No More Learning

) It is the day of the
spring festival. But I see no preparations for a celebration at court.
I might learn the reason by my power of divination. But I must do as
my friend asked me. Good! I will make myself invisible and stand near
these girls who take care of the garden. I shall find out that way.

(_She descends to earth. Enter a maid, gazing at a mango branch, and
behind her, a second_. )

_First maid_.

First mango-twig, so pink, so green,
First living breath of spring,
You are sacrificed as soon as seen,
A festival offering.

_Second maid_. What are you chirping about to yourself, little cuckoo?

_First maid_. Why, little bee, you know that the cuckoo goes crazy
with delight when she sees the mango-blossom.

_Second maid_ (_joyfully_). Oh, has the spring really come?

_First maid_. Yes, little bee. And this is the time when you too buzz
about in crazy joy. _Second maid_. Hold me, dear, while I stand on
tiptoe and offer this blossom to Love, the divine.

_First maid_. If I do, you must give me half the reward of the
offering.

_Second maid_. That goes without saying, dear. We two are one. (_She
leans on her friend and takes the mango-blossom_. ) Oh, see! The
mango-blossom hasn't opened, but it has broken the sheath, so it is
fragrant. (_She brings her hands together_. ) I worship mighty Love.

O mango-twig I give to Love
As arrow for his bow,
Most sovereign of his arrows five,
Strike maiden-targets low.

(_She throws the twig. Enter the chamberlain_. )

_Chamberlain_ (_angrily_). Stop, silly girl. The king has strictly
forbidden the spring festival. Do you dare pluck the mango-blossoms?

_The two maids_ (_frightened_). Forgive us, sir. We did not know.

_Chamberlain_. What! You have not heard the king's command, which is
obeyed even by the trees of spring and the creatures that dwell in
them. See!

The mango branches are in bloom,
Yet pollen does not form;
The cuckoo's song sticks in his throat,
Although the days are warm;

The amaranth-bud is formed, and yet
Its power of growth is gone;
The love-god timidly puts by
The arrow he has drawn.

_Mishrakeshi_. There is no doubt of it. This good king has wonderful
power.

_First maid_. A few days ago, sir, we were sent to his Majesty by his
brother-in-law Mitravasu to decorate the garden. That is why we have
heard nothing of this affair.

_Chamberlain_. You must not do so again.

_The two maids_. But we are curious. If we girls may know about it,
pray tell us, sir. Why did his Majesty forbid the spring festival?
_Mishrakeshi_. Kings are fond of celebrations. There must be some good
reason.

_Chamberlain_ (_to himself_). It is in everybody's mouth. Why should I
not tell it? (_Aloud_. ) Have you heard the gossip concerning
Shakuntala's rejection?

_The two maids_. Yes, sir. The king's brother-in-law told us, up to
the point where the ring was recovered.

_Chamberlain_. There is little more to tell. When his Majesty saw the
ring, he remembered that he had indeed contracted a secret marriage
with Shakuntala, and had rejected her under a delusion. And then he
fell a prey to remorse.

He hates the things he loved; he intermits
The daily audience, nor in judgment sits;
Spends sleepless nights in tossing on his bed;
At times, when he by courtesy is led
To address a lady, speaks another name,
Then stands for minutes, sunk in helpless shame.

_Mishrakeshi_. I am glad to hear it.

_Chamberlain_. His Majesty's sorrow has forbidden the festival.

_The two maids_. It is only right.

_A voice behind the scenes_. Follow me.

_Chamberlain_ (_listening_). Ah, his Majesty approaches. Go, and
attend to your duties. (_Exeunt the two maids. Enter the king, wearing
a dress indicative of remorse; the clown, and the portress_. )

_Chamberlain_ (_observing the king_). A beautiful figure charms in
whatever state. Thus, his Majesty is pleasing even in his sorrow. For

All ornament is laid aside; he wears
One golden bracelet on his wasted arm;
His lip is scorched by sighs; and sleepless cares
Redden his eyes. Yet all can work no harm
On that magnificent beauty, wasting, but
Gaining in brilliance, like a diamond cut.

_Mishrakeshi_ (_observing the king_). No wonder Shakuntala pines for
him, even though he dishonoured her by his rejection of her.

_King_ (_walks about slowly, sunk in thought_).

Alas! My smitten heart, that once lay sleeping,
Heard in its dreams my fawn-eyed love's laments,
And wakened now, awakens but to weeping,
To bitter grief, and tears of penitence.

_Mishrakeshi_. That is the poor girl's fate.

_Clown_ (_to himself_). He has got his Shakuntala-sickness again. I
wish I knew how to cure him.

_Chamberlain (advancing)_. Victory to your Majesty. I have examined
the garden. Your Majesty may visit its retreats.

_King_. Vetravati, tell the minister Pishuna in my name that a
sleepless night prevents me from mounting the throne of judgment. He
is to investigate the citizens' business and send me a memorandum.

_Portress_. Yes, your Majesty. _(Exit. )_

_King_. And you, Parvatayana, return to your post of duty.

_Chamberlain_. Yes, your Majesty. (_Exit_. )

_Clown_. You have got rid of the vermin. Now amuse yourself in this
garden. It is delightful with the passing of the cold weather.

_King_ (_sighing_). My friend, the proverb makes no mistake.
Misfortune finds the weak spot. See!

No sooner did the darkness lift
That clouded memory's power,
Than the god of love prepared his bow
And shot the mango-flower.

No sooner did the ring recall
My banished maiden dear,
No sooner do I vainly weep
For her, than spring is here.

_Clown_. Wait a minute, man. I will destroy Love's arrow with my
stick. (_He raises his stick and strikes at the mango branch_. )

_King_ (_smiling_). Enough! I see your pious power. My friend, where
shall I sit now to comfort my eyes with the vines? They remind me
somehow of her.

_Clown_. Well, you told one of the maids, the clever painter, that
you would spend this hour in the bower of spring-creepers. And you
asked her to bring you there the picture of the lady Shakuntala which
you painted on a tablet.

_King_. It is my only consolation. Lead the way to the bower of
spring-creepers.

_Clown_. Follow me. (_They walk about_. MISHRAKESHI _follows_. ) Here
is the bower of spring-creepers, with its jewelled benches. Its
loneliness seems to bid you a silent welcome. Let us go in and sit
down. (_They do so_. )

_Mishrakeshi_. I will hide among the vines and see the dear girl's
picture. Then I shall be able to tell her how deep her husband's love
is. (_She hides_. )

_King_ (_sighing_). I remember it all now, my friend. I told you how I
first met Shakuntala. It is true, you were not with me when I rejected
her. But I had told you of her at the first. Had you forgotten, as I
did?

_Mishrakeshi_. This shows that a king should not be separated a single
moment from some intimate friend.

_Clown_. No, I didn't forget. But when you had told the whole story,
you said it was a joke and there was nothing in it. And I was fool
enough to believe you. No, this is the work of fate.

_Mishrakeshi_. It must be.

_King_ (_after meditating a moment_). Help me, my friend.

_Clown_. But, man, this isn't right at all. A good man never lets
grief get the upper hand. The mountains are calm even in a tempest.

_King_. My friend, I am quite forlorn. I keep thinking of her pitiful
state when I rejected her. Thus:

When I denied her, then she tried
To join her people. "Stay," one cried,
Her father's representative.
She stopped, she turned, she could but give
A tear-dimmed glance to heartless me--
That arrow burns me poisonously.

_Mishrakeshi_. How his fault distresses him!

_Clown_. Well, I don't doubt it was some heavenly being that carried
her away.

_King_. Who else would dare to touch a faithful wife? Her friends told
me that Menaka was her mother. My heart persuades me that it was
she, or companions of hers, who carried Shakuntala away.

_Mishrakeshi_. His madness was wonderful, not his awakening reason.

_Clown_. But in that case, you ought to take heart. You will meet her
again.

_King_. How so?

_Clown_. Why, a mother or a father cannot long bear to see a daughter
separated from her husband.

_King_.
My friend,

And was it phantom, madness, dream,
Or fatal retribution stern?
My hopes fell down a precipice
And never, never will return.

_Clown_. Don't talk that way. Why, the ring shows that incredible
meetings do happen.

_King_ (_looking at the ring_). This ring deserves pity. It has fallen
from a heaven hard to earn.

Your virtue, ring, like mine,
Is proved to be but small;
Her pink-nailed finger sweet
You clasped. How could you fall?

_Mishrakeshi_. If it were worn on any other hand, it would deserve
pity. My dear girl, you are far away. I am the only one to hear these
delightful words.

_Clown_. Tell me how you put the ring on her finger.

_Mishrakeshi_. He speaks as if prompted by my curiosity.

_King_. Listen, my friend. When I left the pious grove for the city,
my darling wept and said: "But how long will you remember us, dear? "

_Clown_. And then you said----

_King_. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to
her----

_Clown_. Well, what?

_King_.

Count every day one letter of my name;
Before you reach the end, dear,
Will come to lead you to my palace halls
A guide whom I shall send, dear.

Then, through my madness, it fell out cruelly. _Mishrakeshi_. It was
too charming an agreement to be frustrated by fate.

_Clown_. But how did it get into a carp's mouth, as if it had been a
fish-hook?

_King_. While she was worshipping the Ganges at Shachitirtha, it fell.

_Clown_. I see.

_Mishrakeshi_. That is why the virtuous king doubted his marriage with
poor Shakuntala. Yet such love does not ask for a token. How could it
have been?

_King_. Well, I can only reproach this ring.

_Clown_ (_smiling_). And I will reproach this stick of mine. Why are
you crooked when I am straight?

_King_ (_not hearing him_).

How could you fail to linger
On her soft, tapering finger,
And in the water fall?

And yet

Things lifeless know not beauty;
But I--I scorned my duty,
The sweetest task of all.

_Mishrakeshi_. He has given the answer which I had ready.

_Clown_. But that is no reason why I should starve to death.

_King_ (_not heeding_). O my darling, my heart burns with repentance
because I abandoned you without reason. Take pity on me. Let me see
you again. (_Enter a maid with a tablet_. )

_Maid_. Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (_She produces
the tablet_. )

_King_ (_gazing at it_). It is a beautiful picture. See!

A graceful arch of brows above great eyes;
Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies
Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red
As red karkandhu-fruit; love's brightness shed
O'er all her face in bursts of liquid charm--
The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.

_Clown_ (_looking at it_). The sketch is full of sweet meaning. My
eyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface. What more can I say? I
expect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it.

_Mishrakeshi_. The king is a clever painter. I seem to see the dear
girl before me.

_King_. My friend,

What in the picture is not fair,
Is badly done;
Yet something of her beauty there,
I feel, is won.

_Mishrakeshi_. This is natural, when love is increased by remorse.

_King_ (_sighing_).

I treated her with scorn and loathing ever;
Now o'er her pictured charms my heart will burst:
A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river.
And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.

_Clown_. There are three figures in the picture, and they are all
beautiful. Which one is the lady Shakuntala?

_Mishrakeshi_. The poor fellow never saw her beauty. His eyes are
useless, for she never came before them.

_King_. Which one do you think?

_Clown_ (_observing closely_). I think it is this one, leaning against
the creeper which she has just sprinkled. Her face is hot and the
flowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened. Her
arms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she
seems a little fatigued. This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the
others are her friends.

_King_. You are good at guessing. Besides, here are proofs of my love.

See where discolorations faint
Of loving handling tell;
And here the swelling of the paint
Shows where my sad tears fell.

Chaturika, I have not finished the background. Go, get the brushes.

_Maid_. Please hold the picture, Madhavya, while I am gone.

_King_. I will hold it. (_He does so. Exit maid_. )

_Clown_. What are you going to add?

_Mishrakeshi_. Surely, every spot that the dear girl loved.

_King_. Listen, my friend.

The stream of Malini, and on its sands
The swan-pairs resting; holy foot-hill lands
Of great Himalaya's sacred ranges, where
The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear
Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high,
A doe that on the buck's horn rubs her eye.

_Clown_ (_aside_). To hear him talk, I should think he was going to
fill up the picture with heavy-bearded hermits.

_King_. And another ornament that Shakuntala loved I have forgotten to
paint.

_Clown_. What?

_Mishrakeshi_. Something natural for a girl living in the forest.

_King_.

The siris-blossom, fastened o'er her ear,
Whose stamens brush her cheek;
The lotus-chain like autumn moonlight soft
Upon her bosom meek.

_Clown_. But why does she cover her face with fingers lovely as the
pink water-lily? She seems frightened. (_He looks more closely_. ) I
see. Here is a bold, bad bee. He steals honey, and so he flies to her
lotus-face.

_King_. Drive him away.

_Clown_. It is your affair to punish evil-doers.

_King_. True. O welcome guest of the flowering vine, why do you waste
your time in buzzing here?

Your faithful, loving queen,
Perched on a flower, athirst,
Is waiting for you still,
Nor tastes the honey first.

_Mishrakeshi_. A gentlemanly way to drive him off!

_Clown_. This kind are obstinate, even when you warn them.

_King_ (_angrily_). Will you not obey my command? Then listen:

'Tis sweet as virgin blossoms on a tree,
The lip I kissed in love-feasts tenderly;
Sting that dear lip, O bee, with cruel power,
And you shall be imprisoned in a flower.

_Clown_. Well, he doesn't seem afraid of your dreadful punishment.
(_Laughing. To himself_. ) The man is crazy, and I am just as bad, from
associating with him.

_King_. Will he not go, though I warn him?

_Mishrakeshi_. Love works a curious change even in a brave man.

_Clown_ (_aloud_). It is only a picture, man.

_King_. A picture?

_Mishrakeshi_. I too understand it now. But to him, thoughts are real
experiences.

_King_. You have done an ill-natured thing.

When I was happy in the sight,
And when my heart was warm,
You brought sad memories back, and made
My love a painted form.

(_He sheds a tear_. )

_Mishrakeshi_. Fate plays strangely with him.

_King_. My friend, how can I endure a grief that has no respite?

I cannot sleep at night
And meet her dreaming;
I cannot see the sketch
While tears are streaming.

_Mishrakeshi_. My friend, you have indeed atoned--and in her friend's
presence--for the pain you caused by rejecting dear Shakuntala.

(_Enter the maid_ CHATURIKA. )

_Maid_. Your Majesty, I was coming back with the box of
paint-brushes----

_King_. Well?

_Maid_. I met Queen Vasumati with the maid Pingalika. And the queen
snatched the box from me, saying: "I will take it to the king myself. "

_Clown_. How did you escape?

_Maid_. The queen's dress caught on a vine. And while her maid was
setting her free, I excused myself in a hurry. _A voice behind the
scenes_. Follow me, your Majesty.

_Clown_ (_listening_). Man, the she-tiger of the palace is making a
spring on her prey. She means to make one mouthful of the maid.

_King_. My friend, the queen has come because she feels touched in her
honour. You had better take care of this picture.

_Clown_. "And yourself," you might add. (_He takes the picture and
rises_. ) If you get out of the trap alive, call for me at the Cloud
Balcony. And I will hide the thing there so that nothing but a pigeon
could find it. (_Exit on the run_. )

_Mishrakeshi_. Though his heart is given to another, he is courteous
to his early flame. He is a constant friend.

(_Enter the portress with a document_. )

_Portress_.