Page:Little Clay Cart (Ryder 1905).djvu/206

170 But see, my belovèd!

My blood-red garment seems a bridegroom's cloak,

Death's garland seems to me a bridal wreath;

My love is near.

And marriage music seems the fatal stroke

Of drums that heralded my instant death;

For she is here.

Vasantasenā. You with your utter kindliness, what can it be that you have done?

Chārudatta. My belovèd, he said that I had killed you.

For ancient hatred's sake, my mighty foe,

Hell's victim now, had almost laid me low.

Vasantasenā. [Stopping her ears.] Heaven avert the omen! It was he, the king's brother-in-law, who killed me.

Chārudatta. [Perceiving the monk.] But who is this?

Vasantasenā. When that unworthy wretch had killed me, this worthy man brought me back to life.

Chārudatta. Who are you, unselfish friend?

Monk. You do not remember me, sir. I am that shampooer, who once was happy to rub your feet. When I fell into the hands of certain gamblers, this sister in Buddha, upon hearing that I had been your servant, bought my freedom with her jewels. Thereupon I grew tired of the gambler's life, and became a Buddhist monk. Now this lady made a mistake in her bullock-cart, and so came to the old garden Pushpakaranda. But when that unworthy wretch learned that she would not love him, he murdered her by strangling. And I found her there.

Loud voices behind the scenes.

Unending victory to Shiva be,

Who Daksha's offering foiled;

And victory may Kārttikeya see,

Who Krauncha smote and spoiled;