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Title: The Little Clay Cart - Mrcchakatika
Author: Ryder, Arthur William, 1877-1938 [Translator]
Language: English
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project.)
HARVARD ORIENTAL SERIES
WITH THE COÖPERATION OF VARIOUS SCHOLARS
BY
CHARLES ROCKWELL LANMAN
WALES PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY
Volume Nine
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
Published by Harvard University
1905
* * * * *
THE LITTLE CLAY CART
[MṚCCHAKAṬIKA]
A Hindu Drama
ATTRIBUTED TO KING SHŪDRAKA
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL SANSKRIT AND PRĀKRITS
INTO ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE
BY
ARTHUR WILLIAM RYDER, PH.D.
INSTRUCTOR IN SANSKRIT IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
Published by Harvard University
1905
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY HARVARD UNIVERSITY
* * * * *
TO MY FATHER
WILLIAM HENRY RYDER
* * * * *
CONTENTS
NOTE BY THE EDITOR OF THE SERIES
PREFACE BY THE TRANSLATOR
INTRODUCTION
THE AUTHOR AND THE PLAY
THE TRANSLATION
AN OUTLINE OF THE PLOT
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
TRANSLATION OF THE LITTLE CLAY CART
PROLOGUE
ACT I. THE GEMS ARE LEFT BEHIND
ACT II. THE SHAMPOOER WHO GAMBLED
ACT III. THE HOLE IN THE WALL
ACT IV. MADANIKĀ AND SHARVILAKA
ACT V. THE STORM
ACT VI. THE SWAPPING OF THE BULLOCK-CARTS
ACT VII. ARYAKA'S ESCAPE
ACT VIII. THE STRANGLING OF VASANTASENĀ
ACT IX. THE TRIAL
ACT X. THE END
EPILOGUE
DEPARTURES OF THE TRANSLATION FROM PARAB'S TEXT
* * * * *
NOTE BY THE EDITOR
With _the battle of the Sea of Japan another turning-point in the
brief course of recorded human history has been reached. Whatever the
outcome of the negotiations for peace, one thing is sure: for better,
for worse, and whether we will or no, the West must know the East, and
the East must know the West. With that knowledge will inevitably come
an interchange of potent influences, of influences that will affect
profoundly the religion and morals, the philosophy, the literature,
the art, in short, all the elements that make up the civilizations of
the two hemispheres. It is a part of the responsibility resting upon
the molders and leaders of the thought and life of our time, and upon
our Universities in particular, to see to it that these new forces,
mighty for good or for evil, are directed aright._
_The fruitfulness of those scions of Western civilization which the
Japanese have grafted upon their own stock is to-day the admiration
of the world. In our wonder, let us not forget that that stock is the
growth of centuries, and that it is rooted in a soil of racial character
informed by ethical ideals which we are wont to regard, with
arrogant self-complacency, as exclusively proper to Christianity, but
which were, in fact, inculcated twenty-four centuries ago through
precept and example by Gotama the Enlightened, or, as the Hindus
called him, Gotama the Buddha. It has often been said that India
has never influenced the development of humanity as a whole. Be that
as it may, it now seems no less probable than strange that she is yet
destined to do so, on the one hand, indirectly, through the influence
of Indian Buddhism upon Japan, and, on the other, directly, by the
diffusion in the West of a knowledge of her sacred writings, especially
those of Vedantism and Buddhism. To judge the East aright,
we must know not only what she is, but also how she has become what
she is; know, in short, some of the principal phases of her spiritual
history as they are reflected in her ancient literature, especially that
of India. To interpret to the West the thought of the East, to bring
her best and noblest achievements to bear upon our life_,--_that is to-day
the problem of Oriental philology._
_The Harvard Oriental Series embodies an attempt to present to Western
scholars, in trustworthy texts and translations, some of the greatest
works of the Hindu literature and philosophy and religion, together
with certain instruments, such as the Vedic Concordance or the History
of the Beast-fable, for their critical study or elucidation. Some
account of the volumes completed or in progress may be found at the
end of this book. Dr. Ryder, passing by for the present the more
momentous themes of religion and philosophy, has in this volume
attempted to show what the Indian genius, in its strength and in its
weakness, could do in the field of literature pure and simple. The
timeliness of the Series as a whole is an eloquent tribute to the
discernment of my loved and unforgotten pupil and friend, Henry Clarke
Warren. In him were united not only the will and the ability to
establish such a publication as this, but also the learning and
insight which enabled him to forecast in a general way its
possibilities of usefulness. He knew that the East had many a lesson
to teach the West; but whether the lesson be repose of spirit or
hygiene of the soldier in the field, whether it be the divine
immanence or simplicity of life or the overcoming of evil with good,
he knew that the first lesson to be taught us was the teachable habit
of mind._
C. R. L.
June, 1905
PREFACE
The text chosen as the basis of this translation is that given in the
edition of Parab,[1] and I have chosen it for the following reasons.
Parab's edition is the most recent, and its editor is a most admirable
Sanskrit scholar, who, it seems to me, has in several places
understood the real meaning of the text better than his predecessors.
This edition contains the comment of Pṛthvīdhara; it is far freer from
misprints than many texts printed in India, and, in respect to
arrangement and typography, it is clear and convenient. Besides, it is
easily obtainable and very cheap. This last consideration may prove to
be of importance, if the present translation should be found helpful
in the class-room. For the sake of cataloguers, I note that the proper
transliteration of the Sanskrit names of this title according to the
rules laid down by the American Library Association in its Journal for
1885, is as follows: Mṛcchakaṭika; Çūdraka; Pṛthvīdhara; Kāçīnātha
Pāṇḍuran̄ga Paraba; Nirṇaya-Sāgara.
The verse-numeration of each act follows the edition of Parab;
fortunately, it is almost identical with the numeration in the editions
of Godabole and Jīvānanda. For the convenience of those
who may desire to consult this book in connection with Stenzler's
edition, I have added references at the top of the page to that edition
as well as to the edition of Parab. In these references, the
letter P. stands for Parab, the letter S. for Stenzler.
There are a few passages in which I have deviated from Parab's
text. A list of such passages is given on page 177. From this list
I have omitted a few minor matters, such as slight misprints and
what seem to me to be errors in the _chāyā_; these matters, and the
passages of unusual interest or difficulty, I shall treat in a series
of notes on the play, which I hope soon to publish in the Journal
of the American Oriental Society. It is hardly necessary to give
reasons for the omission of the passage inserted by Nīlakaṇṭha
in the tenth act (Parab. 288.3-292.9). This passage is explicitly
declared by tradition to be an interpolation by another hand, and
it is clearly shown to be such by internal evidence. It will be noticed
that the omission of this passage causes a break in the verse-numeration
of the tenth act, where the verse-number 54 is followed
by the number 58.
Of the books which have been useful to me in the present work,
I desire to mention especially the editions of Stenzler, Godabole,
Jīvānanda Vidyāsāgara, and Parab; the commentaries of Pṛthvīdhara,
Lallādīkṣita, and Jīvānanda; further, the translations of
Wilson, Regnaud, and Böhtlingk.
A number of friends were kind enough to read my manuscript,
and each contributed something. I wish to mention especially my
friend and pupil, Mr. Walter E. Clark, of Harvard University,
whose careful reading of both text and translation was fruitful of
many good suggestions.
But by far my greatest personal indebtedness is to Professor
Lanman, whose generous interest in my work has never flagged
from the day when I began the study of Sanskrit under his guidance.
He has criticized this translation with the utmost rigor; indeed,
the pages are few which have not witnessed some improvement
from his hand. It is to him also that I owe the accuracy
and beauty which characterize the printed book: nothing has been
hard enough to weary him, nothing small enough to escape him.
And more than all else, I am grateful to him for the opportunity
of publishing in the Harvard Oriental Series; for this series is that
enterprise which, since the death of Professor Whitney, most
honorably upholds in this country the standards of accurate scholarship
set by the greatest of American Sanskritists.
ARTHUR W. RYDER
_Harvard University_
_May 23, 1905_
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The Mṛichchhakaṭika of Śūdraka with the commentary of
Pṛthvīdhara. Edited by Kāshināth Pāṇḍurang Parab. Bombay: Nirṇaya-Sāgar
Press. 1900. Price 1 Rupee. It may be had of O. Harrassowitz in Leipzig
for 2-1/2 Marks.]
INTRODUCTION
I. THE AUTHOR AND THE PLAY
Concerning the life, the date, and the very identity[2] of
King Shūdraka, the reputed author of The Little Clay Cart,
we are curiously ignorant. No other work is ascribed to him, and
we have no direct information about him, beyond the somewhat
fanciful statements of the Prologue to this play. There are, to be
sure, many tales which cluster about the name of King Shūdraka,
but none of them represents him as an author. Yet our very lack of
information may prove, to some extent at least, a disguised blessing.
For our ignorance of external fact compels a closer study of
the text, if we would find out what manner of man it was who
wrote the play. And the case of King Shūdraka is by no means
unique in India; in regard to every great Sanskrit writer,--so bare
is Sanskrit literature of biography,--we are forced to concentrate
attention on the man as he reveals himself in his works. First, however,
it may be worth while to compare Shūdraka with two other
great dramatists of India, and thus to discover, if we may, in what
ways he excels them or is excelled by them.
Kālidāsa, Shūdraka, Bhavabhūti--assuredly, these are the greatest
names in the history of the Indian drama. So different are these
men, and so great, that it is not possible to assert for any one of
them such supremacy as Shakspere holds in the English drama.
It is true that Kālidāsa's dramatic masterpiece, the Shakuntalā,
is the most widely known of the Indian plays. It is true that the
tender and elegant Kālidāsa has been called, with a not wholly fortunate
enthusiasm, the "Shakspere of India." But this rather exclusive
admiration of the Shakuntalā results from lack of information
about the other great Indian dramas. Indeed, it is partly due
to the accident that only the Shakuntalā became known in translation
at a time when romantic Europe was in full sympathy with
the literature of India.
Bhavabhūti, too, is far less widely known than Kālidāsa; and for this
the reason is deeper-seated. The austerity of Bhavabhūti's style, his
lack of humor, his insistent grandeur, are qualities which prevent his
being a truly popular poet. With reference to Kālidāsa, he holds a
position such as Aeschylus holds with reference to Euripides. He will
always seem to minds that sympathize with his grandeur[3] the greatest
of Indian poets; while by other equally discerning minds of another
order he will be admired, but not passionately loved.
Yet however great the difference between Kālidāsa, "the grace
of poetry,"[4] and Bhavabhūti, "the master of eloquence,"[5] these two
authors are far more intimately allied in spirit than is either of
them with the author of The Little Clay Cart. Kālidāsa and Bhavabhūti
are Hindus of the Hindus; the Shakuntalā and the Latter
Acts of Rāma could have been written nowhere save in India:
but Shūdraka, alone in the long line of Indian dramatists, has a
cosmopolitan character. Shakuntalā is a Hindu maid, Mādhava is
a Hindu hero; but Sansthānaka and Maitreya and Madanikā are
citizens of the world. In some of the more striking characteristics of
Sanskrit literature--in its fondness for system, its elaboration of
style, its love of epigram--Kālidāsa and Bhavabhūti are far truer
to their native land than is Shūdraka. In Shūdraka we find few
of those splendid phrases in which, as the Chinese[6] say, "it is only
the words which stop, the sense goes on,"--phrases like Kālidāsa's[7]
"there are doors of the inevitable everywhere," or Bhavabhūti's[8] "for
causeless love there is no remedy." As regards the predominance of
swift-moving action over the poetical expression of great truths,
The Little Clay Cart stands related to the Latter Acts of Rāma as
Macbeth does to Hamlet. Again, Shūdraka's style is simple and direct,
a rare quality in a Hindu; and although this style, in the passages
of higher emotion, is of an exquisite simplicity, yet Shūdraka
cannot infuse into mere language the charm which we find in Kālidāsa
or the majesty which we find in Bhavabhūti.
Yet Shūdraka's limitations in regard to stylistic power are not
without their compensation. For love of style slowly strangled originality
and enterprise in Indian poets, and ultimately proved the
death of Sanskrit literature. Now just at this point, where other
Hindu writers are weak, Shūdraka stands forth preëminent. Nowhere
else in the hundreds of Sanskrit dramas do we find such variety,
and such drawing of character, as in The Little Clay Cart;
and nowhere else, in the drama at least, is there such humor. Let
us consider, a little more in detail, these three characteristics of
our author; his variety, his skill in the drawing of character, his
humor.
To gain a rough idea of Shūdraka's variety, we have only to recall
the names of the acts of the play. Here The Shampooer who
Gambled and The Hole in the Wall are shortly followed by The
Storm; and The Swapping of the Bullock-carts is closely succeeded
by The Strangling of Vasantasenā. From farce to tragedy, from
satire to pathos, runs the story, with a breadth truly Shaksperian.
Here we have philosophy:
_The lack of money is the root of all evil._ (_i. 14_)
And pathos:
_My body wet by tear-drops falling, falling;
My limbs polluted by the clinging mud;
Flowers from the graveyard torn, my wreath appalling;
For ghastly sacrifice hoarse ravens calling,
And for the fragrant incense of my blood._ (_x. 3_)
And nature description:
_But mistress, do not scold the lightning. She is your friend,
This golden cord that trembles on the breast
Of great Airāvata; upon the crest
Of rocky hills this banner all ablaze;
This lamp tn Indra's palace; but most blest
As telling where your most belovèd stays._ (_v. 33_)
And genuine bitterness:
_Pride and tricks and lies and fraud
Are in your face;
False playground of the lustful god,
Such is your face;
The wench's stock in trade, in fine,
Epitome of joys divine,
I mean your face--
For sale! the price is courtesy.
I trust you'll find a man to buy
Your face._ (_v. 36_)
It is natural that Shūdraka should choose for the expression of
matters so diverse that type of drama which gives the greatest
scope to the author's creative power. This type is the so-called
"drama of invention,"[9] a category curiously subordinated in India
to the heroic drama, the plot of which is drawn from history or
mythology. Indeed, The Little Clay Cart is the only extant drama
which fulfils the spirit of the drama of invention, as defined by the
Sanskrit canons of dramaturgy. The plot of the "Mālatī and Mādhava,"
or of the "Mallikā and Māruta," is in no true sense the invention
of the author; and The Little Clay Cart is the only drama
of invention which is "full of rascals."[10]
But a spirit so powerful as that of King Shūdraka could not be
confined within the strait-jacket of the minute, and sometimes
puerile, rules of the technical works. In the very title of the drama,
he has disregarded the rule[11] that the name of a drama of invention
should be formed by compounding the names of heroine and hero.[12]
Again, the books prescribe[13] that the hero shall appear in every act;
yet Chārudatta does not appear in acts ii., iv., vi., and viii. And
further, various characters, Vasantasenā, Maitreya, the courtier,
and others, have vastly gained because they do not conform too
closely to the technical definitions.
The characters of The Little Clay Cart are living men and women. Even
when the type makes no strong appeal to Western minds, as in the case
of Chārudatta, the character lives, in a sense in which Dushyanta[14]
or even Rāma[15] can hardly be said to live. Shūdraka's men are better
individualized than his women; this fact alone differentiates him
sharply from other Indian dramatists. He draws on every class of
society, from the high-souled Brahman to the executioner and the
housemaid.
His greatest character is unquestionably Sansthānaka, this
combination of ignorant conceit, brutal lust, and cunning, this greater
than Cloten, who, after strangling an innocent woman, can say:[16]
"Oh, come! Let's go and play in the pond." Most attractive characters
are the five[17] conspirators, men whose home is "east of Suez
and the ten commandments." They live from hand to mouth, ready
at any moment to steal a gem-casket or to take part in a revolution,
and preserving through it all their character as gentlemen and their
irresistible conceit. And side by side with them moves the hero
Chārudatta, the Buddhist beau-ideal of manhood,
_A tree of life to them whose sorrows grow_,
_Beneath its fruit of virtue bending low_. (_i. 48_)
To him, life itself is not dear, but only honor.[18] He values wealth
only as it supplies him with the means of serving others. We may,
with some justice, compare him with Antonio in The Merchant
of Venice. There is some inconsistency, from our point of view,
in making such a character the hero of a love-drama; and indeed,
it is Vasantasenā who does most of the love-making.[19]
Vasantasenā is a character with neither the girlish charm of
Shakuntalā[20] nor the mature womanly dignity of Sītā.[21] She is
more admirable than lovable. Witty and wise she is, and in her
love as true as steel; this too, in a social position which makes such
constancy difficult. Yet she cannot be called a great character; she
does not seem so true to life as her clever maid, Madanikā. In
making the heroine of his play a courtezan, Shūdraka follows a
suggestion of the technical works on the drama; he does not
thereby cast any imputation of ill on Vasantasenā's character. The
courtezan class in India corresponded roughly to the hetæræ of
ancient Greece or the geishas of Japan; it was possible to be a
courtezan and retain one's self-respect. Yet the inherited[22] way of
life proves distasteful to Vasantasenā; her one desire is to escape
its limitations and its dangers by becoming a legal wife.[23]
In Maitreya, the Vidūshaka, we find an instance of our author's
masterly skill in giving life to the dry bones of a rhetorical definition.
The Vidūshaka is a stock character who has something in
common with a jester; and in Maitreya the essential traits of the
character--eagerness for good food and other creature comforts,
and blundering devotion to his friend--are retained, to be sure,
but clarified and elevated by his quaint humor and his readiness
to follow Chārudatta even in death. The grosser traits of the typical
Vidūshaka are lacking. Maitreya is neither a glutton nor a fool,
but a simple-minded, whole-hearted friend.
The courtier is another character suggested by the technical
works, and transformed by the genius of Shūdraka. He is a man
not only of education and social refinement, but also of real nobility
of nature. But he is in a false position from the first, this
true gentleman at the wretched court of King Pālaka; at last he
finds the courage to break away, and risks life, and all that makes
life attractive, by backing Aryaka. Of all the conspirators, it is he
who runs the greatest risk. To his protection of Vasantasenā is
added a touch of infinite pathos when we remember that he was
himself in love with her.[24] Only when Vasantasenā leaves him[25] without
a thought, to enter Chārudatta's house, does he realize how
much he loves her; then, indeed, he breaks forth in words of the
most passionate jealousy. We need not linger over the other characters,
except to observe that each has his marked individuality,
and that each helps to make vivid this picture of a society that
seems at first so remote.
Shūdraka's humor is the third of his vitally distinguishing qualities.
This humor has an American flavor, both in its puns and in its
situations. The plays on words can seldom be adequately reproduced in
translation, but the situations are independent of language. And
Shūdraka's humor runs the whole gamut, from grim to farcical, from
satirical to quaint. Its variety and keenness are such that King
Shūdraka need not fear a comparison with the greatest of Occidental
writers of comedies.
It remains to say a word about the construction of the play. Obviously,
it is too long. More than this, the main action halts through acts ii.
to v., and during these episodic acts we almost forget that the main
plot concerns the love of Vasantasenā and Chārudatta. Indeed, we have in
The Little Clay Cart the material for two plays. The larger part of act
i. forms with acts vi. to x. a consistent and ingenious plot; while the
remainder of act i. might be combined with acts iii. to v. to make a
pleasing comedy of lighter tone. The second act, clever as it is, has
little real connection either with the main plot or with the story of
the gems. The breadth of treatment which is observable in this play is
found in many other specimens of the Sanskrit drama, which has set
itself an ideal different from that of our own drama. The lack of
dramatic unity and consistency is often compensated, indeed, by lyrical
beauty and charms of style; but it suggests the question whether we
might not more justly speak of the Sanskrit plays as dramatic poems than
as dramas. In The Little Clay Cart, at any rate, we could ill afford to
spare a single scene, even though the very richness and variety of the
play remove it from the class of the world's greatest dramas.
II. THE TRANSLATION
The following translation is sufficiently different from previous
translations of Indian plays to require a word of explanation. The
difference consists chiefly in the manner in which I have endeavored to
preserve the form of the original. The Indian plays are written in
mingled prose and verse; and the verse portion forms so large a part of
the whole that the manner in which it is rendered is of much importance.
Now this verse is not analogous to the iambic trimeter of Sophocles or
the blank verse of Shakspere, but roughly corresponds to the Greek
choruses or the occasional rhymed songs of the Elizabethan stage. In
other words, the verse portion of a Sanskrit drama is not narrative; it
is sometimes descriptive, but more commonly lyrical: each stanza sums up
the emotional impression which the preceding action or dialogue has made
upon one of the actors. Such matter is in English cast into the form of
the rhymed stanza; and so, although rhymed verse is very rarely employed
in classical Sanskrit, it seems the most appropriate vehicle for the
translation of the stanzas of a Sanskrit drama. It is true that we
occasionally find stanzas which might fitly be rendered in English blank
verse, and, more frequently, stanzas which are so prosaic as not to
deserve a rendering in English verse at all.[26] But, as the present
translation may be regarded as in some sort an experiment, I have
preferred to hold rigidly to the distinction found in the original
between simple prose and types of stanza which seem to me to correspond
to English rhymed verse.
It is obvious that a translation into verse, and especially into
rhymed verse, cannot be as literal as a translation into prose; this
disadvantage I have used my best pains to minimize. I hope it
may be said that nothing of real moment has been omitted from
the verses; and where lack of metrical skill has compelled expansion,
I have striven to make the additions as insignificant as
possible.
There is another point, however, in which it is hardly feasible to
imitate the original; this is the difference in the dialects used by the
various characters. In The Little Clay Cart, as in other Indian dramas,
some of the characters speak Sanskrit, others Prākrit. Now Prākrit is
the generic name for a number of dialects derived from the Sanskrit and
closely akin to it. The inferior personages of an Indian play, and, with
rare exceptions, all the women, speak one or another of these Prākrits.
Of the thirty characters of this play, for example, only five
(Chārudatta, the courtier, Aryaka, Sharvilaka, and the judge) speak
Sanskrit;[27] the others speak various Prākrit dialects. Only in the
case of Sansthānaka have I made a rude attempt to suggest the dialect by
substituting sh for s as he does. And the grandiloquence of Sharvilaka's
Sanskrit in the satirical portion of the third act I have endeavored to
imitate.
Whenever the language of the original is at all technical, the
translator labors under peculiar difficulty. Thus the legal terms
found in the ninth act are inadequately rendered, and, to some extent
at least, inevitably so; for the legal forms, or lack of forms,
pictured there were never contemplated by the makers of the English
legal vocabulary. It may be added here that in rendering from a
literature so artificial as the Sanskrit, one must lose not only the
sensuous beauty of the verse, but also many plays on words.
In regard to the not infrequent repetitions found in the text, I
have used my best judgment. Such repetitions have been given in
full where it seemed to me that the force or unity of the passage
gained by such treatment, or where the original repeats in full, as
in the case of v. 7, which is identical with iii. 29. Elsewhere, I have
merely indicated the repetition after the manner of the original.
The reader will notice that there was little effort to attain realism
in the presentation of an Indian play. He need not be surprised
therefore to find (page 145) that Vīraka leaves the court-room,
mounts a horse, rides to the suburbs, makes an investigation
and returns--all within the limits of a stage-direction. The
simplicity of presentation also makes possible sudden shifts of
scene. In the first act, for example, there are six scenes, which take
place alternately in Chārudatta's house and in the street outside.
In those cases where a character enters "seated" or "asleep," I have
substituted the verb "appear" for the verb "enter"; yet I am not
sure that this concession to realism is wise.
The system of transliteration which I have adopted is intended to render
the pronunciation of proper names as simple as may be to the English
reader. The consonants are to be pronounced as in English,[28] the
vowels as in Italian. Diacritical marks have been avoided, with the
exception of the macron. This sign has been used consistently[29] to
mark long vowels except _e_ and _o_, which are always long.
Three rules suffice for the placing of the accent. A long penult is
accented: Maitréya, Chārudatta. If the penult is short, the antepenult
is accented provided it be long: Sansthā́naka. If both penult and
antepenult of a four-syllabled word are short, the pre-antepenultimate
receives the accent: Mádanikā, Sthā́varaka.
III. AN OUTLINE OF THE PLOT
ACT I., entitled _The Gems are left Behind_. Evening of the first
day.--After the prologue, Chārudatta, who is within his house, converses
with his friend Maitreya, and deplores his poverty. While they are
speaking, Vasantasenā appears in the street outside. She is pursued by
the courtier and Sansthānaka; the latter makes her degrading offers of
his love, which she indignantly rejects. Chārudatta sends Maitreya from
the house to offer sacrifice, and through the open door Vasantasenā
slips unobserved into the house. Maitreya returns after an altercation
with Sansthānaka, and recognizes Vasantasenā. Vasantasenā leaves a
casket of gems in the house for safe keeping and returns to her home.
ACT II., entitled _The Shampooer who Gambled_. Second day.--The
act opens in Vasantasenā's house. Vasantasenā confesses to her
maid Madanikā her love for Chārudatta. Then a shampooer appears
in the street, pursued by the gambling-master and a gambler, who
demand of him ten gold-pieces which he has lost in the gambling-house.
At this point Darduraka enters, and engages the gambling-master
and the gambler in an angry discussion, during which the
shampooer escapes into Vasantasenā's house. When Vasantasenā
learns that the shampooer had once served Chārudatta, she pays his
debt; the grateful shampooer resolves to turn monk. As he leaves
the house he is attacked by a runaway elephant, and saved by
Karnapūraka, a servant of Vasantasenā.
ACT III., entitled _The Hole in the Wall_. The night following the
second day.--Chārudatta and Maitreya return home after midnight
from a concert, and go to sleep. Maitreya has in his hand the
gem-casket which Vasantasenā has left behind. Sharvilaka enters.
He is in love with Madanikā, a maid of Vasantasenā's, and is
resolved to acquire by theft the means of buying her freedom. He
makes a hole in the wall of the house, enters, and steals the casket
of gems which Vasantasenā had left. Chārudatta wakes to find
casket and thief gone. His wife gives him her pearl necklace with
which to make restitution.
ACT IV., entitled _Madanikā and Sharvilaka_. Third day.--Sharvilaka
comes to Vasantasenā's house to buy Madanikā's freedom.
Vasantasenā overhears the facts concerning the theft of her gem-casket
from Chārudatta's house, but accepts the casket, and gives
Madanikā her freedom. As Sharvilaka leaves the house, he hears
that his friend Aryaka, who had been imprisoned by the king, has
escaped and is being pursued. Sharvilaka departs to help him.
Maitreya comes from Chārudatta with the pearl necklace, to repay
Vasantasenā for the gem-casket. She accepts the necklace also, as
giving her an excuse for a visit to Chārudatta.
ACT V., entitled _The Storm_. Evening of the third day.--Chārudatta
appears in the garden of his house. Here he receives a servant
of Vasantasenā, who announces that Vasantasenā is on her
way to visit him. Vasantasenā then appears in the street with the
courtier; the two describe alternately the violence and beauty of the
storm which has suddenly arisen. Vasantasenā dismisses the courtier,
enters the garden, and explains to Chārudatta how she has
again come into possession of the gem-casket. Meanwhile, the storm
has so increased in violence that she is compelled to spend the night
at Chārudatta's house.
ACT VI., entitled _The Swapping of the Bullock-carts_. Morning of
the fourth day.--Here she meets Chārudatta's little son, Rohasena.
The boy is peevish because he can now have only a little clay cart
to play with, instead of finer toys. Vasantasenā gives him her
gems to buy a toy cart of gold. Chārudatta's servant drives up to
take Vasantasenā in Chārudatta's bullock-cart to the park, where
she is to meet Chārudatta; but while Vasantasenā is making ready,
he drives away to get a cushion. Then Sansthānaka's servant drives
up with his master's cart, which Vasantasenā enters by mistake.
Soon after, Chārudatta's servant returns with his cart. Then the
escaped prisoner Aryaka appears and enters Chārudatta's cart.
Two policemen come on the scene; they are searching for Aryaka.
One of them looks into the cart and discovers Aryaka, but agrees
to protect him. This he does by deceiving and finally maltreating
his companion.
ACT VII., entitled _Aryaka's Escape_. Fourth day.--Chārudatta
is awaiting Vasantasenā in the park. His cart, in which Aryaka lies
hidden, appears. Chārudatta discovers the fugitive, removes his
fetters, lends him the cart, and leaves the park.
ACT VIII., entitled _The Strangling of Vasantasenā_. Fourth
day.--A Buddhist monk, the shampooer of the second act, enters
the park. He has difficulty in escaping from Sansthānaka, who
appears with the courtier. Sansthānaka's servant drives in with the
cart which Vasantasenā had entered by mistake. She is discovered
by Sansthānaka, who pursues her with insulting offers of love.
When she repulses him, Sansthānaka gets rid of all witnesses,
strangles her, and leaves her for dead. The Buddhist monk enters
again, revives Vasantasenā, and conducts her to a monastery.
ACT IX., entitled _The Trial_. Fifth day.--Sansthānaka accuses
Chārudatta of murdering Vasantasenā for her money. In the course
of the trial, it appears that Vasantasenā had spent the night of the
storm at Chārudatta's house; that she had left the house the next
morning to meet Chārudatta in the park; that there had been a
struggle in the park, which apparently ended in the murder of a
woman. Chārudatta's friend, Maitreya, enters with the gems which
Vasantasenā had left to buy Chārudatta's son a toy cart of gold.
These gems fall to the floor during a scuffle between Maitreya and
Sansthānaka. In view of Chārudatta's poverty, this seems to establish
the motive for the crime, and Chārudatta is condemned to
death.
ACT X., entitled _The End_. Sixth day.--Two headsmen are conducting
Chārudatta to the place of execution. Chārudatta takes
his last leave of his son and his friend Maitreya. But Sansthānaka's
servant escapes from confinement and betrays the truth; yet he is
not believed, owing to the cunning displayed by his master. The
headsmen are preparing to execute Chārudatta, when Vasantasenā
herself appears upon the scene, accompanied by the Buddhist
monk. Her appearance puts a summary end to the proceedings.
Then news is brought that Aryaka has killed and supplanted the
former king, that he wishes to reward Chārudatta, and that he has
by royal edict freed Vasantasenā from the necessity of living as a
courtezan. Sansthānaka is brought before Chārudatta for sentence,
but is pardoned by the man whom he had so grievously injured.
The play ends with the usual Epilogue.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: For an illuminating discussion of these matters, the reader
is referred to Sylvain Lévi's admirable work, Le Théâtre Indien, Paris,
1890, pages 196-211.]
[Footnote 3: In his Mālatīmādhava, i. 8, he says: "Whoever they may be
who now proclaim their contempt for me,--they know something, but this
work was not for them. Yet there will arise a man of nature like mine
own; for time is endless, and the world is wide." This seems prophetic
of John Milton.]
[Footnote 4: Prasannarāghava, i. 22.]
[Footnote 5: Mahāvīracarita, i. 4.]
[Footnote 6: History of Chinese Literature, by H. A. Giles, pages 145-146.]
[Footnote 7: Shakuntalā, i. 15.]
[Footnote 8: Latter Acts of Rāma, v. 17.]
[Footnote 9: _Prakaraṇa._]
[Footnote 10: Dhūrtasaṁkula: Daçarūpa, iii. 38.]
[Footnote 11: _Sāhityadarpaṇa_, 428.]
[Footnote 12: As in Mālatī-mādhava.]
[Footnote 13: Daçarūpa, iii. 33.]
[Footnote 14: In Kālidāsa's Shakuntalā.]
[Footnote 15: In Bhavabhūti's Latter Acts of Rāma.]
[Footnote 16: See page 128.]
[Footnote 17: Aryaka, Darduraka, Chandanaka, Sharvilaka, and the courtier.]
[Footnote 18: See x. 27.]
[Footnote 19: See v. 46 and the following stage-direction.]
[Footnote 20: In Kālidāsa's play of that name.]
[Footnote 21: In Bhavabhūti's Latter Acts of Rāma.]
[Footnote 22: See viii. 43.]
[Footnote 23: See pages 65-66 and page 174.]
[Footnote 24: See viii. 38 and compare the words, "Yet love bids me
prattle," on page 86.]
[Footnote 25: Page 87.]
[Footnote 26: Stanzas of the latter sort in The Little Clay Cart are
vii. 2 and viii. 5.]
[Footnote 27: This statement requires a slight limitation; compare, for
example, the footnote to page 82.]
[Footnote 28: But the combination _th_ should be pronounced as in
_ant-hill_, not as in _thin_ or _this_; similarly _dh_ as in
_mad-house_; _bh_ as in _abhor._]
[Footnote 29: Except in the names Āryaka and Āhīnta, where typographical
considerations have led to the omission of the macron over the initial
letter; and except also in head-lines.]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CHĀRUDATTA, _a Brahman merchant_
ROHASENA, _his son_
MAITREYA, _his friend_
VARDHAMĀNAKA, _a servant in his house_
SANSTHĀNAKA, _brother-in-law of King_ PĀLAKA
STHĀVARAKA, _his servant_
_Another Servant of_ SANSTHĀNAKA
_A Courtier_
ARYAKA, _a herdsman who becomes king_
SHARVILAKA, _a Brahman, in love with_ MADANIKĀ
_A Shampooer, who becomes a Buddhist monk_
MĀTHURA, _a gambling-master_
DARDURAKA, _a gambler_
_Another Gambler_
KARNAPŪRAKA }
KUMBHĪLAKA } _servants of_ VASANTASENĀ
VĪRAKA }
CHANDANAKA } _policemen_
GOHA }
AHĪNTA } _headsmen_
_Bastard pages, in_ VASANTASENĀ'S _house_
_A Judge_, _a Gild-warden_, _a Clerk_, _and a Beadle_
VASANTASENĀ, _a courtezan_
_Her Mother_
MADANIKĀ, _maid to_ VASANTASENĀ
_Another Maid to_ VASANTASENĀ
_The Wife of_ CHĀRUDATTA
RADANIKĀ, _a maid in_ CHĀRUDATTA'S _house_
SCENE
UJJAYINĪ (_called also_ AVANTI) _and its Environs_
THE LITTLE CLAY CART
PROLOGUE
_Benediction upon the audience_
His bended knees the knotted girdle holds,
Fashioned by doubling of a serpent's folds;
His sensive organs, so he checks his breath,
Are numbed, till consciousness seems sunk in death;
Within himself, with eye of truth, he sees
The All-soul, free from all activities.
May His, may Shiva's meditation be
Your strong defense; on the Great Self thinks he,
Knowing full well the world's vacuity. 1
And again:
May Shiva's neck shield you from every harm,
That seems a threatening thunder-cloud, whereon,
Bright as the lightning-flash, lies Gaurī's arm. 2
_Stage-director._ Enough of this tedious work, which fritters away
the interest of the audience! Let me then most reverently salute
the honorable gentlemen, and announce our intention to produce
a drama called "The Little Clay Cart." Its author was a man
Who vied with elephants in lordly grace;
Whose eyes were those of the chakora bird
That feeds on moonbeams; glorious his face
As the full moon; his person, all have heard,
Was altogether lovely. First in worth
Among the twice-born was this poet, known
As Shūdraka far over all the earth,
His virtue's depth unfathomed and alone. 3
[1.14. S.
And again:
The Sāmaveda, the Rigveda too,
The science mathematical, he knew;
The arts wherein fair courtezans excel,
And all the lore of elephants as well.
Through Shiva's grace, his eye was never dim;
He saw his son a king in place of him.
The difficult horse-sacrifice he tried
Successfully; entered the fiery tide,
One hundred years and ten days old, and died. 4
And yet again:
Eager for battle; sloth's determined foe;
Of scholars chief, who to the Veda cling;
Rich in the riches that ascetics know;
Glad, gainst the foeman's elephant to show
His valor;--such was Shūdraka, the king. 5
And in this work of his,
Within the town, Avanti named,
Dwells one called Chārudatta, famed
No less for youth than poverty;
A merchant's son and Brahman, he.
His virtues have the power to move
Vasantasenā's inmost love;
Fair as the springtime's radiancy,
And yet a courtezan is she. 6
So here king Shūdraka the tale imparts
Of love's pure festival in these two hearts,
Of prudent acts, a lawsuit's wrong and hate,
A rascal's nature, and the course of fate. 7
[_He walks about and looks around him._] Why, this music-room of
ours is empty. I wonder where the actors have gone. [_Reflecting._]
Ah, I understand.
P. 4.7]
Empty his house, to whom no child was born;
Thrice empty his, who lacks true friends and sure;
To fools, the world is empty and forlorn;
But all that is, is empty to the poor. 8
I have finished the concert. And I've been practising so long that
the pupils of my eyes are dancing, and I'm so hungry that my eyes
are crackling like a lotus-seed, dried up by the fiercest rays of the
summer sun. I'll just call my wife and ask whether there is anything
for breakfast or not.
Hello! here I am--but no! Both the particular occasion and the
general custom demand that I speak Prākrit. [_Speaking in Prākrit._]
Confound it! I've been practising so long and I'm so hungry that
my limbs are as weak as dried-up lotus-stalks. Suppose I go home
and see whether my good wife has got anything ready or not. [_He
walks about and looks around him._] Here I am at home. I'll just go
in. [_He enters and looks about._] Merciful heavens! Why in the world
is everything in our house turned upside down? A long stream of
rice-water is flowing down the street. The ground, spotted black
where the iron kettle has been rubbed clean, is as lovely as a girl
with the beauty-marks of black cosmetic on her face. It smells so
good that my hunger seems to blaze up and hurts me more than
ever. Has some hidden treasure come to light? or am I hungry
enough to think the whole world is made of rice? There surely isn't
any breakfast in our house, and I'm starved to death. But everything
seems topsyturvy here. One girl is preparing cosmetics, another
is weaving garlands of flowers. [_Reflecting._] What does it all
mean? Well, I'll call my good wife and learn the truth. [_He looks
toward the dressing-room._] Mistress, will you come here a moment?
[_Enter an actress._]
_Actress._ Here I am, sir.
_Director._ You are very welcome, mistress.
_Actress._ Command me, sir. What am I to do?
[3.8. S.
_Director._ Mistress, I've been practising so long and I'm so hungry
that my limbs are as weak as dried-up lotus-stalks. Is there anything
to eat in the house or not?
_Actress._ There's everything, sir.
_Director._ Well, what?
_Actress._ For instance--there's rice with sugar, melted butter, curdled
milk, rice; and, all together, it makes you a dish fit for
heaven. May the gods always be thus gracious to you!
_Director._ All that in our house? or are you joking?
_Actress._ [_Aside._] Yes, I will have my joke. [_Aloud._] It's in the
market-place, sir.
_Director._ [_Angrily._] You wretched woman, thus shall your own
hope be cut off! And death shall find you out! For my expectations,
like a scaffolding, have been raised so high, only to fall again.
_Actress._ Forgive me, sir, forgive me! It was only a joke.
_Director._ But what do these unusual preparations mean? One girl
is preparing cosmetics, another is weaving garlands, and the very
ground is adorned with sacrificial flowers of five different colors.
_Actress._ This is a fast day, sir.
_Director._ What fast?
_Actress._ The fast for a handsome husband.
_Director._ In this world, mistress, or the next?
_Actress._ In the next world, sir.
_Director._ [_Wrathfully._] Gentlemen! look at this. She is sacrificing
my food to get herself a husband in the next world.
_Actress._ Don't be angry, sir. I am fasting in the hope that you
may be my husband in my next birth, too.
_Director._ But who suggested this fast to you?
_Actress._ Your own dear friend Jūrnavriddha.
_Director._ [_Angrily._] Ah, Jūrnavriddha, son of a slave-wench!
When, oh, when shall I see King Pālaka angry with you? Then
you will be parted, as surely as the scented hair of some young
bride.
P. 8.10]
_Actress._ Don't be angry, sir. It is only that I may have you in the
next world that I celebrate this fast. [_She falls at his feet._]
_Director._ Stand up, mistress, and tell me who is to officiate at this
fast.
_Actress._ Some Brahman of our own sort whom we must invite.
_Director._ You may go then. And I will invite some Brahman of
our own sort.
_Actress._ Very well, sir. [_Exit._
_Director._ [_Walking about._] Good heavens! In this rich city of
Ujjayinī how am I to find a Brahman of our own sort? [_He looks
about him._] Ah, here comes Chārudatta's friend Maitreya. Good!
I'll ask him. Maitreya, you must be the first to break bread in
our house to-day.
_A voice behind the scenes._ You must invite some other Brahman.
I am busy.
_Director._ But, man, the feast is set and you have it all to yourself.
Besides, you shall have a present.
_The voice._ I said no once. Why should you keep on urging me?
_Director._ He says no. Well, I must invite some other Brahman.
[_Exit._
END OF THE PROLOGUE
ACT THE FIRST
THE GEMS ARE LEFT BEHIND
[_Enter, with a cloak in his hand, Maitreya._]
_Maitreya._
"You must invite some other Brahman. I am busy." And yet I really ought
to be seeking invitations from a stranger. Oh, what a wretched state of
affairs! When good Chārudatta was still wealthy, I used to eat my fill
of the most deliciously fragrant sweetmeats, prepared day and night with
the greatest of care. I would sit at the door of the courtyard, where I
was surrounded by hundreds of dishes, and there, like a painter with his
paint-boxes, I would simply touch them with my fingers and thrust them
aside. I would stand chewing my cud like a bull in the city market. And
now he is so poor that I have to run here, there, and everywhere, and
come home, like the pigeons, only to roost. Now here is this
jasmine-scented cloak, which Chārudatta's good friend Jūrnavriddha has
sent him. He bade me give it to Chārudatta, as soon as he had finished
his devotions. So now I will look for Chārudatta. [_He walks about and
looks around him._] Chārudatta has finished his devotions, and here he
comes with an offering for the divinities of the house.
[_Enter Chārudatta as described, and Radanikā._]
_Chārudatta._ [_Looking up and sighing wearily._]
Upon my threshold, where the offering
Was straightway seized by swans and flocking cranes,
The grass grows now, and these poor seeds I fling
Fall where the mouth of worms their sweetness stains. 9
[_He walks about very slowly and seats himself._]
_Maitreya_. Chārudatta is here. I must go and speak to him.
[_Approaching._] My greetings to you. May happiness be yours.
P. 13.1]
_Chārudatta._ Ah, it is my constant friend Maitreya. You are very
welcome, my friend. Pray be seated.
_Maitreya._ Thank you. [_He seats himself._] Well, comrade, here is a
jasmine-scented cloak which your good friend Jūrnavriddha has
sent. He bade me give it you as soon as you had finished your devotions.
[_He presents the cloak. Chārudatta takes it and remains
sunk in thought._] Well, what are you thinking about?
_Chārudatta._ My good friend,
A candle shining through the deepest dark
Is happiness that follows sorrow's strife;
But after bliss when man bears sorrow's mark,
His body lives a very death-in-life. 10
_Maitreya._ Well, which would you rather, be dead or be poor?
_Chārudatta._ Ah, my friend,
Far better death than sorrows sure and slow;
Some passing suffering from death may flow,
But poverty brings never-ending woe. 11
_Maitreya._ My dear friend, be not thus cast down. Your wealth has
been conveyed to them you love, and like the moon, after she has
yielded her nectar to the gods, your waning fortunes win an added
charm.
_Chārudatta._ Comrade, I do not grieve for my ruined fortunes. But
This is my sorrow. They whom I
Would greet as guests, now pass me by.
"This is a poor man's house," they cry.
As flitting bees, the season o'er,
Desert the elephant, whose store
Of ichor[30] spent, attracts no more. 12
_Maitreya._ Oh, confound the money! It is a trifle not worth thinking
about. It is like a cattle-boy in the woods afraid of wasps; it
doesn't stay anywhere where it is used for food.
[8.5. S.
_Chārud._ Believe me, friend. My sorrow does not spring
From simple loss of gold;
For fortune is a fickle, changing thing,
Whose favors do not hold;
But he whose sometime wealth has taken wing,
Finds bosom-friends grow cold. 13
Then too:
A poor man is a man ashamed; from shame
Springs want of dignity and worthy fame;
Such want gives rise to insults hard to bear;
Thence comes despondency; and thence, despair;
Despair breeds folly; death is folly's fruit--
Ah! the lack of money is all evils root! 14
_Maitreya._ But just remember what a trifle money is, after all, and
be more cheerful.
_Chārudatta._ My friend, the poverty of a man is to him
A home of cares, a shame that haunts the mind,
Another form of warfare with mankind;
The abhorrence of his friends, a source of hate
From strangers, and from each once-loving mate;
But if his wife despise him, then 't were meet
In some lone wood to seek a safe retreat.
The flame of sorrow, torturing his soul,
Burns fiercely, yet contrives to leave him whole. 15
Comrade, I have made my offering to the divinities of the house.
Do you too go and offer sacrifice to the Divine Mothers at a place
where four roads meet.
_Maitreya._ No!
_Chārudatta._ Why not?
_Maitreya._ Because the gods are not gracious to you even when
thus honored. So what is the use of worshiping?
P. 16.8]
_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend, not so! This is the constant duty
of a householder.
The gods feel ever glad content
In the gifts, and the self-chastisement,
The meditations, and the prayers,
Of those who banish worldly cares. 16
Why then do you hesitate? Go and offer sacrifice to the Mothers.
_Maitreya._ No, I'm not going. You must send somebody else. Anyway,
everything seems to go wrong with me, poor Brahman that
I am! It's like a reflection in a mirror; the right side becomes the
left, and the left becomes the right. Besides, at this hour of the
evening, people are abroad upon the king's highway--courtezans,
courtiers, servants, and royal favorites. They will take me now for
fair prey, just as the black-snake out frog-hunting snaps up the
mouse in his path. But what will you do sitting here?
_Chārudatta._ Good then, remain; and I will finish my devotions.
* * * * *
_Voices behind the scenes._ Stop, Vasantasenā, stop!
[_Enter Vasantasenā, pursued by the courtier, by Sansthānaka, and the
servant._]
_Courtier._ Vasantasenā! Stop, stop!
Ah, why should fear transform your tenderness?
Why should the dainty feet feel such distress,
That twinkle in the dance so prettily?
Why should your eyes, thus startled into fear,
Dart sidelong looks? Why, like the timid deer
Before pursuing hunters, should you flee? 17
_Sansthānaka._ Shtop,[31] Vasantasenā, shtop!
Why flee? and run? and shtumble in your turning?
Be kind! You shall not die. Oh, shtop your feet!
With love, shweet girl, my tortured heart is burning.
As on a heap of coals a piece of meat. 18
[10.2 S.
_Servant._ Stop, courtezan, stop!
In fear you flee
Away from me,
As a summer peahen should;
But my lord and master
Struts fast and faster,
Like a woodcock in the wood. 19
_Courtier._ Vasantasenā! Stop, stop!
Why should you tremble, should you flee,
A-quiver like the plantain tree?
Your garment's border, red and fair,
Is all a-shiver in the air;
Now and again, a lotus-bud
Falls to the ground, as red as blood.
A red realgar[32] vein you seem,
Whence, smitten, drops of crimson stream. 20
_Sansthānaka._ Shtop. Vasantasenā, shtop!
You wake my passion, my desire, my love;
You drive away my shleep in bed at night;
Both fear and terror sheem your heart to move;
You trip and shtumble in your headlong flight.
But Rāvana forced Kuntī[33] to his will;
Jusht sho shall I enjoy you to the fill. 21
_Courtier._ Ah, Vasantasenā,
Why should your fleeter flight
Outstrip my flying feet?
Why, like a snake in fright
Before the bird-king's might,
Thus seek to flee, my sweet?
Could I not catch the storm-wind in his flight?
Yet would not seize upon you, though I might. 22
P. 19.9]
_Sansthānaka_. Lishten to me, shir!
Thish whip of robber Love, thish dancing-girl,
Eater of fish, deshtroyer of her kin,
Thish shnubnose, shtubborn, love-box, courtezan,
Thish clothes-line, wanton creature, maid of sin--
I gave her ten shweet names, and shtill
She will not bend her to my will. 23
_Courtier_.
As courtier's fingers strike the lute's tense string,
The dancing ear-ring smites your wounded cheek.
Why should you flee, with dreadful terror weak,
As flees the crane when heaven's thunders ring? 24
_Sansth_.
Your jingling gems, girl, clink like anything;
Like Draupadī you flee, when Rāma kisshed her.
I'll sheize you quick, as once the monkey-king
Sheized Subhadrā, Vishvāvasu's shweet shishter. 25
_Servant_.
He's the royal protégé;
Do whatever he may say.
And you shall have good fish and flesh to eat.
For when dogs have all the fish
And the flesh that they can wish,
Even carrion seems to them no longer sweet. 26
_Courtier_. Mistress Vasantasenā,
The girdle drooping low upon your hips
Flashes as brilliant as the shining stars;
The wondrous terror of your fleeing mars
Your charms; for red realgar, loosened, slips
As on an imaged god, from cheek and lips. 27
_Sansth_.
We're chasing you with all our main and might,
As dogs a jackal when they hunt and find it;
But you are quick and nimble in your flight,
And shteal my heart with all the roots that bind it. 28
[11.23. S.
_Vasantasenā._ Pallavaka! Parabhritikā!
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter! a man! a man!
_Courtier._ Don't be a coward.
_Vasantasenā._ Mādhavikā! Mādhavikā!
_Courtier._ [_Laughing._] Fool! She is calling her servants.
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter! Is she calling a woman?
_Courtier._ Why, of course.
_Sansthānaka._ Women! I kill hundreds of 'em. I'm a brave man.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Seeing that no one answers._] Alas, how comes it that
my very servants have fallen away from me? I shall have to defend
myself by mother-wit.
_Courtier._ Don't stop the search.
_Sansthānaka._ Shqueal, Vasantasenā, shqueal for your cuckoo
Parabhritikā, or for your blosshom Pallavaka or for all the month of
May! Who's going to save you when I'm chasing you?
Why shpeak of Bhīmasena? Or the shon
Of Jamadagni, that thrice-mighty one?
The ten-necked ogre? Shon of Kuntī fair?
Jusht look at me! My fingers in your hair,
Jusht like Duhshāsana, I'll tear, and tear. 29
Look, look!
My shword is sharp; good-by, poor head!
Let's chop it off, or kill you dead.
Then do not try my wrath to shun;
When you musht die, your life is done. 30
_Vasantasenā._ Sir, I am a weak woman.
_Courtier._ That is why you are still alive.
_Sansthānaka._ That is why you're not murdered.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Oh! his very courtesy frightens me. Come,
I will try this. [_Aloud._] Sir, what do you expect from this pursuit?
my jewels?
P. 24.7]
_Courtier._ Heaven forbid! A garden creeper, mistress Vasantasenā,
should not be robbed of its blossoms. Say no more about the jewels.
_Vasantasenā._ What is then your desire?
_Sansthānaka._ I'm a man, a big man, a regular Vāsudeva.[34] You
musht love me.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Indignantly._] Heavens! You weary me. Come, leave
me! Your words are an insult.
_Sansthānaka._ [_Laughing and clapping his hands._] Look, mashter,
look! The courtezan's daughter is mighty affectionate with me,
isn't she? Here she says "Come on! Heavens, you're weary. You're
tired!" No, I haven't been walking to another village or another
city. No, little mishtress, I shwear by the gentleman's head, I
shwear by my own feet! It's only by chasing about at your heels
that I've grown tired and weary.
_Courtier._ [_Aside._] What! is it possible that the idiot does not
understand when she says "You weary me"? [_Aloud._] Vasantasenā,
your words have no place in the dwelling of a courtezan,
Which, as you know, is friend to every youth;
Remember, you are common as the flower
That grows beside the road; in bitter truth,
Your body has its price; your beauty's dower
Is his, who pays the market's current rate:
Then serve the man you love, and him you hate. 31
And again:
The wisest Brahman and the meanest fool
Bathe in the selfsame pool;
Beneath the peacock, flowering plants bend low,
No less beneath the crow;
The Brahman, warrior, merchant, sail along
With all the vulgar throng.
You are the pool, the flowering plant, the boat;
And on your beauty every man may dote. 32
[13.22 S.
_Vasantasenā._ Yet true love would be won by virtue, not violence.
_Sansthānaka._ But, mashter, ever since the shlave-wench went into
the park where Kāma's[35] temple shtands, she has been in love with
a poor man, with Chārudatta, and she doesn't love me any more.
His house is to the left. Look out and don't let her shlip out of our
hands.
_Courtier._ [_Aside._] Poor fool, he has said the very thing he should
have concealed. So Vasantasenā is in love with Chārudatta? The
proverb is right. Pearl suits with pearl. Well, I have had enough
of this fool. [_Aloud._] Did you say the good merchant's house was
to the left, you jackass?
_Sansthānaka._ Yes. His house is to the left.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Oh, wonderful! If his house is really at my
left hand, then the scoundrel has helped me in the very act of hurting
me, for he has guided me to my love.
_Sansthānaka._ But mashter, it's pitch dark and it's like hunting
for a grain of soot in a pile of shpotted beans. Now you shee Vasantasenā
and now you don't.
_Courtier._ Pitch dark it is indeed.
The sudden darkness seems to steal
The keenness of my sight;
My open eyes, as with a seal,
Are closed by blackest night. 33
And again:
Darkness anoints my body, and the sky
Drops ointment of thick darkness, till mine eye
Is all unprofitable grown to me,
Like service done to them who cheat and lie. 34
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter, I'm looking for Vasantasenā.
_Courtier._ Is there anything you can trace her by, jackass?
_Sansthānaka._ Like what, for inshtance?
P. 28.3]
_Courtier._ Like the tinkling of her jewels, for instance, or the fragrance
of her garlands.
_Sansthānaka._ I hear the shmell of her garlands, but my nose is
shtuffed so full of darkness that I don't shee the shound of her
jewels very clearly.
_Courtier._ [_To Vasantasenā. Aside._] Vasantasenā,
'T is true, the night is dark, O timid maid,
And like the lightning hidden in the cloud,
You are not seen; yet you will be betrayed
By fragrant garlands and by anklets loud. 35
Have you heard me, Vasantasenā?
_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Heard and understood. [_She removes
the ankle-rings, lays aside the garlands, and takes a few steps, feeling
her way._] I can feel the wall of the house, and here is a side-entrance.
But alas! my fingers tell me that the door is shut.
* * * * *
_Chārudatta_ [_who is within the house_]. Comrade, my prayer is done.
Go now and offer sacrifice to the Mothers.
_Maitreya._ No, I'm not going.
_Chārudatta._ Alas!
The poor man's kinsmen do not heed his will;
The friends who loved him once, now stand afar;
His sorrows multiply; his strength is nil;
Behold! his character's bright-shining star
Fades like the waning moon; and deeds of ill
That others do, are counted to him still. 36
And again:
No man holds converse with him; none will greet
With due respect the poor man when they meet.
Where rich men hold a feast, if he draw near,
He meets with scornful looks for looks of cheer.
[15.19. S.
Where vulgar throngs are gathered, 't is the same;
His scanty raiment wakes his heartfelt shame.
Five are the deadly sins[36] we knew before;
Alas! I find the sixth is--to be poor. 37
And yet again:
Ah, Poverty, I pity thee, that so
To me thou clingest, as thy dearest friend;
When my poor life has met its woeful end,
I sadly wonder, whither thou wilt go. 38
_Maitreya._ [_Betraying his embarrassment._] Well, comrade, if I must
go, at least let Radanikā go with me, to keep me company.
_Chārudatta._ Radanikā, you are to accompany Maitreya.
_Radanikā._ Yes, sir.
_Maitreya_. Mistress Radanikā, do you take the offering and the
candle while I open the side-door. [_He does so._]
_Vasantasenā._ It seems as if the door took pity on me and opened
of itself. I will lose no time, but enter. [_She looks in._] What? a
candle? Oh dear, oh dear! [_She puts it out with her skirt and enters._]
_Chārudatta._ What was that, Maitreya?
_Maitreya._ I opened the side-door and the wind came through all
in a lump and blew out the candle. Suppose you go out by the
side-door, Radanikā, and I will follow as soon as I have gone into
the courtyard and lighted the candle again. [_Exit._
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter! mashter! I'm looking for Vasantasenā.
_Courtier._ Keep on looking, keep on looking!
_Sansthānaka._ [_Does so._] Mashter! mashter! I've caught her! I've
caught her!
_Courtier._ Idiot, you've caught me.
_Sansthānaka._ You shtand right here, mashter, and shtay where
you're put. [_He renews the search and seizes the servant._] Mashter!
mashter! I've caught her! I've caught her!
P. 31.3]
_Servant._ Master, you've caught me, your servant.
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter here, shervant here! Mashter, shervant;
shervant, mashter. Now shtay where you're put, both of you. [_He
renews the search and seizes Radanikā by the hair._] Mashter! mashter!
Thish time I've caught her! I've caught Vasantasenā!
Through the black night she fled, fled she;
Her garland's shmell betrayed her;
Like Chānakya caught Draupadī,
I caught her hair and shtayed her. 39
_Courtier._
Ah, proud to be so young, so fair!
Too high thy love must not aspire;
For now thy blossom-fragrant hair,
That merits richest gems and rare,
Serves but to drag thee through the mire. 40
_Sansth._
I've got your head, girl, got it tight,
By the hair, the locks, and the curls, too.
Now shcream, shqueak, shqueal with all your might
"Shiva! Ishvara! Shankara! Shambhu!"[37] 41
_Radanikā._ [_In terror._] Oh, sirs, what does this mean?
_Courtier._ You jackass! It's another voice.
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter, the wench has changed her voice, the way a
cat changes her voice, when she wants shome cream of curdled milk.
_Courtier._ Changed her voice? Strange! Yet why so strange?
She trod the stage; she learned the arts;
She studied to deceive our hearts;
And now she practises her parts. 42
[_Enter Maitreya._]
_Maitreya._ Look! In the gentle evening breeze the flame of the
candle is fluttering like the heart of a goat that goes to the altar.
[_He approaches and discovers Radanikā._] Mistress Radanikā!
[17.17. S.
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter, mashter! A man! a man!
_Maitreya._ This is right, this is perfectly right, that strangers should
force their way into the house, just because Chārudatta is poor.
_Radanikā._ Oh, Maitreya, see how they insult me.
_Maitreya._ What! insult you? No, they are insulting us.
_Radanikā._ Very well. They are insulting you, then.
_Maitreya._ But they aren't using violence?
_Radanikā._ Yes, yes!
_Maitreya._ Really?
_Radanikā._ Really.
_Maitreya._ [_Raising his staff angrily._] No, sir! Man, a dog will show
his teeth in his own kennel, and I am a Brahman! My staff is crooked
as my fortunes, but it can still split a dry bamboo or a rascal's pate.
_Courtier._ Have mercy, O great Brahman, have mercy.
_Maitreya._ [_Discovers the courtier._] He is not the sinner. [_Discovers
Sansthānaka._] Ah, here is the sinner. Well, you brother-in-law to
the king, Sansthānaka, you scoundrel, you coward, this is perfectly
proper, isn't it? Chārudatta the good is a poor man now--true,
but are not his virtues an ornament to Ujjayinī? And so men break
into his house and insult his servants!
Insult not him, laid low by poverty;
For none are counted poor by mighty fate:
Yet he who falls from virtue's high estate,
Though he be rich, no man is poor as he. 43
_Courtier._ [_Betraying his embarrassment._] Have mercy, O great
Brahman, have mercy. We intended no insolence; we merely mistook this
lady for another. For
We sought an amorous maiden,
_Maitreya._ What! this one?
_Courtier._ Heaven forbid!
one whose youth
Is in the guidance of her own sweet will;
She disappeared: unconscious of the truth,
We did what seems a purposed deed of ill. 44
P. 35.4]
I pray you, accept this all-in-all of humblest supplication. [_He drops
his sword, folds his hands, and falls at Maitreya's feet._]
_Maitreya._ Good man, rise, rise. When I reviled you, I did not know
you. Now I know you and I ask your pardon.
_Courtier._ It is I who should ask pardon. I will rise on one condition.
_Maitreya._ And that is--
_Courtier._ That you will not tell Chārudatta what has happened here.
_Maitreya._ I will be silent.
_Courtier._
Brahman, this gracious act of thine
I bow my neck to bear;
For never could this sword of mine
With virtue's steel compare. 45
_Sansthānaka._ [_Indignantly._] But mashter, what makes you fold
your hands sho helplesshly and fall at the feet of thish manikin?
_Courtier._ I was afraid.
_Sansthānaka._ What were _you_ afraid of?
_Courtier._ Of Chārudatta's virtues.
_Sansthānaka._ Virtues? He? You can go into his houshe and not
find a thing to eat.
_Courtier._ No, no.
His loving-kindness unto such as we
Has brought him low at last;
From him could no man learn what insults be,
Or e'er his wealth was past.
This well-filled pool, that in its summer day
Gave others drink, itself is dried away. 46
_Sansthānaka._ [_Impatiently._] Who is the shon of a shlave-wench
anyway?
Brave Shvetaketu is he, Pāndu's child?
Or Rādhā's shon, the ten-necked ogre wild?
Or Indradatta? or again, is he
Shon of brave Rāma and of fair Kuntī?
Or Dharmaputra? Ashvatthāman bold?
Perhaps Jatāyu's shelf, that vulture old? 47
[19.19. S.
_Courtier._ Fool! I will tell you who Chārudatta is.
A tree of life to them whose sorrows grow,
Beneath its fruit of virtue bending low;
Father to good men; virtue's touchstone he;
The mirror of the learned; and the sea
Where all the tides of character unite;
A righteous man, whom pride could never blight;
A treasure-house, with human virtues stored;
Courtesy's essence, honor's precious hoard.
He doth to life its fullest meaning give,
So good is he; we others breathe, not live. 48
Let us be gone.
_Sansthānaka._ Without Vasantasenā?
_Courtier._ Vasantasenā has disappeared.
_Sansthānaka._ How?
_Courtier._
Like sick men's strength, or like the blind man's sight,
Like the fool's judgment, like the sluggard's might,
Like thoughtless scoundrels' store of wisdom's light,
Like love, when foemen fan our slumbering wrath,
So did _she_ vanish, when you crossed her path. 49
_Sansthānaka._ I'm not going without Vasantasenā.
_Courtier._ And did you never hear this?
To hold a horse, you need a rein;
To hold an elephant, a chain;
To hold a woman, use a heart;
And if you haven't one, depart. 50
_Sansthānaka._ If you're going, go along. I'm not going.
_Courtier._ Very well. I will go. [_Exit._
P. 38.2]
_Sansthānaka._ Mashter's gone, sure enough. [_To Maitreya._] Well,
you man with the head that looks like a caret, you manikin, take a
sheat, take a sheat.
_Maitreya._ We have already been invited to take a seat.
_Sansthānaka._ By whom?
_Maitreya._ By destiny.
_Sansthānaka._ Shtand up, then, shtand up!
_Maitreya._ We shall.
_Sansthānaka._ When?
_Maitreya._ When fate is kind again.
_Sansthānaka._ Weep, then, weep!
_Maitreya._ We have wept.
_Sansthānaka._ Who made you?
_Maitreya._ Poverty.
_Sansthānaka._ Laugh, then, laugh!
_Maitreya._ Laugh we shall.
_Sansthānaka._ When?
_Maitreya._ When Chārudatta is happy once more.
_Sansthānaka._ You manikin, give poor little Chārudatta thish messhage
from me. "Thish wench with golden ornaments and golden jewels, thish
female shtage-manager looking after the rehearsal of a new play, thish
Vasantasenā--she has been in love with you ever shince she went into the
park where Kāma's temple shtands. And when we tried to conciliate her by
force, she went into your houshe. Now if you shend her away yourshelf
and hand her over to me, if you reshtore her at once, without any
lawshuit in court, then I'll be friends with you forever. But if you
don't reshtore her, there will be a fight to the death." Remember:
Shmear a pumpkin-shtalk with cow-dung;
Keep your vegetables dried;
Cook your rice in winter evenings;
And be sure your meat is fried.
Then let 'em shtand, and they will not
Bothershomely shmell and rot. 51
[21.17. S.
Tell it to him prettily, tell it to him craftily. Tell it to him sho that
I can hear it as I roosht in the dove-cote on the top of my own
palace. If you shay it different, I'll chew your head like an apple
caught in the crack of a door.
_Maitreya._ Very well. I shall tell him.
_Sansthānaka._ [_Aside._] Tell me, shervant. Is mashter really gone?
_Servant._ Yes, sir.
_Sansthānaka._ Then we will go as quickly as we can.
_Servant._ Then take your sword, master.
_Sansthānaka._ You can keep it.
_Servant._ Here it is, master. Take your sword, master.
_Sansthānaka._ [_Taking it by the wrong end._]
My shword, red as a radish shkin,
Ne'er finds the time to molder;
Shee how it shleeps its sheath within!
I put it on my shoulder.
While curs and bitches yelp at me, I roam,
Like a hunted jackal, home. 52
[_Sansthānaka and the servant walk about, then exeunt._
_Maitreya._ Mistress Radanikā, you must not tell good Chārudatta
of this outrage. I am sure you would only add to the poor man's
sorrows.
_Radanikā._ Good Maitreya, you know Radanikā. Her lips are sealed.
_Maitreya._ So be it.
* * * * *
_Chārudatta._ [_To Vasantasenā._] Radanikā, Rohasena likes the fresh
air, but he will be cold in the evening chill. Pray bring him into the
house, and cover him with this mantle. [_He gives her the mantle._]
P. 49.19]
_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] See! He thinks I am his servant. [_She
takes the mantle and perceives its perfume. Ardently to herself._] Oh,
beautiful! The mantle is fragrant with jasmine. His youthful days
are not wholly indifferent to the pleasures of the world. [_She wraps
it about her, without letting Chārudatta see._]
_Chārudatta._ Come, Radanikā, take Rohasena and enter the heart
of the house.
_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Ah me unhappy, that have little part
or lot in your heart!
_Chārudatta._ Come, Radanikā, will you not even answer? Alas!
When man once sees that miserable day,
When fate almighty sweeps his wealth away,
Then ancient friendships will no longer hold,
Then all his former bosom-friends grow cold. 53
_Maitreya._ [_Drawing near to Radanikā._] Sir, here is Radanikā.
_Chārudatta._ Here is Radanikā? Who then is this--
This unknown lady, by my robe
Thus clinging, desecrated,
_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Say rather "consecrated."
_Chārudatta._ Until she seems the crescent moon.
With clouds of autumn[38] mated? 54
But no! I may not gaze upon another's wife.
_Maitreya._ Oh, you need not fear that you are looking at another
man's wife. This is Vasantasenā, who has been in love with you
ever since she saw you in the garden where Kāma's temple stands.
_Chārudatta._ What! this is Vasantasenā? [_Aside._]
My love for whom--my fortune spent--
My wretched self in twain has rent.
Like coward's anger, inward bent. 55
[23. 19. S.
_Maitreya._ My friend, that brother-in-law of the king says--
_Chārudatta._ Well?
_Maitreya._ "This wench with golden ornaments and golden jewels,
this female stage-manager looking after the rehearsal of a new
play, this Vasantasenā--she has been in love with you ever since
she went into the park where Kāma's temple stands. And when we
tried to conciliate her by force, she went into your house."
_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] "Tried to conciliate me by force"--truly,
I am honored by these words.
_Maitreya._ "Now if you send her away yourself and hand her over
to me, if you restore her at once, without any lawsuit in court,
then I'll be friends with you forever. Otherwise, there will be a
fight to the death."
_Chārudatta._ [_Contemptuously._] He is a fool. [_To himself._] How is
this maiden worthy of the worship that we pay a goddess! For now
Although I bade her enter, yet she seeks
To spare my poverty, nor enters here;
Though men are known to her, yet all she speaks
Contains no word to wound a modest ear. 56
[_Aloud._] Mistress Vasantasenā, I have unwittingly made myself
guilty of an offense; for I greeted as a servant one whom I did not
recognize. I bend my neck to ask your pardon.
_Vasantasenā._ It is I who have offended by this unseemly intrusion.
I bow my head to seek your forgiveness.
_Maitreya._ Yes, with your pretty bows you two have knocked your
heads together, till they look like a couple of rice-fields. I also bow
my head like a camel colt's knee and beseech you both to stand
up. [_He does so, then rises._]
_Chārudatta._ Very well, let us no longer trouble ourselves with
conventions.
_Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] What a delightfully clever hint! But
it would hardly be proper to spend the night, considering how I
came hither. Well, I will at least say this much. [_Aloud._] If I am
to receive thus much of your favor, sir, I should be glad to leave
these jewels in your house. It was for the sake of the jewels that
those scoundrels pursued me.
P. 45.14]
_Chārudatta._ This house is not worthy of the trust.
_Vasantasenā._ You mistake, sir! It is to men that treasures are
entrusted, not to houses.
_Chārudatta._ Maitreya, will you receive the jewels?
_Vasantasenā._ I am much indebted to you. [_She hands him the
jewels._]
_Maitreya._ [_Receiving them._] Heaven bless you, madam.
_Chārudatta._ Fool! They are only entrusted to us.
_Maitreya._ [_Aside._] Then the thieves may take them, for all I care.
_Chārudatta._ In a very short time--
_Maitreya._ What she has entrusted to us, belongs to us.
_Chārudatta._ I shall restore them.
_Vasantasenā._ I should be grateful, sir, if this gentleman would
accompany me home.
_Chārudatta._ Maitreya, pray accompany our guest.
_Maitreya._ She walks as gracefully as a female swan, and you are
the gay flamingo to accompany her. But I am only a poor Brahman,
and wherever I go, the people will fall upon me just as dogs will
snap at a victim dragged to the cross-roads.
_Chārudatta._ Very well. I will accompany her myself. Let the
torches be lighted, to ensure our safety on the highway.
_Maitreya._ Vardhamānaka, light the torches.
_Vardhamānaka._ [_Aside to Maitreya._] What! light torches without
oil?
_Maitreya._ [_Aside to Chārudatta._] These torches of ours are like
courtezans who despise their poor lovers. They won't light up unless
you feed them.
[25.23. S.
_Chārudatta._ Enough, Maitreya! We need no torches. See, we have
a lamp upon the king's highway.
Attended by her starry servants all,
And pale to see as a loving maiden's cheeks,
Rises before our eyes the moon's bright ball,
Whose pure beams on the high-piled darkness fall
Like streaming milk that dried-up marshes seeks. 57
[_His voice betraying his passion._] Mistress Vasantasenā, we have
reached your home. Pray enter. [_Vasantasenā gazes ardently at him,
then exit._] Comrade, Vasantasenā is gone. Come, let us go home.
All creatures from the highway take their flight;
The watchmen pace their rounds before our sight;
To forestall treachery, is just and right,
For many sins find shelter in the night. 58
[_He walks about._] And you shall guard this golden casket by night,
and Vardhamānaka by day.
_Maitreya._ Very well. [_Exeunt ambo._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 30: During the mating season, a fragrant liquor exudes from
the forehead of the elephant. Of this liquor bees are very fond.]
[Footnote 31: The most striking peculiarity of Sansthānaka's
dialect--his substitution of _sh_ for _s_--I have tried to imitate in
the translation.]
[Footnote 32: Red arsenic, used as a cosmetic.]
[Footnote 33: Here, as elsewhere, Sansthānaka's mythology is wildly
confused. To a Hindu the effect must be ludicrous enough; but the humor
is necessarily lost in a translation. It therefore seems hardly worth
while to explain his mythological vagaries in detail.]
[Footnote 34: A name of Krishna, who is perhaps the most amorous
character in Indian story.]
[Footnote 35: Cupid.]
[Footnote 36: The five deadly sins are: the slaying of a Brahman, the
drinking of wine, theft, adultery with the wife of one's teacher, and
association with one guilty of these crimes.]
[Footnote 37: These are all epithets of the same god.]
[Footnote 38: Which look pretty, but do not rain. He doubtless means to
suggest that the cloak, belonging to a strange man, is as useless to
Vasantasenā as the veil of autumn clouds to the earth.]
ACT THE SECOND
THE SHAMPOOER[39] WHO GAMBLED
[_Enter a maid._]
_Maid._
I am sent with a message to my mistress by her mother. I must
go in and find my mistress. [_She walks about and looks around
her._] There is my mistress. She is painting a picture, and putting
her whole heart into it. I must go and speak to her.
[_Then appear the love-lorn Vasantasenā, seated, and Madanikā._]
_Vasantasenā._ Well, girl, and then--
_Madanikā._ But mistress, you were not speaking of anything. What
do you mean?
_Vasantasenā._ Why, what did I say?
_Madanikā._ You said, "and then"--
_Vasantasenā._ [_Puckering her brows._] Oh, yes. So I did.
_Maid._ [_Approaching._] Mistress, your mother sends word that you
should bathe and then offer worship to the gods.
_Vasantasenā._ You may tell my mother that I shall not take the
ceremonial bath to-day. A Brahman must offer worship in my place.
_Maid._ Yes, mistress. [_Exit._
_Madanikā._ My dear mistress, it is love, not naughtiness, that asks
the question--but what does this mean?
_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, Madanikā. How do I seem to you?
_Madanikā._ My mistress is so absent-minded that I know her heart
is filled with longing for somebody.
_Vasantasenā._ Well guessed. My Madanikā is quick to fathom
another's heart.
_Madanikā._ I am very, very glad. Yes, Kāma is indeed mighty, and
his great festival is welcome when one is young. But tell me, mistress,
is it a king, or a king's favorite, whom you worship?
[28.1. S.
_Vasantasenā._ Girl, I wish to love, not to worship.
_Madanikā._ Is it a Brahman that excites your passion, some youth
distinguished for very particular learning?
_Vasantasenā._ A Brahman I should have to reverence.
_Madanikā._ Or is it some young merchant, grown enormously
wealthy from visiting many cities?
_Vasantasenā._ A merchant, girl, must go to other countries and
leave you behind, no matter how much you love him. And the
separation makes you very sad.
_Madanikā._ It isn't a king, nor a favorite, nor a Brahman, nor a
merchant. Who is it then that the princess loves?
_Vasantasenā._ Girl! Girl! You went with me to the park where
Kāma's temple stands?
_Madanikā._ Yes, mistress.
_Vasantasenā._ And yet you ask, as if you were a perfect stranger.
_Madanikā._ Now I know. Is it the man who comforted you when
you asked to be protected?
_Vasantasenā._ Well, what was his name?
_Madanikā._ Why, he lives in the merchants' quarter.
_Vasantasenā._ But I asked you for his name.
_Madanikā._ His name, mistress, is a good omen in itself. His name
is Chārudatta.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Joyfully._] Good, Madanikā, good. You have guessed
it.
_Madanikā._ [_Aside._] So much for that. [_Aloud._] Mistress, they say
he is poor.
_Vasantasenā._ That is the very reason why I love him. For a courtezan
who sets her heart on a poor man is blameless in the eyes of
the world.
P. 59.14]
_Madanikā._ But mistress, do the butterflies visit the mango-tree
when its blossoms have fallen?
_Vasantasenā._ That is just why we call _that_ sort of a girl a butterfly.
_Madanikā._ Well, mistress, if you love him, why don't you go and
visit him at once?
_Vasantasenā._ Girl, if I should visit him at once, then, because he
can't make any return--no, I don't mean that, but it would be
hard to see him.
_Madanikā._ Is that the reason why you left your jewels with him?
_Vasantasenā._ You have guessed it.
* * * * *
_A voice[40] behind the scenes_. Oh, sir, a shampooer owes me ten
gold-pieces, and he got away from us. Hold him, hold him! [_To the
fleeing shampooer._] Stop, stop! I see you from here. [_Enter hurriedly
a frightened shampooer._]
_Shampooer._ Oh, confound this gambling business!
Freed from its tether, the ace--
I might better say "ass"--how it kicks me!
And the cast of the dice called the "spear"
Proves true to its name; for it sticks me. 1
The keeper's whole attention
Was busy with the score;
So it took no great invention
To vanish through the door.
But I cannot stand forever
In the unprotected street.
Is there no one to deliver?
I would fall before his feet. 2
While the keeper and the gambler are looking somewhere else
for me, I'll just walk backwards into this empty temple and turn
goddess. [_He makes all sorts of gestures, takes his place, and waits._]
[_Enter Māthura and the gambler._]
[30.1. S.
_Māthura._ Oh, sir, a shampooer owes me ten gold-pieces, and he got
away from us. Hold him, hold him! Stop, stop! I see you from
here.
_Gambler._
You may run to hell, if they'll take you in;
With Indra, the god, you may stay:
For there's never a god can save your skin.
While Māthura wants his pay. 3
_Māthura._
Oh, whither flee you, nimble rambler.
You that cheat an honest gambler?
You that shake with fear and shiver.
All a-tremble, all a-quiver;
You that cannot trip enough.
On the level ground and rough;
You that stain your social station,
Family, and reputation! 4
_Gambler._ [_Examining the footprints._] Here he goes. And here the
tracks are lost.
_Māthura._ [_Gazes at the footprints. Reflectively._] Look! The feet are
turned around. And the temple hasn't any image. [_After a moment's
thought._] That rogue of a shampooer has gone into the temple
with his feet turned around.
_Gambler._ Let's follow him.
_Māthura._ All right. [_They enter the temple and take a good look,
then make signs to each other._]
_Gambler._ What! a wooden image?
_Māthura._ Of course not. It's stone. [_He shakes it with all his might,
then makes signs._] What do we care? Come, let's have a game. [_He
starts to gamble as hard as he can._]
_Shampooer._ [_Trying with all his might to repress the gambling
fever. Aside._] Oh, oh!
Oh, the rattle of dice is a charming thing,
When you haven't a copper left;
It works like a drum on the heart of a king,
Of all his realm bereft. 5
For gamblers leap down a mountain steep--
I know I shall not play.
Yet the rattle of dice is as sweet as the peep
Of nightingales in May. 6
_Gambler._ My turn, my turn!
P. 56.10]
_Māthura._ Not much! it's my turn.
_Shampooer._ [_Coming up quickly from behind._] Isn't it _my_ turn?
_Gambler._ We've got our man.
_Māthura._ [_Seizing him._] You jail-bird, you're caught. Pay me
my ten gold-pieces.
_Shampooer._ I'll pay you this very day.
_Māthura._ Pay me this very minute!
_Shampooer._ I'll pay you. Only have mercy!
_Māthura._ Come, will you pay me now?
_Shampooer._ My head is getting dizzy. [_He falls to the ground. The
others beat him with all their might._]
_Māthura._ There [_drawing the gamblers ring_] you're bound by
the gamblers' ring.
_Shampooer._ [_Rises. Despairingly._] What! bound by the gamblers'
ring? Confound it! That is a limit which we gamblers can't pass.
Where can I get the money to pay him?
_Māthura._ Well then, you must give surety.
_Shampooer._ I have an idea. [_He nudges the gambler._] I'll give you
half, if you'll forgive me the other half.
_Gambler._ All right.
_Shampooer._ [_To Māthura._] I'll give you surety for a half. You
might forgive me the other half.
_Māthura._ All right. Where's the harm?
_Shampooer._ [_Aloud._] You forgave me a half, sir?
[31.24. S.
_Māthura._ Yes.
_Shampooer._ [_To the gambler._] And you forgave me a half?
_Gambler._ Yes.
_Shampooer._ Then I think I'll be going.
_Māthura._ Pay me my ten gold-pieces! Where are you going?
_Shampooer._ Look at this, gentlemen, look at this! Here I just gave
surety to one of them for a half, and the other forgave me a half.
And even after that he is dunning me, poor helpless me!
_Māthura._ [_Seizing him._] My name is Māthura, the clever swindler,
and you're not going to swindle me this time. Pay up, jail-bird,
every bit of my money, and this minute, too.
_Shampooer._ How can I pay?
_Māthura._ Sell your father and pay.
_Shampooer._ Where can I get a father?
_Māthura._ Sell your mother and pay.
_Shampooer._ Where can I get a mother?
_Māthura._ Sell yourself and pay.
_Shampooer._ Have mercy! Lead me to the king's highway.
_Māthura._ Go ahead.
_Shampooer._ If it must be. [_He walks about._] Gentlemen, will you
buy me for ten gold-pieces from this gambling-master? [_He sees
a passer-by and calls out._] What is that? You wish to know what
I can do? I will be your house-servant. What! he has gone without
even answering. Well, here's another. I'll speak to him. [_He repeats
his offer._] What! this one too takes no notice of me. He is
gone. Confound it! I've had hard luck ever since Chārudatta lost
his fortune.
_Māthura._ Will you pay?
_Shampooer._ How can I pay? [_He falls down. Māthura drags him
about._] Good gentlemen, save me, save me! [_Enter Darduraka._]
P. 61.5]
_Darduraka._ Yes, gambling is a kingdom without a throne.
You do not mind defeat at all;
Great are the sums you spend and win;
While kingly revenues roll in,
Rich men, like slaves, before you fall. 7
And again:
You earn your coin by gambling,
Your friends and wife by gambling,
Your gifts and food by gambling;
Your last cent goes by gambling. 8
And again:
My cash was taken by the trey;
The deuce then took my health away;
The ace then set me on the street;
The four completed my defeat. 9
[_He looks before him._] Here comes Māthura, our sometime
gambling-master. Well, as I can't escape, I think I'll put on my veil.
[_He makes any number of gestures with his cloak, then examines it._]
This cloth is sadly indigent in thread;
This lovely cloth lets in a lot of light;
This cloth's protective power is nearly fled;
This cloth is pretty when it's rolled up tight. 10
Yet after all, what more could a poor saint do? For you see,
One foot I've planted in the sky,
The other on the ground must lie.[41]
The elevation's rather high,
But the sun stands it. Why can't I? 11
_Māthura._ Pay, pay!
_Shampooer._ How can I pay? [_Māthura drags him about._]
_Darduraka._ Well, well, what is this I see? [_He addresses a bystander._]
What did you say, sir? "This shampooer is being maltreated
by the gambling-master, and no one will save him"? I'll
save him myself. [_He presses forward._] Stand back, stand back!
[33.25. S.
[_He takes a look._] Well, if this isn't that swindler Māthura. And
here is the poor saintly shampooer; a saint to be sure,
Who does not hang with bended head
Rigid till set of sun,
Who does not rub his back with sand
Till boils begin to run,
Whose shins dogs may not browse upon,
As they pass him in their rambling.[42]
Why should this tall and dainty man
Be so in love with gambling? 12
Well, I must pacify Māthura. [_He approaches._] How do you do,
Māthura? [_Māthura returns the greeting._]
_Darduraka._ What does this mean?
_Māthura._ He owes me ten gold-pieces.
_Darduraka._ A mere bagatelle!
_Māthura._ [_Pulling the rolled-up cloak from under Darduraka's
arm._] Look, gentlemen, look! The man in the ragged cloak calls
ten gold-pieces a mere bagatelle.
_Darduraka._ My good fool, don't I risk ten gold-pieces on a cast
of the dice? Suppose a man has money--is that any reason why
he should put it in his bosom and show it? But you,
You'll lose your caste, you'll lose your soul,
For ten gold-pieces that he stole,
To kill a man that's sound and whole,
With five good senses in him. 13
_Māthura._ Ten gold-pieces may be a mere bagatelle to you, sir. To
me they are a fortune.
_Darduraka._ Well then, listen to me. Just give him ten more, and
let him go to gambling again.
_Māthura._ And what then?
_Darduraka._ If he wins, he will pay you.
P. 63.12]
_Māthura._ And if he doesn't win?
_Darduraka._ Then he won't pay you.
_Māthura._ This is no time for nonsense. If you say that, you can
give him the money yourself. My name is Māthura. I'm a swindler
and I play a crooked game, and I'm not afraid of anybody. You
are an immoral scoundrel.
_Darduraka._ Who did you say was immoral?
_Māthura._ You're immoral.
_Darduraka._ Your father is immoral. [_He gives the shampooer a
sign to escape._]
_Māthura._ You cur! That is just the way that you gamble.
_Darduraka._ That is the way I gamble?
_Māthura._ Come, shampooer, pay me my ten gold-pieces.
_Shampooer._ I'll pay you this very day. I'll pay at once. [_Māthura
drags him about._]
_Darduraka._ Fool! You may maltreat him when I am away, but
not before my eyes.
[_Māthura seizes the shampooer and hits him on the nose. The shampooer
bleeds, faints, and falls flat. Darduraka approaches and interferes.
Māthura strikes Darduraka, and Darduraka strikes back._]
_Māthura._ Oh, oh, you accursèd hound! But I'll pay you for this.
_Darduraka._ My good fool, I was walking peaceably along the
street, and you struck me. If you strike me to-morrow in court,
then you will open your eyes.
_Māthura._ Yes, I'll open my eyes.
_Darduraka._ How will you open your eyes?
_Māthura._ [_Opening his eyes wide._] This is the way I'll open my
eyes.
[_Darduraka throws dust in Māthura's eyes, and gives the shampooer
a sign to escape. Māthura shuts his eyes and falls down. The shampooer
escapes._]
[35.20. S.
_Darduraka._ [_Aside._] I have made an enemy of the influential
gambling-master Māthura. I had better not stay here. Besides, my
good friend Sharvilaka told me that a young herdsman named
Aryaka has been designated by a soothsayer as our future king.
Now everybody in my condition is running after him. I think I
will join myself to him. [_Exit._
_Shampooer._ [_Trembles as he walks away and looks about him._] Here
is a house where somebody has left the side-door open. I will go
in. [_He enters and perceives Vasantasenā._] Madam, I throw myself
upon your protection.
_Vasantasenā._ He who throws himself upon my protection shall be
safe. Close the door, girl. [_The maid does so._]
_Vasantasenā._ What do you fear?
_Shampooer._ A creditor, madam.
_Vasantasenā._ You may open the door now, girl.
_Shampooer._ [_To himself._] Ah! Her reasons for not fearing a creditor
are in proportion to her innocence. The proverb is right:
The man who knows his strength and bears a load
Proportioned to that strength, not more nor less,
Is safe from stumbling and from sore distress,
Although he wander on a dreary road. 14
That means me.
_Māthura._ [_Wiping his eyes. To the gambler._] Pay, pay!
_Gambler._ While we were quarreling with Darduraka, sir, the
man escaped.
_Māthura._ I broke that shampooer's nose for him with my fist
Come on! Let's trace him by the blood. [_They do so._]
_Gambler._ He went into Vasantasenā's house, sir.
_Māthura._ Then that is the end of the gold-pieces.
_Gambler._ Let's go to court and lodge a complaint.
P. 67.1]
_Māthura._ The swindler would leave the house and escape. No, we
must besiege him and so capture him.
* * * * *
[_Vasantasenā gives Madanikā a sign._]
_Madanikā._ Whence are you, sir? or who are you, sir? or whose son
are you, sir? or what is your business, sir? or what are you afraid of?
_Shampooer._ Listen, madam. My birthplace is Pātaliputra, madam.
I am the son of a householder. I practise the trade of a shampooer.
_Vasantasenā._ It is a very dainty art, sir, which you have mastered.
_Shampooer._ Madam, as an art I mastered it. It has now become a
mere trade.
_Madanikā._ Your answers are most disconsolate, sir. Pray continue.
_Shampooer._ Yes, madam. When I was at home, I used to hear travelers
tell tales, and I wanted to see new countries, and so I came here. And
when I had come here to Ujjayinī, I became the servant of a noble
gentleman. Such a handsome, courteous gentleman! When he gave money
away, he did not boast; when he was injured, he forgot it. To cut a long
story short: he was so courteous that he regarded his own person as the
possession of others, and had compassion on all who sought his
protection.
_Madanikā._ Who may it be that adorns Ujjayinī with the virtues
which he has stolen from the object of my mistress' desires?
_Vasantasenā._ Good, girl, good! I had the same thought in mind.
_Madanikā._ But to continue, sir--
_Shampooer._ Madam, he was so compassionate and so generous that
now--
_Vasantasenā._ His riches have vanished?
_Shampooer._ I didn't say it. How did you guess it, madam?
_Vasantasenā._ What was there to guess? Virtue and money seldom
keep company. In the pools from which men cannot drink there
is so much the more water.
_Madanikā._ But sir, what is his name?
[37.23. S.
_Shampooer._ Madam, who does not know the name of this moon
of the whole world? He lives in the merchants' quarter. He whose
name is worthy of all honor is named Chārudatta.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Joyfully rising from her seat._] Sir, this house is your
own. Give him a seat, girl, and take this fan. The gentleman is
weary. [_Madanikā does as she is bid._]
_Shampooer._ [_Aside._] What! so much honor because I mentioned
Chārudatta's name? Heaven bless you, Chārudatta! You are the
only man in the world who really lives. All others merely breathe.
[_He falls at Vasantasenā's feet._] Enough, madam, enough. Pray
be seated, madam.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Seating herself._] Where is he who is so richly your
creditor, sir?
_Shamp._
The good man's wealth consists in kindly deeds;
All other wealth is vain and quickly flies.
The man who honors not his neighbor's needs,
Does that man know what honor signifies? 15
_Vasantasenā._ But to continue--
_Shampooer._ So I became a servant in his employ. And when his
wealth was reduced to his virtue, I began to live by gambling. But
fate was cruel, and I lost ten gold-pieces.
_Māthura._ I am ruined! I am robbed!
_Shampooer._ There are the gambling-master and the gambler, looking
for me. You have heard my story, madam. The rest is your
affair.
_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā, the birds fly everywhither when the tree
is shaken in which they have their nests. Go, girl, and give the
gambling-master and the gambler this bracelet. And tell them that
this gentleman sends it. [_She removes a bracelet from her arm, and
gives it to Madanikā._]
_Madanikā._ [_Receiving the bracelet._] Yes, mistress. [_She goes out._]
P. 71.2]
_Māthura._ I am ruined! I am robbed!
_Madanikā._ Inasmuch as these two are looking up to heaven, and
sighing, and chattering, and fastening their eyes on the door, I
conclude that they must be the gambling-master and the gambler.
[_Approaching._] I salute you, sir.
_Māthura._ May happiness be yours.
_Madanikā._ Sir, which of you is the gambling-master?
_Māth._
O maiden, fair but something less than shy,
With red lip wounded in love's ardent play,
On whom is bent that sweet, coquettish eye?
For whom that lisp that steals the heart away? 16
_I_ haven't got any money. You'll have to look somewhere else.
_Madanikā._ You are certainly no gambler, if you talk that way.
Is there any one who _owes_ you money?
_Māthura._ There is. He owes ten gold-pieces. What of him?
_Madanikā._ In his behalf my mistress sends you this bracelet. No,
no! He sends it himself.
_Māthura._ [_Seizing it joyfully._] Well, well, you may tell the noble
youth that his account is squared. Let him come and seek delight
again in gambling. [_Exeunt Māthura and the gambler._
* * * * *
_Madanikā._ [_Returning to Vasantasenā._] Mistress, the gambling-master
and the gambler have gone away well-pleased.
_Vasantasenā._ Go, sir, and comfort your kinsfolk.
_Shampooer._ Ah, madam, if it may be, these hands would gladly
practise their art in your service.
_Vasantasenā._ But sir, he for whose sake you mastered the art,
who first received your service, he should have your service still.
_Shampooer._ [_Aside._] A very pretty way to decline my services. How
shall I repay her kindness? [_Aloud._] Madam, thus dishonored as a
gambler, I shall become a Buddhist monk. And so, madam, treasure these
words in your memory: "He was a shampooer, a gambler, a Buddhist monk."
[40.1. S.
_Vasantasenā._ Sir, you must not act too precipitately.
_Shampooer._ Madam, my mind is made up. [_He walks about._]
I gambled, and in gambling I did fall,
Till every one beheld me with dismay.
Now I shall show my honest face to all,
And walk abroad upon the king's highway. 17
[_Tumultuous cries behind the scenes._]
_Shampooer._ [_Listening._] What is this? What is this? [_Addressing
some one behind the scenes._] What did you say? "Post-breaker,
Vasantasenā's rogue elephant, is at liberty!" Hurrah! I must go
and see the lady's best elephant. No, no! What have I to do with
these things? I must hold to my resolution. [_Exit._
[_Then enter hastily Karnapūraka, highly delighted, wearing a gorgeous
mantle._]
_Karnapūraka._ Where is she? Where is my mistress?
_Madanikā._ Insolent! What can it be that so excites you? You do
not see your mistress before your very eyes.
_Karnapūraka._ [_Perceiving Vasantasenā._] Mistress, my service to
you.
_Vasantasenā._ Karnapūraka, your face is beaming. What is it?
_Karnapūraka._ [_Proudly._] Oh, mistress! You missed it! You didn't
see Karnapūraka's heroism to-day!
_Vasantasenā._ What, Karnapūraka, what?
_Karnapūraka._ Listen. Post-breaker, my mistress' rogue elephant,
broke the stake he was tied to, killed his keeper, and ran into the
street, making a terrible commotion. You should have heard the
people shriek,
Take care of the babies, as quick as you can.
And climb up a roof or a tree!
The elephant rogue wants the blood of a man.
Escape! Run away! Can't you see? 18
P. 74.14]
And:
How they lose their ankle-rings!
Girdles, set with gems and things,
Break away from fastenings!
As they stumble, trip, and blunder,
See the bracelets snap asunder,
Each a tangled, pearly wonder! 19
And that rogue of an elephant dives with his trunk and his feet
and his tusks into the city of Ujjayinī, as if it were a lotus-pond
in full flower. At last he comes upon a Buddhist monk.[43] And
while the man's staff and his water-jar and his begging-bowl fly
every which way, he drizzles water over him and gets him between
his tusks. The people see him and begin to shriek again,
crying "Oh, oh, the monk is killed!"
_Vasantasenā._ [_Anxiously._] Oh, what carelessness, what carelessness!
_Karnapūraka._ Don't be frightened. Just listen, mistress. Then,
with a big piece of the broken chain dangling about him, he picked
him up, picked up the monk between his tusks, and just then
Karnapūraka saw him, _I_ saw him, no, no! the slave who grows
fat on my mistress' rice-cakes saw him, stumbled with his left
foot over a gambler's score, grabbed up an iron pole out of a shop,
and challenged the mad elephant--
_Vasantasenā._ Go on! Go on!
_Karnap._
I hit him--in a fit of passion, too--
He really looked like some great mountain peak.
And from between those tusks of his I drew
The sacred hermit meek. 20
_Vasantasenā._ Splendid, splendid! But go on!
_Karnapūraka._ Then, mistress, all Ujjayinī tipped over to one side,
like a ship loaded unevenly, and you could hear nothing but "Hurrah,
hurrah for Karnapūraka!" Then, mistress, a man touched the
places where he ought to have ornaments, and, finding that he
hadn't any, looked up, heaved a long sigh, and threw this mantle
over me.
[41.19. S.
_Vasantasenā._ Find out, Karnapūraka, whether the mantle is perfumed
with jasmine or not.
_Karnapūraka._ Mistress, the elephant perfume is so strong that I
can't tell for sure.
_Vasantasenā._ Then look at the name.
_Karnapūraka._ Here is the name. You may read it, mistress. [_He
hands her the mantle._]
_Vasantasenā._ [_Reads._] Chārudatta. [_She seizes the mantle eagerly
and wraps it about her._]
_Madanikā._ The mantle is very becoming to her, Karnapūraka.
_Karnapūraka._ Oh, yes, the mantle is becoming enough.
_Vasantasenā._ Here is your reward, Karnapūraka. [_She gives him
a gem._]
_Karnapūraka._ [_Taking it and bowing low._] Now the mantle is
most wonderfully becoming.
_Vasantasenā._ Karnapūraka, where is Chārudatta now?
_Karnapūraka._ He started to go home along this very street.
_Vasantasenā._ Come, girl! Let us go to the upper balcony and see
Chārudatta. [_Exeunt omnes._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 39: Perhaps masseur would be more accurate.]
[Footnote 40: That of Māthura, the keeper of the gambling house.]
[Footnote 41: A humorously exaggerated reference to Indian ascetic
practices.]
[Footnote 42: See note on page 33.]
[Footnote 43: The shampooer, whose transformation is astonishingly
sudden.]
ACT THE THIRD
THE HOLE IN THE WALL
[_Enter Chārudatta's servant, Vardhamānaka._]
_Vardh._
A master, kindly and benevolent,
His servants love, however poor he be.
The purse-proud, with a will on harshness bent,
Pays service in the coin of cruelty. 1
And again:
A bullock greedy for a feast of corn
You never can prevent;
A wife who wants her lord to wear a horn
You never can prevent;
A man who loves to gamble night and morn
You never can prevent;
And blemishes[44] that with a man are born
You never can prevent. 2
It is some time since Chārudatta went to the concert. It is past
midnight, and still he does not come. I think I will go into the
outer hall and take a nap. [_He does so._]
* * * * *
[_Enter Chārudatta and Maitreya._]
_Chārudatta._ How beautifully Rebhila sang! The lute is indeed a
pearl, a pearl not of the ocean.
Gently the anxious lover's heart befriending,
Consoling when true lovers may not meet,
To love-lorn souls the dearest comforts sending,
It adds to sweetest love its more of sweet. 3
_Maitreya._ Well then, let's go into the house.
_Chārudatta._ But how wonderfully Master Rebhila sang!
[44.1. S
_Maitreya._ There are just two things that always make me laugh.
One is a woman talking Sanskrit, and the other is a man who tries
to sing soft and low. Now when a woman talks Sanskrit, she is like
a heifer with a new rope through her nose; all you hear is "soo,
soo, soo." And when a man tries to sing soft and low, he reminds
me of an old priest muttering texts, while the flowers in his chaplet
dry up. No, I don't like it!
_Chārudatta._ My friend, Master Rebhila sang most wonderfully
this evening. And still you are not satisfied.
The notes of love, peace, sweetness, could I trace,
The note that thrills, the note of passion too,
The note of woman's loveliness and grace--
Ah, my poor words add nothing, nothing new!
But as the notes in sweetest cadence rang,
I thought it was my hidden love who sang. 4
The melody of song, the stricken strings
In undertone that half-unconscious clings,
More clearly sounding when the passions rise,
But ever sweeter as the music dies.
Words that strong passion fain would say again,
Yet checks their second utterance--in vain;
For music sweet as this lives on, until
I walk as hearing sweetest music still. 5
_Maitreya._ But see, my friend! The very dogs are sound asleep in
the shops that look out on the market. Let us go home. [_He looks
before him._] Look, look! The blessèd moon seems to give place to
darkness, as she descends from her palace in heaven.
_Chārudatta._ True.
The moon gives place to darkness as she dips
Behind the western mountain; and the tips
Of her uplifted horns alone appear,
Like two sharp-pointed tusks uplifted clear,
Where bathes an elephant in waters cool,
Who shows naught else above the jungle pool. 6
P. 89.1]
_Maitreya._ Well, here is our house. Vardhamānaka, Vardhamānaka,
open the door!
_Vardhamānaka._ I hear Maitreya's voice. Chārudatta has returned.
I must open the door for him. [_He does so._] Master, I salute you.
Maitreya, I salute you too. The couch is ready. Pray be seated.
[_Chārudatta and Maitreya enter and seat themselves._]
_Maitreya._ Vardhamānaka, call Radanikā to wash our feet.
_Chārudatta._ [_Compassionately._] She sleeps. Do not wake her.
_Vardhamānaka._ I will bring the water, Maitreya, and you may
wash Chārudatta's feet.
_Maitreya._ [_Angrily._] Look, man. He acts like the son of a slave
that he is, for he is bringing water. But he makes me wash your
feet, and I am a Brahman.
_Chārudatta._ Good Maitreya, do you bring the water, and Vardhamānaka
shall wash my feet.
_Vardhamānaka._ Yes, Maitreya. Do you bring the water. [_Maitreya
does so. Vardhamānaka washes Chārudatta's feet, then moves away._]
_Chārudatta._ Let water be brought for the Brahman's feet.
_Maitreya._ What good does water do my feet? I shall have to roll
in the dirt again, like a beaten ass.
_Vardhamānaka._ Maitreya, you are a Brahman.
_Maitreya._ Yes, like a slow-worm among all the other snakes, so
am I a Brahman among all the other Brahmans.
_Vardhamānaka._ Maitreya, I will wash your feet after all. [_He does
so._] Maitreya, this golden casket I was to keep by day, you by
night. Take it. [_He gives it to Maitreya, then exit._
_Maitreya._ [_Receiving the casket._] The thing is here still. Isn't there
a single thief in Ujjayinī to steal the wretch that robs me of my
sleep? Listen. I am going to take it into the inner court.
[46.1. S.
_Chārud._
Such lax attention we can ill afford.
If we are trusted by a courtezan,
Then, Brahman, prove yourself an honest man,
And guard it safely, till it be restored. 7
[_He nods, repeating the stanza_ "The melody of song, the stricken
strings:" _page_ 44.]
_Maitreya._ Are you going to sleep?
_Chārudatta._ Yes, so it seems.
For conquering sleep, descending on mine eyes,
First smites the brow with unresisted blow;
Unseen, elusive, like old age, she tries
To gather strength by weakening her foe. 8
_Maitreya._ Then let's go to sleep. [_He does so._]
* * * * *
[_Enter Sharvilaka._[45]]
_Sharv._
I made an entrance for my body's round
By force of art and arms, a path to deeds!
I skinned my sides by crawling on the ground,
Like a snake that sloughs the skin no longer sound:
And now I go where my profession leads. 9
[_He gazes at the sky. Joyfully._] See! The blessèd moon is setting.
For well I know,
My trade would fain from watchmen's eyes be shrouded;
Valiant, I force the dwelling of another.
But see, the stars in deepest dark are clouded,
And the night shields me like a careful mother. 10
I made a breach in the orchard wall and entered. And now I must force my
way into the inner court as well.
Yes, let men call it vulgar, if they will,
The trade that thrives while sleeps the sleepyhead;
Yes, knavery, not bravery, call it still,
To overreach confiding folk a-bed.
P. 86.9]
Far better blame and hissing, fairly won.
Than the pay of genuflecting underlings;
This antique path was trod by Drona's son,
Who slew the sleeping, unsuspecting kings. 11
But where shall I make the breach?
Where is the spot which falling drops decayed?
For each betraying sound is deadened there.
No yawning breach should in the walls be made,
So treatises on robbery declare.
Where does the palace crumble? Where the place
That niter-eaten bricks false soundness wear?
Where shall I 'scape the sight of woman's face?
Fulfilment of my wishes waits me there. 12
[_He feels the wall._] Here is a spot weakened by constant sun and
sprinkling and eaten by saltpeter rot. And here is a pile of dirt
thrown up by a mouse. Now heaven be praised! My venture prospers.
This is the first sign of success for Skanda's[46] sons. Now first
of all, how shall I make the breach? The blessèd Bearer of the
Golden Lance[47] has prescribed four varieties of breach, thus: if
the bricks are baked, pull them out; if they are unbaked, cut
them; if they are made of earth, wet them; if they are made of
wood, split them. Here we have baked bricks; ergo, pull out the
bricks.
Now what shall be the shape I give the breach?
A "lotus," "cistern," "crescent moon," or "sun"?
"Oblong," or "cross," or "bulging pot"? for each
The treatises permit. Which one? which one?
And where shall I display my sovereign skill,
That in the morning men may wonder still? 13
In this wall of baked bricks, the "bulging pot" would be effective. I
will make that.
[47.16. S.
At other walls that I have pierced by night,
And at my less successful ventures too,
The crowd of neighbors gazed by morning light,
Assigning praise or blame, as was my due. 14
Praise to the boon-conferring god, to Skanda of immortal youth!
Praise to him, the Bearer of the Golden Lance, the Brahman's
god, the pious! Praise to him, the Child of the Sun! Praise to him,
the teacher of magic, whose first pupil I am! For he found pleasure
in me and gave me magic ointment,
With which so I anointed be,
No watchman's eye my form shall see;
And edged sword that falls on me
From cruel wounds shall leave me free. 15
[_He anoints himself._] Alas, I have forgotten my measuring line.
[_Reflecting._] Aha! This sacred cord[48] shall be my measuring line.
Yes, the sacred cord is a great blessing to a Brahman, especially to one
like me. For, you see,
With this he measures, ere he pierce a wall,
And picks the lock, when jewels are at stake.
It serves as key to bolted door and hall,
As tourniquet for bite of worm and snake. 16
The measuring is done. I begin my task. [_He does so, then takes a
look._] My breach lacks but a single brick. Alas, I am bitten by a
snake. [_He binds his finger with the sacred cord, and manifests the
workings of poison._] I have applied the remedy, and now I am restored.
[_He continues his work, then gazes._] Ah, there burns a candle.
See!
Though jealous darkness hems it round,
The golden-yellow candle from its place
Shines through the breach upon the ground,
Like a streak of gold upon the touchstone's face. 17
P. 87.9]
[_He returns to his work._] The breach is finished. Good! I enter.
But no, I will not enter yet. I will shove a dummy in. [_He does
so._] Ah, no one is there. Praise be to Skanda! [_He enters and looks
about._] See! Two men asleep. Come, for my own protection I will
open the door. But the house is old and the door squeaks. I must
look for water. Now where might water be? [_He looks about, finds
water, and sprinkles the door. Anxiously._] I hope it will not fall
upon the floor and make a noise. Come, this is the way. [_He puts
his back against the door and opens it cautiously._] Good! So much
for that. Now I must discover whether these two are feigning
sleep, or whether they are asleep in the fullest meaning of the
term. [_He tries to terrify them, and notes the effect._] Yes, they must
be asleep in the fullest meaning of the term. For see!
Their breath first calmly rises, ere it sink;
Its regularity all fear defies.
Unmoving in their socket-holes, the eyes
Are tightly closed, and never seem to wink.
The limbs relaxed, at ease the bodies lie,
I see their feet beyond the bedstead peep,
The lighted candle vexes not the eye;
It would, if they were only feigning sleep. 18
[_He looks about him._] What! a drum? And here is a flute. And
here, a snare-drum. And here, a lute. And reed-pipes. And yonder,
manuscripts. Is this the house of a dancing-master? But no!
When I entered, I was convinced that this was a palatial residence.
Now then, is this man poor in the fullest meaning of the term, or,
from fear of the king or of thieves, does he keep his property
buried? Well, my own property is buried, too. But I will scatter
the seeds that betray subterranean gold. [_He does so._] The scattered
seeds nowhere swell up. Ah, he is poor in the fullest meaning
of the term. Good! I go.
_Maitreya._ [_Talking in his sleep._] Look, man. I see something like
a hole in the wall. I see something like a thief. You had better
take this golden casket.
[49.7. S
_Sharvilaka._ I wonder if the man has discovered that I have entered,
and is showing off his poverty in order to make fun of me.
Shall I kill him, or is the poor devil talking in his sleep? [_He takes
a look._] But see! This thing wrapped in a ragged bath-clout, now
that I inspect it by the light of my candle, is in truth a jewel-casket
Suppose I take it. But no! It is hardly proper to rob a
man of good birth, who is as poor as I am. I go.
_Maitreya._ My friend, by the wishes of cows and Brahmans[49] I conjure
you to take this golden casket.
_Sharvilaka._ One may not disregard the sacred wish of a cow and
the wish of a Brahman. I will take it. But look! There burns the
candle. I keep about me a moth for the express purpose of extinguishing
candles. I will let him enter the flame. This is his place
and hour. May this moth which I here release, depart to flutter
above the flame in varying circles. The breeze from the insect's
wings has translated the flame into accursèd darkness. Or shall I
not rather curse the darkness brought by me upon my Brahmanic
family? For my father was a man who knew the four Vedas, who
would not accept a gift; and I, Sharvilaka, his son, and a Brahman,
I am committing a crime for the sake of that courtezan girl
Madanikā. Now I will grant the Brahman's wish. [_He reaches out
for the casket._]
_Maitreya._ How cold your fingers are, man!
_Sharvilaka._ What carelessness! My fingers are cold from touching
water. Well, I will put my hand in my armpit [_He warms his left hand
and takes the casket._]
_Maitreya._ Have you got it?
_Sharvilaka._ I could not refuse a Brahman's request. I have it.
P. 80.9]
_Maitreya._ Now I shall sleep as peacefully as a merchant who has
sold his wares.
_Sharvilaka._ O great Brahman, sleep a hundred years! Alas that a
Brahman family should thus be plunged in darkness for the sake
of Madanikā, a courtezan! Or better, I myself am thus plunged
in darkness.
A curse on poverty, I say!
'T is stranger to the manly will;
This act that shuns the light of day
I curse indeed, but do it still. 19
Well then, I must go to Vasantasenā's house to buy Madanikā's
freedom. [_He walks about and looks around him._] Ah, I think I
hear footsteps. I hope they are not those of policemen. Never mind.
I will pretend to be a pillar, and wait. But after all, do policemen
exist for me, for Sharvilaka? Why, I am
A cat for crawling, and a deer for flight,
A hawk for rending, and a dog for sight
To judge the strength of men that wake or sleep,
A snake, when 't is advisable to creep,
Illusion's self, to seem a saint or rogue,
Goddess of Speech in understanding brogue;
A light in blackest night, in holes a lizard I can be,
A horse on terra firma, and a ship upon the sea. 20
And again:
Quick as a snake, and steady as a hill;
In flight the prince of birds can show no greater skill;
In searching on the ground I am as keen as any hare,
In strength I am a lion, and a wolf to rend and tear. 21
_Radanikā._ [_Entering._] Dear me! Vardhamānaka went to sleep
in the outer court, and now he is not there. Well, I will call
Maitreya. [_She walks about._]
[51.1. S.
_Sharvilaka._ [_Prepares to strike down Radanikā, but first takes a
look._] What! a woman? Good! I go. [_Exit._
* * * * *
_Radanikā._ [_Recoiling in terror._] Oh, oh, a thief has cut a hole in
the wall of our house and is escaping, I must go and wake Maitreya.
[_She approaches Maitreya._] Oh, Maitreya, get up, get up!
A thief has cut a hole in the wall of our house and has escaped.
_Maitreya._ [_Rising._] What do you mean, wench? "A hole in the
wall has cut a thief and has escaped"?
_Radanikā._ Poor fool! Stop your joking. Don't you see it?
_Maitreya._ What do you mean, wench? "It looks as if a second
door had been thrown open"? Get up, friend Chārudatta, get up!
A thief has made a hole in the wall of our house and has escaped.
_Chārudatta._ Yes, yes! A truce to your jests!
_Maitreya._ But it isn't a jest. Look!
_Chārudatta._ Where?
_Maitreya._ Why, here.
_Chārudatta._ [_Gazing._] What a very remarkable hole!
The bricks are drawn away below, above;
The top is narrow, but the center wide;
As if the great house-heart had burst with pride,
Fearing lest the unworthy share its love. 22
To think that science should be expended on a task like this!
_Maitreya._ My friend, this hole must have been made by one of
two men; either by a stranger, or else for practice by a student
of the science of robbery. For what man here in Ujjayinī does
not know how much wealth there is in our house?
_Chārud._
Stranger he must have been who made the breach,
His customed harvest in my house to reap;
He has not learned that vanished riches teach
A calm, untroubled sleep.
He saw the sometime greatness of my home
And forced an entrance; for his heart did leap
With short-lived hope; now he must elsewhere roam,
And over broken hopes must sorely weep. 23
Just think of the poor fellow telling his friends: "I entered the
house of a merchant's son, and found--nothing."
P. 92.4]
_Maitreya._ Do you mean to say that you pity the rascally robber? Thinks
he--"Here's a great house. Here's the place to carry off a jewel-casket
or a gold-casket." [_He remembers the casket. Despondently. Aside._]
Where _is_ that golden casket? [_He remembers the events of the night.
Aloud._] Look, man! You are always saying "Maitreya is a fool, Maitreya
is no scholar." But I certainly acted wisely in handing over that golden
casket to you. If I hadn't, the son of a slave would have carried it
off.
_Chārudatta._ A truce to your jests!
_Maitreya._ Just because I'm a fool, do you suppose I don't even
know the place and time for a jest?
_Chārudatta._ But when did this happen?
_Maitreya._ Why, when I told you that your fingers were cold.
_Chārudatta._ It might have been. [_He searches about. Joyfully._]
My friend, I have something pleasant to tell you.
_Maitreya._ What? Wasn't it stolen?
_Chārudatta._ Yes.
_Maitreya._ What is the pleasant news, then?
_Chārudatta._ The fact that he did not go away disappointed.
_Maitreya._ But it was only entrusted to our care.
_Chārudatta._ What! entrusted to our care? [_He swoons._]
_Maitreya._ Come to yourself, man. Is the fact that a thief stole what
was entrusted to you, any reason why you should swoon?
53.5. S.]
_Chārudatta._ [_Coming to himself._] Ah, my friend,
Who will believe the truth?
Suspicion now is sure.
This world will show no ruth
To the inglorious poor. 24
Alas! If envious fate before
Has wooed my wealth alone.
Why should she seek my store
Of virtue as her own? 25
_Maitreya._ I intend to deny the whole thing. Who gave anybody
anything? who received anything from anybody? who was a witness?
_Chārudatta._ And shall I tell a falsehood now?
No! I will beg until I earn
The wherewithal my debt to pay.
Ignoble falsehood I will spurn.
That steals the character away. 26
_Radanikā._ I will go and tell his good wife. [_She goes out, returning
with Chārudatta's wife._]
_Wife._ [_Anxiously._] Oh! Is it true that my lord is uninjured, and
Maitreya too?
_Radanikā._ It is true, mistress. But the gems which belong to the
courtezan have been stolen. [_Chārudatta's wife swoons._] O my good
mistress! Come to yourself!
_Wife._ [_Recovering._] Girl, how can you say that my lord is uninjured?
Better that he were injured in body than in character. For
now the people of Ujjayinī will say that my lord committed this
crime because of his poverty. [_She looks up and sighs._] Ah, mighty
Fate! The destinies of the poor, uncertain as the water-drops which
fall upon a lotus-leaf, seem to thee but playthings. There remains
to me this one necklace, which I brought with me from my mother's
house. But my lord would be too proud to accept it. Girl,
call Maitreya hither.
P. 95.7]
_Radanikā._ Yes, mistress. [_She approaches Maitreya._] Maitreya,
my lady summons you.
_Maitreya._ Where is she?
_Radanikā._ Here. Come!
_Maitreya._ [_Approaching._] Heaven bless you!
_Wife._ I salute you, sir. Sir, will you look straight in front of you?
_Maitreya._ Madam, here stands a man who looks straight in front
of him.
_Wife._ Sir, you must accept this.
_Maitreya._ Why?
_Wife._ I have observed the Ceremony of the Gems. And on this
occasion one must make as great a present as one may to a Brahman.
This I have not done, therefore pray accept this necklace.
_Maitreya._ [_Receiving the necklace._] Heaven bless you! I will go
and tell my friend.
_Wife._ You must not do it in such a way as to make me blush,
Maitreya. [_Exit._
_Maitreya._ [_In astonishment._] What generosity!
* * * * *
_Chārudatta._ How Maitreya lingers! I trust his grief is not leading
him to do what he ought not. Maitreya, Maitreya!
_Maitreya._ [_Approaching._] Here I am. Take that. [_He displays the
necklace._]
_Chārudatta._ What is this?
_Maitreya._ Why, that is the reward you get for marrying such a
wife.
_Chārudatta._ What! my wife takes pity on me? Alas, now am I
poor indeed!
When fate so robs him of his all,
That on her pity he must call,
The man to woman's state doth fall,
The woman is the man. 27
But no, I am not poor. For I have a wife
Whose love outlasts my wealthy day;
In thee a friend through good and ill;
And truth that naught could take away:
Ah! this the poor man lacketh still. 28
[55.9. S.
Maitreya, take the necklace and go to Vasantasenā. Tell her in
my name that we have gambled away the golden casket, forgetting
that it was not our own, that we trust she will accept this
necklace in its place.
_Maitreya._ But you must not give away this necklace, the pride of
the four seas, for that cheap thing that was stolen before we had
a bite or a drink out of it.
_Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend.
She showed her trust in leaving us her treasure;
The price of confidence has no less measure. 29
Friend, I conjure you by this gesture, not to return until you have
delivered it into her hands. Vardhamānaka, do you speedily
Fill up the opening with the selfsame bricks;
Thus will I thwart the process of the law,
For the blemish of so great a scandal sticks. 30
And, friend Maitreya, you must show your pride by not speaking
too despondently.
_Maitreya._ How can a poor man help speaking despondently?
_Chārudatta._ Poor I am not, my friend. For I have a wife
Whose love outlasts my wealthy day;
In thee a friend through good and ill;
And truth that naught could take away:
Ah, this the poor man lacketh still. (28)
Go then, and after performing rites of purification, I will offer
my morning prayer. [_Exeunt omnes._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 44: This refers to Chārudatta's generosity, which continues
after his wealth has vanished.]
[Footnote 45: The following scene satirises the Hindu love of system and
classification.]
[Footnote 46: The patron saint of thieves.]
[Footnote 47: An epithet of Skanda.]
[Footnote 48: The sacrificial cord, which passes over the left shoulder
and under the right arm, is worn constantly by members of the three
upper castes.]
[Footnote 49: Sacred creatures.]
ACT THE FOURTH
MADANIKA AND SHARVILAKA
[_Enter a maid._]
_Maid._
I am entrusted with a message for my mistress by her mother.
Here is my mistress. She is gazing at a picture and is talking
with Madanikā. I will go to her. [_She walks about. Then enter
Vasantasenā as described, and Madanikā._]
_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā girl, is this portrait really like Chārudatta?
_Madanikā._ Very like.
_Vasantasenā._ How do you know?
_Madanikā._ Because my mistress' eyes are fastened so lovingly
upon it.
_Vasantasenā._ Madanikā girl, do you say this because courtezan
courtesy demands it?
_Madanikā._ But mistress, is the courtesy of a girl who lives in a
courtezan's house, necessarily false?
_Vasantasenā._ Girl, courtezans meet so many kinds of men that
they do learn a false courtesy.
_Madanikā._ But when the eyes of my mistress find such delight in
a thing, and her heart too, what need is there to ask the reason?
_Vasantasenā._ But I should not like to have my friends laugh at me.
_Madanikā._ You need not be afraid. Women understand women.
_Maid._ [_Approaching._] Mistress, your mother sends word that a
covered cart is waiting at the side-door, and that you are to take
a drive.
_Vasantasenā._ Tell me, is it Chārudatta who invites me?
_Maid._ Mistress, the man who sent ornaments worth ten thousand
gold-pieces with the cart--
[58.6. S.
_Vasantasenā._ Is who?
_Maid._ Is the king's brother-in-law, Sansthānaka.
_Vasantasenā._ [_Indignantly._] Go! and never come again on such
an errand.
_Maid._ Do not be angry, mistress. I was only sent with the message.
_Vasantasenā._ But it is the message which makes me angry.
_Maid._ But what shall I tell your mother?
_Vasantasenā._ Tell my mother never to send me another such
message, unless she wishes to kill me.
_Maid._ As you will. [_Exit._] [_
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