The Little Clay Cart. Sudraka

OF THE PROLOGUE

       Table of Contents

ACT THE FIRST

       Table of Contents

THE GEMS ARE LEFT BEHIND

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      [Enter, with a cloak in his hand, Maitreya.]

      Maitreya.

      "You must invite some other Brahman. I am busy." And yet I really ought to be seeking invitations from a stranger. Oh, what a wretched state of affairs! When good Chārudatta was still wealthy, I used to eat my fill of the most deliciously fragrant sweetmeats, prepared day and night with the greatest of care. I would sit at the door of the courtyard, where I was surrounded by hundreds of dishes, and there, like a painter with his paint-boxes, I would simply touch them with my fingers and thrust them aside. I would stand chewing my cud like a bull in the city market. And now he is so poor that I have to run here, there, and everywhere, and come home, like the pigeons, only to roost. Now here is this jasmine-scented cloak, which Chārudatta's good friend Jūrnavriddha has sent him. He bade me give it to Chārudatta, as soon as he had finished his devotions. So now I will look for Chārudatta. [He walks about and looks around him.] Chārudatta has finished his devotions, and here he comes with an offering for the divinities of the house.

      [Enter Chārudatta as described, and Radanikā.]

      Chārudatta. [Looking up and sighing wearily.] Upon my threshold, where the offering Was straightway seized by swans and flocking cranes, The grass grows now, and these poor seeds I fling Fall where the mouth of worms their sweetness stains.9

      [He walks about very slowly and seats himself.]

      Maitreya. Chārudatta is here. I must go and speak to him. [Approaching.] My greetings to you. May happiness be yours.

      P. 13.1]

      Chārudatta. Ah, it is my constant friend Maitreya. You are very welcome, my friend. Pray be seated.

      Maitreya. Thank you. [He seats himself.] Well, comrade, here is a jasmine-scented cloak which your good friend Jūrnavriddha has sent. He bade me give it you as soon as you had finished your devotions. [He presents the cloak. Chārudatta takes it and remains sunk in thought.] Well, what are you thinking about?

      Chārudatta. My good friend, A candle shining through the deepest dark Is happiness that follows sorrow's strife; But after bliss when man bears sorrow's mark, His body lives a very death-in-life.10

      Maitreya. Well, which would you rather, be dead or be poor?

      Chārudatta. Ah, my friend, Far better death than sorrows sure and slow; Some passing suffering from death may flow, But poverty brings never-ending woe.11

      Maitreya. My dear friend, be not thus cast down. Your wealth has been conveyed to them you love, and like the moon, after she has yielded her nectar to the gods, your waning fortunes win an added charm.

      Chārudatta. Comrade, I do not grieve for my ruined fortunes. But This is my sorrow. They whom I Would greet as guests, now pass me by. "This is a poor man's house," they cry. As flitting bees, the season o'er, Desert the elephant, whose store Of ichor[30] spent, attracts no more.12

      Maitreya. Oh, confound the money! It is a trifle not worth thinking about. It is like a cattle-boy in the woods afraid of wasps; it doesn't stay anywhere where it is used for food.

      [8.5. S.

      Chārud. Believe me, friend. My sorrow does not spring

      From simple loss of gold;

       For fortune is a fickle, changing thing,

       Whose favors do not hold;

       But he whose sometime wealth has taken wing,

       Finds bosom-friends grow cold.13

      Then too:

      A poor man is a man ashamed; from shame

       Springs want of dignity and worthy fame;

       Such want gives rise to insults hard to bear;

       Thence comes despondency; and thence, despair;

       Despair breeds folly; death is folly's fruit—

       Ah! the lack of money is all evils root!14

      Maitreya. But just remember what a trifle money is, after all, and be more cheerful.

      Chārudatta. My friend, the poverty of a man is to him

      A home of cares, a shame that haunts the mind,

       Another form of warfare with mankind;

       The abhorrence of his friends, a source of hate

       From strangers, and from each once-loving mate;

       But if his wife despise him, then 't were meet

       In some lone wood to seek a safe retreat.

       The flame of sorrow, torturing his soul,

       Burns fiercely, yet contrives to leave him whole.15

      Comrade, I have made my offering to the divinities of the house. Do you too go and offer sacrifice to the Divine Mothers at a place where four roads meet.

      Maitreya. No!

      Chārudatta. Why not?

      Maitreya. Because the gods are not gracious to you even when thus honored. So what is the use of worshiping?

      P. 16.8]

      Chārudatta. Not so, my friend, not so! This is the constant duty of a householder. The gods feel ever glad content In the gifts, and the self-chastisement, The meditations, and the prayers, Of those who banish worldly cares.16

      Why then do you hesitate? Go and offer sacrifice to the Mothers.

      Maitreya. No, I'm not going. You must send somebody else. Anyway, everything seems to go wrong with me, poor Brahman that I am! It's like a reflection in a mirror; the right side becomes the left, and the left becomes the right. Besides, at this hour of the evening, people are abroad upon the king's highway—courtezans, courtiers, servants, and royal favorites. They will take me now for fair prey, just as the black-snake out frog-hunting snaps up the mouse in his path. But what will you do sitting here?

      Chārudatta. Good then, remain; and I will finish my devotions.

      Voices behind the scenes. Stop, Vasantasenā, stop!

      [Enter Vasantasenā, pursued by the courtier, by Sansthānaka, and the servant.]

      Courtier. Vasantasenā! Stop, stop! Ah, why should fear transform your tenderness? Why should the dainty feet feel such distress, That twinkle in the dance so prettily? Why should your eyes, thus startled into fear, Dart sidelong looks? Why, like the timid deer Before pursuing hunters, should you flee?17

      Sansthānaka. Shtop,[31] Vasantasenā, shtop! Why flee? and run? and shtumble in your turning? Be kind! You shall not die. Oh, shtop your feet! With love, shweet girl, my tortured heart is burning. As on a heap of coals a piece of meat.18

      [10.2 S.

      Servant. Stop, courtezan, stop! In