by Kalidasa
Shall not remember you at all,
Like a drunken sot, who cannot recall
What he said in his cups the night before.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Ah! What a disaster! Absent-minded Śakuntalā has offended someone she should have welcomed. [Looking ahead] And not just anyone—it’s the great sage Durvāsas—short-tempered’s not the word! Now he’s cursed her, spun on his heel, and shot off like a flaming arrow!
ANASŪYĀ. Who else but fire himself should burn? Quick! Throw yourself at his feet and make him come back! I’ll prepare him a water offering.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. I’ll do my best! [Exits
ANASŪYĀ [stumbles after taking a step]. Ah! More haste … There goes the flower-basket.
[She collects up the flowers
PRIYAṂVADĀ [entering]. O my dear, he has such a cruel nature. No one can move him. But I did manage to extract just a sliver of compassion.
ANASŪYĀ [smiling]. That’s a feast by his standards. What was it?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. When he refused to return, then I pleaded with him. ‘Master, please forgive your daughter this one offence. It is her first, and she was ignorant of your worship’s ascetic power.’
ANASŪYĀ. And then?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. ‘I cannot unspeak what I have spoken, but the sight of a memento can lift the curse.’ And so he vanished.
ANASŪYĀ. Now we can breathe again! As he set out, the king slipped a ring, inscribed with his own name, onto Śakuntalā’s finger, as a keepsake. So when the time comes, she’ll have just such a memento to hand.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Come my dear, let’s finish the rite we were performing for her.
[They walk around
PRIYAṂVADĀ [looking]. Anasūyā, just look at that! With her face cupped in her hand, our dear friend seems like a girl in a painting. She’s so bound up in thoughts of her husband, she isn’t even aware of herself, let alone neglected guests.
ANASŪYĀ. PriyaṃvadĀ, what’s happened here today should go no further than us. You know how delicate our friend is. It’s up to us to shield her.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Who would sprinkle jasmine with boiling water?
[Both exit
Enter one of KAṆVA’S pupils(VIṢKAMBHAKA), just risen from sleep.
PUPIL (VIṢKAMBHAKA). The holy KAṆVA has just returned from his pilgrimage—and now he wants to know the hour. I’ll go outside and see what’s left of the night. [Turning and looking] Ah, it’s nearly dawn!
As the moon, that lord of secret flowers, (2)
Declines behind the mountains in the west,
Dawn’s charioteer streaks the eastern sky with rouge.
And so on earth, the going up and down of men
Governed by this alternation, dark with light,
Also arcs from morning into night.
And now the moon has set (3)
The lotus is a ghost
That recalls but cannot revive its light.
And so, her lover gone,
A girl is haunted by grief.
ANASŪYĀ [throwing aside the curtain and entering. To herself]. Even though a person innocent in the ways of the world knows little of these things, it’s still clear the king has acted badly towards Śakuntalā.
PUPIL. I shall tell my teacher it’s time to make the sacrifice.
[Exits
ANASŪYĀ. I’m up and about at the crack of dawn, but what shall I do? My hands and feet have lost the will to work their usual routine. I hope the God of Love, who offered my innocent friend to such a faithless man, is satisfied. Or is it Durvāsas’s curse that makes him change? How else could the king, after everything he said, dispatch no letter in all this time? Perhaps we should send him his ring to remind him. But which of these austere and disciplined ascetics could we ask to go? Nor can I tell Father Kanṣva, now he’s returned from his journey, that Śakuntalā is married to Duṣyanta and carries his child, for certainly she would be blamed in some measure. So what can be done?
PRIYAṂVADĀ [entering with delight]. Hurry, my dear! Hurry! We are to celebrate Śakuntalā’s departure as a bride!
ANASŪYĀ. How can that be?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Listen. I had just gone to ask Śakuntalā if she had slept well …
ANASŪYĀ. And?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. And as she stood there, staring modestly at her feet, I saw Father Kaṇva hugging her with delight, saying. ‘The sacrificer’s sight was darkened by smoke, yet, through the greatest good fortune, the offering fell straight into the fire. My dear child, I shall not grieve for you; but, this very day, I shall send you to your husband with an escort of seers. It will be like knowledge transmitted to a good pupil.’
ANASŪYĀ. But who told Father Kaṇva what had happened?
PRIYAṂVADĀ. When he entered the place where the sacrificial fire is kept, he heard a disembodied voice chanting a sacred verse.
ANASŪYĀ [amazed]. Saying what?
PRIYAṂVADĀ.
‘Brahmin, know (4)
That, like fire in the womb of the wood,*
For the world’s welfare your daughter
Bears the lustrous seed of King Duṣyanta.’
ANASŪYĀ [hugging PRIYAṂVADĀ]. Darling, this is such wonderful news! But bitter-sweet—Śakuntalā must leave today)
PRIYAṂVADĀ. My dear, we shall get over our sorrow. The main thing is that the darling girl should be happy!
ANASŪYĀ. Well then, if you go and fetch that garland of everlasting mimosa I put up for just this occasion—it’s in that coconut-shell box, hanging from the branch of the mango—I’ll prepare an auspicious paste with deer musk, holy powdered earth, and shoots of sacred grass.
Priyaṃvadā. Let’s be about it then!
[ANASŪYĀ exits. PRIYAṂVADĀ deals with the flowers
OFF-STAGE VOICE. Gautamī, Sārṅgarava, and some others have been appointed to escort Śakuntalā.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [listening]. Hurry up, Anasūyā! They’ve already called up the ascetics who are to go to Hastināpura.*
ANASŪYĀ [entering with the paste]. I’m ready! Let’s go!
[They walk about
PRIYAṂVADĀ [looking]. Look, there’s Śakuntalā, I can see her newly washed hair gleaming in the risen sun. And now the hermit women are showering her in wild rice and blessings. Let’s join them.
[They approach
ŚAKUNTALĀ appears with GAUTAMĪ the HERMIT WOMEN, as described.
FIRST HERMIT WOMAN [to ŚAKUNTALĀ]. Child, may your husband grant you the title ‘Great Queen’,* as a sign of respect!
SECOND HERMIT WOMAN. Child, may you give birth to a great hero!
THIRD HERMIT WOMAN. Child, may you be revered by your lord!
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASUYĀ [approaching]. Dearest, may you be immersed in joy!
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Welcome, my dear friends. Sit down by me.
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ [sitting]. Then hold still, darling, while we bless your body with this paste.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. I must make the most of everything now—this too. For when shall my friends make me up in such a way again?
[She weeps
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ. Darling—no tears. This should be a happy time.
[Wiping away her tears, they adorn her using dance movements
PRIYAṂVADĀ. Your beauty deserves real jewellery—the trinkets lying about the ashram can’t do it justice.
Enter two young ASCETICS carrying something.
ASCETICS. Here are the very jewels you need—fit for a queen.
[Everyone stares at them, amazed
GAUTAMĪ Nārada, my son, where did these come from?
FIRST ASCETIC. Father Kaṇva’s power.
GAUTAMĪ. His mental power?*
SECOND ASCETIC. Not at all. Listen to this! His Holiness had ordered us to bring blossoms from the forest trees for Śakuntalā, but when we went there,
It was a tree itself spun this moon-white cloth, (5)
And a tree that oozed lac to redden her feet,
And gods of the trees that conjur
ed these jewels,
Hands sprouting from branches like fresh green shoots.
PRIYAṂVADĀ [looking at ŚAKUNTALĀ]. My dear, this is a sure sign that a royal fortune awaits you in your husband’s house.
[ŚAKUNTALĀ looks modest
FIRST ASCETIC. Gautamī, come with me. Father Kaṇva’s back from bathing now.* Let’s tell him about this service the trees have performed.
SECOND ASCETIC. Yes, I’ll come with you.
[Both exit
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ. We’ve never worn such ornaments in our lives, but we’ll try to arrange them as we’ve seen it done in paintings.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. I know just how skilful you really are.
[Dancing, they decorate her
Enter KAṆVA, fresh from his bath.
KAṆVA.
Śakuntalā must leave today— (6)
My sight grows dark with what may come,
My throat is choked, my heart contracts,
A hard ascetic cracked by love.
Then what must worldly fathers feel,
A child departing in this way?
Śakuntalā must leave today.*
[He walks around
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ. Dear Śakuntalā, I think we’ve got your jewellery right. Now let’s try this silk, doubled up.
[ŚAKUNTALĀ rises and puts it on
GAUTAMĪ. Child, here is your father, filled with tears of joy. I can read in his eyes that he’s dying to embrace you. Greet him in the proper way!
ŚAKUNTALĀ [modestly]. Father, let me welcome you!
KAṆVA. My dear,
To your lord, may you be (7)
As Śarmiṣṭhā to Yayāti—*
As she bore him Puru, may you bear
Your king a worthy heir.
GAUTAMĪ. Sir, you grant her more than a wish—it’s a gift in itself.
KAṆVA. Child, come here and walk around the fires in which the offering has just been made.
[All walk around, KAṆVA chanting a prayer in the Vedic metre*
May these fires ranged around the altar, (8)
Fed by sacred fuel, strewn with darbha,
Dispersing evil through the pungent odour
Of sacrificial offerings, make you pure.
You must set out now! [Looking around] Where are Śārṅgarava and the others?
PUPIL [entering]. We are here, sir!
KAṆVA. You must show your sister the way.
ŚĀRṄGARAVA. This way, then, sister.
[They walk around
KAṆVA. Listen to me, you trees that grow about our hermit’s grove.
That girl (9)
who would never let a drop of water
Mist her lips
until she’d watered you,
Who loved you so
she never made a necklace or a bangle from your leaves—
For whom each blossom was the first
and always new,
Must leave the forest for a husband’s home today.
And so, for everything Śakuntalā
Has been to you,
give her your blessing now.
[Miming that he has heard a cuckoo
Ah, through the cuckoo’s song the trees respond— (10)
The departure of Śakuntalā, their forest friend,
Is blessed.
VOICE IN THE AIR.
May her path be charmed by lotus-coloured lakes, (11)
May trees grow shadows in the midday heat,
May the dust of the road be pollen
Beneath her feet, and the breeze blow auspiciously
For Śakuntalā’s sake.
[All hear it with astonishment
GAUTAMĪ. Child, the goddesses of the grove, who love you like family, have blessed your departure. Let us bow to them now.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [bowing and turning aside]. Priyaṃvadā darling, I long to see my noble husband, yet now I have to leave the ashram, my feet are leaden with sorrow.
PRIYAṂVADĀ. You’re not the only one to grieve. The grove itself forsees its loss, and suffers with you.
Deer drop their cud, (12)
Peacocks stall their dance,
Leaves fall like tears,
Blanched.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [remembering]. Father, I must bid farewell to my sister the vine, to Light of the Forest.
KAṆVA. I know very well how you love her. And here she is.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [approaching and embracing the vine]. Light of the Forest, even though you’ve wound the mango in your branching arms, turn and embrace me in return. After today I shall be far beyond your reach.
KAṆVA.
By your own merits you’ve attracted (13)
The very husband I’d have wished,
And now the jasmine and the mango
Have entwined, I have no worries left.
This is where your journey starts.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [to her two friends]. I leave her in your hands.
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ. But into whose care will you give us?
[They wipe away tears
KAṆVA. Don’t you weep, Anasūyā—it’s up to you to give Śakuntalā strength.
[They all walk around
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Father, do you remember that pregnant doe which has been grazing close to the hut because she’s so tired from carrying her little one? When she is safely delivered, send someone to tell me the happy news.
KAṆVA. I shall not forget.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [showing some impediment to her movement]. Who is pulling at my skirt?
[She turns around
KAṆVA. Child:
That fawn who, when his mouth was spiked by kusha,* (14)
You healed with oil, and fed with grains of rice
As though he were your son, and you his mother,
Refuses now to quit the path.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Little one, why do you follow me when I’m leaving all my companions? It’s true—you were orphaned soon after birth, and I reared you by hand. But now I must leave you too. Father will care for you. Go back!
[Weeping, she starts to go
KAṆVA. Have strength!
Hold back the tears (15)
That gum your lashes to your eyes,
Or blind to how the road ahead may rise
And fall, you’ll stumble.
ŚĀRṄGARAVA. Sir, we’ve reached the shore of the lake, and according to scripture you should accompany those you love no further than the water’s edge. So tell us your orders now, and then you can return.
KAṆVA. Let’s rest a while first, in the shade of this fig tree.
[All walk around, then stop, KAṆVA speaks to himself
What would be an appropriate message to send King Duṣyanta?
[He becomes lost in thought
ŚAKUNTALĀ [aside]. Anasūyā, mark that! How the wild goose honks in anguish because her mate is hidden by lotus leaves … But my suffering is worse.
ANASŪYĀ. Don’t say that, my dear!
Though the night seems everlasting (16)
Without her mate,*
Hope lifts her—time burns,
And she’ll endure the weight
Of separation.
ŚĀRṄGARAVA. Command me, sir.
KAṆVA.
‘Consider carefully. We are rich in self-restraint, (17)
Your line is royal; she loved you of her own volition
Without her family’s mediation—
So take her as an equal to your other wives.
More, a bride’s kinsman can’t petition—
The rest is fate.’
ŚĀRṄGARAVA. I have the gist of it.
KAṆVA. Child, now let me give you some advice. You may think I have lived in the forest forever, but I also know the ways of the world …
ŚĀRṄGARAVA. A wise man can deal with anything.
KAṆVA. Once you’ve joined your husband’s household:
Be of service to your elders, friendly to his other wives; (18)
; Even if your lord offends you, suppress your anger—
don’t oppose him;
Be scrupulous with servants, modest in your fortune;
And so become a proper wife
Of whom your family can be proud.
But what does Gautamī think?
GAUTAMĪ. I think you’ve covered everything a young wife needs to know. Take it to heart, child.
KAṆVA. Now, my dear, embrace me first, and then your friends.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Father, why must both my dear friends turn back here?
KAṆVA. Dear girl, it won’t do for them to accompany you now. They too will be married when the time comes. But Gautamī shall go with you.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [embracing her father]. How shall I survive in foreign soil, now that, like a sandalwood vine, uprooted from a mountain slope, I’ve been torn from my father’s side?
KAṆVA. My dear, what is there to fear?
When, as the mistress of your husband’s house, (19)
You lose yourself in state affairs,
And when you’re mother to a princely son,
Quickened as the sun itself in the eastern sky,
This separation’s grief shall fade.
[ŚAKUNTALĀ falls at her father’s feet
KAṆVA. May everything I wish for you come true!
ŚAKUNTALĀ. [approaching her two friends]. My dear friends, hug me both at once.
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ [embracing her]. Darling, if the king seems slow to recognize you, you must show him the ring he gave you, engraved with his own name.
ŚAKUNTALĀ. Now you make me tremble with your doubts.
PRIYAṂVADĀ AND ANASŪYĀ. Don’t be afraid! Great love conjures up imaginary evils.
ŚĀRṄGARAVĀ. The women must hurry now, it is past midday already.
ŚAKUNTALĀ [turning to face the ashram]. Father, shall I ever see these ascetic groves again?
KAṆVA. Listen:
When you have been for many years a queen, (20)
Co-regent with the sea-engirdled earth,
And raised Duṣyanta’s boy, a champion without peer,
Your husband shall entrust the kingdom
To his son and heir, give up his burden,
And return with you to this green calm.