Chitra
WHY do you watch me like that, my warrior?
Arjuna
I watch how you weave that garland. Skill and grace, the twin
brother and sister, are dancing playfully on your finger tips. I
am watching and thinking.
Chitra
What are you thinking, sir?
Arjuna
I am thinking that you, with this same lightness of touch and
sweetness, are weaving my days of exile into an immortal wreath,
to crown me when I return home.
Chitra
Home! But this love is not for a home!
Arjuna
Not for a home?
Chitra
No. Never talk of that. Take to your home what is abiding and
strong. Leave the little wild flower where it was born; leave it
beautifully to die at the day's end among all fading blossoms and
decaying leaves. Do not take it to your palace hall to fling it
on the stony floor which knows no pity for things that fade and
are forgotten.
Arjuna
Is ours that kind of love?
Chitra
Yes, no other! Why regret it? That which was meant for idle
days should never outlive them. Joy turns into pain when the
door by which it should depart is shut against it. Take it and
keep it as long as it lasts. Let not the satiety of your evening
claim more than the desire of your morning could earn. . . . The
day is done. Put this garland on. I am tired. Take me in your
arms, my love. Let all vain bickerings of discontent die away at
the sweet meeting of our lips.
Arjuna
Hush! Listen, my beloved, the sound of prayer bells from the
distant village temple steals upon the evening air across the
silent trees!