C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
From ‘Çakuntalā; or the Lost Ring’
By Kālidāsa (c. 4th Century)
C
King—Charioteer, this fleet antelope has drawn us far from my attendants. See! there he runs:
Charioteer—Sire, the ground here is full of hollows; I have therefore drawn in the reins and checked the speed of the chariot. Hence the deer has somewhat gained upon us. Now that we are passing over level ground, we shall have no difficulty in overtaking him.
King—Loosen the reins, then.
Charioteer—The King is obeyed.[Drives the chariot at full speed.]Great Prince, see! see!
King[joyously]—In good sooth, the horses seem as if they would outstrip the steeds of Indra and the Sun.
A voice behind the scenes—Hold, O King! this deer belongs to our hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!
Charioteer[listening and looking]—Great King, some hermits have stationed themselves so as to screen the antelope at the very moment of its coming within range of your arrow.
King[hastily]—Then stop the horses.
Charioteer[stops the chariot]—I obey.
King[replaces the arrow in its quiver]—’Tis done.
Hermit—
Both the other Hermits[raising their hands]—May Heaven indeed grant thee a son, a sovereign of the earth from sea to sea!
King[bowing]—I accept with gratitude a Brahman’s benediction.
Anasūyā—Dear Çakuntalā, 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.
Çakuntalā—Dear Anasūyā, 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.[Continues watering the shrubs.]
King—Can this be the daughter of Kanwa? The saintly man, though descended from the great Kāçyapa, must be very deficient in judgment to habituate such a maiden to the life of a recluse.
Çakuntalā—Good Anasūyā, Priyamvadā has drawn this bark dress too tightly about my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little.
Anasūyā—I will.[Loosens it.]
Priyamvadā[smiling]—Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather your own blooming youthfulness, which imparts fullness to your bosom.
King—A most just observation!
Çakuntalā[looking before her]—Yon Kēsara-tree 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.]
Priyamvadā—Dear Çakuntalā, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment.
Çakuntalā—Why so?
Priyamvadā—The Kēsara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its stem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper.
Çakuntalā—Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvadā [speaker of flattering things].
King—What Priyamvadā says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true. Verily,—
Anasūyā—See, dear Çakuntalā, 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?
Çakuntalā—Rather will I forget myself.[Approaching the plant 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.]
Priyamvadā[smiling]—Do you know, my Anasūyā, why Çakuntalā gazes so intently at the jasmine?
Anasūyā—No, indeed; I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me.
Priyamvadā—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.
Çakuntalā—Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your own mind.[Continues watering the flowers.]
King—Would that my union with her were permissible! and yet I hardly dare hope that the maiden is sprung from a caste different from that of the head of the hermitage. But away with doubt:
Çakuntalā[in a flurry]—Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of the water, has left the young jasmine, and is trying to settle on my face.[Attempts to drive it away.]
King[gazing at her ardently]—Beautiful! there is something charming even in her repulse.
Çakuntalā—This impertinent bee will not rest quiet. I must move elsewhere.[Moving a few steps off, and casting a glance around.]How now! he is following me here. Help! my dear friends, help! deliver me from the attacks of this troublesome insect.
Priyamvadā and Anasūyā—How can we deliver you? Call Dushyanta to your aid. The sacred groves are under the King’s special protection.
King—An excellent opportunity for me to show myself. Fear not—[Checks himself when the words are half uttered.Aside.]But stay, if I introduce myself in this manner, they will know me to be the King. Be it so: I will accost them, nevertheless.
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.[Walking and looking about.]Oh! the dawn has already broken.
Anasūyā[entering abruptly]—Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Çakuntalā very improperly.
Pupil—Well, I must let my reverend preceptor know that it is time to offer the burnt oblation.[Exit.]
Anasūyā—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 Durvāsas 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 Çakuntalā’s marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of being soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt that Çakuntalā had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is to be done?
Priyamvadā[entering joyfully]—Quick, quick! Anasūyā! come and assist in the joyful preparations for Çakuntalā’s departure to her husband’s palace.
Anasūyā—My dear girl, what can you mean?
Priyamvadā—Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to Çakuntalā, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably.
Anasūyā—Well, well; go on.
Priyamvadā—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.”…
Chamberlain—Well, well: a monarch’s business is to sustain the world, and he must not expect much repose; because—
King[respectfully]—A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?
Chamberlain—Even so, my liege.
King—Tell my domestic priest Somarāta to receive the hermits with due honor, according to the prescribed form.
[The hermits introduce Çakuntalā, accompanied by Gautamī; and deliver the message from her father sanctioning her marriage with the King, and requesting her honorable reception into the palace.]
Çakuntalā[aside]—Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in question by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions of wedded happiness?
Çārngarava—Beware!
Çāradwata—Çārngarava, speak to him no more. Çakuntalā, our part is performed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in the manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing evidence of thy marriage.
Çakuntalā—Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One thing is clear,—I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood.[Aloud.]My revered husband—[Stops short.]But no—I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble descendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.
King[stopping his ears]—I will hear no more. Be such a crime far from my thoughts!
Çakuntalā—If then thou really believest me to be the wife of another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.
King—An excellent idea!
Çakuntalā[feeling for the ring]—Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no ring on my finger![Looks with anguish at Gautamī.]
Gautamī—The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of offering homage to the holy water of Çachī’s sacred pool, near Çakrāvatāra.
King[smiling]—People may well talk of the readiness of woman’s invention! Here is an instance of it.
Çakuntalā—Say rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention another circumstance, which may yet convince thee.
King—By all means let me hear it at once.
Çakuntalā—One day, while we were seated in a jasmine bower, thou didst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a recent shower in the cup of a lotos blossom—
King—I am listening; proceed.
Çakuntalā—At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with soft long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature, saying fondly, “Drink first, gentle fawn.” But she could not be induced to drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards, when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence. Then, with a smile, thou didst say, “Every creature confides naturally in its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have learnt to trust each other.”
Child—Open your mouth, my young lion; I want to count your teeth.
First Attendant—You naughty child, why do you tease the animals? Know you not that we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our own children? In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, and are beginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana [All-taming], given you by the hermits.
King—Strange! my heart inclines towards the boy with almost as much affection as if he were my own child. What can be the reason? I suppose my own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons of others.
Second Attendant—This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not release her whelp.
Child[laughing]—Oh! indeed! let her come. Much I fear her, to be sure![Pouts his under lip in defiance.]
King—
First Attendant—Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will give you something else to play with.
Child—Where is it? Give it me first.[Stretches out his hand.]
King[looking at his hand]—How’s this? His hand exhibits one of those mystic marks which are the sure prognostic of universal empire. See!
Second Attendant—We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear Suvratā. Be kind enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a plaything belonging to Mārkāndeya, one of the hermit’s children. It is a peacock made of china-ware, painted in many colors. Bring it here for the child.
First Attendant—Very well.[Exit.]
Child—No, no: I shall go on playing with the young lion.[Looks at the female attendant and laughs.]
King—I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child.
Attendant—I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention.[Looking off the stage.]I wonder whether any of the hermits are about here.[Seeing the King.]Kind sir, could you come hither a moment and help me to release the young lion from the clutch of this child, who is teasing him in boyish play?
King[approaching and smiling]—Listen to me, thou child of a mighty saint:
Attendant—Gentle sir, I thank you; but he is not the saint’s son.
King—His behavior and whole bearing would have led me to doubt it, had not the place of his abode encouraged the idea.
Attendant[looking at them both]—Wonderful! Prodigious!
King—What excites your surprise, my good woman?
Attendant—I am astonished at the striking resemblance between the child and yourself; and what is still more extraordinary, he seems to have taken to you kindly and submissively, though you are a stranger to him.
King[fondling the child]—If he be not the son of the great sage, of what family does he come, may I ask?
Attendant—Of the race of Puru.
King[aside]—What! are we then descended from the same ancestry? This no doubt accounts for the resemblance she traces between the child and me. Certainly it has always been an established usage among the princes of Puru’s race—
Attendant—Your remark is just; but your wonder will cease when I tell you that his mother is the offspring of a celestial nymph, and gave him birth in the hallowed grove of Kāçyapa.
King[aside]—Strange that my hopes should be again excited![Aloud.]But what, let me ask, was the name of the prince whom she deigned to honor with her hand?
Attendant—How could I think of polluting my lips by the mention of a wretch who had the cruelty to desert his lawful wife?
King[aside]—Ha! the description suits me exactly. Would I could bring myself to inquire the name of the child’s mother![Reflecting.]But it is against propriety to make too minute inquiries about the wife of another man.
First Attendant[entering with the china peacock in her hand]—Sarva-damana, Sarva-damana, see, see, what a beautiful çakunta [bird].
Child[looking round]—My mother! Where? Let me go to her.
Both Attendants—He mistook the word “çakunta” for “Çakuntalā.” The boy dotes upon his mother, and she is ever uppermost in his thoughts.
Second Attendant—Nay, my dear child: I said, look at the beauty of this çakunta.
King[aside]—What! is his mother’s name Çakuntalā? But the name is not uncommon among women. Alas! I fear that the mere similarity of a name, like the deceitful vapor of the desert, has once more raised my hopes only to dash them to the ground.
Child—Dear nurse, what a beautiful peacock![Takes the toy.]
First Attendant[looking at the child in great distress]—Alas! alas! I do not see the amulet on his wrist.
King—Don’t distress yourself. Here it is. It fell off while he was struggling with the young lion.[Stoops to pick it up.]
Both Attendants—Hold! hold! Touch it not, for your life. How marvelous! He has actually taken it up without the slightest hesitation.[Both raise their hands to their breasts and look at each other in astonishment.]
King—Why did you try to prevent my touching it?
First Attendant—Listen, great monarch. This amulet, known as “The Invincible,” was given to the boy by the divine son of Marīchi soon after his birth, when the natal ceremony was performed. Its peculiar virtue is, that when it falls on the ground, no one excepting the father or mother of the child can touch it unhurt.
King—And suppose another person touches it?
First Attendant—Then it instantly becomes a serpent, and bites him.
King—Have you ever witnessed the transformation with your own eyes?
Both Attendants—Over and over again.
King[with rapture, aside]—Joy! joy! Are then my dearest hopes to be fulfilled?[Embraces the child.]
Second Attendant—Come, my dear Suvratā, we must inform Çakuntalā immediately of this wonderful event, though we have to interrupt her in the performance of her religious vows.[Exeunt.]
Child[to the King]—Do not hold me. I want to go to my mother.
King—We will go to her together, and give her joy, my son.
Child—Dushyanta is my father, not you.
King[smiling]—His contradiction convinces me only the more.
King[gazing at Çakuntalā]—Alas! can this indeed be my Çakuntalā?
Çakuntalā[gazing at the King, who is pale with remorse]—Surely this is not like my husband; yet who can it be that dares pollute by the pressure of his hand my child, whose amulet should protect him from a stranger’s touch?
Child[going to his mother]—Mother, who is this man that has been kissing me and calling me his son?
King—My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but am now once more thy fond and affectionate lover. Refuse not to acknowledge me as thy husband.
Çakuntalā[aside]—Be of good cheer, my heart. The anger of Destiny is at last appeased. Heaven regards thee with compassion. But is he in very truth my husband?
King—
Çakuntalā—May my husband be victorious—
Child—Mother, who is this man?
Çakuntalā—My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny.
King[falling at Çakuntalā’s feet]—
Çakuntalā—Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own evil deeds, committed in a former state of being, brought down this judgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever of a compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly?[The King rises.]But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine unfortunate wife return to thy mind?
King—As soon as my heart’s anguish is removed, and its wounds are healed, I will tell thee all.
King—Yes; the moment I recovered it, my memory was restored.
Çakuntalā—The ring was to blame in allowing itself to be lost at the very time when I was anxious to convince my noble husband of the reality of my marriage.
King—Receive it back, as the beautiful twining plant receives again its blossom in token of its reunion with the spring.
Çakuntalā—Nay; I can never more place confidence in it. Let my husband retain it.