The Little Clay Cart by Sudraka (best classic romance novels TXT) 📕
But a spirit so powerful as that of King Shudraka could not be confined within the strait-jacket of the minute, and sometimes puerile, rules of the technical works. In the very title of the drama, he has disregarded the rule[11] that the name of a drama of invention should be formed by compounding the names of heroine and hero.[12] Again, the books prescribe[13] that the hero shall appear in every act; yet Charudatta does not appear in acts ii., iv., vi., and viii. And further, various characters, Vasantasena, Maitreya, the courtier, and others, have vastly gained because they do not conform too closely to the technical definitions.
The characters of The Little Clay Cart are living men and women. Even when the type makes no strong appeal to Western minds, as in the case of Charudatta, the character lives, in a sense in which Dushyanta[14] or even Rama[15] can
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Chārudatta. True.
The moon gives place to darkness as she dips
Behind the western mountain; and the tips
Of her uplifted horns alone appear,
Like two sharp-pointed tusks uplifted clear,
Where bathes an elephant in waters cool,
Who shows naught else above the jungle pool.6
P. 89.1]
Maitreya. Well, here is our house. Vardhamānaka, Vardhamānaka, open the door!
Vardhamānaka. I hear Maitreya's voice. Chārudatta has returned. I must open the door for him. [He does so.] Master, I salute you. Maitreya, I salute you too. The couch is ready. Pray be seated. [Chārudatta and Maitreya enter and seat themselves.]
Maitreya. Vardhamānaka, call Radanikā to wash our feet.
Chārudatta. [Compassionately.] She sleeps. Do not wake her.
Vardhamānaka. I will bring the water, Maitreya, and you may wash Chārudatta's feet.
Maitreya. [Angrily.] Look, man. He acts like the son of a slave that he is, for he is bringing water. But he makes me wash your feet, and I am a Brahman.
Chārudatta. Good Maitreya, do you bring the water, and Vardhamānaka shall wash my feet.
Vardhamānaka. Yes, Maitreya. Do you bring the water. [Maitreya does so. Vardhamānaka washes Chārudatta's feet, then moves away.]
Chārudatta. Let water be brought for the Brahman's feet.
Maitreya. What good does water do my feet? I shall have to roll in the dirt again, like a beaten ass.
Vardhamānaka. Maitreya, you are a Brahman.
Maitreya. Yes, like a slow-worm among all the other snakes, so am I a Brahman among all the other Brahmans.
Vardhamānaka. Maitreya, I will wash your feet after all. [He does so.] Maitreya, this golden casket I was to keep by day, you by night. Take it.[He gives it to Maitreya, then exit.
Maitreya. [Receiving the casket.] The thing is here still. Isn't there a single thief in Ujjayinī to steal the wretch that robs me of my sleep? Listen. I am going to take it into the inner court.
[46.1. S.
Chārud.
If we are trusted by a courtezan,
Then, Brahman, prove yourself an honest man,
And guard it safely, till it be restored.7
[He nods, repeating the stanza "The melody of song, the stricken strings:" page 44.]
Maitreya. Are you going to sleep?
Chārudatta. Yes, so it seems.
For conquering sleep, descending on mine eyes,
First smites the brow with unresisted blow;
Unseen, elusive, like old age, she tries
To gather strength by weakening her foe.8
Maitreya. Then let's go to sleep. [He does so.]
[Enter Sharvilaka.[45]]
Sharv.
By force of art and arms, a path to deeds!
I skinned my sides by crawling on the ground,
Like a snake that sloughs the skin no longer sound:
And now I go where my profession leads.9
[He gazes at the sky. Joyfully.] See! The blessèd moon is setting. For well I know,
My trade would fain from watchmen's eyes be shrouded;
Valiant, I force the dwelling of another.
But see, the stars in deepest dark are clouded,
And the night shields me like a careful mother.10
I made a breach in the orchard wall and entered. And now I must force my way into the inner court as well.
Yes, let men call it vulgar, if they will,
The trade that thrives while sleeps the sleepyhead;
Yes, knavery, not bravery, call it still,
To overreach confiding folk a-bed.
P. 86.9]
Far better blame and hissing, fairly won.
Than the pay of genuflecting underlings;
This antique path was trod by Drona's son,
Who slew the sleeping, unsuspecting kings.11
But where shall I make the breach?
Where is the spot which falling drops decayed?
For each betraying sound is deadened there.
No yawning breach should in the walls be made,
So treatises on robbery declare.
Where does the palace crumble? Where the place
That niter-eaten bricks false soundness wear?
Where shall I 'scape the sight of woman's face?
Fulfilment of my wishes waits me there.12
[He feels the wall.] Here is a spot weakened by constant sun and sprinkling and eaten by saltpeter rot. And here is a pile of dirt thrown up by a mouse. Now heaven be praised! My venture prospers. This is the first sign of success for Skanda's[46] sons. Now first of all, how shall I make the breach? The blessèd Bearer of the Golden Lance[47] has prescribed four varieties of breach, thus: if the bricks are baked, pull them out; if they are unbaked, cut them; if they are made of earth, wet them; if they are made of wood, split them. Here we have baked bricks; ergo, pull out the bricks.
A "lotus," "cistern," "crescent moon," or "sun"?
"Oblong," or "cross," or "bulging pot"? for each
The treatises permit. Which one? which one?
And where shall I display my sovereign skill,
That in the morning men may wonder still?13
In this wall of baked bricks, the "bulging pot" would be effective. I will make that.
[47.16. S.
And at my less successful ventures too,
The crowd of neighbors gazed by morning light,
Assigning praise or blame, as was my due.14
Praise to the boon-conferring god, to Skanda of immortal youth! Praise to him, the Bearer of the Golden Lance, the Brahman's god, the pious! Praise to him, the Child of the Sun! Praise to him, the teacher of magic, whose first pupil I am! For he found pleasure in me and gave me magic ointment,
No watchman's eye my form shall see;
And edged sword that falls on me
From cruel wounds shall leave me free.15
[He anoints himself.] Alas, I have forgotten my measuring line. [Reflecting.] Aha! This sacred cord[48] shall be my measuring line. Yes, the sacred cord is a great blessing to a Brahman, especially to one like me. For, you see,
And picks the lock, when jewels are at stake.
It serves as key to bolted door and hall,
As tourniquet for bite of worm and snake.16
The measuring is done. I begin my task. [He does so, then takes a look.] My breach lacks but a single brick. Alas, I am bitten by a snake. [He binds his finger with the sacred cord, and manifests the workings of poison.] I have applied the remedy, and now I am restored. [He continues his work, then gazes.] Ah, there burns a candle. See!
Though jealous darkness hems it round,
The golden-yellow candle from its place
Shines through the breach upon the ground,
Like a streak of gold upon the touchstone's face.17
P. 87.9]
[He returns to his work.] The breach is finished. Good! I enter. But no, I will not enter yet. I will shove a dummy in. [He does so.] Ah, no one is there. Praise be to Skanda! [He enters and looks about.] See! Two men asleep. Come, for my own protection I will open the door. But the house is old and the door squeaks. I must look for water. Now where might water be? [He looks about, finds water, and sprinkles the door. Anxiously.] I hope it will not fall upon the floor and make a noise. Come, this is the way. [He puts his back against the door and opens it cautiously.] Good! So much for that. Now I must discover whether these two are feigning sleep, or whether they are asleep in the fullest meaning of the term. [He tries to terrify them, and notes the effect.] Yes, they must be asleep in the fullest meaning of the term. For see!
Its regularity all fear defies.
Unmoving in their socket-holes, the eyes
Are tightly closed, and never seem to wink.
The limbs relaxed, at ease the bodies lie,
I see their feet beyond the bedstead peep,
The lighted candle vexes not the eye;
It would, if they were only feigning sleep.18
[He looks about him.] What! a drum? And here is a flute. And here, a snare-drum. And here, a lute. And reed-pipes. And yonder, manuscripts. Is this the house of a dancing-master? But no! When I entered, I was convinced that this was a palatial residence. Now then, is this man poor in the fullest meaning of the term, or, from fear of the king or of thieves, does he keep his property buried? Well, my own property is buried, too. But I will scatter the seeds that betray subterranean gold. [He does so.] The scattered seeds nowhere swell up. Ah, he is poor in the fullest meaning of the term. Good! I go.
Maitreya. [Talking in his sleep.] Look, man. I see something like a hole in the wall. I see something like a thief. You had better take this golden casket.
[49.7. S
Sharvilaka. I wonder if the man has discovered that I have entered, and is showing off his poverty in order to make fun of me. Shall I kill him, or is the poor devil talking in his sleep? [He takes a look.] But see! This thing wrapped in a ragged bath-clout, now that I inspect it by the light of my candle, is in truth a jewel-casket Suppose I take it. But no! It is hardly proper to rob a man of good birth, who is as poor as I am. I go.
Maitreya. My friend, by the wishes of cows and Brahmans[49] I conjure you to take this golden casket.
Sharvilaka. One may not disregard the sacred wish of a cow and the wish of a Brahman. I will take it. But look! There burns the candle. I keep about me a moth for the express purpose of extinguishing candles. I will let him enter the flame. This is his place and hour. May this moth which I here release, depart to flutter above the flame in varying circles. The breeze from the insect's wings has translated the flame into accursèd darkness. Or shall I not rather curse the darkness brought by me upon my Brahmanic family? For my father was a man who knew the four Vedas, who would not accept a gift; and I, Sharvilaka, his son, and a Brahman, I am committing a crime for the sake of that courtezan girl Madanikā. Now I will grant the Brahman's wish. [He reaches out for the casket.]
Maitreya. How cold your fingers are, man!
Sharvilaka. What carelessness! My fingers are cold from touching water. Well, I will put my hand in my armpit [He warms his left hand and takes the casket.]
Maitreya. Have you got it?
Sharvilaka. I could not refuse a Brahman's request. I have it.
P. 80.9]
Maitreya. Now I shall sleep as peacefully as a merchant who has sold his wares.
Sharvilaka. O great Brahman, sleep a hundred years! Alas that a Brahman family should thus be plunged in darkness for the sake of Madanikā, a courtezan! Or better, I myself am thus plunged in darkness.
A curse on poverty, I say!
'T is stranger to the manly will;
This act that shuns the light of day
I curse indeed, but do it still.19
Well then, I must go to Vasantasenā's house to buy Madanikā's freedom. [He walks about and looks around him.] Ah, I
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