one of the seats in front. But a few minutes sufficed to wipe off all my sorrow and disgust. What a play it was! I have seen many plays in life, but never another like that. Meghnad himself was a colossal affair: his body was about seven feet in height, his circumference at least six feet. People said that after his death his body would have to be taken to the burning-place in a bullock-cart: he could not be carried on human shoulders. Though I do not remember all the details of the play, I can remember this, that the heroism Meghnad displayed that night could not be matched by Haran Palsain, of our village, even in the part of Bhima, carrying a branch of sajina tree on his shoulder, while he gnashed his teeth with all his might.
The curtain rose. A character was on the stage; I believe it was Lakshman. He was declaiming a speech when all on a sudden Meghnad, at one bound, appeared before him. The whole stage creaked and groaned and trembled: five or six lamps which formed the footlights were overturned and extinguished. The gilt belt which confined Meghnad's waist split with a loud snap. A great sensation followed. Some of the audience eagerly advised Meghnad to sit down on the stage, while others demanded that the curtain should be dropped. But our brave Meghnad was nothing daunted. He threw his bow down, and, holding up his trousers with his left hand, began to fight with a single arrow in his right.
What bravery! What splendid heroism! Many have seen fights, but who has ever seen anyone, without a bow and with a left hand hors de combat, fight with his right hand alone, using a single arrow, ruthless and indomitable? For thus indeed did Meghnad conquer his foe, who was forced to save his skin by headlong flight.
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