The Little Clay Cart. Sudraka

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      [8.5. 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?

      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

      [10.2 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, Whence, smitten, drops of crimson stream.20

      Sansthānaka. Shtop. Vasantasenā, shtop! You wake my passion, my desire, my love; You drive away my shleep in bed at night; Both fear and terror sheem your heart to move; You trip and shtumble in your headlong flight. But Rāvana forced Kuntī[33] to his will; Jusht sho shall I enjoy you to the fill.21

      Courtier. Ah, Vasantasenā, Why should your fleeter flight Outstrip my flying feet? Why, like a snake in fright Before the bird-king's might, Thus seek to flee, my sweet? Could I not catch the storm-wind in his flight? Yet would not seize upon you, though I might.22

      P. 19.9]

      Sansthānaka. Lishten to me, shir! Thish whip of robber Love, thish dancing-girl, Eater of fish, deshtroyer of her kin, Thish shnubnose, shtubborn, love-box, courtezan, Thish clothes-line, wanton creature, maid of sin— I gave her ten shweet names, and shtill She will not bend her to my will.23

      Courtier.

      As courtier's fingers strike the lute's tense string,

       The dancing ear-ring smites your wounded cheek.

       Why should you flee, with dreadful terror weak,

       As flees the crane when heaven's thunders ring?24

      Sansth.

      Your jingling gems, girl, clink like anything;

       Like Draupadī you flee, when Rāma kisshed her.

       I'll sheize you quick, as once the monkey-king

       Sheized Subhadrā, Vishvāvasu's shweet shishter.25

      Servant.

      He's the royal protégé;

       Do whatever he may say.

       And you shall have good fish and flesh to eat.

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