[22] See viii. 43.
[23] See pages 65-66 and page 174.
[24] See viii. 38 and compare the words, "Yet love bids me prattle," on page 86.
[25] Page 87.
[26] Stanzas of the latter sort in The Little Clay Cart are vii. 2 and viii. 5.
[27] This statement requires a slight limitation; compare, for example, the footnote to page 82.
[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.
[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.
* * *
[xxx]
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
* * *
[1]
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
[2]
[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.[3]
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?[4]
[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 g
round 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[5] 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
* * *
[6]
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.[7]
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]
[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?
[9]
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]
[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,
The Little Clay Cart Page 3