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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24607-h.zip b/24607-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa2302a --- /dev/null +++ b/24607-h.zip diff --git a/24607-h/24607-h.htm b/24607-h/24607-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc674e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/24607-h/24607-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3568 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cycle of Spring, by Sir Rabindranath Tagore + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + a[name] { position: static; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; } + + table { width:60%; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + .tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px;} + .f1 { margin-left:70%; } + .f2 { margin-left:60%; } + + body{margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; background-color:#FFFFFF; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; + } /* page numbers */ + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: text-bottom; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none; font-style:normal;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left; font-style:italic;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cycle of Spring, by Rabindranath Tagore + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cycle of Spring + +Author: Rabindranath Tagore + +Release Date: February 13, 2008 [EBook #24607] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CYCLE OF SPRING *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Thierry Alberto, Henry +Craig, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">The Table of Contents is not part of the original book.</p></div> + +<h1>THE<br /> + +CYCLE OF SPRING</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Sir</span> RABINDRANATH TAGORE</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED</h3> + +<h3>ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON</h3> + +<h3>1919</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>COPYRIGHT</h4> + +<h5><i>First Edition February 1917</i></h5> + +<h5><i>Reprinted March 1917, 1919</i></h5> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg">Page</td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#INTRODUCTION"><b>INTRODUCTION</b></a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ACT_I"><b>ACT I</b></a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ACT_II"><b>ACT II</b></a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ACT_III"><b>ACT III</b></a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ACT_IV"><b>ACT IV</b></a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="blockquot">The greater part of the introductory portion of this drama was translated from the original Bengali by Mr. C. F. Andrews and Prof. Nishikanta Sen, and revised by the Author.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h3>I DEDICATE THIS BOOK<br /> +TO MY BOYS OF THE SHANTINIKETAN<br /> +WHO HAVE FREED<br /> +THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH<br /> +HIDDEN IN THE HEART OF THIS OLD POET<br /> +AND TO DINENDRANATH<br /> +WHO IS<br /> +THE GUIDE OF THESE BOYS IN THEIR FESTIVALS<br /> +AND TREASURE-HOUSE OF ALL MY SONGS</h3> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<h2 class="center"><i>Characters of the Prelude</i></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">King</span>, <span class="smcap">Vizier</span>, <span class="smcap">General</span> (<span class="smcap">Bijoy Varma</span>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Chinese Ambassador</span>, <span class="smcap">Pundit</span> (<span class="smcap">Sruti-bhushan</span>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Poet</span> (<span class="smcap">Kabi-shekhar</span>), <span class="smcap">Guards</span>, <span class="smcap">Courtiers</span>, <span class="smcap">Herald</span></p> + +<p><i>The stage is on two levels: the higher, at the back, for the +Song-preludes alone, concealed by a purple curtain; the lower +only being discovered when the drop goes up. Diagonally across +the extreme left of the lower stage, is arranged the king's +court, with various platforms, for the various dignitaries +ascending to the canopied throne.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> The body of the stage is left +free for the "Play" when that develops.</i></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter some</i> <span class="smcap">Courtiers.</span>)</p> + +<p class="center">[The names of the speakers are not given in the margin, as they +can easily be guessed.]</p> + +<p>Hush! Hush!</p> + +<p>What is the matter?</p> + +<p>The King is in great distress.</p> + +<p>How dreadful!</p> + +<p>Who is that over there, playing on his flute?</p> + +<p>Why? What's the matter?</p> + +<p>The King is greatly disturbed.</p> + +<p>How dreadful!</p> + +<p>What are those wild children doing, making so much noise?</p> + +<p>They are the Mandal family.</p> + +<p>Then tell the Mandal family to keep their children quiet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<p>Where can that Vizier have gone to?</p> + +<p>Here I am. What's the matter?</p> + +<p>Haven't you heard the news?</p> + +<p>No, what?</p> + +<p>The King is greatly troubled in his mind.</p> + +<p>Well, I've got some very important news about the frontier war.</p> + +<p>War we may have, but not the news.</p> + +<p>Then the Chinese Ambassador is waiting to see His Majesty.</p> + +<p>Let him wait. Anyhow he can't see the King.</p> + +<p>Can't see the King?—Ah, here is the King at last. Look at him +coming this way, with a mirror in his hand. "Long live the King. +Long live the King."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>If it please Your Majesty, it is time to go to the Court.</p> + +<p>Time to go? Yes, time to go, but not to the Court.</p> + +<p>What does Your Majesty mean?</p> + +<p>Haven't you heard? The bell has just been rung to dismiss the +Court.</p> + +<p>When? What bell? We haven't heard any bell.</p> + +<p>How could you hear? They have rung it in my ears alone.</p> + +<p>Oh, Sire. No one can have had the impertinence to do that.</p> + +<p>Vizier! They are ringing it now.</p> + +<p>Pardon me, Sire, if I am very stupid; but I cannot understand.</p> + +<p>Look at this, Vizier, look at this.</p> + +<p>Your Majesty's hair——</p> + +<p>Can't you see there's a bell-ringer there?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<p>Oh, Your Majesty. Are you playing a joke?</p> + +<p>The joke is not mine, but His, who has got the whole world by the +ear, and is having His jest. Last night, when the Queen was +putting a garland of jasmines round my neck, she cried out with +alarm, "King, what is this? Here are two grey hairs behind your +ear."</p> + +<p>Oh, please, Sire, don't worry so much about a little thing like +that. Why! The royal physician——</p> + +<p>Vizier! The founder of our dynasty had his royal physician, too. +But what could he do? Death has left his card of invitation +behind my ear. The Queen wanted, then and there, to pluck out the +grey hairs. But I said, "Queen, what's the use? You may remove +Death's invitation, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> can you remove Death, the Inviter?" So, +for the present——</p> + +<p>Yes, Sire, for the present, let us attend to business.</p> + +<p>Business, Vizier! I have no time for business. Send for the +Pundit. Send for Sruti-bhushan.</p> + +<p>But, Sire, the General——</p> + +<p>The General?—No, no, not the General. Send for the Pundit.</p> + +<p>But, the news from the frontier——</p> + +<p>Vizier, the news has come to me from the last great frontier of +all, the frontier of Death. Send for the Pundit.</p> + +<p>But if Your Majesty will give me one moment, the Ambassador from +the great Emperor of China——</p> + +<p>Vizier, a greater Emperor has sent his embassy to me. Call +Sruti-bhushan.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Very well, Sire. But your father-in-law——</p> + +<p>It is not my father-in-law whom I want now. Send for the Pundit.</p> + +<p>But, if it please you to hear me this once. The poet, +Kabi-shekhar, is waiting with his new book called the <i>Garden of +Poesy</i>.</p> + +<p>Let your poet disport himself, jumping about on the topmost +branches of his Garden of Poesy, but send for the Pundit.</p> + +<p>Very well, Sire. I will send for him at once.</p> + +<p>Tell him to bring his book of devotions with him, called the +<i>Ocean of Renunciation</i>.</p> + +<p>Yes, Sire.</p> + +<p>But, Vizier. Who are those outside making all that noise? Go out +and stop them at once. I must have peace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>If it please Your Majesty, there is a famine in Nagapatam and the +headmen of the villages are praying to be allowed to see your +face.</p> + +<p>My time is short, Vizier. I must have peace.</p> + +<p>They say their time is shorter. They are at death's door. They, +too, want peace,—peace from the burning of hunger.</p> + +<p>Vizier! The burning of hunger is quenched at last on the funeral +pyre.</p> + +<p>Then these wretched people——</p> + +<p>Wretched!—Listen to the advice of a wretched King to his +wretched subjects. It is futile to be impatient, and try to break +through the net of the inexorable Fisherman. Sooner or later, +Death the Fisherman will have his haul.</p> + +<p>Well then?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>Let me have the Pundit, and his <i>Book of Renunciation</i>.</p> + +<p>And in this scarcity——</p> + +<p>Vizier! The real scarcity is of time, and not of food. We are all +suffering from starvation of time. None of us has enough of it, +neither the King, nor his people.</p> + +<p>Then——</p> + +<p>Then know, that our petitions for more time will all go to the +last fire of doom. So why strain our voice in prayer?—Ah, here +is Sruti-bhushan at last. My reverence to you.</p> + +<p>Pundit, do tell the King that the Goddess of Fortune deserts him +who gives way to melancholy.</p> + +<p>Sruti-bhushan, what is my Vizier whispering to you?</p> + +<p>He tells me, King, to instruct you in the ways of fortune.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>What instruction can you give?</p> + +<p>There is a verse in my book of devotions which runs as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fortune, as fickle as lotus-flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Closes her favours when comes the hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, foolish man, how can you trust her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who comes of a sudden, and goes in a fluster?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, Pundit. One breath of your teaching blows out the false flame +of ambition. Our teacher has said:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Teeth fall out, hair grows grey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet man clings to hope that plays him false."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Well, King, now that you have introduced the subject of hope, let +me give you another verse from the <i>Ocean of Renunciation</i>. It +runs as follows:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That fetters are binding, all are aware;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fetters of hope are strange, I declare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope's captive is tossed in the whirlpool's wake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only grows still when the fetters break.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, Pundit. Your words are priceless. Vizier, give him a hundred +gold sequins at once. What's that noise outside?</p> + +<p>It is the famine-stricken people.</p> + +<p>Tell them to hold their peace.</p> + +<p>Let Sruti-bhushan, with his book of devotions, go and try to +bring them peace; and, in the meanwhile, Your Majesty might +discuss war matters——</p> + +<p>No, no. Let the war matters come later. I can't let Sruti-bhushan +go yet.</p> + +<p>King, you said something to me, a moment ago, about a gift of +gold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> Now mere gold, by itself, does not confer any permanent +benefit. It is said in my book of devotions, called the <i>Ocean of +Renunciation</i>:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He who gives gold, gives only pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the gold is spent grief comes again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a lakh, or crore, of gold is spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grief only remains in the empty tent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, Pundit. How exquisite. So you don't want any gold, my Master?</p> + +<p>No, King, I don't want gold, but something more permanent, which +would make your merit permanent also. I should be quite content, +if you gave me the living of Kanchanpur. For it is said in the +<i>Renunciation</i>——</p> + +<p>No, Pundit, I quite understand. You needn't quote scripture to +support your claim. I understand quite well—Vizier!</p> + +<p>Yes, Your Majesty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>See that the rich province of Kanchanpur is settled on the +Pundit.—What's the matter now outside there? What are they +crying for?</p> + +<p>If it please Your Majesty, it is the people.</p> + +<p>Why do they cry so repeatedly?</p> + +<p>Their cry is repeated, I admit, but the reason remains most +monotonously the same. They are starving.</p> + +<p>But, King, I must tell you before I forget it. It is the one +desire of my wife to make her whole body jingle, from head to +foot, in praise of your munificence; but, alas, the sound is too +feeble for want of proper ornaments.</p> + +<p>I understand you, Pundit. Vizier! Order ornaments from the Court +Jeweller for Sruti-bhushan's wife immediately.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>And, King, while he is about it, would you tell the Vizier, that +we are both of us distracted in our devotions by house-repairs. +Let him ask the royal masons to put up a thoroughly well-built +house, where we can practise our devotions in peace.</p> + +<p>Very well, Pundit.—Vizier!</p> + +<p>Yes, Your Majesty.</p> + +<p>Give the order at once.</p> + +<p>Sire, your treasury is empty. Funds are wanting.</p> + +<p>Pooh! That's an old story. I hear that every year. It is your +business to increase the funds, and mine to increase the wants. +What do you say, Sruti-bhushan?</p> + +<p>King, I cannot blame the Vizier. He is looking after your +treasures in this world. We are looking after your treasures in +the next. So where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> he sees want, we see wealth. Now, if you +would only let me dive deep once more into the <i>Ocean of +Renunciation</i> you will find it written as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That King's coffers are well stored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where wealth alone on worth is poured.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Pundit, your company is most valuable.</p> + +<p>Your Majesty, Sruti-bhushan knows its value to a farthing. Come, +Sruti-bhushan, make haste. Let us collect all the wealth you need +for your Treasury of Devotion. For wealth has the ugly habit of +diminishing fast. If we are not quick about it, little will +remain to enable us to observe our renunciation with all +splendour.</p> + +<p>Yes, Vizier, let us go at once. (<i>To the King.</i>) When he is +making such a fuss about a tiny matter like this, it is best to +pacify him first and then return to you afterwards.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>Pundit, I am afraid that, some day, you will leave my royal +protection altogether, and retire to the forest.</p> + +<p>King, so long as I find contentment in a King's palace, it is as +good as a hermitage for my peace of mind. I must now leave you, +King. Vizier, let us go.</p> + +<p class="f1">[<i>The Vizier and Pundit go out.</i></p> + +<p>Oh, dear me! Whatever shall I do? Here's the Poet coming. I am +afraid he'll make me break all my good resolutions.—Oh, my grey +hairs, cover my ears, so that the Poet's allurements may not +enter.</p> + +<p>Why, King, what's the matter? I hear you want to send away your +Poet.</p> + +<p>What have I to do with poets, when poetry brings me this parting +message?</p> + +<p>What parting message?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>Look at this behind my ear. Don't you see it?</p> + +<p>See what? Grey hairs? Why, King, don't you worry about that.</p> + +<p>Poet, Nature is trying to rub out the green of youth, and to +paint everything white.</p> + +<p>No, no, King. You haven't understood the artist. On that white +ground, Nature will paint new colours.</p> + +<p>I don't see any sign of colours yet.</p> + +<p>They are all within. In the heart of the white dwell all the +colours of the rainbow.</p> + +<p>Oh, Poet, do be quiet. You disturb me when you talk like that.</p> + +<p>King, if this youth fades, let it fade. Another Queen of Youth is +coming. And she is putting a garland of pure white jasmines round +your head, in order to be your bride. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> wedding festival is +being made ready, behind the scene.</p> + +<p>Oh, dear, Poet. You will undo everything. Do go away. Ho there, +Guard. Go at once and call Sruti-bhushan.</p> + +<p>What will you do with him, King, when he comes?</p> + +<p>I will compose my mind, and practise my renunciation.</p> + +<p>Ah, King, when I heard that news, I came at once. For I can be +your companion in this practice of renunciation.</p> + +<p>You?</p> + +<p>Yes, I, King. We Poets exist for this very purpose. We set men +free from their desires.</p> + +<p>I don't understand you. You talk in riddles.</p> + +<p>What? You don't understand me?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> And yet you have been reading my +poems all this while!—There is renunciation in our words, +renunciation in the metre, renunciation in our music. That is why +fortune always forsakes us; and we, in turn always forsake +fortune. We go about, all day long, initiating the youths in the +sacred cult of fortune-forsaking.</p> + +<p>What does it say to us?</p> + +<p>It says:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah, brothers, don't cling to your goods and chattels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sit ever in the corner of your room.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come out, come out into the open world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come out into the highways of life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come out, ye youthful Renouncers."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But, Poet, do you really mean to say that the highway of the open +world is the pathway of renunciation?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Why not, King? In the open world all is change, all is life, all +is movement. And he who ever moves and journeys with this +life-movement, dancing and playing on his flute as he goes, he is +the true Renouncer. He is the true disciple of the minstrel Poet.</p> + +<p>But how then can I get peace? I must have peace.</p> + +<p>Oh, King, we haven't the least desire for peace. We are the +Renouncers.</p> + +<p>But ought we not to get that treasure, which is said to be +never-changing?</p> + +<p>No, we don't covet any never-changing treasures. We are the +Renouncers.</p> + +<p>What do you mean? Oh, dear, Poet, you will undo everything, if +you talk like that. You are destroying my peace of mind. Call +Sruti<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>-bhushan. Let some one call the Pundit.</p> + +<p>What I mean, King, is this. We are the true Renouncers, because +change is our very secret. We lose, in order to find. We have no +faith in the never-changing.</p> + +<p>What do you mean?</p> + +<p>Haven't you noticed the detachment of the rushing river, as it +runs splashing from its mountain cave? It gives itself away so +swiftly, and only thus it finds itself. What is never-changing, +for the river, is the desert sand, where it loses its course.</p> + +<p>Ah, but listen, Poet—listen to those cries there outside. That +is your world. How do you deal with that?</p> + +<p>King, they are your starving people.</p> + +<p>My people, Poet? Why do you call them that? They are the world's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +people, not mine. Have I created their miseries? What can your +youthful Poet Renouncers do to relieve sufferings like theirs? +Tell me that.</p> + +<p>King, it is we alone who can truly bear those sufferings, because +we are like the river that flows on in gladness, thus lightening +our burden, and the burden of the world. But the hard, metalled +road is fixed and never-changing. And so it makes the burden more +burdensome. The heavy loads groan and creak along it, and cut +deep gashes in its breast. We Poets call to every one to carry +all their joys and sorrows lightly, in a rhythmic measure. Our +call is the Renouncers' call.</p> + +<p>Ah, Poet, now I don't care a straw for Sruti-bhushan. Let the +Pundit go hang. But, do you know what my trouble is now? Though I +can't, for the life of me, understand your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> words, the music +haunts me. Now, it's just the other way round with the Pundit. +His words are clear enough, and they obey the rules of syntax +quite correctly. But the tune!—No, it's no use telling you any +further.</p> + +<p>King, our words don't speak, they sing.</p> + +<p>Well, Poet, what do you want to do now?</p> + +<p>King, I'm going to have a race through those cries, which are +rising outside your gate.</p> + +<p>What do you mean? Famine relief is for men of business. Poets +oughtn't to have anything to do with things like that.</p> + +<p>King, business men always make their business so out of tune. +That is why we Poets hasten to tune it.</p> + +<p>Now come, my dear Poet, do speak in plainer language.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>King, they work, because they must. We work, because we are in +love with life. That is why they condemn us as unpractical, and +we condemn them as lifeless.</p> + +<p>But who is right, Poet? Who wins? You, or they?</p> + +<p>We, King, we. We always win.</p> + +<p>But, Poet, your proof——</p> + +<p>King, the greatest things in the world disdain proof. But if you +could for a time wipe out all the poets and all their poetry from +the world, then you would soon discover, by their very absence, +where the men of action got their energy from, and who really +supplied the life-sap to their harvest-field. It is not those who +have plunged deep down into the Pundit's <i>Ocean of Renunciation</i>, +nor those who are always clinging to their possessions; it is not +those who have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> become adepts in turning out quantities of work, +nor those who are ever telling the dry beads of duty,—it is not +these who win at last. But it is those who love, because they +live. These truly win, for they truly surrender. They accept pain +with all their strength and with all their strength they remove +pain. It is they who create, because they know the secret of true +joy, which is the secret of detachment.</p> + +<p>Well then, Poet, if that be so, what do you ask me to do now?</p> + +<p>I ask you, King, to rise up and move. That cry outside yonder is +the cry of life to life. And if the life within you is not +stirred, in response to that call without, then there is cause +for anxiety indeed,—not because duty has been neglected, but +because you are dying.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>But, Poet, surely we must die, sooner or later?</p> + +<p>No, King, that's a lie. When we feel for certain that we are +alive, then we know for certain that we shall go on living. Those +who have never put life to the test, in all possible ways, these +keep on crying out:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Life is fleeting, Life is waning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life is like a dew-drop on a lotus leaf.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But, isn't life inconstant?</p> + +<p>Only because its movement is unceasing. The moment you stop this +movement, that moment you begin to play the drama of Death.</p> + +<p>Poet, are you speaking the truth? Shall we really go on living?</p> + +<p>Yes, we shall really go on living.</p> + +<p>Then, Poet, if we are going to go on living, we must make our +life worth its eternity. Is not that so?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, indeed.</p> + +<p>Ho, Guard.</p> + +<p>Yes, Your Royal Highness.</p> + +<p>Call the Vizier at once.</p> + +<p>Yes, Your Royal Highness.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Vizier enters.</i>)</p> + +<p>What is Your Majesty's pleasure?</p> + +<p>Vizier! Why on earth have you kept me waiting so long?</p> + +<p>I was very busy, Your Majesty.</p> + +<p>Busy? What were you busy about?</p> + +<p>I was dismissing the General.</p> + +<p>Why should you dismiss the General? We have got to discuss war +matters with him.</p> + +<p>And arrangements had to be made for the state-departure of the +Chinese Ambassador.</p> + +<p>What do you mean by his state-departure?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>If it please Your Majesty, you did not grant him an interview. So +he——</p> + +<p>Vizier! You surprise me. Is this the way you manage state +affairs? What has happened to you? Have you lost your senses?</p> + +<p>Then, again. Sire, I was trying to find a way to pull down the +Poet's house. At first, no one would undertake it. Then, at last, +all the Pundits of the Royal School of Grammar and Logic came up +with their proper tools and set to work.</p> + +<p>Vizier! Are you mad this morning? Pull down the Poet's house? +Why, you might as well kill all the birds in the garden and make +them up into a pie.</p> + +<p>If it please Your Majesty, you need not be annoyed. We shan't have to +pull down the house after all; for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> moment Sruti-bhushan heard it +was to be demolished, he decided to take possession of it himself.</p> + +<p>What, Vizier! That's worse still. Why! The Goddess of Music would +break her harp in pieces against my head, if she even heard of +such a thing. No, that can't be.</p> + +<p>Then, Your Majesty, there was another thing to be got through. We +had to deliver over the province of Kanchanpur to the Pundit.</p> + +<p>No, Vizier! What a mess you are making. That must go to our Poet.</p> + +<p>To me, King? No. My poetry never accepts reward.</p> + +<p>Well, well. Let the Pundit have it.</p> + +<p>And, last of all, Sire. I have issued orders to the soldiers to +disperse the crowd of famine-stricken people.</p> + +<p>Vizier, you are doing nothing but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> blunder. The best way to +disperse the famished people is with food, not force.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Guard enters.</i>)</p> + +<p>May it please Your Royal Highness.</p> + +<p>What's the matter, Guard?</p> + +<p>May it please Your Royal Highness, here is Sruti-bhushan, the +Pundit, coming back with his <i>Book of Devotions</i>.</p> + +<p>Oh, stop him, Vizier, stop him. He will undo everything. Don't +let him come upon me unawares like this. In a moment of weakness, +I may suddenly find myself out of my depths in the <i>Ocean of +Renunciation</i>. Poet! Don't give me time for that. Do something. +Do anything. Have you got anything ready to hand? Any play +toward? Any poem? Any masque? Any——</p> + +<p>Yes, King. I have got the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> thing. But whether it is a drama, +or a poem, or a play, or a masque, I cannot say.</p> + +<p>Shall I be able to understand the sense of what you have written?</p> + +<p>No, King, what a poet writes is not meant to have any sense.</p> + +<p>What then?</p> + +<p>To have the tune itself.</p> + +<p>What do you mean? Is there no philosophy in it?</p> + +<p>No, none at all, thank goodness.</p> + +<p>What does it say, then?</p> + +<p>King, it says "I exist." Don't you know the meaning of the first +cry of the new-born child? The child, when it is born, hears at +once the cries of the earth and water and sky, which surround +him,—and they all cry to him, "We exist," and his tiny little +heart responds, and cries out in its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> turn, "I exist." My poetry +is like the cry of that new-born child. It is a response to the +cry of the Universe.</p> + +<p>Is it nothing more than that, Poet?</p> + +<p>No, nothing more. There is life in my song, which cries, "In joy +and in sorrow, in work and in rest, in life and in death, in +victory and in defeat, in this world and in the next, all hail to +the 'I exist.'"</p> + +<p>Well, Poet, I can assure you, if your play hasn't got any +philosophy in it, it won't pass muster in these days.</p> + +<p>That's true, King. The newer people, of this modern age, are more +eager to amass than to realize. They are, in their generation, +wiser than the children of light.</p> + +<p>Whom shall we ask, then, for an audience? Shall we ask the young +students of our royal school?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<p>No, King, they cut up poetry with their logic. They are like the +young-horned deer trying their new horns on the flower-beds.</p> + +<p>Whom should I ask, then?</p> + +<p>Ask those whose hair is turning grey.</p> + +<p>What do you mean, Poet?</p> + +<p>The youth of these middle-aged people is a youth of detachment. +They have just crossed the waters of pleasure, and are in sight +of the land of pure gladness. They don't want to eat fruit, but +to produce it.</p> + +<p>I, at least, have now reached that age of discretion, and ought +to be able to appreciate your songs. Shall I ask the General?</p> + +<p>Yes, ask him.</p> + +<p>And the Chinese Ambassador?</p> + +<p>Yes, ask him too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>I hear my father-in-law has come.</p> + +<p>Well, ask him too, but I have my doubts about his youthful sons.</p> + +<p>But don't forget his daughter.</p> + +<p>Don't worry about her. She won't let herself be forgotten.</p> + +<p>And Sruti-bhushan? Shall I ask him?</p> + +<p>No, King, no. Decidedly, no. I have no grudge against him. Why +should I inflict this on him?</p> + +<p>Very well, Poet. Off with you. Make your stage preparations.</p> + +<p>No, King. We are going to act this play without any special +preparations. Truth looks tawdry when she is overdressed.</p> + +<p>But, Poet, there must be some canvas for a background.</p> + +<p>No. Our only background is the mind. On that we shall summon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> up +a picture with the magic wand of music.</p> + +<p>Are there any songs in the play?</p> + +<p>Yes, King. The door of each act will be opened by the key of +song.</p> + +<p>What is the subject of the songs?</p> + +<p>The Disrobing of Winter.</p> + +<p>But, Poet, we haven't read about that in any Mythology.</p> + +<p>In the world-myth this song comes round in its turn. In the play +of the seasons, each year, the mask of the Old Man, Winter, is +pulled off, and the form of Spring is revealed in all its beauty. +Thus we see that the old is ever new.</p> + +<p>Well, Poet, so much for the songs: but what about the remainder?</p> + +<p>Oh, that is all about life.</p> + +<p>Life? What is life?</p> + +<p>This is how it runs: A band of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> young companions has run off in +pursuit of one Old Man. They have taken a vow to catch him. They +enter into a cave; they take hold of him, and then——</p> + +<p>Then, what? What did they see?</p> + +<p>Ah. That will be told in its own good time.</p> + +<p>But, I haven't understood one thing. Your drama and your +songs,—have they different subjects, or the same?</p> + +<p>The same, King. The play of Spring in nature is the counterpart +of the play of Youth in our lives. It is simply from the lyrical +drama of the World Poet that I have stolen this plot.</p> + +<p>Who, then, are the chief characters?</p> + +<p>One is called the Leader.</p> + +<p>Who is he, Poet?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>He is the guiding impulse in our life. Another is Chandra.</p> + +<p>Who is he?</p> + +<p>He who makes life dear to us.</p> + +<p>And who else?</p> + +<p>Then there is Dada, to whom duty is the essence of life, not joy.</p> + +<p>Is there any one else?</p> + +<p>Yes, the blind Minstrel.</p> + +<p>Blind?</p> + +<p>Because he does not see with his eyes, therefore he sees with his +whole body and mind and soul.</p> + +<p>Who else is there, in your play, among the chief actors?</p> + +<p>You are there, King.</p> + +<p>I?</p> + +<p>Yes, you, King. For if you stayed out of it, instead of coming +into it, then the King would begin to abuse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> the Poet and send +for Sruti-bhushan again. And then there would be no hope of +salvation for him. For the World Poet himself would be defeated. +And the South Wind of Spring would have to retire, without +receiving its homage.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ACT_I" id="ACT_I"></a>ACT I</h2> + +<p><i>The Heralds of Spring are abroad. There are songs in the +rustling bamboo leaves, in birds' nests, and in blossoming +branches.</i></p> + + +<h2>SONG-PRELUDE</h2> +<p><i>The purple secondary curtain<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> goes up, disclosing the elevated +rear stage with a skyey background of dark blue, on which appear +the horn of the crescent moon and the silver points of stars. +Trees in the foreground, with two rope swings entwined with +garlands of flowers. Flowers every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>where in profusion. On the +extreme left the mouth of a dark cavern dimly seen. Boys +representing the "Bamboo" disclosed, swinging.</i></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Neither the secondary curtain nor the drop is again +used during the play. The action is continuous, either on the +front stage, or on the rear stage, the latter being darkened when +not actually in use.</p></div> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of the Bamboo</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O South Wind, the Wanderer, come and rock me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rouse me into the rapture of new leaves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am the wayside bamboo tree, waiting for your breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tingle life into my branches.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O South Wind, the Wanderer, my dwelling is in the end of the lane.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know your wayfaring, and the language of your footsteps.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your least touch thrills me out of my slumber,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your whisper gleans my secrets.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter a troop of girls, dancing, representing birds.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of the Bird</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sky pours its light into our hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We fill the sky with songs in answer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We pelt the air with our notes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the air stirs our wings with its madness.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O Flame of the Forest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All your flower-torches are ablaze;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You have kissed our songs red with the passion of your youth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the spring breeze the mango-blossoms launch their messages to the unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the new leaves dream aloud all day.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Sirish, you have cast your perfume-net round our hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Drawing them out in songs.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Disclosed among the branches of trees, suddenly lighted up, +boys representing champak blossoms.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of the Blossoming Champak</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My shadow dances in your waves, everflowing river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, the blossoming champak, stand unmoved on the bank, with my flower-vigils.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My movement dwells in the stillness of my depth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the delicious birth of new leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In flood of flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In unseen urge of new life towards the light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its stirring thrills the sky, and the silence of the dawn is moved.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center"><i>Morning</i></p> + +<p>[<i>The rear stage is now darkened. On the main stage, bright, +enter a band of youths whose number may be anything between three +and thirty. They sing.</i>]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fire of April leaps from forest to forest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flashing up in leaves and flowers from all nooks and corners.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sky is thriftless with colours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The air delirious with songs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind-tost branches of the woodland<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Spread their unrest in our blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air is filled with bewilderment of mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the breeze rushes from flower to flower, asking their names.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>[In the following dialogue only the names of the principal +characters are given. Wherever the name is not given the speaker +is one or other of the Youths.]</p> + +<p>April pulls hard, brother, April pulls very hard.</p> + +<p>How do you know that?</p> + +<p>If he didn't, he would never have pulled Dada outside his den.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, I declare. Here is Dada, our cargo-boat of moral-maxims, +towed against the current of his own pen and ink.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>But you mustn't give April all the credit for that. For I, +Chandra, have hidden the yellow leaves of his manuscript book +among the young buds of the <i>pial</i> forest, and Dada is out +looking for it.</p> + +<p>The manuscript book banished! What a good riddance!</p> + +<p>We ought to strip off Dada's grey philosopher's cloak also.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Yes, the very dust of the earth is tingling with youth, and yet +there's not a single touch of Spring in the whole of Dada's +body.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Oh, do stop this fooling. What a nuisance you are making of +yourselves! We aren't children any longer.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Dada, the age of this earth is scarcely less than yours; and yet +it is not ashamed to look fresh.</p> + +<p>Dada, you are always struggling with those quatrains of yours, +full of advice that is as old as death, while the earth and the +water are ever striving to be new.</p> + +<p>Dada, how in the world can you go on writing verses like that, +sitting in your den?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Well, you see, I don't cultivate poetry, as an amateur gardener +cultivates flowers. <i>My</i> poems have substance and weight in +them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, they are like the turnips, which cling to the ground.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Well, then, listen to me——</p> + +<p>How awful! Here's Dada going to run amuck with his quatrains.</p> + +<p>Oh dear, oh dear! The quatrains are let loose. There's no holding +them in.</p> + +<p>To all passers-by I give notice that Dada's quatrains have gone +mad, and are running amuck.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Dada! Don't take any notice of their fun. Go on with your +reading. If no one else can survive it, I think I can. I am not a +coward like these fellows.</p> + +<p>Come on, then, Dada. We won't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> be cowards. We will keep our +ground, and not yield an inch, but only listen.</p> + +<p>We will receive the spear-thrusts of the quatrains on our breast, +not on our back.</p> + +<p>But for pity's sake, Dada, give us only one—not more.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Very well. Now listen:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If bamboos were made only into flutes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They would droop and die with very shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hold their heads high in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because they are variously useful.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Please, gentlemen, don't laugh. Have patience while I explain. +The meaning is——</p> + +<p>The meaning?</p> + +<p>What? Must the infantry charge of meaning follow the cannonading<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +of your quatrains, to complete the rout?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Just one word to make you understand. It means, that if the +bamboos were no better than those noisy instruments——</p> + +<p>No, Dada, we must not understand.</p> + +<p>I defy you to make us understand.</p> + +<p>Dada, if you use force to make us understand we shall use force +to force ourselves not to understand.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>The gist of the quatrain is this, that if we do no good to the +world, then——</p> + +<p>Then the world will be very greatly relieved.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>There is another verse that makes it clearer:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are numerous stars in the midnight sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which hang in the air for no purpose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they would only come down to earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the street lighting they might be useful.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I see we must make clearer our meaning. Catch him. Let's raise +him up, shoulder high, and take him back to his den.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Why are you so excited to-day? Have you any particular business +to do?</p> + +<p>Yes, we have very urgent business,—very urgent indeed.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>What is your business about?</p> + +<p>We are out to seek a play for our Spring festival.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Play! Day and night, play!</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are free, my friends, from the fear of work,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For we know that work is play,— the play of life.<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">It is Play, to fight and toss, between life and death;<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">It is Play that flashes in the laughter of light in the infinite heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It roars in the wind, and surges in the sea.<br /> +</span> +</div></div> + +<p>Oh, here comes our Leader. Brothers—our Leader, our Leader.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Hallo! What a noise you make!</p> + +<p>Was it that which made you come out of doors?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Yes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, we did it for that very purpose.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>You don't want me to remain indoors?</p> + +<p>Why remain indoors? This outer world has been made with a lavish +expenditure of sun and moon and stars. Let us enjoy it, and then +we can save God's face for indulging in such extravagance.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>What were you discussing?</p> + +<p>This:</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing</i>.)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Play blooms in flower and ripens in fruit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sunshine of eternal youth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Play bursts up in the blood-red fire, and licks into ashes the decaying and the dead.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>Our Dada's objection was about this play.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Shall I tell you the reason why?</p> + +<p>Yes, Dada, you may tell us, but we shan't promise to listen.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Here it is:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Time is the capital of work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Play is its defalcation.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Play rifles the house, and then wastes its spoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore the wise call it worse than useless.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>But surely, Dada, you are talking nonsense. Time itself is Play. +Its only object is Pas-time.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Then what is Work?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Work is the dust raised by the passing of Time.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Leader, you must give us your answers.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>No. I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. +That is my leadership.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Everything else has its limits, but your childishness is +absolutely unbounded.</p> + +<p>Do you know the reason? It is because we are really nothing but +children. And everything else has its limitations except the +child.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Won't you ever attain Age?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>No, we shall never attain Age.</p> + +<p>We shall die old, but never attain Age.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>When we meet Age, we shall shave his head, and put him on a +donkey, and send him across the river.</p> + +<p>Oh, you can save yourself the trouble of shaving his head for Age +is bald.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing</i>.)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our hair shall never turn grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no blank in this world for us, no break in our road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may be an illusion that we follow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it shall never play us false,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>The Leader sings</i>.)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our hair shall never turn grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span><span class="i0">We will never doubt the world and shut our eyes to ponder.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will not grope in the maze of our mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We flow with the flood of things, from the mountain to the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will never be lost in the desert sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We can tell, by his looks, that Dada will some day go to that Old +Man, to receive his lessons.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Which Old Man?</p> + +<p>The Old Man of the line of Adam.</p> + +<p>He dwells in a cave, and never thinks of dying.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Where did you learn about him?</p> + +<p>Oh, every one talks about him, And it is in the books also.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>What does he look like?</p> + +<p>Some say he is white, like the skull of a dead man. And some say +he is dark, like the socket of a skeleton's eye.</p> + +<p>But haven't you heard any news of him, Leader?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>I don't believe in him at all.</p> + +<p>Well, that goes entirely against current opinion. That Old Man is +more existent than anything else. He lives within the ribs of +creation.</p> + +<p>According to our Pundit, it is we who have no existence. You +can't be certain whether we are, or are not.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>We? Oh, we are too brand new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> altogether. We haven't yet got our +credentials to prove that we exist.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Have you really gone and opened communication with the Pundits?</p> + +<p>Why? What harm is there in that, Leader?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>You will become pale, like the white mist in autumn. Even the +least colour of blood will disappear from your mind. I have a +suggestion.</p> + +<p>What, Leader? What?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>You were looking out for a play?</p> + +<p>Yes, yes, we got quite frantic about it.</p> + +<p>We thought it over so vigorously, that people had to run to the +King's court to lodge a complaint.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Well, I can suggest a play which will be new.</p> + +<p>What?—What?—Tell us.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Go and capture the Old Man.</p> + +<p>That is new, no doubt, but we very much doubt if it's a play.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>I am sure you won't be able to do it.</p> + +<p>Not do it? We shall.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>No, never.</p> + +<p>Well then, suppose we do capture him, what will you give us?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>I shall accept you as my preceptor.</p> + +<p>Preceptor! You want to make us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> grey, and cold, and old, before +our time.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Then, what do you want me to do?</p> + +<p>If we capture him, then we shall take away your leadership.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>That will be a great relief to me. You have made all my bones out +of joint already. Very well, then it's all settled?</p> + +<p>Yes, settled. We shall bring him to you by the next full moon of +Spring.</p> + +<p>But what are we going to do with him?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>You shall let him join in your Spring Festival.</p> + +<p>Oh no, that will be outrageous.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> Then the mango flowers will run +to seed at once.</p> + +<p>And all the cuckoos will become owls.</p> + +<p>And the bees will go about reciting Sanskrit verses, making the +air hum with m's and n's.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>And your skull will be so top-heavy with prudence, that it will +be difficult for you to keep on your feet.</p> + +<p>How awful!</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>And you will have rheumatics in all your joints.</p> + +<p>How awful!</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>And you will become your own elder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> brothers, pulling your own +ears to set yourselves right.</p> + +<p>How awful!</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>And——</p> + +<p>No more "ands." We are ready to surrender.</p> + +<p>We will abandon our game of capturing the Old Man.</p> + +<p>We will put it off till the cold weather. In this Springtime, +your company will be enough for us.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Ah, I see! You have already got the chill of the Old Man in your +bones.</p> + +<p>Why? What are the symptoms?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>You have no enthusiasm. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> back out at the very start. Why +don't you make a trial?</p> + +<p>Very well. Agreed. Come on.</p> + +<p>Let us go after the Old Man. We will pluck him out, like a grey +hair, wherever we find him.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>But the Old Man is an adept in the business of plucking out. His +best weapon is the hoe.</p> + +<p>You needn't try to frighten us like that. When we are out for +adventure, we must leave behind all fears, all quatrains, all +Pundits, and all Scriptures.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing</i>.)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are out on our way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we fear not the Robber, the Old Man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our path is straight, it is broad,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span><span class="i2">Our burden is light, for our pocket is bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who can rob us of our folly?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For us there is no rest, nor ease, nor praise, nor success,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We dance in the measure of fortune's rise and fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We play our game, or win or lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And we fear not the Robber.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ACT_II" id="ACT_II"></a>ACT II</h2> + + +<h2>SONG-PRELUDE</h2> +<p class="center">[<i>Spring's Heralds try to rob Winter of his outfit of age.</i>]</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Rear stage lighted up, disclosing Old Winter teased by the boys +and girls representing Spring's Heralds.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of the Heralds of Spring</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We seek our playmates,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waking them up from all corners before it is morning.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We call them in bird songs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beckon them in nodding branches.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We spread our spell for them in the splendour of clouds.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We laugh at solemn Death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till he joins in our laughter.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We tear open Time's purse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Taking back his plunder from him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You shall lose your heart to us, O Winter.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It will gleam in the trembling leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And break into flowers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of Winter</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Leave me, let me go.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sail for the bleak North, for the peace of the frozen shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your laughter is untimely, my friends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You turn my farewell tunes into the welcome song of the Newcomer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all things draw me back again into the dancing ring of their hearts.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of the Heralds of Spring</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Life's spies are we, lurking in ambush everywhere.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +<span class="i0">We wait to rob you of your last savings of withered hours to scatter them in the wayward winds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall bind you in flower chains where Spring keeps his captives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For we know you carry your jewels of youth hidden in your grey rags.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Noon</i>)</p> + +<p>[<i>The rear stage is darkened. The band of Youths enters on the +main stage. No actual change in the scenery is necessary—this +being left to the imagination of the audience.</i>]</p> + +<p>Ferryman! Ferryman! Open your door.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>What do you want?</p> + +<p>We want the Old Man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Which old man?</p> + +<p>Not which old man. We want <i>the</i> Old Man.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Who is he?</p> + +<p>The true and original Old Man.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Oh! I understand. What do you want him for?</p> + +<p>For our Spring Festival.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>For your Spring Festival? Are you become mad?</p> + +<p>Not a sudden becoming. We have been like this from the beginning.</p> + +<p>And we shall go on like this to the end.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Piper pipes in the centre, hidden from sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we become frantic, we dance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The March wind, seized with frenzy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Runs and reels, and sways with noisy branches.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun and stars are drawn in the whirl of rapture.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now, Ferryman, give us news of the Old Man.</p> + +<p>You ply your boat from one landing stage to another. Surely you +know where——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>My business is limited only to the path. But whose path it is, +and what it means, I have no occasion to enquire. For my goal is +the landing-stage, not the house.</p> + +<p>Very well. Let us go, let us try all the ways.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>(They sing.)</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Piper pipes in the centre, hidden from sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, the turbulent tune, to whose time the oceans dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And dance our heaving hearts.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fling away all burdens and cares, brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do not be doubtful of your path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the path wakes up of itself<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the dancing steps of freedom.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>There comes the Watchman. Ask him. I know about the way; but he +knows about the wayfarers.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Who are you?</p> + +<p>We are just what you see. That's our only description.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>But what do you want?</p> + +<p>We want the Old Man.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Which old man?</p> + +<p>That eternal Old Man.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>How absurd! While you are seeking him, he is after you.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>He is fond of warming his cold blood with the wine of hot youth.</p> + +<p>We'll give him a warm enough reception. All we want is to see +him. Have you seen him?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>My watch is at night. I see my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> people, but don't know their +features. But, look here, every one knows that he is the great +kidnapper; and you want to kidnap him! It's midsummer madness.</p> + +<p>The secret is out. It doesn't take long to discover that we are +mad.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>I am the Watchman. The people I see passing along the road are +all very much alike. Therefore, when I see anything queer, it +always strikes me.</p> + +<p>Just listen to him. All the respectable people of our +neighbourhood say just the same thing—that we are queer.</p> + +<p>Yes, we're queer. There's no mistake about that.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>But all this is utter childishness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>Do you hear that? It's exactly what our Dada says.</p> + +<p>We have been going on with our childishness through unremembered +ages.</p> + +<p>And now we have become confirmed children.</p> + +<p>And we have a leader, who is a perfect veteran in childhood. He +rushes along so recklessly, that he drops off his age at every +step he runs.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>And who are you?</p> + +<p>We are butterflies, freed from the cocoon of Age.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>[<i>Aside.</i>] Mad. Raving mad.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Then what will you all do now?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>We shall go——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Where?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>That we haven't decided.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>You have decided to go, but not where to go?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Yes, that will be settled as we go along.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>What does that mean?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>It means this song.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We move and move without rest,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">We move while the wanderers' stars shine in the sky and fade.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We play the tune of the road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While our limbs scatter away the laughter of movement,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And our many-coloured mantle of youth flutters about in the air.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Is it your custom to answer questions by songs?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Yes, otherwise the answer becomes too unintelligible.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Then you think your songs intelligible?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Yes, quite, because they contain music.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We move and move without rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">World, the Rover, loves his comrades of the road.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His call comes across the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The seasons lead the way, strewing the path with flowers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>No ordinary being ever breaks out singing, like this, in the +middle of talking.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Again we are found out. We are no ordinary beings.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Have you got no work to do?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>No, we are on a holiday.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Lest our time should all be wasted.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>I don't quite understand you.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Then we shall be obliged to sing again.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>No, no. There's no need to do that. I don't hope to understand +you any better, even if you do sing.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Everybody has given up the hope of understanding us.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>But how can things get on with you, if you behave like this?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Oh, there's no need for things to get on with us, so long as we +ourselves get on.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Mad! Quite mad! Raving mad!</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Why, here comes our Dada.</p> + +<p>Dada, what made you lag behind?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Don't you know? We are free as the wind, because we have no +substance in us. But Dada is like the rain-cloud of August. He +must stop, every now and then, to unburden himself.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Who are you?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>I am the Ferryman.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>And who are you?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>I am the Watchman.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>I am delighted to see you. I want to read you something that I +have written. It contains nothing frivolous, but only the most +important lessons.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Very good. Let us have it then.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Our master used to tell us that there are plenty of men to say +good things, but very few to listen. That requires<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> strength of +mind. Now, go on, Sir, go on.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>I saw, in the street, one of the King's officers dragging along a +merchant. The King had made up a false charge, in order to get +his money. This gave me an inspiration. You must know that I +never write a single line which is not inspired by some actual +fact. You can put my verses to the test in the open streets and +markets——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Please, Sir, do let us hear what you have written.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sugar-cane filling itself with juice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is chewed and sucked dry by all beggars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O foolish men, take your lesson from this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those trees are saved, which are fruitful.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>You will understand that the sugar-cane gets into trouble, simply +because it tries to keep its juice. But nobody is so foolish as +to kill the tree that freely gives fruit.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>What splendid writing, Ferryman!</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Yes, Watchman, it contains great lessons for us.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>It gives me food for thought. If only I had here our neighbour, +the Scribe! I should like to take this down. Do send round to +tell the people of the place to assemble.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>But, Ferryman, you promised to come out with us. Yet, if once +Dada<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> begins to quote his quatrains, there will be——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>Go along with you. None of your madness here. We are fortunate +now in having met our master. Let us improve the occasion with +good words. We are all of us getting old. Who knows when we shall +die?</p> + +<p>All the more reason why you should cultivate our company.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>You can always find another Dada. But when once we are dead, God +will never repeat the blunder of another absurdity like us again.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter Oilman.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Oilman</i></p> + +<p>Ho! Watchman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Who is there? Is that the Oilman?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Oilman</i></p> + +<p>The child I was bringing up was kidnapped last night.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>By whom?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Oilman</i></p> + +<p>By the Old Man.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Youths</i></p> + +<p>[<i>Together.</i>] Old Man? You don't mean it. Old Man?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Oilman</i></p> + +<p>Yes, Sirs, the Old Man; what makes you so glad?</p> + +<p>Oh, that's a bad habit of ours. We become glad for no reason +whatever.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>[<i>Aside.</i>] Mad! Raving mad! Have you seen the Old Man?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Oilman</i></p> + +<p>I think I saw him in the distance last night.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>First Youth</i></p> + +<p>What did he look like?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Oilman</i></p> + +<p>Black. More black than our brother here, the Watchman. Black as +night, with two eyes on his breast shining like two glow-worms.</p> + +<p>That won't suit us. That would be awkward for our Spring +Festival.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>We shall have to change our date from the full moon to the dark +moon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> For the dark moon has no end of eyes on her breast.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>But I warn you, my friends, you are not doing wisely.</p> + +<p>No, we are not.</p> + +<p>We are found out again. We never do anything wisely. It is +contrary to our habit.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Do you take this to be a joke? I warn you, my friends, it is +dangerous.</p> + +<p>Dangerous? That's the best joke of all.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are neither too good nor wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is all the merit we have.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our calumny spreads from land to land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And danger dogs our steps.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We take great care to forget what is taught us,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span><span class="i0">We say things different from the book,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bringing upon us trouble,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And rebuke from the learned.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Ah, Sir, you spoke about some Leader. Where is he? He could have +kept you in order, if he were with you.</p> + +<p>He never stays with us, lest he should have to keep us in order.</p> + +<p>He simply launches us on our way, and then slips off.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>That's a poor idea of leadership.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>He is never concerned about his leadership. That is why we +recognize him as our Leader.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>Then he has got a very easy task.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>It is no easy task to lead men. But it is easy enough to drive +them.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are not too good nor wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is all the merit we have.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a luckless moment we were born,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the star of wisdom was the dimmest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We can hope for no profit from our adventures,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We move on, because we must.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Dada, come on. Let us go.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>No, no, Sir. Don't you get yourself into mischief in their +company.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ferryman</i></p> + +<p>You read your verses, Sir, to us. Our neighbours will be here +soon. They will be greatly profited.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>No. I'm not going to move a step from here.</p> + +<p>Then let us move. The men in the street can't bear us.</p> + +<p>That's because we rattle them too much.</p> + +<p>You hear the hum of human bees, they smell the honey of Dada's +quatrains.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Youths</i></p> + +<p>[<i>Together.</i>] They come! They come!</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter Village folk.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Villager</i></p> + +<p>Is it true that there is going to be a reading?</p> + +<p>Who are you? Are <i>you</i> going to read?</p> + +<p>No. We commit all kinds of atroci<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>ties, but not that. This one +merit will bring us salvation.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Villager</i></p> + +<p>What do they say? They seem to be talking in riddles.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Boy enters.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Boy</i></p> + +<p>I couldn't catch him.</p> + +<p>Whom?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Boy</i></p> + +<p>The Old Man, whom you are seeking.</p> + +<p>Have you seen him?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Boy</i></p> + +<p>Yes, I thought I saw him going by in a car.</p> + +<p>Where? In what direction?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Boy</i></p> + +<p>I couldn't make out exactly. The dust raised by his wheels is +still whirling in the air.</p> + +<p>Then let us go.</p> + +<p>He has filled the sky with dead leaves.</p> + +<p class="f1">[<i>They go out.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Watchman</i></p> + +<p>They are mad! Quite mad! Raving mad!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ACT_III" id="ACT_III"></a>ACT III</h2> + +<h2>SONG-PRELUDE</h2> +<p class="center">[<i>Winter is being unmasked—his hidden youth about to be +disclosed.</i>]</p> + +<p class="center"><i>The rear stage lighted up, disclosing Winter and the Heralds of +Spring.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Song of the Heralds of Spring</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How grave he looks, how laughably old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How solemnly quiet among death preparations!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, friends, help him to find himself before he reaches home.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Change his pilgrim's robe into the dress of the singing youth,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span><span class="i0">Snatch away his bag of dead things<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And confound his calculations.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Another group sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The time comes when the world shall know that you're not banished in your own shadows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your heart shall burst in torrents<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the clasp of the ice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your North wind turn its face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against the haunts of the flitting phantoms.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sounds the magician's drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sun waits with laughter in his glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see your grey turn into green.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Evening</i>)</p> + +<p class="center">[<i>The rear stage is darkened; the light on the main stage dimmed +to the greyness of dark.</i>]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Band of Youths</i></p> + +<p>They all cry, "There, there," and when we look for it, we find +nothing but dust and dry leaves.</p> + +<p>I thought I had a glimpse of the flag on his car through the +cloud.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to follow his track. Now it seems East: now it +seems West.</p> + +<p>And so we are tired, chasing shadows all day long. And the day +has been lost.</p> + +<p>I tell you the truth. Fear comes more and more into my mind, as +the day passes.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I am afraid we have been deceived. I am beginning to feel greater +respect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> for Dada's quatrains than before. We shall all be soon +sitting down on the ground composing quatrains.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And we shall settle down like a great big boulder, cold and +immovable.</p> + +<p>And they will cling to us, as we sit there, like a thick fog.</p> + +<p>What would our Leader think of us, I wonder, if he could hear us +now?</p> + +<p>I am sure it is our Leader, who has led us astray. He makes us +toil for nothing, while he himself remains idle.</p> + +<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> wretched vagabonds. They are always trudging the road.</p> + +<p>We will keep our hands fast behind our backs.</p> + +<p>There is no mischief in the back; all the trouble is in the +front.</p> + +<p>Of all our limbs, the back is the most truthful. It says to us, +"Lie down."</p> + +<p>When we are young, that braggart breast is a great swell; but, in +the end, we can only rely on our back.</p> + +<p>The little stream that flows past our village comes to my mind. +That morning we thought that it said to us, "Forward! Forward!" +But what it really said was, "False! False!" The world is all +false.</p> + +<p>Our Pundit used to tell us that.</p> + +<p>We shall go straight to the Pundit, when we get back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>We shall never stir one step outside the limit of the Pundit's +Scriptures.</p> + +<p>What a mistake we made. We thought that moving itself was +something heroic.</p> + +<p>But really not to move, that is heroic, because it is defying the +whole moving world.</p> + +<p>Brave rebels that we are, we shall <i>not</i> move. We shall have the +audacity to sit still, and never move an inch.</p> + +<p>"Life and youth are fleeting," the Scripture says. Let life and +youth go to the dogs, we shall not move.</p> + +<p>"Our minds and wealth are fleeting," adds the Scripture. "Give +them up and sit still," say we.</p> + +<p>Let us go back to the point from which we started.</p> + +<p>But that would be to move.</p> + +<p>What then?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>There sit down, where we have come to.</p> + +<p>And let us imagine that there we had been before we ever came +there.</p> + +<p>Yes, yes, that will keep our minds still. If we know that we have +come from somewhere else, then the mind longs for that somewhere +else.</p> + +<p>That land of somewhere else is a very dangerous place.</p> + +<p>There the ground moves, and also the roads. But as for us——</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We cling to our seats and never stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We allow our flowers to fade in peace, and avoid the trouble of bearing fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the starlights blazon their eternal folly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We quench our flames.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the forest rustle and the ocean roar,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +<span class="i2">We sit mute.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the call of the flood-tide come from the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We remain still.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Do you hear that laughter?</p> + +<p>Yes, yes, it is laughter.</p> + +<p>What a relief! We have never heard that sound for an age.</p> + +<p>We had been choking, for want of the breath of laughter.</p> + +<p>This laughter comes to us like the April rain.</p> + +<p>Whose is it?</p> + +<p>Cannot you guess? It is our Chandra.</p> + +<p>What a marvellous gift of laughter he has! It is like a +waterfall. It dashes all the black stones out of the path.</p> + +<p>It is like sunlight. It cuts the mist to pieces with its sword.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now all danger of quatrain fever is over. Let us get up.</p> + +<p>From this moment there will be nothing but work for us. As the +Scripture says, "Everything in this world is fleeting, and he +only lives who does his duty and achieves fame."</p> + +<p>Why are you quoting that? Are you still suffering from the +quatrain fever?</p> + +<p>What do you mean by fame? Does the river take any heed of its +foam? Fame is that foam on life's stream.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter Chandra with a blind Minstrel.</i>)</p> + +<p>Well, Chandra, what makes you so glad?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>I have got the track of the Old Man.</p> + +<p>From whom?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>From this old Minstrel.</p> + +<p>He seems to be blind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Yes, that is why he has not got to seek the road.</p> + +<p>What do you say? Shall you be able to lead us right?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Yes.</p> + +<p>But how?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Because I can hear the footsteps.</p> + +<p>We also have ears, but——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>I hear with my whole being.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>They all started up with fear, when I asked about the Old Man. +Only this Minstrel seemed to have no fear. I suppose because he +cannot see, he is not afraid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Do you know why I have no fear? When the sun of my life set, and +I became blind, the dark night revealed all its lights, and, from +that day forward, I have been no more afraid of the dark.</p> + +<p>Then let us go. The evening star is up.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Let me sing, and walk on as I sing, and you follow me. I cannot +find my way, if I do not sing.</p> + +<p>What do you mean?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>My songs precede, I follow.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>He sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gently, my friend, gently walk to your silent chamber.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +<span class="i2">I know not the way, I have not the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dark is my life and my world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have only the sound of your steps to guide me in this wilderness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gently, my friend, gently walk along the dark shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let the hint of the way come in whisper,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the night, in the April breeze.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have only the scent of your garland to guide me in this wilderness.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="ACT_IV" id="ACT_IV"></a>ACT IV</h2> + +<h2>SONG-PRELUDE</h2> +<p class="center">[<i>There enter a troupe of young things, and they introduce +themselves in a song as follows:</i>]</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Song of Returning Youth</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again and again we say "Good-bye,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To come back again and again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, who are you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am the flower vakul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who are you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am the flower parul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who are these?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are mango blossoms landed on the shore of light.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span><span class="i2">We laugh and take leave when the time beckons us.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We rush into the arms of the ever-returning.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But who are you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am the flower shimul.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And who are you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am the kamini bunch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who are these?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are the jostling crowd of new leaves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">[<i>Winter is revealed as Spring and answers to the questions put +by the chorus of young things.</i>]</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Song of Burdens Dropped</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do you own defeat at the hand of youth?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you met at last the ageless Old, who ever grows new?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yes.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span><span class="i0">Have you come out of the walls that crumble and bury those whom they shelter?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Another group sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do you own defeat at the hands of life?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you passed through death to stand at last face to face with the Deathless?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you dealt the blow to the demon dust, that swallows your city Immortal?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>Spring's flowers surround him and sing.</i>)</p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Song of Fresh Beauty</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We waited by the wayside counting moments till you appeared in the April morning.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +<span class="i0">You come as a soldier-boy winning life at death's gate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, the wonder of it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We listen amazed at the music of your young voice.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your mantle is blown in the wind like the fragrance of the Spring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white spray of malati flowers in your hair shines like star-clusters.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fire burns through the veil of your smile,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh, the wonder of it.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And who knows where your arrows are hidden which smite death?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center">(<i>Night</i>)</p> + +<p>[<i>The rear stage is darkened, and the light on the main stage +dimmed to the heavy purple blackness of mourning.</i>]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter the Band of Youths.</i>)</p> + +<p>Chandra has gone away again, leaving us behind.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to keep him still.</p> + +<p>We get our rest by sitting down, but he gets his by walking on.</p> + +<p>He has gone across the river with the blind minstrel, in whose +depth of blindness Chandra is seeking the invisible light.</p> + +<p>That is why our Leader calls him the Diver.</p> + +<p>Our life becomes utterly empty, when Chandra is away.</p> + +<p>Do you feel as though something was in the air?</p> + +<p>The sky seems to be looking into our face, like a friend bidding +farewell.</p> + +<p>This little stream of water is trickling through the <i>casuarina</i> +grove. It seems like the tears of midnight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>We have never gazed upon the earth before with such intentness.</p> + +<p>When we run forward at full speed, our eyes keep gazing in front +of us, and we see nothing on either side of us.</p> + +<p>If things did not move on and vanish, we should see no beauty +anywhere.</p> + +<p>If youth had only the heat of movement, it would get parched and +withered. But there is ever the hidden tear, which keeps it +fresh.</p> + +<p>The cry of the world is not only "I have," but also "I give." In +the first dawning light of creation, "I have" was wedded to "I +give." If this bond of union were to snap, then everything would +go to ruin.</p> + +<p>I don't know where that blind Minstrel has landed us at last.</p> + +<p>It seems as though these stars in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> the sky above us are the +gazing of countless eyes we met in all forgotten ages. It seems +as if, through the flowers, there came the whisper of those we +have forgotten, saying Remember us.</p> + +<p>Our hearts will break if we do not sing.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did you leave behind you your love, my heart, and miss peace through all your days?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is the path you followed lost and forgotten, making your return hopeless?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I go roaming listening to brooks' babble, to the rustle of leaves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it seems to me that I shall find the way, that reaches the land of lost love beyond the evening stars.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>What a strange tune is this, that comes out of the music of +Spring.</p> + +<p>It seems like the tune of yellow leaves.</p> + +<p>Spring has stored up its tears in secret for us all this while.</p> + +<p>It was afraid we should not understand it, because we were so +youthful.</p> + +<p>It wanted to beguile us with smiles.</p> + +<p>But we shall sleep our hearts tonight in the sadness of the other +shore.</p> + +<p>Ah, the dear earth! The beautiful earth! She wants all that we +have—the touch of our hands, the song of our hearts.</p> + +<p>She wants to draw out from us all that is within, hidden even +from ourselves.</p> + +<p>This is her sorrow, that she finds out some things only to know +that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> she has not found all. She loses before she attains.</p> + +<p>Ah, the dear earth! We shall never deceive you.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shall crown you with my garland, before I take leave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You ever spoke to me in all my joys and sorrows.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now, at the end of the day, my own heart will break in speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Words came to me, but not the tune, and the song that I never sang to you remains hidden behind my tears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Brother, did you notice that some one seemed to have passed by?</p> + +<p>The only thing you feel is this passing by.</p> + +<p>I felt the touch of the mantle of some wayfarer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>We came out to capture somebody, but now we feel the longing to +be captured ourselves.</p> + +<p>Ah, here comes the Minstrel. Where have you brought us? The +breath of the wayfaring world touches us here,—the breath of the +starry sky.</p> + +<p>We came seeking a new form of play. But now we have forgotten +what play it was.</p> + +<p>We wanted to catch the Old Man.</p> + +<p>And everybody said that he was terrifying, a bodiless head, a +gaping mouth, a dragon eager to swallow the moon of the youth of +the world. But now we are no longer afraid. The flowers go, the +leaves go, the waves in the river go, and we shall also follow +them. Ah, blind Minstrel, strike your lute and sing to us. Who +knows what is the hour of the night?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">(<i>The Minstrel sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let me give my all to him, before I am asked, whom the world offers its all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I came to him for my gifts, I was not afraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I will not fear, when I come to him, to give up what I have.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morning accepts his gold with songs, the evening pays him back the debt of gold and is glad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The joy of the blooming flower comes to fruit with shedding of its leaves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hasten, my heart, and spend yourself in love, before the day is done.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Minstrel, why is Chandra still absent?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Don't you know that he has gone?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gone?—Where?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He said, I shall go and conquer him.</p> + +<p>Whom?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>The One who is feared by all. He said, "Why else am I young?"</p> + +<p>Ah, that was fine.—Dada goes to read his quatrains to the +village people, and Chandra has disappeared,—for what purpose +nobody knows.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He said, "Men have always been fighting for a cause. It is the +shock of that, which ruffles the breeze of this Spring."</p> + +<p>The shock?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Yes, the message that man's fight is not yet over.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>Is this the message of Spring?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Yes. Those, who have been made immortal by death, have sent their +message in these fresh leaves of Spring. It said, "We never +doubted the way. We never counted the cost: we rushed out: we +blossomed. If we had sat down to debate, then where would be the +Spring?"</p> + +<p>Has that made Chandra mad?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He said——</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>The Minstrel sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spring flowers have woven my wreath of victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The South wind breathes its breath of fire in my blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of the house-corner wails in vain from behind.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span><span class="i2">Death stands before me, offering its crown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tempest of youth sweeps the skyharp with its fingers;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My heart dances in its wild rhythm.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathering and storing are not for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I spend and scatter.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prudence and comfort bid me adieu in despair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But where has he gone to?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He said, "I cannot keep waiting by the wayside any longer. I must +go and meet him, and conquer him."</p> + +<p>But which way did he take?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He has entered the cave.</p> + +<p>How is that? It is so fearfully dark. Did he, without making any +enquiries—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>—</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Yes, he went in to make enquiries himself.</p> + +<p>When will he come back?</p> + +<p>I don't believe he will ever come back.</p> + +<p>But if Chandra leaves us, then life is not worth living.</p> + +<p>What shall we say to our Leader?</p> + +<p>The Leader also will leave us.</p> + +<p>Didn't he leave any message for us before he disappeared?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He said, "Wait for me. I shall return."</p> + +<p>Return? How are we to know it?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He said, "I will conquer, and then come back again."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then we shall wait for him all night.</p> + +<p>But, Minstrel, where have we got to wait for him?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Before that cave, from whence the stream of water comes flowing +out.</p> + +<p>Which way did he go to get there?</p> + +<p>The darkness there is like a dark sword.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He followed the sound of the night-bird's wings.</p> + +<p>Why did you not go with him?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>He left me behind to give you hope.</p> + +<p>When did he go?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>In the first hour of the watch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now the third hour has passed, I think. The air is chilly.</p> + +<p>I dreamt that three women, with their hair hanging loose——</p> + +<p>Oh, leave off your dream-women. I am sick of your dreams.</p> + +<p>Everything appears darkly ominous. I didn't notice before the +hooting of the owl. But now——</p> + +<p>Do you hear that dog whining on the far bank of the river?</p> + +<p>It seems as though a witch were riding upon him and lashing him.</p> + +<p>Surely, if it had been possible, Chandra would have come back by +now.</p> + +<p>How I wish this night were over.</p> + +<p>Do you hear the woman's cry?</p> + +<p>Oh, the women, the women. They are ever crying and weeping. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +they cannot turn those back, who must go forward.</p> + +<p>It is getting unbearable to sit still like this. Men imagine all +sorts of things when they sit still. Let us go also. As soon as +we are started on our way fear will leave us.</p> + +<p>But who will show us the way?</p> + +<p>There is the blind Minstrel.</p> + +<p>What do you say, Minstrel? Can you show us the way?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Yes.</p> + +<p>But we can hardly believe you. How can you find out the path by +simply singing?</p> + +<p>If Chandra never comes back, you shall.</p> + +<p>We never knew that we loved Chandra so intensely. We made light +of him all these days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>When we are in the playing mood, we become so intent on the play, +that we neglect the playmate.</p> + +<p>But, if he once comes back, we shall never neglect him any more.</p> + +<p>I am afraid that we have often given him pain.</p> + +<p>Yet his love rose above all that. We never knew how beautiful he +was, when we could see him every day.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>They sing.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When there was light in my world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You stood outside my eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now that there is none,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You come into my heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When there were dolls for me, I played;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You smiled and watched from the door.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now that the dolls have crumbled to dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You come and sit by me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I have only my heart for my music,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When my lute-strings have broken.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>That Minstrel sits so still and silent. I don't like it.</p> + +<p>He looks ominous,—like the lowering autumn cloud.</p> + +<p>Let us dismiss him.</p> + +<p>No, no. It gives us heart, when he sits there.</p> + +<p>Don't you see that there is no sign of fear in his face?</p> + +<p>It seems as if some messages were striking his forehead. His body +appears to espy some one in the distance. There seem to be eyes +on the tips of his fingers.</p> + +<p>Simply by watching him, we can see that some one is coming +through the dark.</p> + +<p>Look. He is standing up. He is turning towards the East, and +making his obeisance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yet there is nothing to be seen, not even a streak of light.</p> + +<p>Why not ask him what it is that he sees?</p> + +<p>No, don't disturb him.</p> + +<p>Do you know, it seems to me that the morning has dawned in him.</p> + +<p>As if the ferry-boat of light had reached the shore of his +forehead.</p> + +<p>His mind is still, like the morning sky.</p> + +<p>The storm of birds' songs will burst out presently.</p> + +<p>He is striking his lute. His heart is singing.</p> + +<p>Hush. He is singing.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>The Minstrel sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Victory to thee, victory for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O brave heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Victory to life, to joy, to love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To eternal light.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The night shall wane, the darkness shall vanish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have faith, brave heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake up from sleep, from languor of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Receive the light of new dawn with a song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">(<i>A ray of light hovers before the cavern.</i>)</p> + +<p>Ah! There he is. Chandra! Chandra!</p> + +<p>Hush. Don't make any noise. I cannot see him distinctly.</p> + +<p>Ah! It cannot be any other than Chandra.</p> + +<p>Oh, what joy!</p> + +<p>Chandra! Come!</p> + +<p>Chandra! How could you leave us for so long?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>Have you been able to capture the Old Man?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Yes, I have.</p> + +<p>But we don't see him.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>He is coming.</p> + +<p>But what did you see in the cave? Tell us.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>No, I cannot tell you.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>If my mind were a voice, then I could tell you.</p> + +<p>But could you see him, whom you captured? Was he the Old Man of +the World?</p> + +<p>The Old Man who would like to drink up the sea of youth in his +insatiable thirst.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>Was it the One who is like the dark night, whose eyes are fixed +on his breast, whose feet are turned the wrong way round, who +walks backwards?</p> + +<p>Was it the One who wears the garland of skulls, and lives in the +burning-ground of the dead?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>I do not know, I cannot say. But he is coming. You shall see him.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Yes, I see him.</p> + +<p>[<i>The light strengthens and gradually throughout the scene grows +to a culminating brilliance at the close.</i>]</p> + +<p>Where?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Minstrel</i></p> + +<p>Here.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>He is coming out of the cave.—Some one is coming out of the +cave.</p> + +<p>How wonderful.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Why, it is you!</p> + +<p>Our Leader!</p> + +<p>Our Leader!</p> + +<p>Our Leader!</p> + +<p>Where is the Old Man?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>He is nowhere.</p> + +<p>Nowhere?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Yes, nowhere.</p> + +<p>Then what is he?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>He is a dream.</p> + +<p>Then you are the real?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Yes.</p> + +<p>And we are the real?</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Yes.</p> + +<p>Those who saw you from behind imagined you in all kinds of +shapes.</p> + +<p>We didn't recognize you through the dust.</p> + +<p>You seemed old.</p> + +<p>And then you came out of the cave,—and now you look like a boy.</p> + +<p>It seems just as if we had seen you for the first time.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>You are first every time. You are first over and over again.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Leader</i></p> + +<p>Chandra! You must own your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> defeat. You couldn't catch the Old +Man.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>Let our festival begin. The sun is up.</p> + +<p>Minstrel, if you keep so still, you will swoon away. Sing +something.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>The Minstrel sings.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I lose thee, to find thee back again and again,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My beloved.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou leavest me, that I may receive thee all the more, when thou returnest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou canst vanish behind the moment's screen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only because thou art mine for evermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My beloved.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I go in search of thee, my heart trembles, spreading ripples across my love.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thou smilest through thy disguise of utter absence, and my tears sweeten thy smile.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Do you hear the hum?</p> + +<p>Yes.</p> + +<p>They are not bees, but the people of the place.</p> + +<p>Then Dada must be near at hand with his quatrains.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Is this the Leader?</p> + +<p>Yes, Dada.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Oh, I am so glad you have come. I must read my collection of +quatrains.</p> + +<p>No. No. Not the whole collection, but only one.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Very well. One will do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun is at the gate of the East, his drum of victory sounding in the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Night says I am blessed, my death is bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He receives his alms of gold, filling his wallet,—and departs.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That is to say——</p> + +<p>No. We don't want your that is to say.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>It means——</p> + +<p>Whatever it means, we are determined not to know it.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>What makes you so desperate?</p> + +<p>It is our festival day.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>Ah! Is that so? Then let me go to all the neighbours—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>No, you mustn't go there.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dada</i></p> + +<p>But is there any need for me here?</p> + +<p>Yes.</p> + +<p>Then my quatrains——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>We shall colour your quatrains with such a thick brush, that no +one will know whether they have any meaning at all.</p> + +<p>And then you will be without any means.</p> + +<p>The neighbourhood will desert you.</p> + +<p>The Watchman will take you to be a fool.</p> + +<p>And the Pundit will take you to be a blockhead.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>And your own people will consider you to be useless.</p> + +<p>And the outside people will consider you queer.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Chandra</i></p> + +<p>But we shall crown you, Dada, with a crown of new leaves.</p> + +<p>We shall put a garland of jasmine round your neck.</p> + +<p>And there will be no one else except ourselves who will know your +true worth.</p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Song of the Festival of Spring</span></p> + +<p class="center">[<i>In which all the persons of the drama, not excepting +Sruti-bhushan, unite on the main stage in the dance of Spring.</i>]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come and rejoice, for April is awake.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Fling yourselves into the flood of being, bursting the bondage of the past.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">April is awake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's shoreless sea is heaving in the sun before you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the losses are lost, and death is drowned in its waves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cycle of Spring, by Rabindranath Tagore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CYCLE OF SPRING *** + +***** This file should be named 24607-h.htm or 24607-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/0/24607/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Thierry Alberto, Henry +Craig, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cycle of Spring + +Author: Rabindranath Tagore + +Release Date: February 13, 2008 [EBook #24607] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CYCLE OF SPRING *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Thierry Alberto, Henry +Craig, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + The Table of Contents is not part of the original book. + + + + THE + + CYCLE OF SPRING + + + + + BY + + SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE + + + + + + + + MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + + ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON + + 1919 + + + + COPYRIGHT + + _First Edition February 1917_ + + _Reprinted March 1917, 1919_ + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + +INTRODUCTION +ACT I +ACT II +ACT III +ACT IV + + * * * * * + + + + + The greater part of the introductory portion of this drama + was translated from the original Bengali by Mr. C. F. Andrews + and Prof. Nishikanta Sen, and revised by the Author. + + * * * * * + + + + +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK +TO MY BOYS OF THE SHANTINIKETAN +WHO HAVE FREED +THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH +HIDDEN IN THE HEART OF THIS OLD POET +AND TO DINENDRANATH +WHO IS +THE GUIDE OF THESE BOYS IN THEIR FESTIVALS +AND TREASURE-HOUSE OF ALL MY SONGS + + * * * * * + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +_Characters of the Prelude_ + +KING, VIZIER, GENERAL (BIJOY VARMA) + +CHINESE AMBASSADOR, PUNDIT (SRUTI-BHUSHAN) + +POET (KABI-SHEKHAR), GUARDS, COURTIERS, HERALD + +_The stage is on two levels: the higher, at the back, for the +Song-preludes alone, concealed by a purple curtain; the lower +only being discovered when the drop goes up. Diagonally across +the extreme left of the lower stage, is arranged the king's +court, with various platforms, for the various dignitaries +ascending to the canopied throne. The body of the stage is left +free for the "Play" when that develops._ + +(_Enter some_ COURTIERS.) + +[The names of the speakers are not given in the margin, as they +can easily be guessed.] + +Hush! Hush! + +What is the matter? + +The King is in great distress. + +How dreadful! + +Who is that over there, playing on his flute? + +Why? What's the matter? + +The King is greatly disturbed. + +How dreadful! + +What are those wild children doing, making so much noise? + +They are the Mandal family. + +Then tell the Mandal family to keep their children quiet. + +Where can that Vizier have gone to? + +Here I am. What's the matter? + +Haven't you heard the news? + +No, what? + +The King is greatly troubled in his mind. + +Well, I've got some very important news about the frontier war. + +War we may have, but not the news. + +Then the Chinese Ambassador is waiting to see His Majesty. + +Let him wait. Anyhow he can't see the King. + +Can't see the King?--Ah, here is the King at last. Look at him +coming this way, with a mirror in his hand. "Long live the King. +Long live the King." + +If it please Your Majesty, it is time to go to the Court. + +Time to go? Yes, time to go, but not to the Court. + +What does Your Majesty mean? + +Haven't you heard? The bell has just been rung to dismiss the +Court. + +When? What bell? We haven't heard any bell. + +How could you hear? They have rung it in my ears alone. + +Oh, Sire. No one can have had the impertinence to do that. + +Vizier! They are ringing it now. + +Pardon me, Sire, if I am very stupid; but I cannot understand. + +Look at this, Vizier, look at this. + +Your Majesty's hair---- + +Can't you see there's a bell-ringer there? + +Oh, Your Majesty. Are you playing a joke? + +The joke is not mine, but His, who has got the whole world by the +ear, and is having His jest. Last night, when the Queen was +putting a garland of jasmines round my neck, she cried out with +alarm, "King, what is this? Here are two grey hairs behind your +ear." + +Oh, please, Sire, don't worry so much about a little thing like +that. Why! The royal physician---- + +Vizier! The founder of our dynasty had his royal physician, too. +But what could he do? Death has left his card of invitation +behind my ear. The Queen wanted, then and there, to pluck out the +grey hairs. But I said, "Queen, what's the use? You may remove +Death's invitation, but can you remove Death, the Inviter?" So, +for the present---- + +Yes, Sire, for the present, let us attend to business. + +Business, Vizier! I have no time for business. Send for the +Pundit. Send for Sruti-bhushan. + +But, Sire, the General---- + +The General?--No, no, not the General. Send for the Pundit. + +But, the news from the frontier---- + +Vizier, the news has come to me from the last great frontier of +all, the frontier of Death. Send for the Pundit. + +But if Your Majesty will give me one moment, the Ambassador from +the great Emperor of China---- + +Vizier, a greater Emperor has sent his embassy to me. Call +Sruti-bhushan. + +Very well, Sire. But your father-in-law---- + +It is not my father-in-law whom I want now. Send for the Pundit. + +But, if it please you to hear me this once. The poet, +Kabi-shekhar, is waiting with his new book called the _Garden of +Poesy_. + +Let your poet disport himself, jumping about on the topmost +branches of his Garden of Poesy, but send for the Pundit. + +Very well, Sire. I will send for him at once. + +Tell him to bring his book of devotions with him, called the +_Ocean of Renunciation_. + +Yes, Sire. + +But, Vizier. Who are those outside making all that noise? Go out +and stop them at once. I must have peace. + +If it please Your Majesty, there is a famine in Nagapatam and the +headmen of the villages are praying to be allowed to see your +face. + +My time is short, Vizier. I must have peace. + +They say their time is shorter. They are at death's door. They, +too, want peace,--peace from the burning of hunger. + +Vizier! The burning of hunger is quenched at last on the funeral +pyre. + +Then these wretched people---- + +Wretched!--Listen to the advice of a wretched King to his +wretched subjects. It is futile to be impatient, and try to break +through the net of the inexorable Fisherman. Sooner or later, +Death the Fisherman will have his haul. + +Well then? + +Let me have the Pundit, and his _Book of Renunciation_. + +And in this scarcity---- + +Vizier! The real scarcity is of time, and not of food. We are all +suffering from starvation of time. None of us has enough of it, +neither the King, nor his people. + +Then---- + +Then know, that our petitions for more time will all go to the +last fire of doom. So why strain our voice in prayer?--Ah, here +is Sruti-bhushan at last. My reverence to you. + +Pundit, do tell the King that the Goddess of Fortune deserts him +who gives way to melancholy. + +Sruti-bhushan, what is my Vizier whispering to you? + +He tells me, King, to instruct you in the ways of fortune. + +What instruction can you give? + +There is a verse in my book of devotions which runs as follows: + + _Fortune, as fickle as lotus-flower, + Closes her favours when comes the hour. + Oh, foolish man, how can you trust her, + Who comes of a sudden, and goes in a fluster?_ + +Ah, Pundit. One breath of your teaching blows out the false flame +of ambition. Our teacher has said: + + "Teeth fall out, hair grows grey; + Yet man clings to hope that plays him false." + +Well, King, now that you have introduced the subject of hope, let +me give you another verse from the _Ocean of Renunciation_. It +runs as follows: + + _That fetters are binding, all are aware; + But fetters of hope are strange, I declare. + Hope's captive is tossed in the whirlpool's wake, + And only grows still when the fetters break._ + +Ah, Pundit. Your words are priceless. Vizier, give him a hundred +gold sequins at once. What's that noise outside? + +It is the famine-stricken people. + +Tell them to hold their peace. + +Let Sruti-bhushan, with his book of devotions, go and try to +bring them peace; and, in the meanwhile, Your Majesty might +discuss war matters---- + +No, no. Let the war matters come later. I can't let Sruti-bhushan +go yet. + +King, you said something to me, a moment ago, about a gift of +gold. Now mere gold, by itself, does not confer any permanent +benefit. It is said in my book of devotions, called the _Ocean of +Renunciation_: + + _He who gives gold, gives only pain; + When the gold is spent grief comes again. + When a lakh, or crore, of gold is spent, + Grief only remains in the empty tent._ + +Ah, Pundit. How exquisite. So you don't want any gold, my Master? + +No, King, I don't want gold, but something more permanent, which +would make your merit permanent also. I should be quite content, +if you gave me the living of Kanchanpur. For it is said in the +_Renunciation_---- + +No, Pundit, I quite understand. You needn't quote scripture to +support your claim. I understand quite well--Vizier! + +Yes, Your Majesty. + +See that the rich province of Kanchanpur is settled on the +Pundit.--What's the matter now outside there? What are they +crying for? + +If it please Your Majesty, it is the people. + +Why do they cry so repeatedly? + +Their cry is repeated, I admit, but the reason remains most +monotonously the same. They are starving. + +But, King, I must tell you before I forget it. It is the one +desire of my wife to make her whole body jingle, from head to +foot, in praise of your munificence; but, alas, the sound is too +feeble for want of proper ornaments. + +I understand you, Pundit. Vizier! Order ornaments from the Court +Jeweller for Sruti-bhushan's wife immediately. + +And, King, while he is about it, would you tell the Vizier, that +we are both of us distracted in our devotions by house-repairs. +Let him ask the royal masons to put up a thoroughly well-built +house, where we can practise our devotions in peace. + +Very well, Pundit.--Vizier! + +Yes, Your Majesty. + +Give the order at once. + +Sire, your treasury is empty. Funds are wanting. + +Pooh! That's an old story. I hear that every year. It is your +business to increase the funds, and mine to increase the wants. +What do you say, Sruti-bhushan? + +King, I cannot blame the Vizier. He is looking after your +treasures in this world. We are looking after your treasures in +the next. So where he sees want, we see wealth. Now, if you +would only let me dive deep once more into the _Ocean of +Renunciation_ you will find it written as follows: + + _That King's coffers are well stored, + Where wealth alone on worth is poured._ + +Pundit, your company is most valuable. + +Your Majesty, Sruti-bhushan knows its value to a farthing. Come, +Sruti-bhushan, make haste. Let us collect all the wealth you need +for your Treasury of Devotion. For wealth has the ugly habit of +diminishing fast. If we are not quick about it, little will +remain to enable us to observe our renunciation with all +splendour. + +Yes, Vizier, let us go at once. (_To the King._) When he is +making such a fuss about a tiny matter like this, it is best to +pacify him first and then return to you afterwards. + +Pundit, I am afraid that, some day, you will leave my royal +protection altogether, and retire to the forest. + +King, so long as I find contentment in a King's palace, it is as +good as a hermitage for my peace of mind. I must now leave you, +King. Vizier, let us go. + +[_The Vizier and Pundit go out._ + +Oh, dear me! Whatever shall I do? Here's the Poet coming. I am +afraid he'll make me break all my good resolutions.--Oh, my grey +hairs, cover my ears, so that the Poet's allurements may not +enter. + +Why, King, what's the matter? I hear you want to send away your +Poet. + +What have I to do with poets, when poetry brings me this parting +message? + +What parting message? + +Look at this behind my ear. Don't you see it? + +See what? Grey hairs? Why, King, don't you worry about that. + +Poet, Nature is trying to rub out the green of youth, and to +paint everything white. + +No, no, King. You haven't understood the artist. On that white +ground, Nature will paint new colours. + +I don't see any sign of colours yet. + +They are all within. In the heart of the white dwell all the +colours of the rainbow. + +Oh, Poet, do be quiet. You disturb me when you talk like that. + +King, if this youth fades, let it fade. Another Queen of Youth is +coming. And she is putting a garland of pure white jasmines round +your head, in order to be your bride. The wedding festival is +being made ready, behind the scene. + +Oh, dear, Poet. You will undo everything. Do go away. Ho there, +Guard. Go at once and call Sruti-bhushan. + +What will you do with him, King, when he comes? + +I will compose my mind, and practise my renunciation. + +Ah, King, when I heard that news, I came at once. For I can be +your companion in this practice of renunciation. + +You? + +Yes, I, King. We Poets exist for this very purpose. We set men +free from their desires. + +I don't understand you. You talk in riddles. + +What? You don't understand me? And yet you have been reading my +poems all this while!--There is renunciation in our words, +renunciation in the metre, renunciation in our music. That is why +fortune always forsakes us; and we, in turn always forsake +fortune. We go about, all day long, initiating the youths in the +sacred cult of fortune-forsaking. + +What does it say to us? + +It says: + + _"Ah, brothers, don't cling to your goods and chattels, + And sit ever in the corner of your room. + Come out, come out into the open world. + Come out into the highways of life. + Come out, ye youthful Renouncers."_ + +But, Poet, do you really mean to say that the highway of the open +world is the pathway of renunciation? + +Why not, King? In the open world all is change, all is life, all +is movement. And he who ever moves and journeys with this +life-movement, dancing and playing on his flute as he goes, he is +the true Renouncer. He is the true disciple of the minstrel Poet. + +But how then can I get peace? I must have peace. + +Oh, King, we haven't the least desire for peace. We are the +Renouncers. + +But ought we not to get that treasure, which is said to be +never-changing? + +No, we don't covet any never-changing treasures. We are the +Renouncers. + +What do you mean? Oh, dear, Poet, you will undo everything, if +you talk like that. You are destroying my peace of mind. Call +Sruti-bhushan. Let some one call the Pundit. + +What I mean, King, is this. We are the true Renouncers, because +change is our very secret. We lose, in order to find. We have no +faith in the never-changing. + +What do you mean? + +Haven't you noticed the detachment of the rushing river, as it +runs splashing from its mountain cave? It gives itself away so +swiftly, and only thus it finds itself. What is never-changing, +for the river, is the desert sand, where it loses its course. + +Ah, but listen, Poet--listen to those cries there outside. That +is your world. How do you deal with that? + +King, they are your starving people. + +My people, Poet? Why do you call them that? They are the world's +people, not mine. Have I created their miseries? What can your +youthful Poet Renouncers do to relieve sufferings like theirs? +Tell me that. + +King, it is we alone who can truly bear those sufferings, because +we are like the river that flows on in gladness, thus lightening +our burden, and the burden of the world. But the hard, metalled +road is fixed and never-changing. And so it makes the burden more +burdensome. The heavy loads groan and creak along it, and cut +deep gashes in its breast. We Poets call to every one to carry +all their joys and sorrows lightly, in a rhythmic measure. Our +call is the Renouncers' call. + +Ah, Poet, now I don't care a straw for Sruti-bhushan. Let the +Pundit go hang. But, do you know what my trouble is now? Though I +can't, for the life of me, understand your words, the music +haunts me. Now, it's just the other way round with the Pundit. +His words are clear enough, and they obey the rules of syntax +quite correctly. But the tune!--No, it's no use telling you any +further. + +King, our words don't speak, they sing. + +Well, Poet, what do you want to do now? + +King, I'm going to have a race through those cries, which are +rising outside your gate. + +What do you mean? Famine relief is for men of business. Poets +oughtn't to have anything to do with things like that. + +King, business men always make their business so out of tune. +That is why we Poets hasten to tune it. + +Now come, my dear Poet, do speak in plainer language. + +King, they work, because they must. We work, because we are in +love with life. That is why they condemn us as unpractical, and +we condemn them as lifeless. + +But who is right, Poet? Who wins? You, or they? + +We, King, we. We always win. + +But, Poet, your proof---- + +King, the greatest things in the world disdain proof. But if you +could for a time wipe out all the poets and all their poetry from +the world, then you would soon discover, by their very absence, +where the men of action got their energy from, and who really +supplied the life-sap to their harvest-field. It is not those who +have plunged deep down into the Pundit's _Ocean of Renunciation_, +nor those who are always clinging to their possessions; it is not +those who have become adepts in turning out quantities of work, +nor those who are ever telling the dry beads of duty,--it is not +these who win at last. But it is those who love, because they +live. These truly win, for they truly surrender. They accept pain +with all their strength and with all their strength they remove +pain. It is they who create, because they know the secret of true +joy, which is the secret of detachment. + +Well then, Poet, if that be so, what do you ask me to do now? + +I ask you, King, to rise up and move. That cry outside yonder is +the cry of life to life. And if the life within you is not +stirred, in response to that call without, then there is cause +for anxiety indeed,--not because duty has been neglected, but +because you are dying. + +But, Poet, surely we must die, sooner or later? + +No, King, that's a lie. When we feel for certain that we are +alive, then we know for certain that we shall go on living. Those +who have never put life to the test, in all possible ways, these +keep on crying out: + + _Life is fleeting, Life is waning, + Life is like a dew-drop on a lotus leaf._ + +But, isn't life inconstant? + +Only because its movement is unceasing. The moment you stop this +movement, that moment you begin to play the drama of Death. + +Poet, are you speaking the truth? Shall we really go on living? + +Yes, we shall really go on living. + +Then, Poet, if we are going to go on living, we must make our +life worth its eternity. Is not that so? + +Yes, indeed. + +Ho, Guard. + +Yes, Your Royal Highness. + +Call the Vizier at once. + +Yes, Your Royal Highness. + +(_Vizier enters._) + +What is Your Majesty's pleasure? + +Vizier! Why on earth have you kept me waiting so long? + +I was very busy, Your Majesty. + +Busy? What were you busy about? + +I was dismissing the General. + +Why should you dismiss the General? We have got to discuss war +matters with him. + +And arrangements had to be made for the state-departure of the +Chinese Ambassador. + +What do you mean by his state-departure? + +If it please Your Majesty, you did not grant him an interview. So +he---- + +Vizier! You surprise me. Is this the way you manage state +affairs? What has happened to you? Have you lost your senses? + +Then, again. Sire, I was trying to find a way to pull down the +Poet's house. At first, no one would undertake it. Then, at last, +all the Pundits of the Royal School of Grammar and Logic came up +with their proper tools and set to work. + +Vizier! Are you mad this morning? Pull down the Poet's house? +Why, you might as well kill all the birds in the garden and make +them up into a pie. + +If it please Your Majesty, you need not be annoyed. We shan't have to +pull down the house after all; for the moment Sruti-bhushan heard it +was to be demolished, he decided to take possession of it himself. + +What, Vizier! That's worse still. Why! The Goddess of Music would +break her harp in pieces against my head, if she even heard of +such a thing. No, that can't be. + +Then, Your Majesty, there was another thing to be got through. We +had to deliver over the province of Kanchanpur to the Pundit. + +No, Vizier! What a mess you are making. That must go to our Poet. + +To me, King? No. My poetry never accepts reward. + +Well, well. Let the Pundit have it. + +And, last of all, Sire. I have issued orders to the soldiers to +disperse the crowd of famine-stricken people. + +Vizier, you are doing nothing but blunder. The best way to +disperse the famished people is with food, not force. + +(_Guard enters._) + +May it please Your Royal Highness. + +What's the matter, Guard? + +May it please Your Royal Highness, here is Sruti-bhushan, the +Pundit, coming back with his _Book of Devotions_. + +Oh, stop him, Vizier, stop him. He will undo everything. Don't +let him come upon me unawares like this. In a moment of weakness, +I may suddenly find myself out of my depths in the _Ocean of +Renunciation_. Poet! Don't give me time for that. Do something. +Do anything. Have you got anything ready to hand? Any play +toward? Any poem? Any masque? Any---- + +Yes, King. I have got the very thing. But whether it is a drama, +or a poem, or a play, or a masque, I cannot say. + +Shall I be able to understand the sense of what you have written? + +No, King, what a poet writes is not meant to have any sense. + +What then? + +To have the tune itself. + +What do you mean? Is there no philosophy in it? + +No, none at all, thank goodness. + +What does it say, then? + +King, it says "I exist." Don't you know the meaning of the first +cry of the new-born child? The child, when it is born, hears at +once the cries of the earth and water and sky, which surround +him,--and they all cry to him, "We exist," and his tiny little +heart responds, and cries out in its turn, "I exist." My poetry +is like the cry of that new-born child. It is a response to the +cry of the Universe. + +Is it nothing more than that, Poet? + +No, nothing more. There is life in my song, which cries, "In joy +and in sorrow, in work and in rest, in life and in death, in +victory and in defeat, in this world and in the next, all hail to +the 'I exist.'" + +Well, Poet, I can assure you, if your play hasn't got any +philosophy in it, it won't pass muster in these days. + +That's true, King. The newer people, of this modern age, are more +eager to amass than to realize. They are, in their generation, +wiser than the children of light. + +Whom shall we ask, then, for an audience? Shall we ask the young +students of our royal school? + +No, King, they cut up poetry with their logic. They are like the +young-horned deer trying their new horns on the flower-beds. + +Whom should I ask, then? + +Ask those whose hair is turning grey. + +What do you mean, Poet? + +The youth of these middle-aged people is a youth of detachment. +They have just crossed the waters of pleasure, and are in sight +of the land of pure gladness. They don't want to eat fruit, but +to produce it. + +I, at least, have now reached that age of discretion, and ought +to be able to appreciate your songs. Shall I ask the General? + +Yes, ask him. + +And the Chinese Ambassador? + +Yes, ask him too. + +I hear my father-in-law has come. + +Well, ask him too, but I have my doubts about his youthful sons. + +But don't forget his daughter. + +Don't worry about her. She won't let herself be forgotten. + +And Sruti-bhushan? Shall I ask him? + +No, King, no. Decidedly, no. I have no grudge against him. Why +should I inflict this on him? + +Very well, Poet. Off with you. Make your stage preparations. + +No, King. We are going to act this play without any special +preparations. Truth looks tawdry when she is overdressed. + +But, Poet, there must be some canvas for a background. + +No. Our only background is the mind. On that we shall summon up +a picture with the magic wand of music. + +Are there any songs in the play? + +Yes, King. The door of each act will be opened by the key of +song. + +What is the subject of the songs? + +The Disrobing of Winter. + +But, Poet, we haven't read about that in any Mythology. + +In the world-myth this song comes round in its turn. In the play +of the seasons, each year, the mask of the Old Man, Winter, is +pulled off, and the form of Spring is revealed in all its beauty. +Thus we see that the old is ever new. + +Well, Poet, so much for the songs: but what about the remainder? + +Oh, that is all about life. + +Life? What is life? + +This is how it runs: A band of young companions has run off in +pursuit of one Old Man. They have taken a vow to catch him. They +enter into a cave; they take hold of him, and then---- + +Then, what? What did they see? + +Ah. That will be told in its own good time. + +But, I haven't understood one thing. Your drama and your +songs,--have they different subjects, or the same? + +The same, King. The play of Spring in nature is the counterpart +of the play of Youth in our lives. It is simply from the lyrical +drama of the World Poet that I have stolen this plot. + +Who, then, are the chief characters? + +One is called the Leader. + +Who is he, Poet? + +He is the guiding impulse in our life. Another is Chandra. + +Who is he? + +He who makes life dear to us. + +And who else? + +Then there is Dada, to whom duty is the essence of life, not joy. + +Is there any one else? + +Yes, the blind Minstrel. + +Blind? + +Because he does not see with his eyes, therefore he sees with his +whole body and mind and soul. + +Who else is there, in your play, among the chief actors? + +You are there, King. + +I? + +Yes, you, King. For if you stayed out of it, instead of coming +into it, then the King would begin to abuse the Poet and send +for Sruti-bhushan again. And then there would be no hope of +salvation for him. For the World Poet himself would be defeated. +And the South Wind of Spring would have to retire, without +receiving its homage. + + + + +ACT I + +_The Heralds of Spring are abroad. There are songs in the +rustling bamboo leaves, in birds' nests, and in blossoming +branches._ + + +SONG-PRELUDE + +_The purple secondary curtain[1] goes up, disclosing the elevated +rear stage with a skyey background of dark blue, on which appear +the horn of the crescent moon and the silver points of stars. +Trees in the foreground, with two rope swings entwined with +garlands of flowers. Flowers everywhere in profusion. On the +extreme left the mouth of a dark cavern dimly seen. Boys +representing the "Bamboo" disclosed, swinging._ + +[Footnote 1: Neither the secondary curtain nor the drop is again +used during the play. The action is continuous, either on the +front stage, or on the rear stage, the latter being darkened when +not actually in use.] + + +SONG OF THE BAMBOO + + _O South Wind, the Wanderer, come and rock me, + Rouse me into the rapture of new leaves. + I am the wayside bamboo tree, waiting for your breath + To tingle life into my branches._ + + _O South Wind, the Wanderer, my dwelling is in the end of the lane. + I know your wayfaring, and the language of your footsteps. + Your least touch thrills me out of my slumber, + Your whisper gleans my secrets._ + +(_Enter a troop of girls, dancing, representing birds._) + + +SONG OF THE BIRD + + _The sky pours its light into our hearts, + We fill the sky with songs in answer. + We pelt the air with our notes + When the air stirs our wings with its madness. + O Flame of the Forest, + All your flower-torches are ablaze; + You have kissed our songs red with the passion of your youth. + In the spring breeze the mango-blossoms launch their messages to the + unknown + And the new leaves dream aloud all day. + O Sirish, you have cast your perfume-net round our hearts, + Drawing them out in songs._ + +(_Disclosed among the branches of trees, suddenly lighted up, +boys representing champak blossoms._) + + +SONG OF THE BLOSSOMING CHAMPAK + + _My shadow dances in your waves, everflowing river, + I, the blossoming champak, stand unmoved on the bank, with my + flower-vigils. + My movement dwells in the stillness of my depth, + In the delicious birth of new leaves, + In flood of flowers, + In unseen urge of new life towards the light. + Its stirring thrills the sky, and the silence of the dawn is moved._ + +_Morning_ + +[_The rear stage is now darkened. On the main stage, bright, +enter a band of youths whose number may be anything between three +and thirty. They sing._] + + _The fire of April leaps from forest to forest, + Flashing up in leaves and flowers from all nooks and corners. + The sky is thriftless with colours, + The air delirious with songs. + The wind-tost branches of the woodland + Spread their unrest in our blood. + The air is filled with bewilderment of mirth; + And the breeze rushes from flower to flower, asking their names._ + +[In the following dialogue only the names of the principal +characters are given. Wherever the name is not given the speaker +is one or other of the Youths.] + +April pulls hard, brother, April pulls very hard. + +How do you know that? + +If he didn't, he would never have pulled Dada outside his den. + +Well, I declare. Here is Dada, our cargo-boat of moral-maxims, +towed against the current of his own pen and ink. + +_Chandra_ + +But you mustn't give April all the credit for that. For I, +Chandra, have hidden the yellow leaves of his manuscript book +among the young buds of the _pial_ forest, and Dada is out +looking for it. + +The manuscript book banished! What a good riddance! + +We ought to strip off Dada's grey philosopher's cloak also. + +_Chandra_ + +Yes, the very dust of the earth is tingling with youth, and yet +there's not a single touch of Spring in the whole of Dada's +body. + +_Dada_ + +Oh, do stop this fooling. What a nuisance you are making of +yourselves! We aren't children any longer. + +_Chandra_ + +Dada, the age of this earth is scarcely less than yours; and yet +it is not ashamed to look fresh. + +Dada, you are always struggling with those quatrains of yours, +full of advice that is as old as death, while the earth and the +water are ever striving to be new. + +Dada, how in the world can you go on writing verses like that, +sitting in your den? + +_Dada_ + +Well, you see, I don't cultivate poetry, as an amateur gardener +cultivates flowers. _My_ poems have substance and weight in +them. + +Yes, they are like the turnips, which cling to the ground. + +_Dada_ + +Well, then, listen to me---- + +How awful! Here's Dada going to run amuck with his quatrains. + +Oh dear, oh dear! The quatrains are let loose. There's no holding +them in. + +To all passers-by I give notice that Dada's quatrains have gone +mad, and are running amuck. + +_Chandra_ + +Dada! Don't take any notice of their fun. Go on with your +reading. If no one else can survive it, I think I can. I am not a +coward like these fellows. + +Come on, then, Dada. We won't be cowards. We will keep our +ground, and not yield an inch, but only listen. + +We will receive the spear-thrusts of the quatrains on our breast, +not on our back. + +But for pity's sake, Dada, give us only one--not more. + +_Dada_ + +Very well. Now listen: + + _If bamboos were made only into flutes, + They would droop and die with very shame, + They hold their heads high in the sky, + Because they are variously useful._ + +Please, gentlemen, don't laugh. Have patience while I explain. +The meaning is---- + +The meaning? + +What? Must the infantry charge of meaning follow the cannonading +of your quatrains, to complete the rout? + +_Dada_ + +Just one word to make you understand. It means, that if the +bamboos were no better than those noisy instruments---- + +No, Dada, we must not understand. + +I defy you to make us understand. + +Dada, if you use force to make us understand we shall use force +to force ourselves not to understand. + +_Dada_ + +The gist of the quatrain is this, that if we do no good to the +world, then---- + +Then the world will be very greatly relieved. + +_Dada_ + +There is another verse that makes it clearer: + + _There are numerous stars in the midnight sky, + Which hang in the air for no purpose; + If they would only come down to earth, + For the street lighting they might be useful._ + +I see we must make clearer our meaning. Catch him. Let's raise +him up, shoulder high, and take him back to his den. + +_Dada_ + +Why are you so excited to-day? Have you any particular business +to do? + +Yes, we have very urgent business,--very urgent indeed. + +_Dada_ + +What is your business about? + +We are out to seek a play for our Spring festival. + +_Dada_ + +Play! Day and night, play! + +(_They sing._) + + _We are free, my friends, from the fear of work, + For we know that work is play,--the play of life. + It is Play, to fight and toss, between life and death; + It is Play that flashes in the laughter of light in the infinite + heart; + It roars in the wind, and surges in the sea._ + +Oh, here comes our Leader. Brothers--our Leader, our Leader. + +_Leader_ + +Hallo! What a noise you make! + +Was it that which made you come out of doors? + +_Leader_ + +Yes. + +Well, we did it for that very purpose. + +_Leader_ + +You don't want me to remain indoors? + +Why remain indoors? This outer world has been made with a lavish +expenditure of sun and moon and stars. Let us enjoy it, and then +we can save God's face for indulging in such extravagance. + +_Leader_ + +What were you discussing? + +This: + +(_They sing_.) + + _Play blooms in flower and ripens in fruit + In the sunshine of eternal youth. + Play bursts up in the blood-red fire, and licks into ashes the + decaying and the dead._ + +Our Dada's objection was about this play. + +_Dada_ + +Shall I tell you the reason why? + +Yes, Dada, you may tell us, but we shan't promise to listen. + +_Dada_ + +Here it is: + + _Time is the capital of work, + And Play is its defalcation. + Play rifles the house, and then wastes its spoil, + Therefore the wise call it worse than useless._ + +_Chandra_ + +But surely, Dada, you are talking nonsense. Time itself is Play. +Its only object is Pas-time. + +_Dada_ + +Then what is Work? + +_Chandra_ + +Work is the dust raised by the passing of Time. + +_Dada_ + +Leader, you must give us your answers. + +_Leader_ + +No. I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. +That is my leadership. + +_Dada_ + +Everything else has its limits, but your childishness is +absolutely unbounded. + +Do you know the reason? It is because we are really nothing but +children. And everything else has its limitations except the +child. + +_Dada_ + +Won't you ever attain Age? + +No, we shall never attain Age. + +We shall die old, but never attain Age. + +_Chandra_ + +When we meet Age, we shall shave his head, and put him on a +donkey, and send him across the river. + +Oh, you can save yourself the trouble of shaving his head for Age +is bald. + +(_They sing_.) + + _Our hair shall never turn grey, + Never. + There is no blank in this world for us, no break in our road, + It may be an illusion that we follow, + But it shall never play us false, + Never._ + +(_The Leader sings_.) + + _Our hair shall never turn grey, + Never. + We will never doubt the world and shut our eyes to ponder. + Never. + We will not grope in the maze of our mind. + We flow with the flood of things, from the mountain to the sea, + We will never be lost in the desert sand, + Never._ + +We can tell, by his looks, that Dada will some day go to that Old +Man, to receive his lessons. + +_Leader_ + +Which Old Man? + +The Old Man of the line of Adam. + +He dwells in a cave, and never thinks of dying. + +_Leader_ + +Where did you learn about him? + +Oh, every one talks about him, And it is in the books also. + +_Leader_ + +What does he look like? + +Some say he is white, like the skull of a dead man. And some say +he is dark, like the socket of a skeleton's eye. + +But haven't you heard any news of him, Leader? + +_Leader_ + +I don't believe in him at all. + +Well, that goes entirely against current opinion. That Old Man is +more existent than anything else. He lives within the ribs of +creation. + +According to our Pundit, it is we who have no existence. You +can't be certain whether we are, or are not. + +_Chandra_ + +We? Oh, we are too brand new altogether. We haven't yet got our +credentials to prove that we exist. + +_Leader_ + +Have you really gone and opened communication with the Pundits? + +Why? What harm is there in that, Leader? + +_Leader_ + +You will become pale, like the white mist in autumn. Even the +least colour of blood will disappear from your mind. I have a +suggestion. + +What, Leader? What? + +_Leader_ + +You were looking out for a play? + +Yes, yes, we got quite frantic about it. + +We thought it over so vigorously, that people had to run to the +King's court to lodge a complaint. + +_Leader_ + +Well, I can suggest a play which will be new. + +What?--What?--Tell us. + +_Leader_ + +Go and capture the Old Man. + +That is new, no doubt, but we very much doubt if it's a play. + +_Leader_ + +I am sure you won't be able to do it. + +Not do it? We shall. + +_Leader_ + +No, never. + +Well then, suppose we do capture him, what will you give us? + +_Leader_ + +I shall accept you as my preceptor. + +Preceptor! You want to make us grey, and cold, and old, before +our time. + +_Leader_ + +Then, what do you want me to do? + +If we capture him, then we shall take away your leadership. + +_Leader_ + +That will be a great relief to me. You have made all my bones out +of joint already. Very well, then it's all settled? + +Yes, settled. We shall bring him to you by the next full moon of +Spring. + +But what are we going to do with him? + +_Leader_ + +You shall let him join in your Spring Festival. + +Oh no, that will be outrageous. Then the mango flowers will run +to seed at once. + +And all the cuckoos will become owls. + +And the bees will go about reciting Sanskrit verses, making the +air hum with m's and n's. + +_Leader_ + +And your skull will be so top-heavy with prudence, that it will +be difficult for you to keep on your feet. + +How awful! + +_Leader_ + +And you will have rheumatics in all your joints. + +How awful! + +_Leader_ + +And you will become your own elder brothers, pulling your own +ears to set yourselves right. + +How awful! + +_Leader_ + +And---- + +No more "ands." We are ready to surrender. + +We will abandon our game of capturing the Old Man. + +We will put it off till the cold weather. In this Springtime, +your company will be enough for us. + +_Leader_ + +Ah, I see! You have already got the chill of the Old Man in your +bones. + +Why? What are the symptoms? + +_Leader_ + +You have no enthusiasm. You back out at the very start. Why +don't you make a trial? + +Very well. Agreed. Come on. + +Let us go after the Old Man. We will pluck him out, like a grey +hair, wherever we find him. + +_Leader_ + +But the Old Man is an adept in the business of plucking out. His +best weapon is the hoe. + +You needn't try to frighten us like that. When we are out for +adventure, we must leave behind all fears, all quatrains, all +Pundits, and all Scriptures. + +(_They sing_.) + + _We are out on our way + And we fear not the Robber, the Old Man. + Our path is straight, it is broad, + Our burden is light, for our pocket is bare, + Who can rob us of our folly? + For us there is no rest, nor ease, nor praise, nor success, + We dance in the measure of fortune's rise and fall, + We play our game, or win or lose, + And we fear not the Robber._ + + + + +ACT II + + +SONG-PRELUDE + +[_Spring's Heralds try to rob Winter of his outfit of age._] + +_Rear stage lighted up, disclosing Old Winter teased by the boys +and girls representing Spring's Heralds._ + + +SONG OF THE HERALDS OF SPRING + + _We seek our playmates, + Waking them up from all corners before it is morning. + We call them in bird songs, + Beckon them in nodding branches. + We spread our spell for them in the splendour of clouds._ + + _We laugh at solemn Death + Till he joins in our laughter. + We tear open Time's purse, + Taking back his plunder from him. + You shall lose your heart to us, O Winter. + It will gleam in the trembling leaves + And break into flowers._ + + +SONG OF WINTER + + _Leave me, let me go. + I sail for the bleak North, for the peace of the frozen shore. + Your laughter is untimely, my friends. + You turn my farewell tunes into the welcome song of the Newcomer, + And all things draw me back again into the dancing ring of their + hearts._ + + +SONG OF THE HERALDS OF SPRING + + _Life's spies are we, lurking in ambush everywhere. + We wait to rob you of your last savings of withered hours to scatter + them in the wayward winds. + We shall bind you in flower chains where Spring keeps his captives, + For we know you carry your jewels of youth hidden in your grey rags._ + +(_Noon_) + +[_The rear stage is darkened. The band of Youths enters on the +main stage. No actual change in the scenery is necessary--this +being left to the imagination of the audience._] + +Ferryman! Ferryman! Open your door. + +_Ferryman_ + +What do you want? + +We want the Old Man. + +_Ferryman_ + +Which old man? + +Not which old man. We want _the_ Old Man. + +_Ferryman_ + +Who is he? + +The true and original Old Man. + +_Ferryman_ + +Oh! I understand. What do you want him for? + +For our Spring Festival. + +_Ferryman_ + +For your Spring Festival? Are you become mad? + +Not a sudden becoming. We have been like this from the beginning. + +And we shall go on like this to the end. + +(_They sing._) + + _The Piper pipes in the centre, hidden from sight. + And we become frantic, we dance. + The March wind, seized with frenzy, + Runs and reels, and sways with noisy branches. + The sun and stars are drawn in the whirl of rapture._ + +Now, Ferryman, give us news of the Old Man. + +You ply your boat from one landing stage to another. Surely you +know where---- + +_Ferryman_ + +My business is limited only to the path. But whose path it is, +and what it means, I have no occasion to enquire. For my goal is +the landing-stage, not the house. + +Very well. Let us go, let us try all the ways. _(They sing.)_ + + _The Piper pipes in the centre, hidden from sight. + Ah, the turbulent tune, to whose time the oceans dance, + And dance our heaving hearts. + Fling away all burdens and cares, brother, + Do not be doubtful of your path, + For the path wakes up of itself + Under the dancing steps of freedom._ + +_Ferryman_ + +There comes the Watchman. Ask him. I know about the way; but he +knows about the wayfarers. + +_Watchman_ + +Who are you? + +We are just what you see. That's our only description. + +_Watchman_ + +But what do you want? + +We want the Old Man. + +_Watchman_ + +Which old man? + +That eternal Old Man. + +_Watchman_ + +How absurd! While you are seeking him, he is after you. + +Why? + +_Watchman_ + +He is fond of warming his cold blood with the wine of hot youth. + +We'll give him a warm enough reception. All we want is to see +him. Have you seen him? + +_Watchman_ + +My watch is at night. I see my people, but don't know their +features. But, look here, every one knows that he is the great +kidnapper; and you want to kidnap him! It's midsummer madness. + +The secret is out. It doesn't take long to discover that we are +mad. + +_Watchman_ + +I am the Watchman. The people I see passing along the road are +all very much alike. Therefore, when I see anything queer, it +always strikes me. + +Just listen to him. All the respectable people of our +neighbourhood say just the same thing--that we are queer. + +Yes, we're queer. There's no mistake about that. + +_Watchman_ + +But all this is utter childishness. + +Do you hear that? It's exactly what our Dada says. + +We have been going on with our childishness through unremembered +ages. + +And now we have become confirmed children. + +And we have a leader, who is a perfect veteran in childhood. He +rushes along so recklessly, that he drops off his age at every +step he runs. + +_Watchman_ + +And who are you? + +We are butterflies, freed from the cocoon of Age. + +_Watchman_ + +[_Aside._] Mad. Raving mad. + +_Ferryman_ + +Then what will you all do now? + +_Chandra_ + +We shall go---- + +_Watchman_ + +Where? + +_Chandra_ + +That we haven't decided. + +_Watchman_ + +You have decided to go, but not where to go? + +_Chandra_ + +Yes, that will be settled as we go along. + +_Watchman_ + +What does that mean? + +_Chandra_ + +It means this song. + +(_They sing._) + + _We move and move without rest, + We move while the wanderers' stars shine in the sky and fade. + We play the tune of the road + While our limbs scatter away the laughter of movement, + And our many-coloured mantle of youth flutters about in the air._ + +_Watchman_ + +Is it your custom to answer questions by songs? + +_Chandra_ + +Yes, otherwise the answer becomes too unintelligible. + +_Watchman_ + +Then you think your songs intelligible? + +_Chandra_ + +Yes, quite, because they contain music. (_They sing._) + + _We move and move without rest. + World, the Rover, loves his comrades of the road. + His call comes across the sky. + The seasons lead the way, strewing the path with flowers._ + +_Watchman_ + +No ordinary being ever breaks out singing, like this, in the +middle of talking. + +_Chandra_ + +Again we are found out. We are no ordinary beings. + +_Watchman_ + +Have you got no work to do? + +_Chandra_ + +No, we are on a holiday. + +_Watchman_ + +Why? + +_Chandra_ + +Lest our time should all be wasted. + +_Watchman_ + +I don't quite understand you. + +_Chandra_ + +Then we shall be obliged to sing again. + +_Watchman_ + +No, no. There's no need to do that. I don't hope to understand +you any better, even if you do sing. + +_Chandra_ + +Everybody has given up the hope of understanding us. + +_Watchman_ + +But how can things get on with you, if you behave like this? + +_Chandra_ + +Oh, there's no need for things to get on with us, so long as we +ourselves get on. + +_Watchman_ + +Mad! Quite mad! Raving mad! + +_Chandra_ + +Why, here comes our Dada. + +Dada, what made you lag behind? + +_Chandra_ + +Don't you know? We are free as the wind, because we have no +substance in us. But Dada is like the rain-cloud of August. He +must stop, every now and then, to unburden himself. + +_Dada_ + +Who are you? + +_Ferryman_ + +I am the Ferryman. + +_Dada_ + +And who are you? + +_Watchman_ + +I am the Watchman. + +_Dada_ + +I am delighted to see you. I want to read you something that I +have written. It contains nothing frivolous, but only the most +important lessons. + +_Ferryman_ + +Very good. Let us have it then. + +_Watchman_ + +Our master used to tell us that there are plenty of men to say +good things, but very few to listen. That requires strength of +mind. Now, go on, Sir, go on. + +_Dada_ + +I saw, in the street, one of the King's officers dragging along a +merchant. The King had made up a false charge, in order to get +his money. This gave me an inspiration. You must know that I +never write a single line which is not inspired by some actual +fact. You can put my verses to the test in the open streets and +markets---- + +_Ferryman_ + +Please, Sir, do let us hear what you have written. + +_Dada_ + + _The sugar-cane filling itself with juice + Is chewed and sucked dry by all beggars. + O foolish men, take your lesson from this; + Those trees are saved, which are fruitful._ + +You will understand that the sugar-cane gets into trouble, simply +because it tries to keep its juice. But nobody is so foolish as +to kill the tree that freely gives fruit. + +_Watchman_ + +What splendid writing, Ferryman! + +_Ferryman_ + +Yes, Watchman, it contains great lessons for us. + +_Watchman_ + +It gives me food for thought. If only I had here our neighbour, +the Scribe! I should like to take this down. Do send round to +tell the people of the place to assemble. + +_Chandra_ + +But, Ferryman, you promised to come out with us. Yet, if once +Dada begins to quote his quatrains, there will be---- + +_Ferryman_ + +Go along with you. None of your madness here. We are fortunate +now in having met our master. Let us improve the occasion with +good words. We are all of us getting old. Who knows when we shall +die? + +All the more reason why you should cultivate our company. + +_Chandra_ + +You can always find another Dada. But when once we are dead, God +will never repeat the blunder of another absurdity like us again. + +(_Enter Oilman._) + +_Oilman_ + +Ho! Watchman. + +_Watchman_ + +Who is there? Is that the Oilman? + +_Oilman_ + +The child I was bringing up was kidnapped last night. + +_Watchman_ + +By whom? + +_Oilman_ + +By the Old Man. + +_Youths_ + +[_Together._] Old Man? You don't mean it. Old Man? + +_Oilman_ + +Yes, Sirs, the Old Man; what makes you so glad? + +Oh, that's a bad habit of ours. We become glad for no reason +whatever. + +_Watchman_ + +[_Aside._] Mad! Raving mad! Have you seen the Old Man? + +_Oilman_ + +I think I saw him in the distance last night. + +_First Youth_ + +What did he look like? + +_Oilman_ + +Black. More black than our brother here, the Watchman. Black as +night, with two eyes on his breast shining like two glow-worms. + +That won't suit us. That would be awkward for our Spring +Festival. + +_Chandra_ + +We shall have to change our date from the full moon to the dark +moon. For the dark moon has no end of eyes on her breast. + +_Watchman_ + +But I warn you, my friends, you are not doing wisely. + +No, we are not. + +We are found out again. We never do anything wisely. It is +contrary to our habit. + +_Watchman_ + +Do you take this to be a joke? I warn you, my friends, it is +dangerous. + +Dangerous? That's the best joke of all. + +(_They sing._) + + _We are neither too good nor wise, + That is all the merit we have. + Our calumny spreads from land to land, + And danger dogs our steps. + We take great care to forget what is taught us, + We say things different from the book, + Bringing upon us trouble, + And rebuke from the learned._ + +_Watchman_ + +Ah, Sir, you spoke about some Leader. Where is he? He could have +kept you in order, if he were with you. + +He never stays with us, lest he should have to keep us in order. + +He simply launches us on our way, and then slips off. + +_Watchman_ + +That's a poor idea of leadership. + +_Chandra_ + +He is never concerned about his leadership. That is why we +recognize him as our Leader. + +_Watchman_ + +Then he has got a very easy task. + +_Chandra_ + +It is no easy task to lead men. But it is easy enough to drive +them. + +(_They sing._) + + _We are not too good nor wise, + 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 + +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 in the back; all the trouble is in the +front. + +Of all our limbs, the back is the most truthful. It says to us, +"Lie down." + +When we are young, that braggart breast is a great swell; but, in +the end, we can only rely on our back. + +The little stream that flows past our village comes to my mind. +That morning we thought that it said to us, "Forward! Forward!" +But what it really said was, "False! False!" The world is all +false. + +Our Pundit used to tell us that. + +We shall go straight to the Pundit, when we get back. + +We shall never stir one step outside the limit of the Pundit's +Scriptures. + +What a mistake we made. We thought that moving itself was +something heroic. + +But really not to move, that is heroic, because it is defying the +whole moving world. + +Brave rebels that we are, we shall _not_ move. We shall have the +audacity to sit still, and never move an inch. + +"Life and youth are fleeting," the Scripture says. Let life and +youth go to the dogs, we shall not move. + +"Our minds and wealth are fleeting," adds the Scripture. "Give +them up and sit still," say we. + +Let us go back to the point from which we started. + +But that would be to move. + +What then? + +There sit down, where we have come to. + +And let us imagine that there we had been before we ever came +there. + +Yes, yes, that will keep our minds still. If we know that we have +come from somewhere else, then the mind longs for that somewhere +else. + +That land of somewhere else is a very dangerous place. + +There the ground moves, and also the roads. But as for us---- + +(_They sing._) + + _We cling to our seats and never stir, + We allow our flowers to fade in peace, and avoid the trouble of + bearing fruit. + Let the starlights blazon their eternal folly, + We quench our flames. + Let the forest rustle and the ocean roar, + We sit mute. + Let the call of the flood-tide come from the sea, + We remain still._ + +Do you hear that laughter? + +Yes, yes, it is laughter. + +What a relief! We have never heard that sound for an age. + +We had been choking, for want of the breath of laughter. + +This laughter comes to us like the April rain. + +Whose is it? + +Cannot you guess? It is our Chandra. + +What a marvellous gift of laughter he has! It is like a +waterfall. It dashes all the black stones out of the path. + +It is like sunlight. It cuts the mist to pieces with its sword. + +Now all danger of quatrain fever is over. Let us get up. + +From this moment there will be nothing but work for us. As the +Scripture says, "Everything in this world is fleeting, and he +only lives who does his duty and achieves fame." + +Why are you quoting that? Are you still suffering from the +quatrain fever? + +What do you mean by fame? Does the river take any heed of its +foam? Fame is that foam on life's stream. + +(_Enter Chandra with a blind Minstrel._) + +Well, Chandra, what makes you so glad? + +_Chandra_ + +I have got the track of the Old Man. + +From whom? + +_Chandra_ + +From this old Minstrel. + +He seems to be blind. + +_Chandra_ + +Yes, that is why he has not got to seek the road. + +What do you say? Shall you be able to lead us right? + +_Minstrel_ + +Yes. + +But how? + +_Minstrel_ + +Because I can hear the footsteps. + +We also have ears, but---- + +_Minstrel_ + +I hear with my whole being. + +_Chandra_ + +They all started up with fear, when I asked about the Old Man. +Only this Minstrel seemed to have no fear. I suppose because he +cannot see, he is not afraid. + +_Minstrel_ + +Do you know why I have no fear? When the sun of my life set, and +I became blind, the dark night revealed all its lights, and, from +that day forward, I have been no more afraid of the dark. + +Then let us go. The evening star is up. + +_Minstrel_ + +Let me sing, and walk on as I sing, and you follow me. I cannot +find my way, if I do not sing. + +What do you mean? + +_Minstrel_ + +My songs precede, I follow. + +(_He sings._) + + _Gently, my friend, gently walk to your silent chamber. + I know not the way, I have not the light, + Dark is my life and my world. + I have only the sound of your steps to guide me in this wilderness._ + + _Gently, my friend, gently walk along the dark shore. + Let the hint of the way come in whisper, + Through the night, in the April breeze. + I have only the scent of your garland to guide me in this + wilderness._ + + + + +ACT IV + +SONG-PRELUDE + + +[_There enter a troupe of young things, and they introduce +themselves in a song as follows:_] + + +THE SONG OF RETURNING YOUTH + + _Again and again we say "Good-bye," + To come back again and again. + Oh, who are you? + I am the flower vakul. + And who are you? + I am the flower parul. + And who are these? + We are mango blossoms landed on the shore of light. + We laugh and take leave when the time beckons us. + We rush into the arms of the ever-returning. + But who are you? + I am the flower shimul. + And who are you? + I am the kamini bunch, + And who are these? + We are the jostling crowd of new leaves._ + +[_Winter is revealed as Spring and answers to the questions put +by the chorus of young things._] + + +THE SONG OF BURDENS DROPPED + + _Do you own defeat at the hand of youth? + Yes. + Have you met at last the ageless Old, who ever grows new? + Yes. + Have you come out of the walls that crumble and bury those whom they + shelter? + Yes._ + +(_Another group sings._) + + _Do you own defeat at the hands of life? + Yes. + Have you passed through death to stand at last face to face with the + Deathless? + Yes. + Have you dealt the blow to the demon dust, that swallows your city + Immortal? + Yes._ + +(_Spring's flowers surround him and sing._) + + +THE SONG OF FRESH BEAUTY + + _We waited by the wayside counting moments till you appeared in the + April morning. + You come as a soldier-boy winning life at death's gate,-- + Oh, the wonder of it. + We listen amazed at the music of your young voice. + Your mantle is blown in the wind like the fragrance of the Spring. + The white spray of_ malati _flowers in your hair shines like + star-clusters. + A fire burns through the veil of your smile,-- + Oh, the wonder of it. + And who knows where your arrows are hidden which smite death?_ + +(_Night_) + +[_The rear stage is darkened, and the light on the main stage +dimmed to the heavy purple blackness of mourning._] + +(_Enter the Band of Youths._) + +Chandra has gone away again, leaving us behind. + +It is difficult to keep him still. + +We get our rest by sitting down, but he gets his by walking on. + +He has gone across the river with the blind minstrel, in whose +depth of blindness Chandra is seeking the invisible light. + +That is why our Leader calls him the Diver. + +Our life becomes utterly empty, when Chandra is away. + +Do you feel as though something was in the air? + +The sky seems to be looking into our face, like a friend bidding +farewell. + +This little stream of water is trickling through the _casuarina_ +grove. It seems like the tears of midnight. + +We have never gazed upon the earth before with such intentness. + +When we run forward at full speed, our eyes keep gazing in front +of us, and we see nothing on either side of us. + +If things did not move on and vanish, we should see no beauty +anywhere. + +If youth had only the heat of movement, it would get parched and +withered. But there is ever the hidden tear, which keeps it +fresh. + +The cry of the world is not only "I have," but also "I give." In +the first dawning light of creation, "I have" was wedded to "I +give." If this bond of union were to snap, then everything would +go to ruin. + +I don't know where that blind Minstrel has landed us at last. + +It seems as though these stars in the sky above us are the +gazing of countless eyes we met in all forgotten ages. It seems +as if, through the flowers, there came the whisper of those we +have forgotten, saying Remember us. + +Our hearts will break if we do not sing. + +(_They sing._) + + _Did you leave behind you your love, my heart, and miss peace through + all your days? + And is the path you followed lost and forgotten, making your return + hopeless? + I go roaming listening to brooks' babble, to the rustle of leaves. + And it seems to me that I shall find the way, that reaches the land of + lost love beyond the evening stars._ + +What a strange tune is this, that comes out of the music of +Spring. + +It seems like the tune of yellow leaves. + +Spring has stored up its tears in secret for us all this while. + +It was afraid we should not understand it, because we were so +youthful. + +It wanted to beguile us with smiles. + +But we shall sleep our hearts tonight in the sadness of the other +shore. + +Ah, the dear earth! The beautiful earth! She wants all that we +have--the touch of our hands, the song of our hearts. + +She wants to draw out from us all that is within, hidden even +from ourselves. + +This is her sorrow, that she finds out some things only to know +that she has not found all. She loses before she attains. + +Ah, the dear earth! We shall never deceive you. + +(_They sing._) + + _I shall crown you with my garland, before I take leave. + You ever spoke to me in all my joys and sorrows. + And now, at the end of the day, my own heart will break in speech. + Words came to me, but not the tune, and the song that I never sang + to you remains hidden behind my tears._ + +Brother, did you notice that some one seemed to have passed by? + +The only thing you feel is this passing by. + +I felt the touch of the mantle of some wayfarer. + +We came out to capture somebody, but now we feel the longing to +be captured ourselves. + +Ah, here comes the Minstrel. Where have you brought us? The +breath of the wayfaring world touches us here,--the breath of the +starry sky. + +We came seeking a new form of play. But now we have forgotten +what play it was. + +We wanted to catch the Old Man. + +And everybody said that he was terrifying, a bodiless head, a +gaping mouth, a dragon eager to swallow the moon of the youth of +the world. But now we are no longer afraid. The flowers go, the +leaves go, the waves in the river go, and we shall also follow +them. Ah, blind Minstrel, strike your lute and sing to us. Who +knows what is the hour of the night? + +(_The Minstrel sings._) + + _Let me give my all to him, before I am asked, whom the world offers + its all. + When I came to him for my gifts, I was not afraid; + And I will not fear, when I come to him, to give up what I have. + The morning accepts his gold with songs, the evening pays him back the + debt of gold and is glad. + The joy of the blooming flower comes to fruit with shedding of its + leaves. + Hasten, my heart, and spend yourself in love, before the day is done._ + +Minstrel, why is Chandra still absent? + +_Minstrel_ + +Don't you know that he has gone? + +Gone?--Where? + +_Minstrel_ + +He said, I shall go and conquer him. + +Whom? + +_Minstrel_ + +The One who is feared by all. He said, "Why else am I young?" + +Ah, that was fine.--Dada goes to read his quatrains to the +village people, and Chandra has disappeared,--for what purpose +nobody knows. + +_Minstrel_ + +He said, "Men have always been fighting for a cause. It is the +shock of that, which ruffles the breeze of this Spring." + +The shock? + +_Minstrel_ + +Yes, the message that man's fight is not yet over. + +Is this the message of Spring? + +_Minstrel_ + +Yes. Those, who have been made immortal by death, have sent their +message in these fresh leaves of Spring. It said, "We never +doubted the way. We never counted the cost: we rushed out: we +blossomed. If we had sat down to debate, then where would be the +Spring?" + +Has that made Chandra mad? + +_Minstrel_ + +He said---- + +(_The Minstrel sings._) + + _The Spring flowers have woven my wreath of victory, + The South wind breathes its breath of fire in my blood. + The voice of the house-corner wails in vain from behind. + Death stands before me, offering its crown. + The tempest of youth sweeps the skyharp with its fingers; + My heart dances in its wild rhythm. + Gathering and storing are not for me, + I spend and scatter. + And prudence and comfort bid me adieu in despair._ + +But where has he gone to? + +_Minstrel_ + +He said, "I cannot keep waiting by the wayside any longer. I must +go and meet him, and conquer him." + +But which way did he take? + +_Minstrel_ + +He has entered the cave. + +How is that? It is so fearfully dark. Did he, without making any +enquiries---- + +_Minstrel_ + +Yes, he went in to make enquiries himself. + +When will he come back? + +I don't believe he will ever come back. + +But if Chandra leaves us, then life is not worth living. + +What shall we say to our Leader? + +The Leader also will leave us. + +Didn't he leave any message for us before he disappeared? + +_Minstrel_ + +He said, "Wait for me. I shall return." + +Return? How are we to know it? + +_Minstrel_ + +He said, "I will conquer, and then come back again." + +Then we shall wait for him all night. + +But, Minstrel, where have we got to wait for him? + +_Minstrel_ + +Before that cave, from whence the stream of water comes flowing +out. + +Which way did he go to get there? + +The darkness there is like a dark sword. + +_Minstrel_ + +He followed the sound of the night-bird's wings. + +Why did you not go with him? + +_Minstrel_ + +He left me behind to give you hope. + +When did he go? + +_Minstrel_ + +In the first hour of the watch. + +Now the third hour has passed, I think. The air is chilly. + +I dreamt that three women, with their hair hanging loose---- + +Oh, leave off your dream-women. I am sick of your dreams. + +Everything appears darkly ominous. I didn't notice before the +hooting of the owl. But now---- + +Do you hear that dog whining on the far bank of the river? + +It seems as though a witch were riding upon him and lashing him. + +Surely, if it had been possible, Chandra would have come back by +now. + +How I wish this night were over. + +Do you hear the woman's cry? + +Oh, the women, the women. They are ever crying and weeping. But +they cannot turn those back, who must go forward. + +It is getting unbearable to sit still like this. Men imagine all +sorts of things when they sit still. Let us go also. As soon as +we are started on our way fear will leave us. + +But who will show us the way? + +There is the blind Minstrel. + +What do you say, Minstrel? Can you show us the way? + +_Minstrel_ + +Yes. + +But we can hardly believe you. How can you find out the path by +simply singing? + +If Chandra never comes back, you shall. + +We never knew that we loved Chandra so intensely. We made light +of him all these days. + +When we are in the playing mood, we become so intent on the play, +that we neglect the playmate. + +But, if he once comes back, we shall never neglect him any more. + +I am afraid that we have often given him pain. + +Yet his love rose above all that. We never knew how beautiful he +was, when we could see him every day. + +(_They sing._) + + _When there was light in my world + You stood outside my eyes. + Now that there is none, + You come into my heart. + When there were dolls for me, I played; + You smiled and watched from the door. + Now that the dolls have crumbled to dust, + You come and sit by me. + And I have only my heart for my music, + When my lute-strings have broken._ + +That Minstrel sits so still and silent. I don't like it. + +He looks ominous,--like the lowering autumn cloud. + +Let us dismiss him. + +No, no. It gives us heart, when he sits there. + +Don't you see that there is no sign of fear in his face? + +It seems as if some messages were striking his forehead. His body +appears to espy some one in the distance. There seem to be eyes +on the tips of his fingers. + +Simply by watching him, we can see that some one is coming +through the dark. + +Look. He is standing up. He is turning towards the East, and +making his obeisance. + +Yet there is nothing to be seen, not even a streak of light. + +Why not ask him what it is that he sees? + +No, don't disturb him. + +Do you know, it seems to me that the morning has dawned in him. + +As if the ferry-boat of light had reached the shore of his +forehead. + +His mind is still, like the morning sky. + +The storm of birds' songs will burst out presently. + +He is striking his lute. His heart is singing. + +Hush. He is singing. + +(_The Minstrel sings._) + + _Victory to thee, victory for ever, + O brave heart. + Victory to life, to joy, to love, + To eternal light. + The night shall wane, the darkness shall vanish, + Have faith, brave heart. + Wake up from sleep, from languor of despair, + Receive the light of new dawn with a song._ + +(_A ray of light hovers before the cavern._) + +Ah! There he is. Chandra! Chandra! + +Hush. Don't make any noise. I cannot see him distinctly. + +Ah! It cannot be any other than Chandra. + +Oh, what joy! + +Chandra! Come! + +Chandra! How could you leave us for so long? + +Have you been able to capture the Old Man? + +_Chandra_ + +Yes, I have. + +But we don't see him. + +_Chandra_ + +He is coming. + +But what did you see in the cave? Tell us. + +_Chandra_ + +No, I cannot tell you. + +Why? + +_Chandra_ + +If my mind were a voice, then I could tell you. + +But could you see him, whom you captured? Was he the Old Man of +the World? + +The Old Man who would like to drink up the sea of youth in his +insatiable thirst. + +Was it the One who is like the dark night, whose eyes are fixed +on his breast, whose feet are turned the wrong way round, who +walks backwards? + +Was it the One who wears the garland of skulls, and lives in the +burning-ground of the dead? + +_Chandra_ + +I do not know, I cannot say. But he is coming. You shall see him. + +_Minstrel_ + +Yes, I see him. + +[_The light strengthens and gradually throughout the scene grows +to a culminating brilliance at the close._] + +Where? + +_Minstrel_ + +Here. + +He is coming out of the cave.--Some one is coming out of the +cave. + +How wonderful. + +_Chandra_ + +Why, it is you! + +Our Leader! + +Our Leader! + +Our Leader! + +Where is the Old Man? + +_Leader_ + +He is nowhere. + +Nowhere? + +_Leader_ + +Yes, nowhere. + +Then what is he? + +_Leader_ + +He is a dream. + +Then you are the real? + +_Leader_ + +Yes. + +And we are the real? + +_Leader_ + +Yes. + +Those who saw you from behind imagined you in all kinds of +shapes. + +We didn't recognize you through the dust. + +You seemed old. + +And then you came out of the cave,--and now you look like a boy. + +It seems just as if we had seen you for the first time. + +_Chandra_ + +You are first every time. You are first over and over again. + +_Leader_ + +Chandra! You must own your defeat. You couldn't catch the Old +Man. + +_Chandra_ + +Let our festival begin. The sun is up. + +Minstrel, if you keep so still, you will swoon away. Sing +something. + +(_The Minstrel sings._) + + _I lose thee, to find thee back again and again, + My beloved. + Thou leavest me, that I may receive thee all the more, when thou + returnest. + Thou canst vanish behind the moment's screen + Only because thou art mine for evermore, + My beloved. + When I go in search of thee, my heart trembles, spreading ripples + across my love. + Thou smilest through thy disguise of utter absence, and my tears + sweeten thy smile._ + +Do you hear the hum? + +Yes. + +They are not bees, but the people of the place. + +Then Dada must be near at hand with his quatrains. + +_Dada_ + +Is this the Leader? + +Yes, Dada. + +_Dada_ + +Oh, I am so glad you have come. I must read my collection of +quatrains. + +No. No. Not the whole collection, but only one. + +_Dada_ + +Very well. One will do. + + The sun is at the gate of the East, his drum of victory sounding in + the sky. + The Night says I am blessed, my death is bliss. + He receives his alms of gold, filling his wallet,--and departs. + +That is to say---- + +No. We don't want your that is to say. + +_Dada_ + +It means---- + +Whatever it means, we are determined not to know it. + +_Dada_ + +What makes you so desperate? + +It is our festival day. + +_Dada_ + +Ah! Is that so? Then let me go to all the neighbours---- + +No, you mustn't go there. + +_Dada_ + +But is there any need for me here? + +Yes. + +Then my quatrains---- + +_Chandra_ + +We shall colour your quatrains with such a thick brush, that no +one will know whether they have any meaning at all. + +And then you will be without any means. + +The neighbourhood will desert you. + +The Watchman will take you to be a fool. + +And the Pundit will take you to be a blockhead. + +And your own people will consider you to be useless. + +And the outside people will consider you queer. + +_Chandra_ + +But we shall crown you, Dada, with a crown of new leaves. + +We shall put a garland of jasmine round your neck. + +And there will be no one else except ourselves who will know your +true worth. + + +THE SONG OF THE FESTIVAL OF SPRING + +[_In which all the persons of the drama, not excepting +Sruti-bhushan, unite on the main stage in the dance of Spring._] + + _Come and rejoice, for April is awake. + Fling yourselves into the flood of being, bursting the bondage of + the past. + April is awake. + Life's shoreless sea is heaving in the sun before you. + All the losses are lost, and death is drowned in its waves. + Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in + your heart._ + + * * * * * + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cycle of Spring, by Rabindranath Tagore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CYCLE OF SPRING *** + +***** This file should be named 24607.txt or 24607.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/0/24607/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Thierry Alberto, Henry +Craig, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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