No More Learning

(_She goes out and soon
returns_. ) Your Majesty, the royal proclamation was welcomed by the
populace as is a timely shower.

_King_ (_sighing deeply_). Thus, when issue fails, wealth passes, on
the death of the head of the family, to a stranger. When I die, it
will be so with the glory of Puru's line.

_Portress_. Heaven avert the omen!

_King_. Alas! I despised the happiness that offered itself to me.

_Mishrakeshi_. Without doubt, he has dear Shakuntala in mind when he
thus reproaches himself.

_King_.

Could I forsake the virtuous wife
Who held my best, my future life
And cherished it for glorious birth,
As does the seed-receiving earth?

_Mishrakeshi_. She will not long be forsaken.

_Maid_ (_to the portress_). Mistress, the minister's report has
doubled our lord's remorse. Go to the Cloud Balcony and bring Madhavya
to dispel his grief.

_Portress_. A good suggestion. (_Exit_. )

_King_. Alas! The ancestors of Dushyanta are in a doubtful case.

For I am childless, and they do not know,
When I am gone, what child of theirs will bring
The scriptural oblation; and their tears
Already mingle with my offering.

_Mishrakeshi_. He is screened from the light, and is in darkness.

_Maid_. Do not give way to grief, your Majesty. You are in the prime
of your years, and the birth of a son to one of your other wives will
make you blameless before your ancestors. (_To herself_. ) He does not
heed me. The proper medicine is needed for any disease. _King_
(_betraying his sorrow_). Surely,

The royal line that flowed
A river pure and grand,
Dies in the childless king,
Like streams in desert sand.

(_He swoons_. )

_Maid_ (_in distress_). Oh, sir, come to yourself.

_Mishrakeski_. Shall I make him happy now? No, I heard the mother of
the gods consoling Shakuntala. She said that the gods, impatient for
the sacrifice, would soon cause him to welcome his true wife. I must
delay no longer. I will comfort dear Shakuntala with my tidings.

(_Exit through the air_. )

_A voice behind the scenes_. Help, help!

_King_ (_comes to himself and listens_). It sounds as if Madhavya were
in distress.

_Maid_. Your Majesty, I hope that Pingalika and the other maids did
not catch poor Madhavya with the picture in his hands.

_King_. Go, Chaturika. Reprove the queen in my name for not
controlling her servants.

_Maid_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_. )

_The voice_. Help, help!

_King_. The Brahman's voice seems really changed by fear. Who waits
without? (_Enter the chamberlain_. )

_Chamberlain_. Your Majesty commands?

_King_. See why poor Madhavya is screaming so.

_Chamberlain_. I will see. (_He goes out, and returns trembling_. )

_King_. Parvatayana, I hope it is nothing very dreadful.

_Chamberlain_. I hope not.

_King_. Then why do you tremble so? For

Why should the trembling, born
Of age, increasing, seize
Your limbs and bid them shake
Like fig-leaves in the breeze?

_Chamberlain_. Save your friend, O King!

_King_. From what?

_Chamberlain_. From great danger.

_King_. Speak plainly, man.

_Chamberlain_. On the Cloud Balcony, open to the four winds of
heaven--

_King_. What has happened there?

_Chamberlain_.

While he was resting on its height,
Which palace peacocks in their flight
Can hardly reach, he seemed to be
Snatched up--by what, we could not see.

_King_ (_rising quickly_). My very palace is invaded by evil
creatures. To be a king, is to be a disappointed man.

The moral stumblings of mine own,
The daily slips, are scarcely known;
Who then that rules a kingdom, can
Guide every deed of every man?

_The voice_. Hurry, hurry!

_King_ (_hears the voice and quickens his steps_). Have no fear, my
friend.

_The voice_. Have no fear! When something has got me by the back of
the neck, and is trying to break my bones like a piece of sugar-cane!

_King_ (_looks about_). A bow! a bow! (_Enter a Greek woman with a
bow_. )

_Greek woman_. A bow and arrows, your Majesty. And here are the
finger-guards. (_The king takes the bow and arrows_. )

_Another voice behind the scenes_.

Writhe, while I drink the red blood flowing clear
And kill you, as a tiger kills a deer;
Let King Dushyanta grasp his bow; but how
Can all his kingly valour save you now?

_King_ (_angrily_). He scorns me, too! In one moment, miserable demon,
you shall die. (_Stringing his bow_. ) Where is the stairway,
Parvatayana?

_Chamberlain_. Here, your Majesty. (_All make haste_. )

_King_ (_Looking about_). There is no one here.

_The Clown's voice_. Save me, save me! I see you, if you can't see me.
I am a mouse in the claws of the cat. I am done for. _King_. You are
proud of your invisibility. 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_.