Madhav. Prosperity and victory attend thee, O King! We have been standing here to have a sight of thee since the early morning. Forget us not, your Majesty, in your favours.
Kumbha. The mystery deepens. I will go and call Grandfather.[Goes out.]
[Enter another band of MEN]
First Man. The King, the King! Come along, quick, the King is passing this way.
Second Man. Do not forget me, O King! I am Vivajadatta, the grandson of Udayadatta of Kushalivastu. I came here at the first report of thy coming-I did not stop to hear what people were saying: all the loyalty in me went out towards thee, O Monarch, and brought me here.
Third Man. Rubbish! I came here earlier than you-before the cockcrow. Where were you then? O King, I am Bhadrasena, of Vikramasthali. Deign to keep thy servant in thy memory!
King. I am much pleased with your loyalty and devotion.
Vivajadatta. Your Majesty, many are the grievances and complaints we have to make to thee: to whom could we turn our prayers so long, when we could not approach thy august presence?
King. Your grievances will all be redressed. [Exit.]
First Man. It won't do to lag behind, boys-the King will lose sight of us if we get mixed up with the mob.
Second Man. See there-look what that fool Narottam is doing! He has elbowed his way through all of us and is now sedulously fanning the King with a palm leaf!
Madhav. Indeed! Well, well, the sheer audacity of the man takes one's breath away.
Second Man. We shall have to pitch the fellow out of that place-is he fit to stand beside the King?
Madhav. Do you imagine the King will not see through him? His loyalty is obviously a little too showy and profuse.
First Man. Nonsense! Kings can't scent hypocrites as we do-I should not be surprised if the King be taken in by that fool's strenuous fanning.
[Enter KUMBHA with GRANDFATHER]
Kumbha. I tell you-he has just passed by this street.
Grandfather . Is that a very infallible test of Kingship?
Kumbha. Oh no, he did not pass unobserved: not one or two men but hundreds and thousands on both sides of the street have seen him with their own eyes.
Grandfather. That is exactly what makes the whole affair suspicious. When ever has our King set out to dazzle the eyes of the people by pomp and pageantry? He is not the King to make such a thundering row over his progress through the country.
Kumbha. But he may just have chosen to do so on this important occasion: you cannot really tell.
Grandfather. Oh yes, you can! My King cherishes no weathercock fancy, no fantastic vein.
Kumbha. But, Grandfather, I wish I could only describe him! So soft, so delicate and exquisite like a waxen doll! As I looked on him, I yearned to shelter him from the sun, to protect him with my whole body.
Grandfather. Fool, O precious ass that you are! My King a waxen doll, and you to protect him!
Kumbha. But seriously, Grandpa, he is a superb god, a miracle of beauty: I do not find a single other figure in this vast assembly that can stand beside his peerless loveliness.
Grandfather. If my King chose to make himself shown, your eyes would not have noticed him. He would not stand out like that amongst others-he is one of the people, he mingles with the common populace.
Kumbha. But did I not tell you I saw his banner?
Grandfather. What did you see displayed on his banner?
Kumbha. It had a red Kimshuk flower painted on it-the bright and glittering scarlet dazzled my eyes.
Grandfather. My King has a thunderbolt within a lotus painted on his flag.
Kumbha. But every one is saying, the King is out in this festival: every one.
Grandfather. Why, so he is, of course: but he has no heralds, no army, no retinue, no music bands or lights to accompany him.
Kumbha. So none could recognise him in his incognito, it seems.
Grandfather. Perhaps there are a few that can.
Kumbha. And those that can recognise him-does the King grant them whatever they ask for?
Grandfather. But they never ask for anything. No beggar will ever know the King. The greater beggar appears like the King to the eyes of the lesser beggar. O fool, the man that has come out to-day attired in crimson and gold to beg from you-it is him whom you are trumpeting as your King! . . . Ah, there comes my mad friend! Oh come, my brothers! we cannot spend the day in idle wrangling and prating-let us now have some mad frolic, some wild enjoyment!
[Enter the MAD FRIEND, who sings]
Do you smile, my friends? Do you laugh, my brothers? I roam in search of the golden stag! Ah yes, the fleet-foot vision that ever eludes me!
Oh, he flits and glimpses like a flash and then is gone, the untamed rover of the wilds! Approach him and he is afar in a trice, leaving a cloud of haze and dust before thy eyes!
Yet I roam in search of the golden stag, though I may never catch him in these wilds! Oh, I roam and wander through woods and fields and nameless lands like a restless vagabond, never caring to turn my back.
You all come and buy in the marketplace and go back to your homes laden with goods and provisions: but me the wild winds of unscalable heights have touched and kissed-Oh, I know not when or where!
I have parted with my all to get what never has become mine! And yet think my moanings and my tears are for the things I thus have lost!
With a laugh and a song in my heart I have left all sorrow and grief far behind me: Oh, I roam and wander through woods and fields and nameless lands-never caring to turn my vagabond's back!
II.
[A DarkChamber. QUEEN SUDARSHANA. Her Maid of Honour, SURANGAMA]
Sudarshana. Light, light! Where is light? Will the lamp never be lighted in this chamber?
Surangama. My Queen, all your other rooms are lighted-will you never long to escape from the light into a dark room like this?
Sudarshana. But why should this room be kept dark?
Surangama. Because otherwise you would know neither light nor darkness.
Sudarshana. Living in this dark room you have grown to speak darkly and strangely-I cannot understand you, Surangama. But tell me, in what part of the palace is this chamber situated? I cannot make out either the entrance or the way out of this room.
Surangama. This room is placed deep down, in the very heart of the earth. The King has built this room specially for your sake.
Sudarshana. Why, he has no dearth of rooms-why need he have made this chamber of darkness specially for me?
Surangama. You can meet others in the lighted rooms: but only in this dark room can you meet your lord.
Sudarshana. No, no-I cannot live without light-I am restless in this stifling dark. Surangama, if you can bring a light into this room, I shall give you this necklace of mine.
Surangama. It is not in my power, O Queen. How can I bring light to a place which he would have kept always dark!
Sudarshana. Strange devotion! And yet, is it not true that the King punished your father?
Surangama. Yes, that is true. My father used to gamble. All the young men of the country used to gather at my father's house-and they used to drink and gamble.
Sudarshana. And when the King sent away your father in exile, did it not make you feel bitterly oppressed?
Surangama. Oh, it made me quite furious. I was on the road to ruin and destruction: when that path was closed for me, I seemed left without any support, without any succour or shelter. I raged and raved like a wild beast in a cage-how I wanted to tear every one to pieces in my powerless anger!
Sudarshana. But how did you get this devotion towards that same King?
Sarangama . How can I tell? Perhaps I could rely and depend on him because he was so hard, so pitiless!
Sudarshana. When did this change of feeling take place?
Surangama. I could not tell you-I do not know that myself. A day came when all the rebel in me knew itself beaten, and then my whole nature bowed down in humble resignation on the dust of the earth. And then I saw . . . I saw that he was as matchless in beauty as in terror. Oh. I was saved, I was rescued.
Sudarshana. Tell me, Surangama, I implore you, won't you tell me what is the King like to look at? I have not seen him yet for a single day. He comes to me in darkness, and leaves me in this dark room again. How many people have I not asked-but they all return vague and dark answers-it seems to me that they all keep back something.
Surangama. To tell you the truth, Queen, I could not say well what he is like. No-he is not what men call handsome.
Sudarshana. You don't say so? Not handsome!
Surangama. No, my Queen, he is not handsome. To call him beautiful would be to say far too little about him.
Sudarshana. All your words are like that-dark, strange, and vague. I cannot understand what you mean.
Surangama. No, I will not call him handsome. And it is because he is not beautiful that he is so wonderful, so superb, so miraculous!
Sudarshana. I do not quite understand you-though I like to hear you talk about him. But I must see him at any cost. I do not even remember the day when I was married to him. I have heard mother say that a wise man came before my marriage and said, "He who will wed your daughter is without a second on this earth." How often have I asked her to describe his appearance to me, but she only answers vaguely, and says she cannot say-she saw him through a veil, faintly and obscurely. But if he is the best among men, how can I sit still without seeing him?
Surangama. Do you not feel a faint breeze blowing?
Sudarshana. A breeze? Where?
Surangama. Do you not smell a soft perfume?
Sudarshana. No, I don't.
Surangama. The large door has opened . . . he is coming; my King is coming in.
Sudarshana. How can you perceive when he comes?
Surangama. I cannot say: I seem to hear his footsteps in my own heart. Being his servant of this dark chamber, I have developed a sense-I can know and feel without seeing.
Sudarshana. Would that I had this sense too, Surangama!
Surangama. You will have it, O Queen . . . this sense will awaken in you one day. Your longing to have a sight of him makes you restless, and therefore all your mind is strained and warped in that direction. When you are past this state of feverish restlessness, everything will become quite easy.
Sudarshana. How is it that it is easy to you, who are a servant, and so difficult to me, the Queen?
Surangama. It is because I am a mere servant that no difficulty baulks me. On the first day, when he left this room to my care, saying, "Surangama, you will always keep this chamber ready for me: this is all your task," then I did not say, even in thought, "Oh, give me the work of those who keep the other rooms lighted." No, but as soon as I bent all my mind to my task, a power woke and grew within me, and mastered every part of me unopposed. . . . Oh, there he comes! . . . he is standing outside, before the door. Lord! O King!
Song outside.
Open your door. I am waiting.The ferry of the light from the dawn to the dark is done for the day, The evening star is up.Have you gathered your flowers, braided your hair, And donned your white robe for the night?The cattle have come to their folds and birds to their nests.The cross paths that run to all quarters have merged into one in the dark. Open your door. I am waiting.
Surangama. O King, who can keep thy own doors shut against thee? They are not locked or bolted-they will swing wide open if you only touch them with thy fingers. Wilt thou not even touch them? Wilt thou not enter unless I go and open the doors?
Song.
At a breath you can remove my veils, my lord!If I fall asleep on the dust and hear not your call, would you wait till I wake?Would not the thunder of your chariot wheel make the earth tremble?Would you not burst open the door and enter your own house unbidden?
Then do you go, O Queen, and open the door for him: he will not enter otherwise.
Sudarshana. I do not see anything distinctly in the dark-I do not know where the doors are. You know everything here-go and open the doors for me.
[SURANGAMA opens the door, bows to the KING, and goes out. The KING will remain invisible throughout this play.]
Sudarshana. Why do you not allow me to see you in the light?
King. So you want to see me in the midst of a thousand things in broad daylight! Why should I not be the only thing you can feel in this darkness?
Sudarshana. But I must see you-I am longing to have a sight of you.
King. You will not be able to bear the sight of me-it will only give you pain, poignant and overpowering.
Sudarshana. How can you say that I shall be unable to bear your sight? Oh, I can feel even in this dark how lovely and wonderful you are: why should I be afraid of you in the light? But tell me, can you see me in the dark?
King. Yes, I can.
Sudarshana. What do you see?
King. I see that the darkness of the infinite heavens, whirled into life and being by the power of my love, has drawn the light of a myriad stars into itself, and incarnated itself in a form of flesh and blood. And in that form, what acons of thought and striving, untold yearnings of limitless skies, the countless gifts of unnumbered seasons!
Sudarshana. Am I so wonderful, so beautiful? When I hear you speak so, my heart swells with gladness and pride. But how can I believe the wonderful things you tell me? I cannot find them in myself!
King. Your own mirror will not reflect them-it lessens you, limits you, makes you look small and insignificant. But could you see yourself mirrored in my own mind, how grand would you appear! In my own heart you are no longer the daily individual which you think you are-you are verily my second self.
Sudarshana. Oh, do show me for an instant how to see with your eyes! Is there nothing at all like darkness to you? I am afraid when I think of this. This darkness which is to me real and strong as death-is this simply nothing to you? Then how can there be any union at all between us, in a place like this? No, no-it is impossible: there is a barrier betwixt us two: not here, no, not in this place. I want to find you and see you where I see trees and animals, birds and stones and the earth King. Very well, you can try to find me-but none will point me out to you. You will have to recognise me, if you can, yourself. And even if anybody professes to show me to you, how can you be sure he is speaking the truth?