Nagananda (Boyd 1872)/Act 1
ACT I.
Then enter Jímútaváhana and the Vidúshaka.
Jímútaváhana
(in a tone of apathy towards the world).
O friend, Átreya, well do I know that youth is an abode of passion. I am certain that it is transient. Who in the world does not know that it is averse to investigation of right and wrong? Yet, worthless as it is, it may still be used for the attainment of the desired end, if it is thus spent by me, devotedly obeying my parents.
Vidúshaka (with vexation).
Alas, my friend, no wonder you are despondent, enduring the annoyance of living for so long a time in the forest, for the sake of these two, who are already half dead. So now do me a favour. Having turned aside from the strictness of your attendance on your father, let the pleasure of sovereignty, sweet through the attainment of every wish, be tasted by you.
Jímútaváhana.
O friend, you speak not well. For, in this world, what is the splendour of one sitting on a throne compared with that of one in attendance on his father? What enjoyment is there to a king such as that of one shampooing his father's feet? What satisfaction in enjoying the whole world, such as in eating a father's leavings? Sovereignty is in fact only a trouble to one who has deserted his father. Is there one good thing in it?
Vidúshaka (aside).
Bother his "penchant" for waiting on his father! (After considering.) Never mind. I will put it to him in this way. (Aloud.) O friend, I do not in truth speak only of the enjoyment of sovereignty. There is another thing which you should do.
Jímútaváhana (smiling).
O friend, has not all that should have been done, been done? See here. My subjects are placed in the right path; the virtuous are happy; my relatives are placed on an equality with myself, and a regency is made in the kingdom; to the poor man a tree of Paradise has been given, whose fruit gives even more than he wishes for. Say, what more than this should be done? or what remains in your mind?
Vidúshaka.
O friend, your enemy, the base Matanga, is very daring; and, whilst he is at hand, the kingdom, though duly governed by the prime minister, does not, in your absence, appear very firmly settled.
Jímútaváhana.
Fie! O fool, dost thou fear that Matanga will seize the kingdom?
Vidúshaka.
What else?
Jímútaváhana.
If even it were so, why should it not be? Is not all I possess, even to my very body, kept for the benefit of others? That it is not given up to him of my own accord is through compliance with my father. What, then, is the use of this pointless consideration? Better that the command of my father be at once undertaken. "O my child Jímútaváhana," he said, "by the spending of many days here this place has its flowers, kusa-grass, and fuel used up, and its rice, plants, fruits, and roots well-nigh consumed, therefore go hence to the Malaya[1] mountain, and seek there for a hermitage suited for our occupation." Come, then, let us go to the Malaya mountain.
Vidúshaka.
Whatever your highness orders, Let your highness come.
Vidúshaka (looking in advance).
O friend! see, see! Here in good truth comes the wind from Malaya, which removes the fatigue of the journey, like the clasping of the neck of the long-desired loved one on first meeting,—bearing cool showers of drops, caught up from the cascade as it falls broken from the crystal rocks, and strongly fragrant through its contact with the mountain slopes, covered with groves of dense and juicy sandal trees; it thrills every limb of your body.
Jímútaváhana (looking with surprise).
Ah! we have already reached the Malaya hill. (Looking all round.) Oh, how pleasant it is! Inasmuch as this Malaya hill, with its sandal exuding from the wounds made by the mighty elephants as they rub their cheeks in their passion against the trunks, and with the fastnesses of its caves resounding when lashed by the ocean waves, and with its rocks of pearl stained by the foot-dye of the women of the Siddhas as they pass—the sight of it gives to my mind some longing for the joys of earth. Come, we will ascend and seek for some suitable site for a hermitage.
Vidúshaka.
Let us do so. (Standing in advance.) Let your highness come on.
Jímútaváhana (starting from a throbbing of his right eye).[2]
My right eye throbs, though I have no object of desire. Yet the saying of the wise cannot prove false. What, then, can this portend?
Vidúshaka.
It shows undoubtedly that some loved object is at hand.
Jímútaváhana.
It must be as you say.
Vidúshaka (looking on all sides).
O friend, look! look! Here in good truth is all the appearance of an ascetic grove, resplendent with unusually thick and dense trees, its crowd of young animals reclining at ease unalarmed, and its smoke freely issuing laden with scent from the sacrificial ghee.
Jímútaváhana.
You conjecture rightly. This is an ascetic grove. The bark of the trees is stripped off for clothing, though not in too wide strips, as if out of pity for them. The pure water of the cascade has broken fragments of old waterpots[3] just visible at the bottom; and here and there appear the broken girdles of munja grass[4] cast off by the young Brahmans; whilst a verse of the Sáma Veda is recited by a parrot, who has learnt it from constantly hearing it. Come, then, we will enter and look about us.
Jímútaváhana (looking about, with astonishment).
Oh, the tranquil charms of an ascetic grove! The basins at the foot of the young trees are kept full by the daughters of the hermits. Its fuel is cut fresh and fresh by the reciting pupils, whilst the detail of the doubtful passages of the Veda is constantly discussed by the Munis, who delight in the task. Even these trees, taught respect for a guest, seem to utter a sweet welcome with the murmuring of bees, and make, so to speak, an obeisance with their heads bowed down with fruit; sprinkling a rain of flowers, they present me, as it were, a propitiatory offering. Hence this ascetic grove is well suited for a dwelling place. I think we shall have peace while living here.
Vidúshaka.
What is this, friend? The deer, with their necks a little bent, the mouthfuls of darbha grass falling half-chewed from their motionless mouths, their eyes tranquilly closed in complete content, seem to listen with one ear pricked up.
Jímútaváhana (after listening).
Friend, you have seen correctly; for these antelopes, their bodies bent sideways, stopping the noise of chewing the mouthfuls of darbha grass between their teeth, listen to the distinct melodious words of a song, possessing, through due regard to the laws of harmony, the treble and bass tones impartially developed from their respective organs,[5] mingled with the notes of the strings of the resounding lute, as with the hum of bees.
Vidúshaka.
Who, then, my friend, sings here in the sacred grove?
Jímútaváhana.
Inasmuch as these notes sound clearly, struck by the tips of soft fingers, I conjecture that it is sung with Kákilí[6] for its key-note. (Pointing forwards with his finger.) In this temple some goddess plays the lute in propitiation of a deity.
Vidúshaka.
Come, friend, let us too see the temple of the god.
Jímútaváhana.
You say well. The gods should be revered. (Going up quickly, stopping.) But perhaps we are not worthy to look. Let us then enter this tamála shrub, and wait for an opportunity.
Then enter seated on the ground,[7] playing a lute, Malayavatí, and a Servant Girl.
Malayavatí (sings).
O adored Gaurí, resplendent as with white pollen from the filaments of full-blown lotuses, may my desire be accomplished by thy favour!
Jímútaváhana (after hearing it).
O friend, a capital song! and first-rate music! Distinctness is attained, even though she plays with her bare fingers;[8] good time is kept, clearly defined in due divisions of slow, medium, and quick; the three pauses are rendered in proper order with the "gopuchchha" first; the three modes of playing are fully shown in the slow and quick accompaniments.[9]
Girl (affectionately).
O princess, you have been playing for a long time. How is it that your fingers are not tired?
Malayavatí (reproachfully).
Girl, how should my fingers be weary, when playing before the goddess?
Girl.
O princess, in my opinion there is little use in playing before this cruel one, who, up to this time, shows no favour to you; though you have been so long a time conciliating her with due observances, which come hard on a young girl.
Vidúshaka.
It is only a girl after all. Why should we not look?
Jímútaváhana.
What harm would there be in so doing! Women may be looked at without sin. Yet, perhaps, if she saw us, through fear, which is easily excited in one at her time of life, and of her character, she would not remain long here. So we will simply look through this network of Tamála branches.
Vidúshaka.
We will do so.
Vidúshaka (after looking, with astonishment).
O friend, see, see! how wonderful! Not only by her knowledge of the lute does she cause delight, but her beauty, corresponding to her skill, charms the eye. Who can she be? Is she a goddess or a woman of the Nágas? A princess of the Vidyádharas, or born of the family of Siddhas?
Jímútaváhana (looking longingly).
Friend, who it is, I know not; but this I do know, if she be a goddess, the thousand eyes of Hari have all they can wish. If she be a woman of the Nágas, then, whilst her face is there, the lowest hell is not without its moon. If she be of the Vidyádharas, then our race surpasses all others. If she be born of a family of Siddhas, then in the three worlds are the Siddhas glorious.
Vidúshaka
(after looking at the hero, joyfully, aside).
Good luck! Though after a long delay, he is at last fallen into the power of love, or rather—(looking at himself, and gesticulating eating)—not so; but into the power of me single-handed, the Brahman.[10]
Girl (affectionately).
O princess, do I not say, "Where is the use of playing before this cruel one?"
Malayavatí (angrily).
Girl! offend not the revered Gaurí. Has not a favour been done me by her this very day?
Girl (with joy).
O princess, what can it be?
Malayavatí.
Girl, I know it well. To-day in a dream, as I was playing this very lute, I was thus addressed by the revered Gaurí,—"Child Malayavatí, I am well pleased with your perfect knowledge of the lute, and with your excessive devotion towards me, which is hard for a young girl; therefore before long a sovereign of the Vidyádharas shall be your husband."
Girl (with delight).
If it is so, why do you call it a dream? Has not the goddess given you the very desire of your heart?
Vidúshaka (having heard).
Friend, surely this is a good opportunity to show ourselves to the princess. Come, then, we will go up.
Jímútaváhana.
I will not yet enter.
Vidúshaka
(going up and forcibly dragging the hero, who resists).
Welcome to your highness! Chaturiká speaks the truth. Here is the husband promised by the goddess.
Malayavatí
(standing up bashfully, pointing to the hero).
Girl, who is this?
Girl (after looking at the hero, aside).
From this form of his, which surpasses all others, I conjecture that he is the man given through the favour of the goddess.
Jímútaváhana.
This form of thine, oh tremulous-eyed one, whose full breasts are agitated by thy breathing, is sufficiently fatigued by devotions. Why then, oh timid one, is it further distressed at my presence?
Malayavatí (aside.)
Through excessive alarm I cannot stand facing him.
she stands somewhat turned away.
Girl.
Princess, what does all this mean?
Malayavatí.
I cannot remain in his neighbourhood, so come away. We will go elsewhere.
Vidúshaka.
Alas! she is scared. Shall I keep her just for a moment, as I do any learning that I may have read?
Jímútaváhana.
Where would be the harm of it?
Vidúshaka.
O lady! why this behaviour of yours in such a grove as this, that a guest just arrived is not favoured by you with a single word?
Girl (after looking at the heroine, to herself).
Her eye seems pleased. I will speak to her. (Aloud.) O princess, the Brahman speaks fittingly. Good behaviour towards guests is becoming in you. Why, then, do you stand as if distraught in your behaviour towards so distinguished a one; or rather, remain so if you will,—I will do what is seemly. (Addressing the hero.) Welcome to your highness! by occupying this seat, let your highness add beauty to the spot.
Vidúshaka.
Friend, she says well. Let us sit down here and rest for a moment.
Jímútaváhana.
You are right.
Malayavatí (addressing the servant girl).
O laughter-loving one, act not thus. Perhaps some Ascetic is looking, and he will set me down as a giddy one.
Then enters an Ascetic.
Ascetic.
I am thus bidden by Kauśika, the head of the family: "My child, Śándilya, the young king of the Siddhas, Mitrávasu, is gone to-day, at his father’s request, to seek Prince Jímútaváhana, the future monarch of the Vidyádharas, who is somewhere here on the Malaya Mount, as a husband for his sister Malayavatí, and perhaps the limit of the time for the mid-day oblation will pass by while Malayavatí awaits his return. Go, therefore, and fetch her with you." I am going, therefore, to the temple of Gaurí in the sacred grove.
(Walking about, looking down on the ground, with surprise.)
Ah! Whose footsteps have we here on the dusty ground, having the sign of the chakra manifest? (Looking forward and seeing Jímútaváhana.) Assuredly it will be the footstep of this mighty man. For there is the turban-like mass of hair visible on the scalp; there shines a woolly tuft between the eyebrows;[11] his eyes resemble a lotus; his chest vies with Hari; and since his feet are marked with the chakra, I conjecture that he who rests here is assuredly one who has attained the dignity of an emperor of the Vidyádharas. However, away with doubt. It must surely be Jímútaváhana himself. (Seeing Malayavatí.) Ah! here is the princess too. (Looking at them both.) Destiny would at length be acting in a straightforward manner did she unite this pair, mutually suited to one another. (Going up and addressing the hero.) Welcome to your highness!
Jímútaváhana.
Jímútaváhana salutes your honour.
Ascetic.
Do not rise; your highness should be respected by us, for "A guest is every one's master."[12] Remain, then, at your ease.
Malayavatí.
Sir, I bow to you.
Ascetic (turning to her).
My child, mayst thou marry a suitable husband! O princess, Kauśika, the head of the family, sends word to thee, "The time of the mid-day oblation passes by, come therefore quickly."
Malayavatí.
As the “Guru"[13] orders. (To herself.) On the one side the orders of the "Guru," on the other the pleasure of the sight of the dear one. Thus my heart swings me to and fro, perched on a see-saw of going and not going.
[Rising with a sigh, and looking at the hero with modesty
Jímútaváhana
(with a sigh, looking longingly after the heroine).
By her whose departure is slow, by reason of the rounded beauty of her form, an impress is stamped upon my heart, even though she leaves me.
Vidúshaka.
Well, you have seen all there was to be seen! The fire of my appetite rages, its fury doubled, so to speak, by the heat of the rays of the mid-day sun. Come, then, let us go forth, that I, the Brahman, having become some one's guest, may support my life with bulbs, roots, and fruit, obtained from the Munis.
Jímútaváhana (looking upwards).
The adorable thousand-rayed one has reached the zenith; for see, the lord of elephants with pallid cheeks, their sandal-juice instantaneously dried off by the excessive heat, as he fans his face with the breezes of his broad ears, his chest all wet with the drops falling from his trunk, endures a state of existence hard to be borne even by the fainting Bignonia.
END OF THE FIRST ACT OF THE NÁGÁNANDA.
- ↑ Malaya—the Western Gháts—whence the name Malabar (malaya-vara).
- ↑ The Hindus believe that the throbbing of the right eye or arm is a good omen for a man, but of the left, a bad omen. The reverse of this holds in the case of a woman.
- ↑ Compare Manu II. 64:—"His girdle, his deerskin, his staff, his sacrificial cord, and his waterpot, he must throw into the water when they are worn out, and take others with sacred texts."
- ↑ Munja-grass, the Saccharum munja, from the fibres of which the string is prepared to form the thread worn by the Brahmans. Manu II. 43.
- ↑ This passage is difficult, as it alludes to some technicalities of Hindu music. The Hindus place the bass (mandra), the tenor (madhya), and the treble (tára), in the chest, throat, and top of the palate respectively. Thus the Sangita-ratnákara, "iti vastusthitis távad gáne tredhá bhaved asau; hridi, mandro; gale, madhyo; múrdhni, tara; iti kramát." Compare Prof. Aufrecht's Catalogue of Oxford MSS., 200 b 3.
- ↑ Kákilí is explained as a sweet soft sound, corresponding to the cuckoo's note. Hindu poets give to the kokila, or cuckoo, the fifth note of their scale. Compare Browning:—
"Here's the spring back, or close,
When the almond blossom blows,
We shall have the word
In that minor third
There is none but the cuckoo knows;
Heaps of the guelder-rose,—
I must bear with it, I suppose."Which is curiously paralleled by a verse quoted in the Sáhitya Darpana:—
"The bees may fill every quarter with the sound of their hummings; and the breeze, rising from the groves of sandalwood, may gently approach; the playful tame cuckoos on the mango's top may make their musical fifth note; but may my vital spirit, hard as adamant, quickly go from me—let it be gone." Comm, on (215).
- ↑ This was managed by drawing aside a curtain or drop-scene.
- ↑ Literally, "Distinctness is attained by the organ of touch, though it be tenfold," meaning that the playing was clear, though she played without the metal instrument which they generally use.
- ↑ Here again there is difficulty from the continual reference to musical technicalities, and the translation is only conjectural. The yati-trayam occurs in the Márkandeya Purána, xxiii. 54. I have corrected the reading in the fourth line from tattwodyánugatás to tattwaughánugatás, from Daśa-rúpa, p. 178, where the passage is quoted; tattwa is "slow," ogha "quick" time.
- ↑ The buffoon, who, as usual, is a Brahman, seems to anticipate the pleasures of the coming wedding-feast. He feels that his master is stepping from his sublime ascetic elevation down to his own more mundane level.
- ↑ Compare the signs of Buddha in Lalita-Vistara, ch. vii.
- ↑ Compare Hitopadésa, i. 62.
- ↑ The spiritual parent.