The Little Clay Cart | Page 9

the riches that ascetics know; Glad, gainst the foeman's elephant to show His valor;--such was Shudraka, the king. 5
And in this work of his,
Within the town, Avanti named, Dwells one called Charudatta, famed No less for youth than poverty; A merchant's son and Brahman, he.
His virtues have the power to move Vasantasena's inmost love; Fair as the springtime's radiancy, And yet a courtezan is she. 6
So here king Shudraka the tale imparts Of love's pure festival in these two hearts, Of prudent acts, a lawsuit's wrong and hate, A rascal's nature, and the course of fate. 7
[He walks about and looks around him.] Why, this music-room of ours is empty. I wonder where the actors have gone. [Reflecting.] Ah, I understand.
P. 4.7]
Empty his house, to whom no child was born; Thrice empty his, who lacks true friends and sure; To fools, the world is empty and forlorn; But all that is, is empty to the poor. 8
I have finished the concert. And I've been practising so long that the pupils of my eyes are dancing, and I'm so hungry that my eyes are crackling like a lotus-seed, dried up by the fiercest rays of the summer sun. I'll just call my wife and ask whether there is anything for breakfast or not.
Hello! here I am--but no! Both the particular occasion and the general custom demand that I speak Prakrit. [Speaking in Prakrit.] Confound it! I've been practising so long and I'm so hungry that my limbs are as weak as dried-up lotus-stalks. Suppose I go home and see whether my good wife has got anything ready or not. [He walks about and looks around him.] Here I am at home. I'll just go in. [He enters and looks about.] Merciful heavens! Why in the world is everything in our house turned upside down? A long stream of rice-water is flowing down the street. The ground, spotted black where the iron kettle has been rubbed clean, is as lovely as a girl with the beauty-marks of black cosmetic on her face. It smells so good that my hunger seems to blaze up and hurts me more than ever. Has some hidden treasure come to light? or am I hungry enough to think the whole world is made of rice? There surely isn't any breakfast in our house, and I'm starved to death. But everything seems topsyturvy here. One girl is preparing cosmetics, another is weaving garlands of flowers. [Reflecting.] What does it all mean? Well, I'll call my good wife and learn the truth. [He looks toward the dressing-room.] Mistress, will you come here a moment?
[Enter an actress.]
Actress. Here I am, sir.
Director. You are very welcome, mistress.
Actress. Command me, sir. What am I to do?
[3.8. S.
Director. Mistress, I've been practising so long and I'm so hungry that my limbs are as weak as dried-up lotus-stalks. Is there anything to eat in the house or not?
Actress. There's everything, sir.
Director. Well, what?
Actress. For instance--there's rice with sugar, melted butter, curdled milk, rice; and, all together, it makes you a dish fit for heaven. May the gods always be thus gracious to you!
Director. All that in our house? or are you joking?
Actress. [Aside.] Yes, I will have my joke. [Aloud.] It's in the market-place, sir.
Director. [Angrily.] You wretched woman, thus shall your own hope be cut off! And death shall find you out! For my expectations, like a scaffolding, have been raised so high, only to fall again.
Actress. Forgive me, sir, forgive me! It was only a joke.
Director. But what do these unusual preparations mean? One girl is preparing cosmetics, another is weaving garlands, and the very ground is adorned with sacrificial flowers of five different colors.
Actress. This is a fast day, sir.
Director. What fast?
Actress. The fast for a handsome husband.
Director. In this world, mistress, or the next?
Actress. In the next world, sir.
Director. [Wrathfully.] Gentlemen! look at this. She is sacrificing my food to get herself a husband in the next world.
Actress. Don't be angry, sir. I am fasting in the hope that you may be my husband in my next birth, too.
Director. But who suggested this fast to you?
Actress. Your own dear friend Jurnavriddha.
Director. [Angrily.] Ah, Jurnavriddha, son of a slave-wench! When, oh, when shall I see King Palaka angry with you? Then you will be parted, as surely as the scented hair of some young bride.
P. 8.10]
Actress. Don't be angry, sir. It is only that I may have you in the next world that I celebrate this fast. [She falls at his feet.]
Director. Stand up, mistress, and tell me who is to officiate at this fast.
Actress. Some Brahman of our own sort whom we must invite.
Director. You may go then. And I will invite some Brahman of our own sort.
Actress. Very well, sir. [Exit.
Director. [Walking about.] Good heavens! In this rich city