Nagananda (Boyd 1872)/Act 2
ACT II.
Then enters a Servant Girl.
Girl.
I am bidden by the Princess Malayavatí, "Manohariká, my respected brother, Mitrávasu, tarries long to-day; go, then, and inquire whether he has come or not." (She walks about.) Who can this be coming hither in such haste. (Looking.) Why! it is Chaturiká.
Then enters a Second Servant Girl.
First Girl (going up to her).
Holla, Chaturiká! why, avoiding me, do you go thus hastily?
Second Girl.
O Manohariká, I am bidden by the Princess Malayavatí, "Chaturiká, my body cannot endure the fatigue of gathering flowers. My passion exceedingly torments me, as though produced by autumnal sunshine. Go, then, prepare the seat of moonstone in the arbour of sandal-creepers, shadowed with the leaves of young plantain trees." I have done as ordered, and am going to inform the princess.
First Girl.
Go, then, quickly and tell her, so that having gone thither her fever may be alleviated.
Second Girl (laughingly to herself).
Her fever is not of a nature to be thus relieved. In my opinion, her fever will be augmented on seeing the bower of sandal-creepers with its various delights. (Aloud.) Go on, then, you. I too will go and inform the princess that the moonstone seat is prepared.
END OF INTERLUDE.
Then enters with a longing look Malayavatí
and a Servant Girl.
Malayavatí (with a sigh, to herself).
O heart! after having made my mouth dumb through shyness towards him, thou art now gone to him of thine own accord. Alas! for thy selfishness! (Aloud.) O Chaturiká! point out to me the temple of Gaurí.
Girl (to herself).
Though on the way to the bower of sandal-creepers, she says, "To the temple of Gaurí!" (Aloud.) The princess is on the way to the bower of young sandal-trees.
Malayavatí (with confusion).
It is well that you remind me. Come then, we will go thither.
Girl.
Let the princess come.
Girl (looking back with uneasiness, to herself).
Alas, for her absence of mind! Why, she is actually gone towards the temple of the goddess! (Aloud.) O lady! is not the sandal-creeper bower in this direction? Come this way, then. (The heroine does so with a meaningless smile.)[1] Here we are at the sandal-creeper bower, therefore let your ladyship enter and sit down on the moonstone seat to recover yourself.
Malayavatí (with a sigh, to herself).
Lord of the flower-tipped arrows,[2] against that man who surpasses you in beauty of form you do nothing at all; but against me, though blameless, you are not ashamed to strike, saying to yourself, "She is a weak woman." (Looking at herself, and gesticulating as one in love. Aloud.) Girl, how is it that even this sandal-creeper bower, from which the sun's rays are kept by the density of the shoots, does not alleviate the pain of my fever?
Girl.
I know the cause of this fever, but the princess is unwilling to avow it.
Malayavatí (to herself).
I am seen through by her. Still I will ask. (Aloud.) Girl, what is that which I will not avow? Come, tell me this cause of yours.
Girl.
It is the man placed in your heart.
Malayavatí (with joy and agitation, after rising and
advancing two or three steps).
Where—where is he?
Girl (rising, with a smile).
O lady, what he?
Girl.
Well, I will explain. This man who is established in your affections was promised to you by the goddess in a dream, and a moment after he was seen by you, resembling Cupid without his flowery arrows. This man, then, is the cause of your anguish, so that even this bower of young sandal-trees, though cool in its very nature, does not relieve the pain of your fever.
Malayavatí (to herself).
I am found out by Chaturiká. (Aloud.) Girl, well are you named Chaturiká.[3] Why should I longer conceal it from you? I will tell you all.
Girl.
O lady! it is as good as told already. Where is the use of more talk? You have had enough agitation. Do not further excite yourself. As sure as my name is Chaturiká, he too will not enjoy a moment of happiness until he has again seen you. I have found out this too.
Malayavatí (with tears).
Whence should I obtain so great bliss?
Girl.
Say not so. How can he be happy when even Vishnu has no happiness without Lakshmí on his bosom.
Malayavatí.
Can a friend say anything but what is kind? But it makes my passion distress me more, when I think how I did not honour the noble hero with a single word, so that he will say to himself, "That awkward girl is wanting in respectful behaviour." (She weeps.)
Girl.
O lady, do not give way! (To herself.) Yet how should she not weep, since the great passion of her heart distresses her more and more? What then shall I now do? I will place on her breast the juice of a sandal-creeper spray. (Rising and plucking a sprig of sandal, and squeezing out the juice, she places it on her breast. Aloud.) O lady, do I not say, "Weep not?" Even this sandal-juice, notwithstanding its nature, does not relieve thy breast, since it is rendered warm by these tear-drops falling unchecked.
Malayavatí (checks her with a hand).
Do not fan me. Even the wind of the plantain leaf is warm.
Girl.
Do not impute the fault to it. It is you who make warm this wind of the plantain leaf, which is cool through its contact with the gathered sandal shoots, changing its nature with your sighs.
Malayavatí (with tears).
Is there any means of checking this fever?
Girl.
There is indeed. If he would but now come.
Then enters the hero with the Vidúshaka.
Jímútaváhana.
O Cupid, why are these purposeless arrows flung against me, already so deeply wounded? Since I was looked on by her, regardless of the Muni's presence, when, as she turned, though but for a moment, she caused, by the glance of her bright black eye, the trees of the hermitage to appear flecked,[4] as though they had masses of the skins of the dappled antelope gleaming suspended from their boughs.
Vidúshaka.
O friend, where now is all thy firmness gone?
Jímútaváhana.
Am I not firm beyond measure? What! have I not passed through the nights, though radiant with the moon? Do I not drink in the scent of the blue lotus? and endure the jasmine-scented evening winds? Hear I not the humming of the bees upon the lotus pond? That you should thus openly taunt me, saying, "He is wanting in firmness in difficulties." (After considering.) Or rather, it was not so wrongly said, my friend Átreya, for am I not really wanting in firmness, since I cannot bear even flowery arrows, shot by a bodiless archer, woman-hearted that I am! How then can I say to you, "I am firm?"
Vidúshaka (to himself).
Since he confesses his want of firmness, he reveals how excessively troubled his heart must be. How shall I divert it? (Aloud.) O friend, how is it that, neglecting your parents, you have again come hither already?
Jímútaváhana.
It is a suitable question. To whom should I tell it, if not to you? This very day I had a dream. I saw yon loved one—(pointing with a finger)—seated on a moonstone seat in this sandal-creeper bower, in tears, as if reproaching me in some love quarrel. I wish, therefore, to spend the remainder of the day in this sandal-creeper bower, made pleasant by the late presence of the loved one, as seen in my dream. Come, then, we will go.
Girl (after listening in trepidation).
O lady, there is a noise like footsteps.
Malayavatí (looking at herself with agitation).
Do not let any one, by seeing the state that I am in, suspect the secret of my heart. Rise then. We will conceal ourselves in this red aśoka tree, and just see who it is.
Vidúshaka.
Here is the sandal-creeper bower. So come along. We will enter.
Jímútaváhana.
Even this sandal-creeper bower with its moonstone seat delights me not, abandoned as it is by the moon-faced one, like the face of night without its moonlight.
Girl (having peeped).
Lady, I give you joy. Is not this the very person on whom your heart is set?
Malayavatí (with joy and agitation, after looking).
O girl, now that I have seen him, through my extreme agitation I cannot remain here so near him. Suppose he should see us! Come, we will go elsewhere. (After going one step, longingly.) How my feet tremble!
Girl (with a smile).
O timid one! who can see you as you stand here? Do you forget the red aśoka tree? Let us then sit down, and remain here.
Vidúshaka (looking about).
Here, my friend, is that very moonstone seat.
Girl.
O lady, I think their talk is about a dream. Let us listen then attentively.
Vidúshaka (touching him with his hand).
My friend, do I not say, "Here is that moonstone seat?"
Jímútaváhana (sighing, with a tear).
It is well guessed. (Pointing to it with his hand.) This is that very moonstone seat on which I saw the loved one; her pale face reclined upon her left shoot-like hand, and her breast heaving with deep sobs. When I delayed to soothe her, her fit of anger passed away; and her slightly-quivering lip and burst of tears betrayed the real state of her feelings. We will sit therefore on this moonstone seat.
Malayavatí ( after considering).
Who now can she be whom he thus talks about?
Girl.
Just as we unobserved are looking at him, so I hope you too have not been seen by him.
Malayavatí.
It is possible. But then again, he is talking fondly about some one with whom he had a love quarrel.
Girl.
Lady, do not have such a suspicion, but let us listen further.
Vidúshaka (to himself).
This sort of talk pleases him, so I will continue it. (Aloud.) Friend, how then was this weeping one addressed by you?
Jímútaváhana.
She was thus addressed: "This moonstone seat, moistened with the water of tears, seems as if oozing with dew from the rising of thy moonface."
Malayavatí (angrily).
O Chaturiká! what more than this need we hear? Come, then, we will go.
Girl (taking her by the hand).
Lady, say not so. It is you alone whom he saw in his dream. His glance, resting on another, would find no pleasure.
Malayavatí.
My heart is not convinced. So we will just wait until the end of this conversation.
Jímútaváhana.
I know what I will do. I will draw her on this stone seat, and amuse myself by looking on her picture. Go, then, and fetch me some pieces of red arsenic from the mountain side.
Vidúshaka.
Whatever your highness orders. (Walking about, he picks up something, and returns to him.) You asked for one colour; but I have brought you some pieces from which you may easily get the five colours.[5] Let your highness draw.
Jímútaváhana.
Well done, my friend. (He takes it and draws upon the stone, with rapture.) See, my friend, even the sight of this first outline of the beloved face gladdens me, as a digit of the new moon,—that face which is a very feast to the eyes, beautiful as its full unimpaired disc.
Vidúshaka (looking on with curiosity).
Though she is not in sight, her very form is depicted. Well, it is marvellous.
Jímútaváhana (with a smile).
O friend! the beloved is in my presence, brought before me by my wishes. If, as I continually see her, I draw her, where is the marvel?
Malayavatí (with tears).
O Chaturiká! I know well the end of this discourse. Come, then, we will go and look for Mitrávasu.
Girl (with despair, to herself).
Her impatience is regardless even of her very life. (Aloud.) O lady! has not Manohariká gone to him? Perhaps, then, your brother Mitrávasu is on his way here.
Then enters Mitrávasu.
Mitrávasu.
I am thus bidden by my father, "My child Mitrávasu, this Jímútaváhana, by living so near us, has been well observed; therefore he is a suitable son-in-law. Let, then, our child Malayavatí be given to him." As for myself, through my dependence on her affection, I suffer a variable state of feeling; for, on the one hand, this young man is the ornament of the race of Vidyádhara kings, is clever, approved by the good, unrivalled in beauty, endowed with valour, is wise and modest; but, on the other hand, he would readily give up his life, through pity, on behalf of any living creature. Thus, when yielding up my peerless sister to such an one, I feel both satisfaction and sorrow. I have heard that Jímútaváhana is in the sandal-creeper bower, adjoining the grove of Gaurí. This is that bower, so I will enter.
Vidúshaka (seeing him, with excitement).
O friend! cover over with this plantain leaf, that girl you have just drawn in the picture. Here, surely, is Mitrávasu, the young prince of the Siddhas, just arrived. Perhaps he will see it.
Mitrávasu (entering).
Prince, Mitrávasu bows to you.
Jímútaváhana (looking at him).
Welcome to Mitrávasu. Take a seat here.
Girl.
O lady! your brother, Mitrávasu, has arrived.
Malayavatí.
I am well pleased to hear it.
Jímútaváhana.
O Mitrávasu! is Vísvávasu, the king of the Siddhas, well?
Mitrávasu.
He is well. By the command of my father I am come into your presence.
Jímútaváhana.
What says his Highness?
Malayavatí.
I will just hear what salutation has been sent by my father.
Mitrávasu (with tears).
My father says, "I have a daughter, by name Malayavatí, who is, so to speak, the very life of all this race of Siddha-rájas. She is presented by me to thee. Let her be accepted."
Girl (smiling).
O lady! why are you not angry now?
Malayavatí (with a blush and smiling, standing
with face bent down).
Do not laugh, girl. Have you forgotten that his heart is set on another?
Jímútaváhana (aside).
My friend, we are fallen into a difficulty.
Vidúshaka (aside).
Ah! I perceive. With the exception of her, your mind is not satisfied with any other. Let him, then, be dismissed with some civil speech or other.
Malayavatí (angrily, to herself).
Cruel one, who does not know what this means?
Jímútaváhana.
Who in the world would not desire so honourable an alliance as that with your Highness? But a mind set in one direction cannot be readily turned in another. So that I cannot accept her.
Girl.
Revive, my lady.
Vidúshaka (to Mitrávasu).
Since he is altogether dependent on others, what is the use of questioning him? Go, then, to his parents and ask them.
Mitrávasu (to himself).
It is well said. He will not disobey his parents. His father dwells here in the precinct of Gaurí. So I will go there, and cause Malayavatí to be accepted for him by his father.
Mitrávasu.
Assuredly the prince knows best, who has refused us after we have opened our hearts.
Malayavatí (laughing angrily).
How! Mitrávasu still talks with him, though humbled by rejection!
Malayavatí (to herself, looking at herself with tears).
What is the use of still supporting this body of mine, defiled by ill-fortune, filled with excessive woe! I will hang myself to yonder Aśoka tree with this Atimukta creeper, and so put an end to my life. So it shall be. (Aloud, with a meaningless smile.) Girl, just see whether Mitrávasu has gone or not, so that I, too, may depart.
Girl
(having gone a few steps, and looking back: to herself).
I see that she has some intention different to her words; so I will not go, but, concealed here, will see what she intends to do.
Malayavatí
(looking all round, and taking the noose, with tears).
O revered Gaurí! since your promise has not been fulfilled in this world, you will contrive that I be not equally full of sorrow in another state of existence.
Girl (running up with agitation).
Help, your highness, help! Here is the princess trying to destroy herself by hanging.
Jímútaváhana (rushing up with excitement).
Where? Where is she?
Girl.
Here, in this Aśoka tree.
Jímútaváhana (looking joyfully).
This is the very object of my passion.
the noose.
Jímútaváhana.
Assuredly no such attempt should be made. O lovely one! remove from the creeper this hand, which vies with it in beauty. How could that hand, which I do not consider strong enough even to gather flowers, grasp a noose to hang yourself with?
Malayavatí (with agitation).
Girl, who is this? (Looking at him angrily, she wishes to cast off his hand.) Loose me, let go my hand. Who are you to stop me? What! must you be sued even in death?
Jímútaváhana.
How should I release your guilty hand, which was caught in the very act of placing a noose on a neck fit only for strings of pearls?
Vidúshaka.
What could have been the cause of this determination of hers to die?
Girl.
Was it not this friend of yours?
Jímútaváhana.
How! I the cause of her death? I do not understand.
Vidúshaka.
O lady! how do you mean?
Girl (meaningly).
It was that loved one, whoever she is, that was painted by your friend on the stone. My mistress took this determination in a fit of despair, saying to herself, "Through his devotion to that woman, I am not accepted, even when offered to him by Mitrávasu."
Jímútaváhana (joyfully, to himself).
How, then! This is that Malayavatí, daughter of Viśvávasu! Yet, except from the ocean, how could there be the birth of a digit of the moon?[6] Ah! How I have been taken in by her!
Vidúshaka.
O lady! if this be so, my friend here is blameless. If you do not believe me, however, go yourself and look on the surface of the stone.
hero, draws away her hand.
Jímútaváhana (with a smile).
I will not release it, until you have seen the object of my passion, drawn on the stone.
Vidúshaka (having taken off the plantain leaf).
O lady! look. Behold the individual his heart is set on.
Malayavatí (having looked at it, aside, smiling).
O Chaturiká! it is as if my very self were drawn there.
Girl (looking at the picture and at the heroine).
O lady! why do you say, "It is as if myself were drawn there"? So exact is the likeness, that I do not know whether it is a reflection of you cast on the stone, or a drawing.
Malayavatí (with a smile).
Girl, I am put to shame by him, showing me drawn in a picture.
Vidúshaka.
Your Gándharva marriage[7] is now complete, so you may release her hand. Here comes some one in great haste.
(Then enters a Servant Girl.)
Servant Girl (joyfully).
O lady! good luck to you. You are accepted by the parents of Jímútaváhana.
Vidúshaka (dancing about).
He! he! The desires of my friend are fulfilled, or rather, I should say, of her highness Malayavatí; or still better, not so much of either of these, as (gesticulating eating) of me, the Brahman.
Servant Girl (addressing Malayavatí).
I am bidden by the young king Mitrávasu, "This is the marriage day of Malayavatí; go therefore quickly, and fetch her." Come, then, let us go.
Vidúshaka.
O daughter of a slave, how can my friend remain here, when you have taken her away?
Servant Girl.
Desist, base one. Hasten, hasten. It is full time for your bath.
at the hero, goes out with her attendants.
Herald (reciting behind the scenes).
Lending to Mount Malaya a splendour like that of Meru, by reason of the showers of scented powder,—and all at once having the beauty of the mild sunshine of early dawn, through the red-lead dust,—the Siddha-world announces, by the songs of nymphs, rendered delightful by the sounding of their jingling anklets of red gems, that the time for your marriage bathing has arrived, which brings completion of your wishes.
Vidúshaka (after hearing this).
O friend! the time for bathing has come opportunely.
Jímútaváhana (joyfully).
If so, why do we stop here? Come on. We will salute my father, and go to the bath.
END OF SECOND ACT OF THE NÁGÁNANDA.
- ↑ This is one of the symptoms of love in a Hindu heroine. See Sáhitya-Darpana, sec. 151.
- ↑ Káma, the Hindu Cupid, bears a bow with its string made of bees, and its five arrows each tipped with a peculiar flower.
- ↑ Chaturiká, from chatura, clever, expert.
- ↑ The Hindus imagined that light came from the eye, and lighted up any object gazed upon.
- ↑ The five colours.—The St Petersburg Dictionary, under "varna," gives a reference for these five colours to Kátyáyana's Śrauta-sútra, xxii. 9, 13, where they are described as—blue, yellow, red, brown, and variegated (?).
- ↑ The moon is fabled to have been produced from the ocean when it was churned by the gods for ambrosia.
- ↑ A gándharva marriage is one of the eight forms of marriage mentioned by Manu, Book III. It is formed by the parties themselves through mutual affection, without any previous family arrangement.