Vidúshaka.
Whatever your highness orders, Let your highness come.
Vidúshaka (looking in advance).
O friend! see, see! Here in good truth comes the wind from Malaya, which removes the fatigue of the journey, like the clasping of the neck of the long-desired loved one on first meeting,—bearing cool showers of drops, caught up from the cascade as it falls broken from the crystal rocks, and strongly fragrant through its contact with the mountain slopes, covered with groves of dense and juicy sandal trees; it thrills every limb of your body.
Jímútaváhana (looking with surprise).
Ah! we have already reached the Malaya hill. (Looking all round.) Oh, how pleasant it is! Inasmuch as this Malaya hill, with its sandal exuding from the wounds made by the mighty elephants as they rub their cheeks in their passion against the trunks, and with the fastnesses of its caves resounding when lashed by the ocean waves, and with its rocks of pearl stained by the foot-dye of the women of the Siddhas as they pass—the sight of it gives to my mind some longing for the joys of earth. Come, we will ascend and seek for some suitable site for a hermitage.
Vidúshaka.
Let us do so. (Standing in advance.) Let your highness come on.
