_Kishôr_
No, no, I shall be rash and defy their blows. My homage shall be my
daily triumph.
[_Goes._
(_Professor comes in._)
_Professor_
Nandini!
_Nandini_
Yes, Professor!
_Professor_
Why do you come and startle one, now and again, and then pass by?
Since you awaken a cry in our hearts, what harm if you stop a moment
in answer to it? Let us talk a little.
_Nandini_
What need have you of me?
_Professor_
If you talk of need, look over there!--You’ll see our tunnel-diggers
creeping out of the holes like worms, with loads of things of need.
In this Yaksha Town all our treasure is of gold, the secret treasure
of the dust. But the gold which is you, beautiful one, is not of the
dust, but of the light which never owns any bond.
_Nandini_
Over and over again you say this to me. What makes you wonder at me
so, Professor?
_Professor_
The sunlight gleaming through the forest thickets surprises nobody,
but the light that breaks through a cracked wall is quite a different
thing. In Yaksha Town, you are this light that startles. Tell me,
what d’you think of this place?
_Nandini_
It puzzles me to see a whole city thrusting its head underground,
groping with both hands in the dark. You dig tunnels in the
underworld and come out with dead wealth that the earth has kept
buried for ages past.
_Professor_
The _Jinn_ of that dead wealth we invoke. If we can enslave him the
whole world lies at our feet.
_Nandini_
Then again, you hide your king behind a wall of netting. Is it for
fear of people finding out that he’s a man?
_Professor_
As the ghost of our dead wealth is fearfully potent so is our ghostly
royalty, made hazy by this net, with its inhuman power to frighten
people.
_Nandini_
All you say is a kind of made-up talk.
_Professor_
Of course made-up. The naked is without a credential, it’s the
made-up clothes that define us. It delights me immensely to discuss
philosophy with you.
_Nandini_
That’s strange! You who burrow day and night in a mass of yellow
pages, like your diggers in the bowels of the earth,--why waste your
time on me?
_Professor_
The privilege of wasting time proves one’s wealth of time. We poor
drudges are insects in a hole in this solid toil, you are the evening
star in the rich sky of leisure. When we see you, our wings grow
restless. Come to my room. For a moment allow me to be reckless in my
waste of time.
_Nandini_
No, not now. I have come to see your king, in _his_ room.
_Professor_
How can you enter through the screen?
_Nandini_