Part 16 (1/2)

Like Sharmishtha, Yayati's wife, Win favour measured by your worth; And may you bear a kingly son Like Puru, who shall rule the earth.

_Gautami_. My child, this is not a prayer, but a benediction.

_Kanva_. My daughter, walk from left to right about the fires in which the offering has just been thrown. (_All walk about_.)

The holy fires around the altar kindle, And at their margins sacred gra.s.s is piled; Beneath their sacrificial odours dwindle Misfortunes. May the fires protect you, child!

(SHAKUNTALA _walks about them from left to right_.)

_Kanva_. Now you may start, my daughter. (_He glances about_.) Where are Sharngarava and Sharadvata? (_Enter the two pupils_.)

_The two pupils_. We are here, Father.

_Kanva_. Sharngarava, my son, lead the way for your sister.

_Sharngarava_. Follow me. (_They all walk about_.)

_Kanva_. O trees of the pious grove, in which the fairies dwell,

She would not drink till she had wet Your roots, a sister's duty, Nor pluck your flowers; she loves you yet Far more than selfish beauty.

'Twas festival in her pure life When budding blossoms showed; And now she leaves you as a wife-- Oh, speed her on her road!

_Sharngarava_ (_listening to the song of kol-birds_). Father,

The trees are answering your prayer In cooing cuckoo-song, Bidding Shakuntala farewell, Their sister for so long.

_Invisible beings_,

May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye; May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease; May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh; May all your path be pleasantness and peace.

(_All listen in astonishment_.)

_Gautami_. My child, the fairies of the pious grove bid you farewell.

For they love the household. Pay reverence to the holy ones.

_Shakuntala_ (_does so. Aside to_ PRIYAMVADA). Priyamvada, I long to see my husband, and yet my feet will hardly move. It is hard, hard to leave the hermitage.

_Priyamvada_. You are not the only one to feel sad at this farewell.

See how the whole grove feels at parting from you.

The gra.s.s drops from the feeding doe; The peahen stops her dance; Pale, trembling leaves are falling slow, The tears of clinging plants.

_Shakuntala_ (_recalling something_). Father, I must say good-bye to the spring-creeper, my sister among the vines.

_Kanva_. I know your love for her. See! Here she is at your right hand.

_Shakuntala_ (_approaches the vine and embraces it_). Vine sister, embrace me too with your arms, these branches. I shall be far away from you after to-day. Father, you must care for her as you did for me.