THE NAGANANDA.
Prologue.
NANDI, OR OPENING BENEDICTION.
“Of whom dost thou think, putting on a pretence of religious abstraction, yet opening for an instant thine eyes? See! saviour though thou art, thou dost not protect us, sick with the shafts of Love. Falsely art thou compassionate. Who is rnore cruel than thou?"
May Buddha, the conqueror, who was thus jealously addressed by the nymphs of Mara, protect you!
Again,
May the Lord of Munis protect you! who, lost in reflection, and filled with transcendent knowledge, was seen to be utterly unmoved by Indra, whose every hair was on end through astonishment; by the Siddhas, their heads bent low in obeisance; by the nymphs, whose eyes quivered, as they alternately smiled, yawned, trembled, and frowned; by the heroes of Mara, dancing with harshly beaten drums; and by Mara himself, who had drawn his bow to the full!
(At the conclusion of the benediction)--
STAGE MANAGER.
Enough of this prolixity. To-day, at the feast of Indra, I was thus addressed by the company of kings, who have arrived from various countries, dependants on the lotus feet of the noble King Sri-harsha-deva, after they had summoned me respectfully, “That play named Nagananda, connected with the sovereign of the celestial choristers, and adorned with a new arrangement of the incidents by our Lord, Sri-harsha-deva, has been heard of by us through successive report, but has never been seen by us on the stage; therefore you should perform it to-day with suitable dramatic appliances, both through your respect for that great king, who rejoices the hearts of all people, and through your willingness to oblige us.” Therefore, after I have adjusted my attire, I will carry out this request. (Walking and looking about.) I have no doubt that I have won the hearts of all the spectators, since Sri-harsha-deva is a clever poet; and this assembly are good judges of merit. The history of the king of the Siddhas is very attractive in the world, and we ourselves are skilful actors. Each of these things by itself would be sufficient for success; how much more the whole assemblage of them, brought together by my accumulation of good luck! So, after I have gone to my house, and called my wife, I will commence the entertainment. (Walking about looking towards the tiring room.) Here is my house. I will enter. (After entering.) O lady, come here a moment!
An ACTRESS (entering in tears).
My lord, here am I, unlucky one that I am, let the son of my lord say what is to be done.
O lady, why do you thus weep unreasonably, when the Nagananda is to be performed?
Sir, how should I not weep, since just now my father, having discovered that he is old, and influenced by a sudden disgust for the world, saying to himself, “Art thou fit to support the duties of a household?” is gone with his wife to a sacred grove?
What! How! My two parents, leaving me, are gone to a sacred grove? What is now seemly to be done? (After thinking.) But how shall I remain at home, giving up the pleasure of attendance on my father? For, in order to perform the service of my father, I will quit the possessions fallen to my lot, and go off this day to the forest, as did Jimutavahana.
[ Exeunt.
(in a tone of apathy towards the world).
O friend, Atreya, well do I know that youth is an abode of passion. I am certain that it is transient. Who in the world does not know that it is averse to investigation of right and wrong! Yet, worthless as it is, it may still be used for the attainment of the desired end, if it is thus spent by me, devotedly obeying my parents.
Alas, my friend, no wonder you are despondent, enduring the annoyance of living for so long a time in the forest, for the sake of these two, who are already half dead. So now do me a favour. Having turned aside from the strictness of your attendance on your father, let the pleasure of sovereignty, sweet through the attainment of every wish, be tasted by you.
O friend you speak not well. For, in this world, what is the splendour of one sitting on a throne compared with that of one in attendance on his father? What enjoyment is there to a king such as that of one shampooing his father's feet? What satisfaction in enjoying the whole world, such as in eating a father's leavings? Sovereignty is in fact only a trouble to one who has deserted his father. Is there one good thing in it?
Bother his “penchant” for waiting on his father! (After considering.) Never mind. I will put it to him in this way (A1oud.) O friend, I do not in truth speak only of the enjoyment of sovereignty. There is another thing which you should do.
O friend, has not all that should have been done, been done? See here. My subjects are placed in the right path; the virtuous are happy; my relatives are placed on an equality with myself, and a regency is made in the kingdom; to the poor man a tree of Paradise has been given, whose fruit gives even more than he wishes for. Say, what more than this should be done? or what remains in your mind?
O friend, your enemy, the base Matanga, is very daring; and, whilst he is at hand, the kingdom, though duly governed by the prime minister, does not, in your absence, appear very firmly settled.
Fie! O fool, dost thou fear that Matanga will seize the kingdom?
What else?
If even it were so, why should it not be? Is not all I possess, even to my very body, kept for the benefit of others? That it is not given up to him of my own accord is through compliance with my father. What, then, is the use of this pointless consideration? Better that the command of my father be at once undertaken. “O my child Jimutavahana,” he said, “by the spending of many days here this place has its flowers, kusha-grass, and fuel used up, and its rice, plants, fruits, and roots well-nigh consumed, therefore go hence to the Malaya mountain, and seek there for a hermitage suited for our occupation.” Come, then, let us go to the Malaya mountain.
Whatever your highness orders. Let your highness come.
[Both walk about.
VIDUSHAKA (looking in advance).
JIMUTAVAHANA (looking with surprise).
Ah! we have already reached the Malaya hill. (Looking all round.) Oh, how pleasant it is! Inasmuch as this Malaya hill, with its sandal exuding from the wounds made by the mighty elephants as they rub their cheeks in their passion against the trunks, and with the fastnesses of its caves resounding when lashed by the ocean waves, and with its rocks of pearl stained by the foot-dye of the women of the Siddhas as they pass—the sight of it gives to my mind some longing for the joys of earth. Come, we will ascend and seek for some suitable site for a hermitage.
Let us do so. (Standing in advance.) Let your highness come on.
My right eye throbs, though I have not object of desire. Yet the saying of the wise cannot prove false. What, then, can this portend?
It shows undoubtedly that some loved object is at hand.
JIMUTAVAHANA.
It must be as you say.
VIDUSHAKA (looking on all sides).
O friend, look! look! Here in good truth is all the appearance of an ascetic grove, resplendent with unusually thick and dense trees, its crowd of young animals reclining at ease unalarmed, and its smoke freely issuing laden with scent from the sacrificial ghee.
You conjecture rightly. This is an ascetic grove. The bark of the trees is stripped off for clothing, though not in too wide strips, as if out of pity for them. The pure water of the cascade has broken fragments of old waterpots just visible at the bottom; and here and there appear the broken girdles of munja grass cast off by the young Brahmans; whilst a verse of the Sama Veda is recited by a parrot, who has learned it from constantly hearing it. Come, then, we will enter and look about us.
[They enter.
JIMUTAVAHANA (looking about, with astonishment).
Oh, the tranquil charms of an ascetic grove! The basins at the foot of the young trees are kept full by the daughters of the hermits. Its fuel is cut fresh and fresh by the reciting pupils, whilst the detail of the doubtful passages of the Veda is constantly discussed by the Munis, who delight in the task. Even these trees, taught respect for a guest, seem to utter a sweet welcome with the murmuring of bees, and make, so to speak, an obeisance with their heads bowed down with fruit; sprinkling a rain of flowers, they present me, as it were, a propitiatory offering. Hence this ascetic grove is well suited for a dwelling place. I think we shall have peace while living here.
What is this, friend? The deer, with their necks a little bent, the mouthfuls of darbha grass falling half-chewed from their motionless mouths, their eyes tranquilly closed in complete content, seem to listen with one ear pricked up.
Friend, you have seen correctly; for these antelopes, their bodies bent sideways, stopping the noise of chewing the mouthfuls of darbha grass between their teeth, listen to the distinct melodious words of a song, possessing, through due regard to the laws of harmony, the treble and bass tones impartially developed from their respective organs, mingled with the notes of the strings of the resounding lute, as with the hum of the bees.
Who, then, my friend, sings here in the sacred grove?
Inasmuch as these notes sound clearly, struck by the tips of soft fingers, I conjecture that it is sung with Kakili for its key-note. (Pointing forwards with his finger.) In this temple some goddess plays the lute in propitiation of the a deity.
Come, friend, let us too see the temples of the god.
JIMUTAVAHANA.
You say well. The gods should be revered. (Going up quickly, stopping.) But perhaps we are not worthy to look. Let us then enter this tamala shrub, and wait for an opportunity.
O adored Gauri, resplendent as with white pollen from the filaments of full-blown lotuses, may my desire be accomplished by thy favour!
O friend, a capital song! and first-rate music! Distinctness is attained, even though she plays with her bare fingers; good time is kept, clearly defined in due divisions of slow, medium, and quick; the three pauses are rendered in proper order with the “gopuchchha” first; the three modes of playing are fully shown in the slow and quick accompaniments.
O princess, you have been playing for a long time. How is it that your fingers are not tired?
Girl, how should my fingers be weary, when playing before the goddess?
O princess, in my opinion there is little use in playing before this cruel one, who, up to this time, shows no favour to you; though you have been so long a time conciliating her with due observances, which come hard on a young girl.
VIDUSHAKA.
It is only a girl after all. Why should we not look ?
JIMUTAVAHANA.
What harm would there be in so doing? Women may be looked at without sin. Yet, perhaps, if she saw us, through fear, which is easily excited in one at her time of life, and of her character, she would not remain long here. So we will simply look through this network of Tamala branches.
VIDUSHAKA.
We will do so.
[Both of them peep through.
VIDUSHAKA (after looking, with astonishment).
O friend, see, see! how wonderful! Not only by her knowledge of the lute does she cause delight, but her beauty, corresponding to her skill, charms the eye. Who can she be? Is she a goddess or a woman of the Nagas? A princess of the Vidyadharas, or born of the family of Siddhas?
JIMUTAVAHANA (looking longingly).
Friend, who it is, I know not; but this I do know, if she be a goddess, the thousand eyes of Hari have all they can wish. If she be a woman of the Nagas, then, whilst her face is there, the lowest hell is not without its moon. If she be the Vidyadharas, then our race surpasses all others. If she be born of a family of Siddhas, then in the three worlds are the Siddhas glorious.
VIDUSHAKA
(after looking at the hero, joyfully, aside).
Good luck! Though after a long delay, he is at last fallen into the power of love, or rather—(looking at himself, and gesticulating eating)—not so; but into the power of me single-handed, the Brahman.
O princess, do I not say, “Where is the use of playing before this cruel one?"
[She throws down the lute.
Girl! offend not the revered Gauri. Has not a favour been done me by her this very day?
O princess, what can it be?
Girl, I know it well. To-day in a dream, as I was playing this very lute, I was thus addressed by the revered Gauri,--“ Child Malayavati, I am well pleased with your perfect knowledge of the lute, and with your excessive devotion towards me, which is hard for a young girl; therefore before long a sovereign of the Vidyadharas shall be your husband.”
If it is so, why do you call it a dream? Has not the goddess given you the very desire of your heart?
Friend, surely this is a good opportunity to show ourselves to the princess. Come, then, we will go up.
I will not yet enter.
(going up and forcibly grabbing the hero, who resists).
Welcome to your highness! Chaturika speaks the truth. Here is the husband promised by the goddess.
MALAYAVATI
(standing up bashfully, pointing to the hero).
Girl, who is this?
GIRL (after looking at the hero, aside)
From this form of his, which surpasses all others, I conjecture that he is the man given through the favour of the goddess.
[The heroine looks at the hero wistfully, and with modesty.
JIMUTAVAHANA.
This form of thine, oh tremulous-eyed one, whose full breasts are agitated by thy breathing, is sufficiently fatigued by devotions. Why then, oh timid one, it is further distressed at my presence?
MALAYAVATI (aside).
Through excessive alarm I cannot stand facing him.
[Looking at the hero sideways, and with a blush, she stands somewhat turned away.
GIRL.
Princess, what does all this mean?
MALAYAVATI.
I cannot remain in his neighbourhood, so come away. We will go elsewhere.
[She wishes to rise.
VIDUSHAKA.
Alas! she is scared. Shall I keep her for just a moment, as I do any learning that I may have read?
JIMUTAVAHANA.
Where would be the harm of it?
VIDUSHAKA.
O lady! why this behaviour of yours in such a grove as this, that a guest just arrived is not favoured by you with a single word?
GIRL (after looking at the heroine, to herself).
Her eye seems pleased. I will speak to her. (A1oud.) O princess, the Brahman speaks fittingly. Good behaviour towards guests is becoming in you. Why, then, do you stand as if distraught in your behaviour towards so distinguished a one; or rather, remain so if you will,--I will do what is seemly. (Addressing the hero.) Welcome to your highness! by occupying this seat, let your highness add beauty to the spot.
Friend, she says well. Let us sit down here and rest for a moment.
You are right.
[Both sit down.
O laughter-loving one, act not thus. Perhaps some Ascetic is looking, and he will set me down as a giddy one.
I am thus bidden by Kaushika, the head of the family: “My child, Sandilya, the young king of the Siddhas, Mitravasu, is gone to-day, at his father’s request, to seek Prince Jimutavahana, the future monarch of the Vidyadharas, who is somewhere here on the Malaya Mount, as a husband for his sister Malayavati, and perhaps the limit of the time for the mid-day oblation will pass by while Malayavati awaits his return. Go, therefore, to the temple of Gauri in the sacred grove.
Jimutavahana salutes your honour.
Do not rise; your highness should be respected by us, for “A guest is everyone’s master.” Remain, then, at your ease.
Sir, I bow to you.
My child, mayst thou marry a suitable husband! O princess, Kausika, the head of the family, sends word to thee, “The time of the mid-day oblation passes by, come therefore quickly.”
As the “Guru” orders. (To herself.) On the one side the orders of the “Guru,” on the other the pleasure of the sight of the dear one. Thus my heart swings me to and fro, perched on a see-saw of going and not going.
(With a sigh, looking longingly after the heroine).
By her whose departure is slow, by reason of the rounded beauty of her form, an impress is stamped upon my heart, even though she leaves me.
Well, you have seen all there was to be seen! The fire of my appetite rages, its fury doubled, so to speak, by the heat of the rays of the mid-day sun. Come, then, let us go forth, that I, the Brahman, having become some one’s guest, may support my life with bulbs, roots, and fruit, obtained form the Munis.
The adorable thousand-rayed one has reached the zenith; for see, the lord of elephants with pallid cheeks, their sandal juice instantaneously dried off by the excessive heat, as he fans his face with the breezes of his broad ears, his chest all wet with the drops falling from his trunk, endures a state of existence hard to be borne even by the fainting Bignonia.
ACT II
I am bidden by the Princess Malayavati, “Manoharika, my respected brother, Mitravasu, tarries long to-day; go, then, and inquire whether he has come or not.” (She walks about.) Who can this be coming hither in such haste. (Looking.) Why! it is Chaturika.
Holla, Chaturika! Why, avoiding me, do you go thus hastily?
O Manoharika, I am bidden by the Princess Malayavati, “Chaturika, my body cannot endure the fatigue of gathering flowers. My passion exceedingly torments me, as though produced by autumnal sunshine. Go, then, prepare the seat of the moonstone in the arbour of sandalcreepers, shadowed with the leaves of young plantain trees.” I have done as ordered, and am going to inform the princess.
Go, then, quickly and tell her, so that having gone thither her fever may be alleviated.
SECOND GIRL (laughing to herself).
Her fever is not of a nature to be thus relieved. In my opinion, her fever will be augmented on seeing the bower of sandal-creepers with its various delights. (Aloud.) Go on, then, you. I too will go and inform the princess that the moonstone seat is prepared.
MALAYAVATI (with a sigh, to herself).
O heart! after having made my mouth dumb through shyness towards him, thou art now gone to him of thine own accord. Alas! for thy selfishness! (Aloud.) O Chaturika! point out to me the temple of Gauri.
Though on the way to the bower of sandal-creepers, she says, “To the temple of Gauri!” (Aloud.) The princess is on the way to the bower of young sandal-trees.
It is well that you remind me. Come then, we will go thither.
Let the princess come.
Alas, for the absence of her mind! Why she is actually gone towards the temple of the goddess! (Aloud.) O lady! is not the sandal-creeper bower in this direction? Come this way, then. (The heroine does so with a meaningless smile.) Here we are at the sandal-creeper bower, therefore let your ladyship enter and sit down on the moonstone seat to recover yourself.
Lord of the flower-tipper arrows, against that man who surpasses you in beauty of form you do nothing at all; but against me, though blameless, you are not ashamed to strike, saying to yourself, “She is a weak woman.” (Looking at herself, and gesticulating as one in love. Aloud.) Girl, how is it that even this sandal-creeper bower, from which the sun’s rays are kept by the density of the shoots, does not alleviate the pain of my fever?
I know the cause of this fever, but the princess is unwilling to avow it.
I am seen through by her. Still I will ask. (Aloud). Girl, what is that which I will not avow? Come, tell me this cause of yours.
GIRL.
It is the man placed in your heart.
MALAYAVATI.
(with joy and agitation, after rising and advancing two or three steps).
Where—where is he?
O lady, what he?
Well, I will explain. This man who is established in your affections was promised to you by the goddess in a dream, and a moment after he was seen by you, resembling cupid without his flowery arrows. This man, then, is the cause of your anguish, so that even this bower of young sandal-trees, though cool in its very nature, does not relieve the pain of your fever.
I am found out by Chaturika. (Aloud.) Girl, well are you named Chaturika. Why should I longer conceal it from you? I will tell you all.
O lady! it is as good as told already. Where is the use of more talk? You have had enough agitation. Do not further excite yourself. As sure as my name is Chaturika, he too will not enjoy a moment of happiness until he again sees you. I have found out this too.
Whence should I obtain so great bliss?
Say not so. How can he be happy when even Vishnu has no happiness without Lakshmi on his bosom.
Can a friend say anything but what is kind? But it makes my passion distress me more, when I think how I did not honour the noble hero with a single word, so that he will say to himself, “That awkward girl is wanting in respectful behaviour.” (she weeps.)
O lady, do not give way! (To herself.) Yet how should she not weep, since the great passion of her heart distresses her more? What then shall I now do? I will place on her breast the juice of sandal-creeper spray. (Rising and plucking a sprig of sandal, and squeezing out the juice, she places it on her breast. Aloud.) O lady, do I not say, “Weep not?” Even this sandal juice notwithstanding its nature, does not relieve thy breast, since it is rendered warm by these tear drops falling unchecked.
Do not fan me. Even the wind of the plantain leaf is warm.
Do not impute the fault to it. It is you who make warm this wind of the plantain leaf, which is cool through its contact with the gathered sandal shoots, changing its nature with your sighs.
Is there any means of checking this fever?
There is indeed. If he would but now come.
O Cupid, why are these purposeless arrows flung against me, already so deeply wounded? Since I was looked on by her, regardless of the Muni’s presence, when, as she turned, though but for a moment, she caused, by the glance of her bright black eye, the trees of the hermitage to appear flecked, as though they had masses of the skins of the dappled antelope gleaming suspended from their boughs.
O friend, where now is all thy firmness gone?
Am I not firm beyond measure? What! have I not passed through the nights, though radiant from the moon? Do I not drink in the scent of the blue lotus? and endure the jasmine-scented evening winds? Hear I not the humming of the bees upon the lotus pond? That you should thus openly taunt me, saying, “He is wanting in firmness in difficulties.” (After considering.) Or rather, it was not so wrongly said, my friend, Atreya, for am I not really wanting in firmness, since I cannot bear even flowery arrows, shot by a bodiless archer, woman hearted that I am! How then can I say to you, “I am firm?”
Since he confesses his want of firmness, he reveals how excessively troubled his heart must be. How shall I divert it? (Aloud.) O friend, how is it that, neglecting your parents, you have again come hither already?
It is a suitable question. To whom should I tell it, if not to you? This very day I had a dream. I saw yon loved one—(pointing with a finger)—seated on a moonstone seat in this sandal-creeper bower, in tears, as is reproaching me in some love quarrel. I wish, therefore, to spend the remainder of the day in this sandal-creeper bower, made pleasant by the late presence of the loved one, as seen in my dream. Come, then, we will go.
O lady, there is a noise like footsteps.
Do not let any one, by seeing the state that I am in, suspect the secret of my heart. Rise then. We will conceal ourselves in this red ashoka tree, and just see who it is.
Here is the sandal-creeper bower. So come along. We will enter.
Even this sandal-creeper bower with its moonstone seat delights me not, abandoned as it is by the moon-faced one, like the face of night without its moonlight.
Lady, I give you joy. Is not this the very person on whom your heart is set?
O girl, now that I have seen him, through my extreme agitation I cannot remain here so near him. Suppose he should see us! Come, we will go elsewhere. (After going one step, longingly.) How my feet tremble!
O timid one! who can see you as you stand here? Do you forget the red ashoka tree? Let us sit down, and remain here.
Here, my friend, is that very moonstone seat.
O lady, I think their talk is about a dream. Let us listen attentively.
My friend, do I not say, “Here is that moonstone seat?”
It is well guessed. (Pointing to it with his hand.) This is that very moonstone seat on which I saw the loved one; her pale face reclined upon her left shoot-like hand, and her breast heaving with deep sobs. When I delayed to soothe her, her fit of anger passed away; and her slightly-quivering lip and burst of tears betrayed the real state of her feelings. We will sit therefore on this moonstone seat.
Who now can she be whom he thus talks about?
Just as we unobserved are looking at him, so I hope you too have not been seen by him.
It is possible. But then again, he is talking fondly about some one with whom he had a love quarrel.
GIRL.
Lady, do not have suspicion, but let us listen further.
This sort of talk pleases him, so I will continue it. (Aloud.) Friend, how then was this weeping gone addressed by you?
She was thus addressed: “This moonstone seat, moistened with the water of tears, seems as if oozing with dew from the rising of thy moonface.”
O Chaturika! what more than this need we hear? Come then, we will go.
Lady, say not so. It is you alone whom he saw in his dream. His glance, resting on another, would find no pleasure.
My heart is not convinced. So we will just wait until the end of this conversation.
I know what I will do. I will draw her on this stone seat, and amuse myself by looking at her picture. Go, then, and fetch me some pieces of red arsenic from the mountain side.
Whatever your highness orders. (Walking about, he picks up something, and returns it to him.) You asked for one colour; but I have brought you some pieces from which you may easily get the five colours. Let your highness draw.
Well done, my friend. (He takes it and draws upon the stone, with rapture.) See, my friend, even the sight of this first outline of the beloved face gladdens me, as a digit of the new moon,--that face which is a very feast to the eyes, beautiful as its full unimpaired disc.
Though she is not in sight, her very form is depicted. Well, it is marvelous.
O friend! the beloved is in my presence, brought before me by my wishes. If, as if I continually see her, I draw her, where is the marvel?
O Chaturika! I know well the end of this discourse. Come, then, we will go and look for Mitravasu.
Her impatience is regardless even of her very life. (Aloud.) O lady! has not Manoharika gone to him? Perhaps, then, your brother Mitravasu is on his way here.
I am thus bidden by my father, “My child Mitravasu, this Jimutavahana, by living so near us, has been well observed; therefore he is a suitable son-in-law. Let, then, our child Malayavati be given to him.” As for myself, through my dependence on her affection, I suffer a variable state of feeling; for, on one hand, this young man is the ornament of the race of Vidyadhara kings, is clever, approved by the good, unrivalled in beauty, endowed with valour, is wise and modest; but, on the other hand, he would readily give up his life, through pity, on behalf of any living creature. Thus, when yielding up my peerless sister to such a one, I feel both satisfaction and sorrow. I have heard that Jimutavahana is in the sandal-creeper bower, adjoining the grove of Gauri. This is that bower, so I will enter.
O friend! cover with this plantain leaf, that girl you have just drawn in the picture. Here, surely, is Mitravasu, the young prince of the Siddhas, just arrived. Perhaps he will see it.
Prince, Mitravasu bows to you.
Welcome to Mitravasu. Take a seat here.
O lady! your brother, Mitravasu, has arrived.
I am well pleased to hear it.
O Mitravasu! is Visvavasu, the king of the Siddhas, well?
He is well. By the command of my father I am come into your presence.
What says his Highness?
I will just hear what salutation has been sent by my father.
My father says, “I have a daughter, by name Malayavati, who is, so to speak, the very life of all this race of Siddha-rajas. She is presented by me to thee. Let her be accepted.”
O lady! why are you not angry now?
(with a blush and smiling, standing with face bent down).
Do not laugh, girl. Have you forgotten that his heart is set on another?
My friend, we are fallen into a difficulty.
Ah! I perceive. With the exception of her, your mind is not satisfied with any other. Let him, then, be dismissed with some civil speech or other.
Cruel one, who does not know what this means?
Who in the world would not desire so honourable an alliance as that with your Highness? But a mind set in one direction cannot be readily turned in another. So that I cannot accept her.
Revive, my lady.
Since he is altogether dependent on others, what is the use of questioning him? Go, then, to his parents and ask them.
It is well said. He will not disobey his parents. His father dwells here in the precinct of Gauri. So I will go there, and cause Malayavati to be accepted for him by his father.
Assuredly the prince knows best, who has refused us after we have opened our hearts.
How! Mitravasu still talks with him, though humbled by rejection!
What is the use of still supporting this body of mine, defiled by ill-fortune, filled with excessive woe! I will hand myself yonder to Ashoka tree with this Atimukta creeper, and so put an end to my life. So it shall be. (Aloud, with a meaningless smile.) Girl, just see whether Mitravasu has gone or not, so that I, too, may depart.
(having gone a few steps, and looking back: to herself).
I see that she has some intention different to her words; so I will not go, but, concealed here, will see what she intends to do.
(looking all round, and taking the noose, with tears).
O revered Gauri! since your promise has not been fulfilled in this world, you will contrive that I be not equally full of sorrow in another state of existence.
Help, your highness, help! Here is the princess trying to destroy herself by hanging.
Where? Where is she?
Here, in this Ashoka tree.
This is the very object of my passion.
Assuredly no such attempt should be made. O lovely one! remove from the creeper this hand, which vies with it in beauty. How could that hand, which I do not consider strong enough even to gather flowers, grasp a noose to hang yourself with?
Girl, who is this? (Looking at him angrily, she wishes to cast off his hand.) Loose me, let go my hand. Who are you to stop me? What! must you be sued even in death?
How should I release your guilty hand, which was caught in the very act of placing a noose on a neck fit only for a string of pearls?
What could have been the cause of this determination of hers to die?
Was it not this friend of yours?
How! I the cause of her death? I do not understand.
O lady! how do you mean?
It was that loved one, whoever she is, that was painted by your friend on the stone. My mistress took this determination in a fit of despair, saying to herself, “Through this devotion to that woman, I am not accepted, even when offered to him by Mitravasu.”
How, then! This is that Malayavati, daughter of Visvavasu! Yet, except from the ocean, how could there be the birth of a digit of the moon? Ah! How I have been taken in by her!
O lady! if this be so, my friend here is blameless. If you do not believe me, however, go yourself and look on the surface of the stone.
I will not release it, until you have seen the object of my passion, drawn on the stone.
O lady! look. Behold the individual his heart is set on.
O Chaturika! it is as if my very self were drawn there.
O lady! why do you say, “It is as if myself were drawn there”? So exact is the likeness, that I do not know whether it is a reflection of you cast on the stone, or a drawing.
Girl, I am put to shame by him, showing me drawn in a picture.
Your Gandharva marriage is now complete, so you may release her hand. Here comes one in great haste.
O lady! good luck to you. You are accepted by the parents of Jimutavahana.
He! he! The desires of my friend are fulfilled, or rather, I should say, of her highness Malayavati; or still better, not so much of either of these, as (gesticulating eating) of me, the Brahman.
I am bidden by the young king Mitravasu, “This is the marriage day of Malayavati; go therefore quickly, and fetch her.” Come, then, let us go.
O daughter of a slave, how can my friend remain here, when you have taken her away?
Desist, base one. Hasten, hasten. It is full time for your bath.
Lending to Mount Malaya a splendour like that of Meru, by reason of the showers of scented powder,--and all at once having the beauty of the mild sunshine of early dawn, through the red-lead dust,--the Siddha-world announces, by the songs of nymphs, rendered delightful by the sounding of their jingling anklets of red gems, that the time for your marriage bathing has arrived, which brings the completion of your wishes.
O friend! the time for bathing has come opportunely.
If so, why do we stop here? Come on. We will salute my father, and go to the bath.
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These are the only two gods for me—the one who is always drinking, and the one who brings lovers together—Baladeva and Kama-deva. (Reels about.) Assuredly the life of me, Sekharaka, is very prosperous, since in my bosom is a loved lady, in my mouth lotus-scented wine, and on my head a garland, like a perpetual minister to my wants. (Stumbles.) Halloa! Who is pushing against me now? (With joy.) Assuredly Navamalika makes game of me.
She is not yet come, sir.
The marriage of Malayavati took place in the first watch; How, then, is she not come yet, though it is morning? (Thinking of time, with joy.) I suppose that at the marriage feast all the Siddha and Vidyadhara people, with their friends and the acquaintances, are enjoying the delight of drinking in the flower-garden; so that there Navamalika will be looking out for me. So I will now go there. What is Sekharaka without Navamalika?
Come along, sir. Here is the flower-garden. Be pleased to enter.
The desires of my dear friend are fulfilled. I am told that he is on his way to the flower-garden. So I will now go there. (Walking and looking about.) Here is the flower-garden. I will enter. (After entering, gesticulating as if annoyed by bees.) Halloa! Why now do these odious bees attack me? (Smelling himself.) Ah! I see how it is. I have been respectfully decked with perfumes by the relations of Malayavati, as the bridegroom’s friend, and a garden of Santana flowers has been placed upon my head, and now that very respect has become a cause of annoyance. What shall I do? Having dressed myself as a woman with these pieces of red cloth, which I have brought from Malayavati, I will go on, using the upper garment as a veil. We will see what these villanous bees will do then.
Halloa! slave. (Pointing laughingly with his finger.) Here is surely Navamalika. She has seen me, and, in a rage at my long delay, puts on her veil and turns away. So I will appease her with caresses.
(perceiving the smell of wine, holds his nose and turns away his face).
How now? Having but just escaped the attack of bees of one sort, I am assailed by an odious bee of a different nature.
Why do you turn away you face in anger? (Prostrating himself, and placing the VIDUSHAKA’S foot on his head.) Be appeased, O Navamalika!
I am bidden by the queen—“O Navamalika, go to the flower-garden, and say to the keeper, Pallavika, ‘To-day, prepare the tamala-bower with especial care, for the bridegroom and Malayavati are going thither.’ ” I have given the message to Pallavika; and I will now seek my dear friend, Sekharaka, whose passion will be increased by my night’s absence. (Seeing him.) Here he is. (Angrily.) How now! He is courting some other woman! I will just stop and find out who she is.
He who, through excessive pride, bows not to Siva, Vishnu, or Brahma, that same Sekharaka falls at thy feet, O Navamalika.
Oh drunken wretch, there is no Navamalika here.
Sekharaka, overcome with wine, is soothing his reverence Atreya in mistake for me. I will put on a pretence of anger, and have a game with them.
Sir, let her go. It is not Navamalika. Here is Navamalika, just come, and looking on, with eyes lit up with anger.
GIRL (going up).
Well, Sekharaka, whom are you courting here?
O lady, it is only I, an ill-fated Brahman.
Halloa! You tawny monkey, would you too deceive Sekharaka? Come, slave, take hold of him, whilst I soothe Navamalika.
Whatever my master orders.
Be appeased, appeased, o Navamalika!
This seems a good opportunity to make off.
Where are you off to, you tawny monkey?
O lady, Navamalika, be appeased. Make him release me.
If you fall at my feet, with your head on the ground.
VIDUSHAKA (with anger and trembling).
Alas! How can I, who am a Brahman, and friend of the king of the Gandharvas, fall at the feet of the daughter of a slave?
GIRL (shaking her finger at him, and smiling).
I will compel you to bow presently.—Get up, Sekharaka, get up. I am satisfied. (She embraces him.) But here the dear friend of the bridegroom has been insulted by you, and I daresay your master, Mitravasu, will be angry on hearing of it. So you had better pay respect to him.
Whatsoever Navamalika orders. (After embracing the VIDUSHAKA.) O sir, you were joked with by me, thinking you were one of my relations. (Reeling about.) Am I really Sekharaka? Has any joke really been made? (Making his upper garment into a bundle, he offers it as a seat.) Let my relation take a seat here.
Thank goodness! he has passed the violent stage of his drunkenness.
O Navamalika, do you take a seat at his side, so that I may pay my respects to you both at once.
Slave, fill this to the brim with wine.
O Navamalika, taste it, and pass it to him.
Whatever you wish.
PARASITE
(presenting the cup to the VIDUSHAKA).
This cup, with its contents specially flavoured by contact with the lips of Navamalika, has never before been tasted, except by Sekharaka. Drink, therefore. What greater honour could I show you?
O Sekharaka, I am a Brahman.
If so, where is your ninefold thread?
It was dragged and broken by that slave.
Recite to us, then, some verses of the Vedas.
O lady, what have the smell of wine and verses of the Vedas in common? However, I have no wish to argue with you. The Brahman falls at your feet.
Your reverence must not do so. O Sekharaka, get away, get away; he is really a Brahman. (She falls at the feet of the VIDUSHAKA.) O sir, do not nurse you wrath. This was only a piece of friendly joking.
I too had better appease him. (Falling at his feet, aloud.) Let your reverence forgive me for having offended under the influence of wine. I will now go with Navamalika to the drinking-booth.
I forgive you. Be off, both of you. I too will go and see my dear patron.
The untimely death of a Brahman has been averted. But since I am defiled by the contact with this drunken youth, I will just bath in this tank. (He does so. Looking towards the tiring-room.) Here comes my dear friend, supporting Malayavati, like Krishna supporting Rukmini. I will go and attend upon them.
(looking, with rapture, at MALAYAVATI).
When looked upon, she casts down her eye; when addressed, she makes no reply; on the couch, she remains turned away; when excessively embraced, she trembles; when her friends leave the room, she too wishes to go out: through the very perversity of her behaviour my newly-married love is still to my liking. (Looking at MALAYAVATI.) O beloved Malayavati, a vow of silence was kept by me, though accustomed to answer in haughty tones; this body of mine was bathed in the rays of the sun and moon, and in the flames of forest fires; and I was rapt in total abstraction of mind for many days and nights. Surely the fruit of all that penance is, that I now behold this face of thine.
O Chaturika, he is not only pleasant to the eye, but he knows also how to speak in a flattering manner.
You might say so, is he was flattering. But where is the flattery in this?
O Chaturika, point out the path to the flower-garden.
This way, my lord.
(walking about, addressing the heroine).
Let your ladyship come just as you are. The weight of your breasts themselves tends to weary you; why, then place a pearl ornament on your waist? The weight of your hips is wearisome,--much more this girdle! There is hardly sufficient power in your feet to carry your limbs, far less your anklets! Your limbs being so lovely, shy should you wear ornaments that only tend to weary you?
Here is the flower-garden. Be pleased to enter.
JIMUTAVAHANA (looking round).
Well, truly the beauty of the flower-garden is great! Here the droppings from the sandal-trees cool the creeper-bower with its tesselated pavement. The peacock dances yet more wildly to the shrill sound of the shower-baths. The cascade, brown with the pollen of flowers, shaken from the trees with the impetuous foam, falls with a rush from the machine, and fills the basins at the foot of the trees. Again, these bees, making the creeper-bower resound with their attempts at song, as they drink in abundant honey, in company with their wives, covered with a perfume dust by the pollen of flowers, seem to enjoy on every side a drinking festival.
Victory to your highness! Welcome to your ladyship!
O friend! You have been very long in coming.
I am come as soon as I could. But I delayed so long walking about, through curiosity to see the drinking of the Vidyadharas and Siddhas, intermingled at the marriage feast. Do you, too, just take a look at them.
We will do as you say. (Looking on all sides.) Friend, see, see! Their limbs anointed with yellow sandal, and wearing wreaths of Santana flowers, with their bright garments variegated by the mixture of rays from their jewelled ornaments, these Vidyadharas and Siddhas, intermingled beneath the shade of the sandal-trees, drink the nectar, just tasted and left by their loved ones. Come, we will go to the tamala avenue.
Here is the tamala avenue. Her ladyship appears fatigued with walking to it. Let us therefore sit down on this crystal seat, and rest.
Friend, it is well suggested. The face of my dear one, after having worsted the moon by the pale beauty of its cheeks, now surely wishes to surpass the lotus when reddened by the sun’s rays. (Taking the heroine by the hand.) Dear one, let us sit down.
MALAYAVATI.
Whatever my husband bids me.
(raising the heroine’s face, and looking at it).
Dear one, to no purpose hast thou been wearied by us, through our anxiety to see the flower garden, since this face of thine, resplendent with its creepers of eyebrows and shoot-like pink lips, is a very garden of paradise. Compared with this, every garden is but a jungle.
You have heard how he describes the princess. I will now paint you.
O lady! I am alive again now. Pray then, do me the favour in your best style, that yon fellow may never again call me a tawny monkey.
GIRL.
Sir, you seemed lovely to me at the marriage watch, with your eyes shut through drowsiness. Therefore stand like that for me to paint you.
Whilst he stands with his eyes shut, I will blacken his face with the juice of a tamala shoot, which will do as well as indigo.
Friend, you are in luck, being painted, with us for spectators.
O lovely-eyed one! the springing of the blossom of a smile is seen on your shoot-like lower lip, but the fruit is seem elsewhere, namely, in the eyes of me as I gaze.
VIDUSHAKA.
Madam, what have you done?
Why, are you not painted?
(after rubbing his hand over his face and looking at it, raising his staff).
O daughter of a slave! the royal family are present. What shall I do to you?—Alas! notwithstanding your royal presence, I am blackened by this daughter of a slave. How can I remain here? I will be off.
[Exit.
His reverence Atreya is vexed with me. I will go conciliate him.
O Chaturika! whither do you go, leaving me all alone?
May you be long in such solitude!
O lovely one! if this face of thine, with its pink flush as it is lighted up by the sun’s rays, and with its soft down revealed by the spreading gleam of its teeth, is really a lotus, why is not a bee seen drinking the honey from it?
(entering with a hurried toss of the curtain, and coming up).
Here is the noble Mitravasu, desirous to see the prince on some business.
Dear one, do you go to the house. I too will soon come, after I have seen Mitravasu.
Whilst that enemy is still unslain, how can I without a sense of shame say to Jimutavahana, “Your kingdom is seized by an enemy?” Still, it is not right to go without informing him. So I will tell him and then go. O prince! Mitravasu salutes you.
Pray, be seated.
O Mitravasu! you seem vexed.
MITRAVASU.
Who would be put out by one so despicable as Matanga?
What has Matanga been doing?
Assuredly to his own destruction, he has attacked your kingdom.
JIMUTAVAHANA (with joy, to himself).
Oh! would that it were true!
Therefore let the prince deign to give orders for his destruction. What need of talking long about it? As soon as, at thy command, the Siddhas are gone hence to battle, making the day dark by clouding the sun, as if it were the rainy season, with their heaven traversing chariots crowding on every side,--your monarchy, whose zemindars are temporarily bowing through fear of this haughty enemy, will at once be regained. What need though of great multitudes? By me, single-handed, shining with an aureole of rays from the quickly drawn sword, hold the coward Matanga already slain on the battle-field, like a mighty elephant by a lion which has sprung on him from afar.
JIMUTAVAHANA (to himself, covering his ears).
Ah! how cruelly he speaks! However, let it pass. (Aloud.) O Mitravasu! what is all this? Even something more than this might be possible for you, with such strong arms. But how should I, a man who through pity, though unasked, would give up his own body for the sake of another, permit the cruelty of destroying life for the sake of the kingdom? For my part, I can conceive no enemy except the Kleshas. If, then, you would please me, pity that poor wretch, who, for the sake of kingly power, has become a slave to the Kleshas.
One, forsooth, who has done so much good to us, and in such misfortune, is well worthy of pity!
His wrath is not to be averted. His mind, swayed by passion, cannot be turned aside. Well, let it be. (Aloud.) Rise we will go indoors. There I will advise you. The day is now ended.—for yonder sun, the sole object worthy of adulation, whose favour is solely for the good of others, is looked on by the Siddhas, with their voices loud in continual praise, as he goes to rest, having vivified the universe with his rays, whose sole business is to fill the eight quarters with light, and to keep off from the lotus buds the binding seal of sleep.
From: Nagananda. Translated into English prose by Palmer Boyd. London: Trubner & Co. 1872, 1-56.