Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works. Kalidasa

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СКАЧАТЬ the chariot flies,

       The small flashes large to my dizzy eyes.

       What is cleft in twain, seems to blur and mate;

       What is crooked in nature, seems to be straight.

       Things at my side in an instant appear

       Distant, and things in the distance, near.

      A voice behind the scenes. O King, this deer belongs to the hermitage, and must not be killed.

      Charioteer (listening and looking). Your Majesty, here are two hermits, come to save the deer at the moment when your arrow was about to fall.

      King (hastily). Stop the chariot.

      Charioteer. Yes, your Majesty. (He does so. Enter a hermit with his pupil.)

      Hermit (lifting his hand). O King, this deer belongs to the hermitage.

      Why should his tender form expire,

       As blossoms perish in the fire?

       How could that gentle life endure

       The deadly arrow, sharp and sure?

      Restore your arrow to the quiver;

       To you were weapons lent

       The broken-hearted to deliver,

       Not strike the innocent.

      King (bowing low). It is done. (He does so.)

      Hermit (joyfully). A deed worthy of you, scion of Puru's race, and shining example of kings. May you beget a son to rule earth and heaven.

      King (bowing low). I am thankful for a Brahman's blessing.

      The two hermits. O King, we are on our way to gather firewood. Here, along the bank of the Malini, you may see the hermitage of Father Kanva, over which Shakuntala presides, so to speak, as guardian deity. Unless other deities prevent, pray enter here and receive a welcome. Besides,

      Beholding pious hermit-rites

       Preserved from fearful harm,

       Perceive the profit of the scars

       On your protecting arm.

      King. Is the hermit father there?

      The two hermits. No, he has left his daughter to welcome guests, and has just gone to Somatirtha, to avert an evil fate that threatens her.

      King. Well, I will see her. She shall feel my devotion, and report it to the sage.

      The two hermits. Then we will go on our way. (Exit hermit with pupil.)

      King. Charioteer, drive on. A sight of the pious hermitage will purify us.

      Charioteer. Yes, your Majesty. (He counterfeits motion again.)

      King (looking about). One would know, without being told, that this is the precinct of a pious grove.

      Charioteer. How so?

      King. Do you not see? Why, here

      Are rice-grains, dropped from bills of parrot chicks

       Beneath the trees; and pounding-stones where sticks

       A little almond-oil; and trustful deer

       That do not run away as we draw near;

       And river-paths that are besprinkled yet

       From trickling hermit-garments, clean and wet.

      Besides,

      The roots of trees are washed by many a stream

       That breezes ruffle; and the flowers' red gleam

       Is dimmed by pious smoke; and fearless fawns

       Move softly on the close-cropped forest lawns.

      Charioteer. It is all true.

      King (after a little). We must not disturb the hermitage. Stop here while I dismount.

      Charioteer. I am holding the reins. Dismount, your Majesty.

      King (dismounts and looks at himself). One should wear modest garments on entering a hermitage. Take these jewels and the bow. (He gives them to the charioteer.) Before I return from my visit to the hermits, have the horses' backs wet down.

      Charioteer. Yes, your Majesty. (Exit.)

      King (walking and looking about). The hermitage! Well, I will enter. (As he does so, he feels a throbbing in his arm.)

      A tranquil spot! Why should I thrill?

       Love cannot enter there—

       Yet to inevitable things

       Doors open everywhere.

      A voice behind the scenes. This way, girls!

      King (listening). I think I hear some one to the right of the grove. I must find out. (He walks and looks about.) Ah, here are hermit-girls, with watering-pots just big enough for them to handle. They are coming in this direction to water the young trees. They are charming!

      The city maids, for all their pains,

       Seem not so sweet and good;

       Our garden blossoms yield to these

       Flower-children of the wood.

      I will draw back into the shade and wait for them. (He stands, gazing toward them. Enter SHAKUNTALA, as described, and her two friends.)

      First friend. It seems to me, dear, that Father Kanva cares more for the hermitage trees than he does for you. You are delicate as a jasmine blossom, yet he tells you to fill the trenches about the trees.

      Shakuntala. Oh, it isn't Father's bidding so much. I feel like a real sister to them. (She waters the trees.)

      Priyamvada. Shakuntala, we have watered the trees that blossom in the summer-time. Now let's sprinkle those whose flowering-time is past. That will be a better deed, because we shall not be working for a reward.

      Shakuntala. What a pretty idea! (She does so.)

      King (to himself). And this is Kanva's daughter, Shakuntala. (In surprise.) The good Father does wrong to make her wear the hermit's dress of bark.

      The sage who yokes her artless charm

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