Shakuntala (play)

"King: Albeit she did coyly turn away Her glowing cheek, and with her fingers guard Her pouting lips, that murmured a denial In faltering accents, she did yield herself A sweet reluctant captive to my will. As eagerly I raised her lovely face; But ere with gentle force I stole the kiss, Too envious Fate did mar my daring purpose."

"King: Here printed on the flowery couch I see The fair impression of her slender limbs; Here is the sweet confession of her love, Traced with her nail upon the lotus-leaf; And yonder are the withered lily-stalks That graced her wrist. While all around I view Things that recall her image, can I quit This bower, e'en though its living be fled?"

"Anasúyá: Although, dear Priyamvadá, it rejoices my heart to think that [S']akoontalá has been happily united to a husband in every respect worthy of her, by the form of marriage prevalent among Indra's celestial musicians, nevertheless, I cannot help feeling somewhat uneasy in my mind."

"Anasúyá: You know that the pious King was gratefully dismissed by the hermits on the successful termination of their sacrificial rites. He has now returned to his capital, leaving [S']akoontalá under our care; and it may be doubted whether, in the society of his royal consorts, he will not forget all that has taken place in this hermitage of ours."

"Priyamvadá: On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are not so destitute of all honourable feeling. I confess, however, that there is one point about which I am rather anxious. What, think you, will Father Kanwa say when he hears what has occurred?"

"Anasúyá: From the first, it was always his fixed purpose to bestow the maiden on a husband worthy of her; and since heaven has given her such a husband, his wishes have been realized without any trouble to himself."

"Anasúyá: That must be the voice of a guest announcing his arrival."

"Priyamvadá: Surely, Shakoontalá is not absent from the cottage."

"A Voice[Durvasa]: Woe to thee, maiden, for daring to slight a guest like me! Shall I stand here unwelcomed—even I, A very mine of penitential merit, Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid, Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts Upon the cherished object of thy love, While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then— He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive To waken his remembrance of the past; He shall disown thee, even as the sot, Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies The words he uttered in his revellings."

"Priyamvadá: Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred. [S']akoontalá, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest whom she was bound to treat with respect."

"Priyamvadá: Ah! yes; I see; and no less a person than the great sage Durvásas, who is known to be most irascible. He it is that has just cursed her, and is now retiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if nothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire."

"Anasúyá: Go quickly, dear Priyamvadá, throw yourself at his feet, and persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering[59] for him, with water and refreshments."

"Priyamvadá: Well, dear Anasúyá, I have done my best; but what living being could succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained, ill-tempered old fellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little."

"Priyamvadá: When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in these words: 'Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this first offence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant of the respect due to your saintly character and exalted rank."

"Anasúyá: And what did he reply?"

"Priyamvadá: My word must not be falsified; but, at the sight of the ring of recognition the spell shall cease.' So saying, he disappeared."

"Anasúyá: Oh! then we may breathe again; for, now I think of it, the King himself, at his departure, fastened on [S']akoontalá's finger, as a token of remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved. She has, therefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her own command."

"Priyamvadá: See, Anasúyá, there sits our dear friend, motionless as a statue, resting her face on her left hand, her whole mind absorbed in thinking of her absent husband. She can pay no attention to herself, much less to a stranger."

"Pupil: My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from his pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I have therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark."

"Pupil: While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower Of the night-loving lotus sheds her leave In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought But the sweet memory of her loveliness To my bereaved sight; e'en as the bride Disconsolately mourns her absent lord, And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief."

"Anasúyá: Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Shakoontalá very improperly."

"Anasúyá: I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go about my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost their power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is to blame for having induced our dear friend, in the innocence of her heart, to confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of Durvása's may be already taking effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise account for the King's strange conduct, in allowing so long a time to elapse without even a letter; and that, too, after so many promises and protestations. I cannot think what to do unless we send him the ring which was to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere hermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father Kanwa has just returned from his pilgrimage; and how am I to inform him of Shakoontalá's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of becoming soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt that Shakoontalá had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is to be done?"

"Priyamvadá: Quick! quick! Anasúyá! come and assist in the joyful preparations for Shakoontalá's departure to her husband's palace....Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to Shakoontalá, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably—"

"Priyamvadá: She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground with shame, when Father Kanwa entered, and, embracing her, of his own accord offered her his congratulations. 'I give thee joy, my child,' he said, 'we have had an auspicious omen. The priest who offered the oblation dropped it into the very centre of the sacred fire, though thick smoke obstructed his vision. Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an object of compassion. This very day I purpose sending thee, under the charge of certain trusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall deliver thee into the hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge to the keeping of a wise and faithful student."

"Anasúyá: Oh, my dear Priyamvadá, what delightful news! I am pleased beyond measure; yet when I think that we are to lose our dear [S']akoontalá this very day, a feeling of melancholy mingles with my joy."

"Priyamvadá: Quick, quick, Anasúyá! They are calling the hermits who are to go with Sakoontalá to Hastinápur."

"Priyamvadá: See! there sits [S']akoontalá, her locks arranged even at this early hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage are congratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, while they present her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecrated wild-rice. Let us join them."

"SHAKOONTALÁ: I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now that I am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I shall never be dressed by you again."

"Kanwa: This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart Is heavy with its grief; the streams of sorrow, Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice, I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise Within my soul. If such the force of grief In an old hermit parted from his nursling, What anguish must the stricken parent feel— Bereft for ever of an only daughter."

"Gautami: Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to fold thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do him reverence."

"Kanwa: Holy flames, that gleam around Every altar's hallowed ground Holy flames, whose frequent food Is the consecrated wood, And for whose encircling bed, Sacred Kusha-grass is spread; Holy flames, that waft to heaven Sweet oblations daily given, Mortal guilt to purge away, Hear, oh hear me, when I pray— Purify my child this day! Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey."

"SHAKOONTALÁ: Eager as I am, dear Priyamvadá, to see my husband once more, yet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting for ever the home of my girlhood."

"Priyamvadá: You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness of parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove seems to share your anguish. In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn Ceases its dance; the very trees around Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground."

"Kanwa: Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart Has ever been to wed thee to a man That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won. To him thou goest, and about his neck Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now Thy favourite jasmine twines its loving arms Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it To its protector—e'en as I consign Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf."

"SHAKOONTALÁ: My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the hermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of the little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget to send me word when she becomes a mother."

"Kanwa: Shárngarava! when you have introduced Sakoontalá into the presence of the King, you must give him this message from me:— Most puissant prince! we here present before thee One thou art bound to cherish and receive As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone As thine own queen—worthy of equal love With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire, We claim of thee as justice due to us, In virtue of our holy character, In virtue of thine honourable rank, In virtue of the pure spontaneous love That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her, Without consent or privity of us. We ask no more—the rest we freely leave To thy just feeling and to destiny."

"Shárngarava: A most suitable message! I will take care to deliver it correctly."

"Kanwa: Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's palace, and art admitted into his family, Honour thy betters; ever be respectful To those above thee; and, should others share Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey to jealousy; but ever be a friend, A loving friend, to those who rival thee In his affections. Should thy wedded lord Treat thee with harshness, thou most never be Harsh in return, but patient and submissive; Be to thy menials courteous, and to all Placed under thee, considerate and kind; Be never self-indulgent, but avoid Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles, Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse. What thinks Gautamí of this advice?"

"Gautamí: An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it well to heart, my daughter."

"SHAKOONTALÁ: Removed from thy bosom, my beloved father, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in the western mountains, how shall I be able to support life in a foreign soil?"

"Kanwa: Daughter, thy fears are groundless. Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares Befitting his imperial dignity Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss Of bearing him a son—a noble boy, Bright as the day-star, shall transport thy soul With new delights, and little shalt thou reck Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now At parting from thy father and thy friends."

"SHAKOONTALÁ: Dear father, when shall I ever see this hallowed grove again?"

"Kanwa: I will tell thee; listen:— When thou hast passed a long and blissful life As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared With all the earth his ever-watchful care; And hast beheld thine own heroic son, Matchless in arms, united to a bride In happy wedlock; when his aged sire, Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned The helm of state; then, weary of the world, Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek The calm seclusion of thy former home; There amid holy scenes to be at peace, Till thy pure spirit gain its last release."

"Gautamí: Come, my child, the favourable time for our journey is fast passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to move homewards, or these last words will never end."

"Kanwa: Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be interrupted."

"SHAKOONTALÁ: Beloved father, thy frame is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not, allow thyself to sorrow too much on my account."

"Kanwa: How, O my child, shall my bereaved heart Forget its bitterness, when, day by day, Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants Reared by thy care, or sprang from hallowed grain Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door— A frequent offering to our household gods? Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous."

"Priyamvadá and Anasúyá: Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert without Sakoontalá. How can we ever return to it?"

"Kanwa: It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it in this light. As for me, I am quite surprised at myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house, my mind is easy; for, indeed, A daughter is a loan—a precious jewel Lent to a parent till her husband claim her. And now that to her rightful lord and master I have delivered her, my burdened soul Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely."

"Benediction. Í[S'] a preserve you ! he who is revealed In these eight forms by man perceptible— Water, of all creation's works the first; The Fire that bears on high the sacrifice Presented with solemnity to heaven; The Priest, the holy offerer of gifts; The Sun and Moon, those two majestic orbs, Eternal marshallers of day and night; The subtle Ether, vehicle of sound, Diffused throughout the boundless universe; The Earth, by sages called 'The place of birth Of all material essences and things'; And Air, which giveth life to all that breathe."