Here is the entrance to the hermitage. I will now [En'ering and feeling a throbbing sensation in his arm. go in. Serenest peace is in this calm retreat, By passion's breath unruffled; what portends A VOICE BEHIND THE SCENES. This way, my dear companions; this way. Hark! I hear voices to the right of yonder grove [Walking and of trees. I will walk in that direction. looking about.] Ah! here are the maidens of the hermit age coming this way to water the shrubs, carrying water-pots proportioned to their strength. them.] How graceful they look! In palaces such charms are rarely ours; [Gazing at The woodland plants outshine the garden flowers. I will conceal myself in this shade and watch them. [Stands gazing at them. Enter SAKOONTALA, with her two female companions, SAKOONTALA. This way, my dear companions; this way. ANASÚYÁ. Dear Sakoon talá, one would think that father Kanwa had more affection for the shrubs of the hermitage even than for you, seeing he assigns to you, who are yourself as delicate as the fresh-blown jasmine, the task of filling with water the trenches which encircle their roots. SAKOONTALÁ. Dear Anasúyá, although I am charged by my good father with this duty, yet I cannot regard it as a task. I really feel a sisterly love for these plants. KING. [Continues watering the shrubs. Can this be the daughter of Kanwa? The saintly man, though descended from the great Kasyapa, must be very deficient in judgment to habituate such a maiden to the life of a recluse. The sage who would this form of artless grace To cleave in twain the hard acacia's stem 19 With the soft edge of a blue lotus-leaf. Well! concealed behind this tree, I will watch her without raising her suspicions. SAKOONTALÁ. [Conceals himself. Good Anasúyá, Priyamvadá has drawn this bark dress too tightly about my chest I pray thee, loosen Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather your own blooming youthfulness which imparts fulbosom. ness to your KING. A most just observation! This youthful form, whose bosom's swelling charms Like some fair bud close folded in its sheath, Gives not to view the blooming of its beauty. But what am I saying? In real truth this bark-dress, though ill-suited to her figure, sets it off like an ornament. The lotus 20 with the Saivala 21 entwined Yon Kesara-tree 22 beckons to me with its young shoots, which, as the breeze waves them to and fro, appear like slender fingers. I will go and attend to it. [Walks towards it. PRIYAMVADÁ. Dear Sakoontalá, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment. SAKOONTALÁ. Why so? PRIYAMVADÁ. The Keśara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its stem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper. SAKOONTALÁ. Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyam-vadá ('Speaker of flattering things'). KING. What Priyamvadá says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true. Verily, Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud; ANASÚYÁ. See, dear Sakoontalá, here is the young jasmine, which you named 'the Moonlight of the Grove,' the self-elected wife of the mango-tree. Have you forgotten it? SAKOONTALA. Rather will I forget myself. [Approaching the p'ant and looking at it.] How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper and the mango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The fresh blossoms of the jasmine resemble the bloom of a young bride, and the newly-formed shoots of the mango appear to make it her natural protector. [Continues gazing at it. PRIYAMVADÁ. Do you know, my Anasúyá, why Śakoontalá gazes so intently at the jasmine? ANASÚYÁ. No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me. PRIYAMVADÁ. She is wishing that as the jasmine is united to a suitable tree, so, in like manner, she may obtain a husband worthy of her. SAKOONTALÁ. Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your [Continues watering the flowers. own mind. |