kind
Should fall upon a friend.

_King_ (_hastily withdrawing the arrow_). It is Matali. Welcome to the
charioteer of heaven's king.

_Clown_. Well! He came within an inch of butchering me. And you
welcome him.

_Matali_ (_smiling_). Hear, O King, for what purpose Indra sends me to
you.

_King_. I am all attention.

_Matali_. There is a host of demons who call themselves
Invincible--the brood of Kalanemi.

_King_. So Narada has told me.

_Matali_.

Heaven's king is powerless; you shall smite
His foes in battle soon;
Darkness that overcomes the day,
Is scattered by the moon.

Take your bow at once, enter my heavenly chariot, and set forth for
victory.

_King_. I am grateful for the honour which Indra shows me. But why did
you act thus toward Madhavya?

_Matali_. I will tell you. I saw that you were overpowered by some
inner sorrow, and acted thus to rouse you. For

The spurned snake will swell his hood;
Fire blazes when 'tis stirred;
Brave men are roused to fighting mood
By some insulting word.
_King_. Friend Madhavya, I must obey the bidding of heaven's king. Go,
acquaint the minister Pishuna with the matter, and add these words of
mine:

Your wisdom only shall control
The kingdom for a time;
My bow is strung; a distant goal
Calls me, and tasks sublime.

_Clown_. Very well. (_Exit_. )

_Matali_. Enter the chariot. (_The king does so. Exeunt omnes_. )


ACT VII


(_Enter, in a chariot that flies through the air, the king and_
MATALI. )

_King_. Matali, though I have done what Indra commanded, I think
myself an unprofitable servant, when I remember his most gracious
welcome.

_Matali_. O King, know that each considers himself the other's debtor.
For

You count the service given
Small by the welcome paid,
Which to the king of heaven
Seems mean for such brave aid.

_King_. Ah, no! For the honour given me at parting went far beyond
imagination. Before the gods, he seated me beside him on his throne.
And then

He smiled, because his son Jayanta's heart
Beat quicker, by the self-same wish oppressed,
And placed about my neck the heavenly wreath
Still fragrant from the sandal on his breast.

_Matali_. But what do you not deserve from heaven's king? Remember:

Twice, from peace-loving Indra's sway
The demon-thorn was plucked away:
First, by Man-lion's crooked claws;
Again, by your smooth shafts to-day.

_King_. This merely proves Indra's majesty. Remember:

All servants owe success in enterprise
To honour paid before the great deed's done;
Could dawn defeat the darkness otherwise
Than resting on the chariot of the sun?

_Matali_. The feeling becomes you. (_After a little_. ) See, O King!
Your glory has the happiness of being published abroad in heaven.

With colours used by nymphs of heaven
To make their beauty shine,
Gods write upon the surface given
Of many a magic vine,
As worth their song, the simple story
Of those brave deeds that made your glory.

_King_. Matali, when I passed before, I was intent on fighting the
demons, and did not observe this region. Tell me. In which path of the
winds are we?

_Matali_.

It is the windpath sanctified
By holy Vishnu's second stride;
Which, freed from dust of passion, ever
Upholds the threefold heavenly river;
And, driving them with reins of light,
Guides the stars in wheeling flight.

_King_. That is why serenity pervades me, body and soul. (_He observes
the path taken by the chariot_. ) It seems that we have descended into
the region of the clouds.

_Matali_. How do you perceive it?

_King_.

Plovers that fly from mountain-caves,
Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves,
And chariot-wheels that drip with spray--
A path o'er pregnant clouds betray.

_Matali_. You are right. And in a moment you will be in the world over
which you bear rule.

_King_ (_looking down_). Matali, our quick descent gives the world of
men a mysterious look. For

The plains appear to melt and fall
From mountain peaks that grow more tall;
The trunks of trees no longer hide
Nor in their leafy nests abide;
The river network now is clear,
For smaller streams at last appear:
It seems as if some being threw
The world to me, for clearer view.

_Matali_. You are a good observer, O King. (_He looks down,
awe-struck_. ) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. _King_.
Matali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and
into the western sea? It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset.

_Matali_. O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy
centaurs. Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers.
See!

The ancient sage, Marichi's son,
Child of the Uncreated One,
Father of superhuman life,
Dwells here austerely with his wife.

_King_ (_reverently_). I must not neglect the happy chance. I cannot
go farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one.

_Matali_. It is a worthy thought, O King. (_The chariot descends_. ) We
have come down to earth.

_King_ (_astonished_). Matali,

The wheels are mute on whirling rim;
Unstirred, the dust is lying there;
We do not bump the earth, but skim:
Still, still we seem to fly through air.

_Matali_. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.

_King_. In which direction lies the hermitage of Marichi's son?

_Matali_ (_pointing_). See!

Where stands the hermit, horridly austere,
Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sore;
Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown
About him, standing post-like and alone;
Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest,
The dead skin of a serpent on his breast:
So long he stood unmoved, insensate there
That birds build nests within his mat of hair.

_King_ (_gazing_). All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so
terribly.

_Matali_ (_checking the chariot_). We have entered the hermitage of
the ancient sage, whose wife Aditi tends the coral-trees. _King_.
Here is deeper contentment than in heaven. I seem plunged in a pool of
nectar.

_Matali_ (_stopping the chariot_). Descend, O King.

_King_ (_descending_). But how will you fare?

_Matali_. The chariot obeys the word of command. I too will descend.
(_He does so_. ) Before you, O King, are the groves where the holiest
hermits lead their self-denying life.

_King_. I look with amazement both at their simplicity and at what
they might enjoy.

Their appetites are fed with air
Where grows whatever is most fair;
They bathe religiously in pools
Which golden lily-pollen cools;
They pray within a jewelled home,
Are chaste where nymphs of heaven roam:
They mortify desire and sin
With things that others fast to win.

_Matali_. The desires of the great aspire high. (_He walks about and
speaks to some one not visible_. ) Ancient Shakalya, how is Marichi's
holy son occupied? (_He listens_. ) What do you say? That he is
explaining to Aditi, in answer to her question, the duties of a
faithful wife? My matter must await a fitter time. (_He turns to the
king_. ) Wait here, O King, in the shade of the ashoka tree, till I
have announced your coming to the sire of Indra.

_King_. Very well. (_Exit_ MATALI. _The king's arm throbs, a happy
omen_. )

I dare not hope for what I pray;
Why thrill--in vain?
For heavenly bliss once thrown away
Turns into pain.

_A voice behind the scenes_. Don't! You mustn't be so foolhardy. Oh,
you are always the same.

_King_ (_listening_). No naughtiness could feel at home in this spot.
Who draws such a rebuke upon himself? (_He looks towards the sound. In
surprise_. ) It is a child, but no child in strength. And two
hermit-women are trying to control him.

He drags a struggling lion cub,
The lioness' milk half-sucked, half-missed,
Towzles his mane, and tries to drub
Him tame with small, imperious fist.

(_Enter a small boy, as described, and two hermit-women_. )

_Boy_. Open your mouth, cub. I want to count your teeth.

_First woman_. Naughty boy, why do you torment our pets? They are like
children to us. Your energy seems to take the form of striking
something. No wonder the hermits call you All-tamer.

_King_. Why should my heart go out to this boy as if he were my own
son? (_He reflects_. ) No doubt my childless state makes me
sentimental.

_Second woman_. The lioness will spring at you if you don't let her
baby go.

_Boy_ (_smiling_). Oh, I'm dreadfully scared. (_He bites his lip_. )

_King_ (_in surprise_).

The boy is seed of fire
Which, when it grows, will burn;
A tiny spark that soon
To awful flame may turn.

_First woman_. Let the little lion go, dear. I will give you another
plaything.

_Boy_. Where is it? Give it to me. (_He stretches out his hand_. )

_King_ (_looking at the hand_. ) He has one of the imperial birthmarks!
For

Between the eager fingers grow
The close-knit webs together drawn,
Like some lone lily opening slow
To meet the kindling blush of dawn.

_Second woman_. Suvrata, we can't make him stop by talking. Go. In my
cottage you will find a painted clay peacock that belongs to the
hermit-boy Mankanaka. Bring him that.

_First woman_. I will. (_Exit_. ) _Boy_.
Meanwhile I'll play with
this one.

_Hermit-woman_ (_looks and laughs_). Let him go.

_King_. My heart goes out to this wilful child. (_Sighing_. )

They show their little buds of teeth
In peals of causeless laughter;
They hide their trustful heads beneath
Your heart. And stumbling after
Come sweet, unmeaning sounds that sing
To you. The father warms
And loves the very dirt they bring
Upon their little forms.

_Hermit-woman_ (_shaking her finger_). Won't you mind me? (_She looks
about_. ) Which one of the hermit-boys is here? (_She sees the king_. )
Oh, sir, please come here and free this lion cub. The little rascal is
tormenting him, and I can't make him let go.

_King_. Very well. (_He approaches, smiling_. ) O little son of a great
sage!

Your conduct in this place apart,
Is most unfit;
'Twould grieve your father's pious heart
And trouble it.

To animals he is as good
As good can be;
You spoil it, like a black snake's brood
In sandal tree.

_Hermit-woman_. But, sir, he is not the son of a hermit.

_King_. So it would seem, both from his looks and his actions. But in
this spot, I had no suspicion of anything else. (_He loosens the boy's
hold on the cub, and touching him, says to himself_. )

It makes me thrill to touch the boy,
The stranger's son, to me unknown;
What measureless content must fill
The man who calls the child his own!

_Hermit-woman_ (_looking at the two_). Wonderful! wonderful!

_King_. Why do you say that, mother?

_Hermit-woman_. I am astonished to see how much the boy looks like
you, sir. You are not related. Besides, he is a perverse little
creature and he does not know you. Yet he takes no dislike to
you.

_King_ (_caressing the boy_). Mother, if he is not the son of a
hermit, what is his family?

_Hermit-woman_. The family of Puru.

_King_ (_to himself_). He is of one family with me! Then could my
thought be true? (_Aloud_. ) But this is the custom of Puru's line:

In glittering palaces they dwell
While men, and rule the country well;
Then make the grove their home in age,
And die in austere hermitage.

But how could human beings, of their own mere motion, attain this
spot?

_Hermit-woman_. You are quite right, sir. But the boy's mother was
related to a nymph, and she bore her son in the pious grove of the
father of the gods.

_King_ (_to himself_). Ah, a second ground for hope. (_Aloud_. ) What
was the name of the good king whose wife she was?

_Hermit-woman_. Who would speak his name? He rejected his true wife.

_King_ (_to himself_). This story points at me. Suppose I ask the boy
for his mother's name. (_He reflects_. ) No, it is wrong to concern
myself with one who may be another's wife.

(_Enter the first woman, with the clay peacock_. )

_First woman_. Look, All-tamer. Here is the bird, the _shakunta_.
Isn't the _shakunta_ lovely?

_Boy_ (_looks about_). Where is my mamma? (_The two women burst out
laughing_. )

_First woman_. It sounded like her name, and deceived him. He loves
his mother.

_Second woman_. She said: "See how pretty the peacock is. " That is
all.

_King_ (_to himself_). His mother's name is Shakuntala! But names are
alike. I trust this hope may not prove a disappointment in the end,
like a mirage.

_Boy_. I like this little peacock, sister. Can it fly? (_He seizes the
toy_. ) _First woman_ (_looks at the boy. Anxiously_), Oh, the amulet
is not on his wrist.

_King_. Do not be anxious, mother. It fell while he was struggling
with the lion cub. (_He starts to pick it up_. )

_The two women_. Oh, don't, don't! (_They look at him_. ) He has
touched it! (_Astonished, they lay their hands on their bosoms, and
look at each other_. )

_King_. Why did you try to prevent me?

_First woman_. Listen, your Majesty. This is a divine and most potent
charm, called the Invincible. Marichi's holy son gave it to the baby
when the birth-ceremony was performed. If it falls on the ground, no
one may touch it except the boy's parents or the boy himself.

_King_. And if another touch it?

_First woman_. It becomes a serpent and stings him.

_King_. Did you ever see this happen to any one else?

_Both women_. More than once.

_King_ (_joyfully_). Then why may I not welcome my hopes fulfilled at
last? (_He embraces the boy_. )

_Second woman_. Come, Suvrata. Shakuntala is busy with her religious
duties. We must go and tell her what has happened. (_Exeunt ambo_. )

_Boy_. Let me go. I want to see my mother.

_King_. My son, you shall go with me to greet your mother.

_Boy_. Dushyanta is my father, not you.

_King_ (_smiling_). You show I am right by contradicting me. (_Enter_
SHAKUNTALA, _wearing her hair in a single braid_. )

_Shakuntala_ (_doubtfully_). I have heard that All-tamer's amulet did
not change when it should have done so. But I do not trust my own
happiness. Yet perhaps it is as Mishrakeshi told me. (_She walks
about_. )

_King_ (_looking at_ SHAKUNTALA. _With plaintive joy_). It is she. It
is Shakuntala.

The pale, worn face, the careless dress,
The single braid,
Show her still true, me pitiless,
The long vow paid.

_Shakuntala_ (_seeing the king pale with remorse. Doubtfully_). It is
not my husband. Who is the man that soils my boy with his caresses?
The amulet should protect him. _Boy_ (_running to his mother_).
Mother, he is a man that belongs to other people. And he calls me his
son.

_King_. My darling, the cruelty I showed you has turned to happiness.
Will you not recognise me?

_Shakuntala_ (_to herself_). Oh, my heart, believe it. Fate struck
hard, but its envy is gone and pity takes its place. It is my husband.

_King_.

Black madness flies;
Comes memory;
Before my eyes
My love I see.

Eclipse flees far;
Light follows soon;
The loving star
Draws to the moon.

_Shakuntala_. Victory, victo--(_Tears choke her utterance_. )

_King_.

The tears would choke you, sweet, in vain;
My soul with victory is fed,
Because I see your face again--
No jewels, but the lips are red.

_Boy_. Who is he, mother?

_Shakuntala_. Ask fate, my child. (_She weeps_. )

_King_.

Dear, graceful wife, forget;
Let the sin vanish;
Strangely did madness strive
Reason to banish.

Thus blindness works in men,
Love's joy to shake;
Spurning a garland, lest
It prove a snake. (_He falls at her feet_. )

_Shakuntala_. Rise, my dear husband. Surely, it was some old sin of
mine that broke my happiness--though it has turned again to happiness.
Otherwise, how could you, dear, have acted so? You are so kind. (_The
king rises_. ) But what brought back the memory of your suffering
wife? _King_. I will tell you when I have plucked out the dart of
sorrow.

'Twas madness, sweet, that could let slip
A tear to burden your dear lip;
On graceful lashes seen to-day,
I wipe it, and our grief, away. (_He does so_. )

_Shakuntala_ (_sees more clearly and discovers the ring_). My husband,
it is the ring!

_King_. Yes. And when a miracle recovered it, my memory returned.

_Shakuntala_. That was why it was so impossible for me to win your
confidence.

_King_. Then let the vine receive her flower, as earnest of her union
with spring.

_Shakuntala_. I do not trust it. I would rather you wore it.

(_Enter_ MATALI)

_Matali_. I congratulate you, O King, on reunion with your wife and on
seeing the face of your son.

_King_. My desires bear sweeter fruit because fulfilled through a
friend. Matali, was not this matter known to Indra?

_Matali_ (_smiling_. ) What is hidden from the gods?