Shakuntala and Other Works quotes

his picture of the day-blooming water-lily at sunset:

The water-lily closes, but With wonderful reluctancy; As if it troubled her to shut Her door of welcome to the bee.

The religion of any great poet is always a matter of interest, especially the religion of a Hindu poet; for the Hindus have ever been a deeply and creatively religious people.

Why should his tender form expire, As blossoms perish in the fire? How could that gentle life endure The deadly arrow, sharp and sure?

Restore your arrow to the quiver; To you were weapons lent The broken-hearted to deliver, Not strike the innocent.

King (bowing low). It is done. (He does so.)

I must find out. (He walks and looks about.) Ah, here are hermit-girls, with watering-pots just big enough for them to handle. They are coming in this direction to water the young trees. They are charming!

The city maids, for all their pains, Seem not so sweet and good; Our garden blossoms yield to these Flower-children of the wood.

I will draw back into the shade and wait for them. (He stands, gazing toward them. Enter SHAKUNTALA, as described, and her two friends.)

Shakuntala (looking ahead).

Oh, girls, that mango-tree is trying to tell me something with his branches that move in the wind like fingers.

I must go and see him. (She does so.)

Surely, she may become a warrior's bride; Else, why these longings in an honest mind?

The motions of a blameless heart decide Of right and wrong, when reason leaves us blind.

Yet I will learn the whole truth.

King. It is as it should be.

To beauty such as this No woman could give birth; The quivering lightning flash Is not a child of earth.

(SHAKUNTALA hangs her head in confusion.) King (to himself). Ah, my wishes become hopes.

King (aside). She is going! (He starts up as if to detain her, then checks his desires.)

A thought is as vivid as an act, to a lover.

Though nurture, conquering nature, holds Me back, it seems As had I started and returned In waking dreams.

King (sighing). They are gone. And I must go. The sight of Shakuntala has made me dread the return to the city. I will make my men camp at a distance from the pious grove. But I cannot turn my own thoughts from Shakuntala.

It is my body leaves my love, not I; My body moves away, but not my mind; For back to her my struggling fancies fly Like silken banners borne against the wind.

Clown (sighing). Damn! Damn! Damn! I'm tired of being friends with this sporting king. "There's a deer!" he shouts, "There's a boar!" And off he chases on a summer noon through woods where shade is few and far between.

(Smiling.) Thus does a lover deceive himself.

He judges his love's feelings by his own desires.

Her glance was loving—but 'twas not for me; Her step was slow—'twas grace, not coquetry; Her speech was short—to her detaining friend. In things like these love reads a selfish end!

Clown. Good!

You hit a man in the eye, and then ask him why the tears come.

King. I do not understand you. Speak plainly.

Clown.

When a reed bends over like a hunchback, do you blame the reed or the river-current?

King. The river-current, of course.

King. This too is in my thought.

She seems a flower whose fragrance none has tasted, A gem uncut by workman's tool, A branch no desecrating hands have wasted, Fresh honey, beautifully cool.

No man on earth deserves to taste her beauty, Her blameless loveliness and worth, Unless he has fulfilled man's perfect duty— And is there such a one on earth?

King. In truth, I am perplexed.

Two inconsistent duties sever My mind with cruel shock, As when the current of a river Is split upon a rock.

(He reflects.) My friend, the queen-mother has always felt toward you as toward a son. Do you return, tell her what duty keeps me here, and yourself perform the offices of a son.

King (with a meditative sigh).

I know that stern religion's power Keeps guardian watch my maiden o'er; Yet all my heart flows straight to her Like water to the valley-floor.

Indeed, the moon and thou inspire confidence, only to deceive the host of lovers.

Thy shafts are blossoms; coolness streams From moon-rays: thus the poets sing; But to the lovelorn, falsehood seems To lurk in such imagining; The moon darts fire from frosty beams; Thy flowery arrows cut and sting.

If Love will trouble her Whose great eyes madden me, I greet him unafraid, Though wounded ceaselessly.

The two friends. That is why we insist on knowing, dear.

Grief must be shared to be endured.

To friends who share her joy and grief She tells what sorrow laid her here; She turned to look her love again When first I saw her—yet I fear!

King (joyfully). I have heard what I longed to hear.

'Twas love that caused the burning pain; 'Tis love that eases it again; As when, upon a sultry day, Rain breaks, and washes grief away.

Shakuntala. Then, if you think best, make the good king take pity upon me. If not, remember that I was. King. Her words end all doubt.

Here stands the eager lover, and you pale For fear lest he disdain a love so kind:

The seeker may find fortune, or may fail; But how could fortune, seeking, fail to find?

The ardent lover comes, and yet you fear Lest he disdain love's tribute, were it brought, The hope of which has led his footsteps here— Pearls need not seek, for they themselves are sought.

King. Pray do not hesitate.

It always causes pain in the end, to leave unsaid what one longs to say.

King. I am all attention.

Shakuntala.

Why not accuse a fate that robs me of self-control and tempts me with the virtues of another?

Though deeply longing, maids are coy And bid their wooers wait; Though eager for united joy In love, they hesitate.

O King, I cannot do as you would have me. You hardly know me after this short talk. But oh, do not forget me.

When evening comes, the shadow of the tree Is cast far forward, yet does not depart; Even so, belovèd, wheresoe'er you be, The thought of you can never leave my heart.

Shakuntala (takes a few steps. To herself). Oh, oh! When I hear him speak so, my feet will not move away. I will hide in this amaranth hedge and see how long his love lasts. (She hides and waits.)

King (seeing her. Joyfully). The queen of my life! As soon as I complained, fate proved kind to me.

No sooner did the thirsty bird With parching throat complain, Than forming clouds in heaven stirred And sent the streaming rain.

Shakuntala (standing before the king). When I was going away, sir, I remembered that this lotus-bracelet had fallen from my arm, and I have come back for it. My heart seemed to tell me that you had taken it.

King (advancing with a sigh.)

The path to happiness is strewn with obstacles.

Her face, adorned with soft eye-lashes, Adorable with trembling flashes Of half-denial, in memory lingers; The sweet lips guarded by her fingers, The head that drooped upon her shoulder— Why was I not a little bolder?

Pupil. Father Kanva has returned from his pilgrimage, and has bidden me find out what time it is. I will go into the open air and see how much of the night remains. (He walks and looks about.) See! The dawn is breaking. For already

The moon behind the western mount is sinking; The eastern sun is heralded by dawn; From heaven's twin lights, their fall and glory linking, Brave lessons of submission may be drawn.

Night-blooming lilies, when the moon is hidden, Have naught but memories of beauty left. Hard, hard to bear! Her lot whom heaven has bidden To live alone, of love and lover reft.

Priyamvada. You are not the only one to feel sad at this farewell. See how the whole grove feels at parting from you.

The grass drops from the feeding doe; The peahen stops her dance; Pale, trembling leaves are falling slow, The tears of clinging plants.

Shakuntala (recalling something). Father, I must say good-bye to the spring-creeper, my sister among the vines.

Shakuntala (throwing her arms about her father).

I am torn from my father's breast like a vine stripped from a sandal-tree on the Malabar hills. How can I live in another soil?

(She weeps.)

The king is within. I will tell him of the urgent business which demands his attention. (He takes a few steps.) But what is the business? (He recalls it.) Yes, I remember. Certain hermits, pupils of Kanva, desire to see his Majesty. Strange, strange!

The mind of age is like a lamp Whose oil is running thin; One moment it is shining bright, Then darkness closes in.

(He walks and looks about.) Here is his Majesty.

(He walks about. Enter the king, the clown, and retinue according to rank.) King (betraying the cares of office). Every one is happy on attaining his desire—except a king. His difficulties increase with his power. Thus:

Security slays nothing but ambition; With great possessions, troubles gather thick; Pain grows, not lessens, with a king's position, As when one's hand must hold the sunshade's stick.

Two court poets behind the scenes. Victory to your Majesty.

Sharngarava. Yes, it is admirable, but not surprising. For

Fruit-laden trees bend down to earth; The water-pregnant clouds hang low; Good men are not puffed up by power— The unselfish are by nature so.

Portress. Your Majesty, the hermits seem to be happy. They give you gracious looks.

Shakuntala. Well, well. I had my way. I trusted a king, and put myself in his hands.

He had a honey face and a heart of stone.

(She covers her face with her dress and weeps.)

Sharngarava. Thus does unbridled levity burn.

Be slow to love, but yet more slow With secret mate; With those whose hearts we do not know, Love turns to hate.

King. Why do you trust this girl, and accuse me of an imaginary crime? Sharngarava (disdainfully). You have learned your wisdom upside down.

Fisherman. Don't say that, master.

You can't give up a lowdown trade That your ancestors began; A butcher butchers things, and yet He's the tenderest-hearted man.

Chief. Go on. Go on.

King (sighing). My friend, the proverb makes no mistake.

Misfortune finds the weak spot.

See!

Clown. But, man, this isn't right at all. A good man never lets grief get the upper hand.

The mountains are calm even in a tempest.

King. My friend, I am quite forlorn. I keep thinking of her pitiful state when I rejected her. Thus:

King (rising quickly). My very palace is invaded by evil creatures.

To be a king, is to be a disappointed man.

The moral stumblings of mine own, The daily slips, are scarcely known; Who then that rules a kingdom, can Guide every deed of every man?

Matali. I will tell you. I saw that you were overpowered by some inner sorrow, and acted thus to rouse you. For

The spurnèd snake will swell his hood; Fire blazes when 'tis stirred; Brave men are roused to fighting mood By some insulting word.

King. Friend Madhavya, I must obey the bidding of heaven's king. Go, acquaint the minister Pishuna with the matter, and add these words of mine:

Matali. It is a worthy thought, O King. (The chariot descends.) We have come down to earth.

The wheels are mute on whirling rim; Unstirred, the dust is lying there; We do not bump the earth, but skim: Still, still we seem to fly through air.

Matali. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.

After the briefest glance at the origin of the solar line, the poet tells of Rama's great-great-grandfather, King Dilipa. The detailed description of Dilipa's virtues has interest as showing Kalidasa's ideal of an aristocrat; a brief sample must suffice here:

He practised virtue, though in health; Won riches, with no greed for wealth; Guarded his life, though not from fear; Prized joys of earth, but not too dear.

His virtuous foes he could esteem Like bitter drugs that healing seem; The friends who sinned he could forsake Like fingers bitten by a snake.

He practised virtue, though in health; Won riches, with no greed for wealth; Guarded his life, though not from fear; Prized joys of earth, but not too dear.

His virtuous foes he could esteem Like bitter drugs that healing seem; The friends who sinned he could forsake Like fingers bitten by a snake.

Yet King Dilipa has one deep-seated grief: he has no son. He therefore journeys with his queen to the hermitage of the sage Vasishtha, in order to learn what they must do to propitiate an offended fate.

The king drank pleasure from him late and soon With eyes that stared like windless lotus-flowers; Unselfish joy expanded all his powers As swells the sea responsive to the moon.

The rooted love that filled each parent's soul For the other, deep as bird's love for the mate, Was now divided with the boy; and straight The remaining half proved greater than the whole.

He learned the reverence that befits a boy; Following the nurse's words, began to talk; And clinging to her finger, learned to walk: These childish lessons stretched his father's joy,

Fourth canto. Raghu conquers the world.—The canto opens with several stanzas descriptive of the glory of youthful King Raghu.

He manifested royal worth By even justice toward the earth, Beloved as is the southern breeze, Too cool to burn, too warm to freeze.

The people loved his father, yet For greater virtues could forget; The beauty of the blossoms fair Is lost when mango-fruits are there.

Sixth canto. The princess chooses.—The princely suitors assemble in the hall; then, to the sound of music, the princess enters in a litter, robed as a bride, and creates a profound sensation.

For when they saw God's masterpiece, the maid Who smote their eyes to other objects blind, Their glances, wishes, hearts, in homage paid, Flew forth to her; mere flesh remained behind.

The princes could not but betray their yearning By sending messengers, their love to bring, In many a quick, involuntary turning, As flowering twigs of trees announce the spring.

She therefore turns her attention to the king of the Pandya country in far southern India. But she is unmoved by hearing of the magic charm of the south, and rejects him too.

And every prince rejected while she sought A husband, darkly frowned, as turrets, bright One moment with the flame from torches caught, Frown gloomily again and sink in night.

The princess then approaches Aja, who trembles lest she pass him by, as she has passed by the other suitors.

As the celestial car makes its journey, Rama points out the objects of interest or of memory to Sita. Thus, as they fly over the sea:

The form of ocean, infinitely changing, Clasping the world and all its gorgeous state, Unfathomed by the intellect's wide ranging, Is awful like the form of God, and great.

He gives his billowy lips to many a river That into his embrace with passion slips, Lover of many wives, a generous giver Of kisses, yet demanding eager lips.

and in answer to his question, declares that she is the presiding goddess of the ancient capital Ayodhya, which has been deserted since Rama's departure to heaven. She pictures the sad state of the city thus:

I have no king; my towers and terraces Crumble and fall; my walls are overthrown; As when the ugly winds of evening seize The rack of clouds in helpless darkness blown.

In streets where maidens gaily passed at night, Where once was known the tinkle and the shine Of anklets, jackals slink, and by the light Of flashing fangs, seek carrion, snarl, and whine.

The peacock-pets are wild that once were tame; They roost on trees, not perches; lose desire For dancing to the drums; and feel no shame For fans singed close by sparks of forest-fire.

On stairways where the women once were glad To leave their pink and graceful footprints, here Unwelcome, blood-stained paws of tigers pad, Fresh-smeared from slaughter of the forest deer.

Wall-painted elephants in lotus-brooks, Receiving each a lily from his mate, Are torn and gashed, as if by cruel hooks, By claws of lions, showing furious hate.

First canto. The birth of Parvati.—The poem begins with a description of the great Himalaya mountain-range.

God of the distant north, the Snowy Range O'er other mountains towers imperially; Earth's measuring-rod, being great and free from change, Sinks to the eastern and the western sea.

Whose countless wealth of natural gems is not Too deeply blemished by the cruel snow; One fault for many virtues is forgot, The moon's one stain for beams that endless flow.

She passes through a happy childhood of sand-piles, balls, dolls, and little girl friends, when all at once young womanhood comes upon her.

As pictures waken to the painter's brush, Or lilies open to the morning sun, Her perfect beauty answered to the flush Of womanhood when childish days were done.

Suppose a blossom on a leafy spray; Suppose a pearl on spotless coral laid: Such was the smile, pure, radiantly gay, That round her red, red lips for ever played.

Thy slow recurrent day and night Bring death to all, or living light.

We live beneath thy waking eye; Thou sleepest, and thy creatures die.

Solid and fluid, great and small, And light and heavy—Thou art all; Matter and form are both in thee: Thy powers are past discovery.

And at the sight of him, she wept the more, And often clutched her throat, and beat her breast;

For lamentation finds an open door In the presence of the friends we love the best.

Stifling, she cried: "Behold the mournful matter! In place of him thou seekest, what is found? A something that the winds of heaven scatter, A trace of dove-grey ashes on the ground.

They search for wealth, whom dreaded evil nears, Or they who fain would rise a little higher; The world's sole refuge neither hopes nor fears Nor seeks the objects of a small desire.

Yes, he is poor, yet he is riches' source; This graveyard-haunter rules the world alone; Dreadful is he, yet all beneficent force: Think you his inmost nature can be known?

All forms are his; and he may take or leave At will, the snake, or gem with lustre white; The bloody skin, or silk of softest weave; Dead skulls, or moonbeams radiantly bright.

The steeds that draw the sun's bright car, With bended neck and falling plume And drooping mane, are seen afar To bury day in ocean's gloom.

The sun is down, and heaven sleeps: Thus every path of glory ends; As high as are the scaled steeps, The downward way as low descends.

Shiva then retires for meditation. On his return, he finds that his bride is peevish at being left alone even for a little time, and to soothe her, he describes the night which is now advancing. A few stanzas of this description run as follows.

Mute while the world is dazed with light, The smiling moon begins to rise And, being teased by eager night, Betrays the secrets of the skies.

Moon-fingers move the black, black hair Of night into its proper place, Who shuts her eyes, the lilies fair, As he sets kisses on her face.

Shiva and Parvati then drink wine brought them by the guardian goddess of the grove, and in this lovely spot they dwell happily for many years.

Where thick rose-apples make the current slow, Refresh thyself from thine exhausted state With ichor-pungent drops that fragrant flow; Thou shalt not then to every wind vibrate—

Empty means ever light, and full means added weight.

Spying the madder on the banks, half brown, Half green with shoots that struggle to the birth, Nibbling where early plantain-buds hang down, Scenting the sweet, sweet smell of forest earth, The deer will trace thy misty track that ends the dearth.

The neighbouring mountain stream that gliding grants A glimpse of charms in whirling eddies pursed, While noisy swans accompany her dance Like a tinkling zone, will slake thy loving thirst—

A woman always tells her love in gestures first.

Thou only, happy lover! canst repair The desolation that thine absence made: Her shrinking current seems the careless hair That brides deserted wear in single braid, And dead leaves falling give her face a paler shade.

If, born from friction of the deodars, A scudding fire should prove the mountain's bane, Singeing the tails of yaks with fiery stars, Quench thou the flame with countless streams of rain—

The great have power that they may soothe distress and pain.

If mountain monsters should assail thy path With angry leaps that of their object fail, Only to hurt themselves in helpless wrath, Scatter the creatures with thy pelting hail— For who is not despised that strives without avail?

If mountain monsters should assail thy path With angry leaps that of their object fail, Only to hurt themselves in helpless wrath, Scatter the creatures with thy pelting hail—

For who is not despised that strives without avail?

Bend lowly down and move in reverent state Round Shiva's foot-print on the rocky plate With offerings laden by the saintly great; The sight means heaven as their eternal fate When death and sin are past, for them that faithful wait.

These are the signs—recall them o'er and o'er, My clever friend—by which the house is known, And the Conch and Lotus painted by the door: Alas! when I am far, the charm is gone—

The lotus' loveliness is lost with set of sun.

Small as the elephant cub thou must become For easy entrance; rest where gems enhance The glory of the hill beside my home, And peep into the house with lightning-glance, But make its brightness dim as fireflies' twinkling dance.

Yet much reflection, dearest, makes me strong, Strong with an inner strength; nor shouldst thou feel Despair at what has come to us of wrong;

Who has unending woe or lasting weal? Our fates move up and down upon a circling wheel.

and to remember that the curse has its appointed end, when the rainy season is over and the year of exile fulfilled. Vishnu spends the rainy months in sleep upon the back of the cosmic serpent Shesha.

Beneath the garland of the rays That leave no corner cool, The water vanishes in haze And leaves a muddy pool;

The cobra does not hunt for food Nor heed the frog at all Who finds beneath the serpent's hood A sheltering parasol.

Dear maiden of the graceful song, To you may summer's power Bring moonbeams clear and garlands long And breath of trumpet-flower, Bring lakes that countless lilies dot, Refreshing water-sprays, Sweet friends at evening, and a spot Cool after burning days.

Dear maiden of the graceful song, To you may summer's power Bring moonbeams clear and garlands long And breath of trumpet-flower, Bring lakes that countless lilies dot, Refreshing water-sprays, Sweet friends at evening, and a spot Cool after burning days.

The rain advances like a king In awful majesty; Hear, dearest, how his thunders ring Like royal drums, and see His lightning-banners wave; a cloud For elephant he rides, And finds his welcome from the crowd Of lovers and of brides.

The clouds, a mighty army, march With drumlike thundering And stretch upon the rainbow's arch The lightning's flashing string; The cruel arrows of the rain Smite them who love, apart From whom they love, with stinging pain, And pierce them to the heart.

May rain whereby life wakes and shines Where there is power of life, The unchanging friend of clinging vines, Shower blessings on my wife.

The autumn comes, a maiden fair In slenderness and grace, With nodding rice-stems in her hair And lilies in her face.

In flowers of grasses she is clad; And as she moves along, Birds greet her with their cooing glad Like bracelets' tinkling song.

Then may the days of early spring For you be rich and full With love's proud, soft philandering And many a candy-pull, With sweetest rice and sugar-cane: And may you float above The absent grieving and the pain Of separated love.

A stalwart soldier comes, the spring, Who bears the bow of Love; And on that bow, the lustrous string Is made of bees, that move With malice as they speed the shaft Of blossoming mango-flower At us, dear, who have never laughed At love, nor scorned his power.

Their blossom-burden weights the trees; The winds in fragrance move; The lakes are bright with lotuses, The women bright with love; The days are soft, the evenings clear And charming; everything That moves and lives and blossoms, dear, Is sweeter in the spring.