The Collected Plays. Rabindranath Tagore

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СКАЧАТЬ That is all the merit we have.

       In a luckless moment we were born,

       When the star of wisdom was the dimmest.

       We can hope for no profit from our adventures,

       We move on, because we must.

      Dada, come on. Let us go.

      Watchman

      No, no, Sir. Don't you get yourself into mischief in their company.

      Ferryman

      You read your verses, Sir, to us. Our neighbours will be here soon. They will be greatly profited.

      Dada

      No. I'm not going to move a step from here.

      Then let us move. The men in the street can't bear us.

      That's because we rattle them too much.

      You hear the hum of human bees, they smell the honey of Dada's quatrains.

      Youths

      (Together.) They come! They come!

      (Enter Village folk.)

      Villager

      Is it true that there is going to be a reading?

      Who are you? Are you going to read?

      No. We commit all kinds of atrocities, but not that. This one merit will bring us salvation.

      Villager

      What do they say? They seem to be talking in riddles.

      Chandra

      We only say things which we perfectly understand ourselves, and they are riddles to you. Dada repeats to you things which you understand perfectly and these sound to you the very essence of wisdom.

      (Boy enters.)

      Boy

      I couldn't catch him.

      Whom?

      Boy

      The Old Man, whom you are seeking.

      Have you seen him?

      Boy

      Yes, I thought I saw him going by in a car.

      Where? In what direction?

      Boy

      I couldn't make out exactly. The dust raised by his wheels is still whirling in the air.

      Then let us go.

      He has filled the sky with dead leaves.

      (They go out.

      Watchman

      They are mad! Quite mad! Raving mad!

ACT III

       Table of Contents

      SONG-PRELUDE

      (Winter is being unmasked—his hidden youth about to be disclosed.)

      The rear stage lighted up, disclosing Winter and the Heralds of Spring.

       SONG OF THE HERALDS OF SPRING

      How grave he looks, how laughably old,

       How solemnly quiet among death preparations!

       Come, friends, help him to find himself before he reaches home.

       Change his pilgrim's robe into the dress of the singing youth,

       Snatch away his bag of dead things

       And confound his calculations.

      (Another group sings.)

      The time comes when the world shall know that you're not banished in your own shadows;

       Your heart shall burst in torrents

       Out of the clasp of the ice;

       And your North wind turn its face

       Against the haunts of the flitting phantoms.

       There sounds the magician's drum,

       And the sun waits with laughter in his glance,

       To see your grey turn into green.

      (Evening)

      (The rear stage is darkened; the light on the main stage dimmed to the greyness of dark.)

      Band of Youths

      They all cry, "There, there," and when we look for it, we find nothing but dust and dry leaves.

      I thought I had a glimpse of the flag on his car through the cloud.

      It is difficult to follow his track. Now it seems East: now it seems West.

      And so we are tired, chasing shadows all day long. And the day has been lost.

      I tell you the truth. Fear comes more and more into my mind, as the day passes.

      We have made a mistake. The morning light whispered in our ears, "Bravo, march on." And now, the evening light is mocking us for that.

      I am afraid we have been deceived. I am beginning to feel greater respect for Dada's quatrains than before. We shall all be soon sitting down on the ground composing quatrains.

      And then the whole neighbourhood will come, swarming round us. And they will get such immense benefit from our wisdom that they will never leave us.

      And we shall settle down like a great big boulder, cold and immovable.

      And they will cling to us, as we sit there, like a thick fog.

      What would our Leader think of us, I wonder, if he could hear us now?

      I am sure it is our Leader, who has led us astray. He makes us toil for nothing, while he himself remains idle.

      Let us go back and fight with him. We will tell him that we won't move a step further, but sit with our legs tucked under us. These legs are wretched vagabonds. They are always trudging the road.

      We will keep our hands fast behind our backs.

      There is no mischief СКАЧАТЬ