_Professor_
The King, probably in a temper with himself, is engaged in breaking
some of his own handiwork.
_Antiquarian_
It sounds like big pillars crashing down one after another.
_Professor_
There was a lake, at the foot of our hill over there, in which the
waters of this Sankhini river used to gather. One day, suddenly,
the rock to its left gave way, and the stored-up water rushed out
laughing like mad. To see the King nowadays, it strikes me that his
treasure lake has grown weary of its rock wall.
_Antiquarian_
What did you bring me here for, Professor?
_Professor_
Latterly he has begun to get angry with my science. He says it
only burgles through one wall to reveal another behind it, and
never reaches the inner chamber of the Life spirit. I thought that,
perhaps in the study of antiquity, he might explore the secret of
Life’s play. My knapsack has been rifled empty, now he can go on
pocket-picking history.
Do you see who that is passing by?
_Antiquarian_
A girl wearing a grass-green robe.
_Professor_
She has for her mantle the green joy of the earth. That is our
Nandini. In this Yaksha Town there are governors, foremen,
headmen, tunnel-diggers, scholars like myself; there are policemen,
executioners, and undertakers,--altogether a beautiful assortment!
Only _she_ is out of element. Midst the clamour of the market place
she is a tuned-up lyre. There are days when the mesh of my studies is
torn by the sudden breeze of her passing by, and through that rent my
attention flies away _swish_, like a bird.
_Antiquarian_
Good heavens, man! Are even your well-seasoned bones subject to these
poetic fits?
_Professor_
Life’s attraction, like the tidal wave, tears away mind from its
anchorage of books.
_Antiquarian_
Tell me, where am I to meet the King?
_Professor_
There’s no means of meeting him. You’ll have to talk to him from
outside this network.
_Antiquarian_
We’re to converse with this net between us?
_Professor_
Not the kind of whispered talk that may take place through a woman’s
veil, but solidly concentrated conversation. Even the cows in his
stall don’t dare to give milk, they yield their butter straight off!
_Antiquarian_
Admirable! To extract the essential from the diluted, is what
scholars aim at.
_Professor_
But not what God in His creation aims at. He respects the fruit
stones that are hard, but rejoices in the pulp that is sweet.
_Antiquarian_
Professor, I see that your grey science is galloping fast towards
grass-green. But I wonder how you can stand this King of yours.
_Professor_
Shall I tell you the truth? I love him.
_Antiquarian_
You don’t mean to say so?
_Professor_
He is so great that even what is wrong with him will not be able to
spoil him.
(_The Governor comes in._)
_Governor_
I say, man of science, so this is the person you volunteered to bring
here. Our King flew into a passion at the very mention of his special
subject.
_Antiquarian_
May I ask why?
_Governor_
The King says there is no age of history which may be called old. It
is always an eternal extension of the present.
_Antiquarian_
Can the front exist without the back?
_Governor_
What he said was: “Time proceeds by revealing the new on his front;
but the men of learning, suppressing that fact, will have it that
Time ever carries the burden of the old on his back.”
(_Nandini comes in hurriedly._)
_Nandini_
What is happening? Who are they?
_Governor_
Hallo, Nandini, is that you? I shall wear your _kunda_ chain late in
the evening. When three-quarters of me can hardly be seen for the
dark, then perchance a flower garland might become even me.
_Nandini_
Look over there--what a piteous sight! Who are those people, going
along with the guards, filing out from the back door of the King’s
apartments?
_Governor_
We call them the King’s leavings.
_Nandini_
What does that mean?
_Governor_
Some day you too will know its meaning; let it be for to-day.
_Nandini_
But are these men? Have they flesh and marrow, life and soul?
_Governor_
Maybe they haven’t.
_Nandini_
Had they never any?
_Governor_
Maybe they had.
_Nandini_
Where then is it all gone now?
_Governor_
Man of science, explain it if you can, I’m off.
[_He goes._
_Nandini_
Alas, alas! I see amongst these shadows faces that I know. Surely
that is our Anup and Upamanyu?
Professor, they belong to our neighbouring village. Two brothers as
tall as they were strong. They used to come and race their boats in
our river on the fourteenth day of the moon in rainy June. Oh, who
has brought them to this miserable plight?
See, there goes Shaklu,--in sword play he used to win the prize
garland before all the others. Anu-up! Shaklu-u! look this way; it’s
I, your Nandini, Nandin of Isháni, your very next village. They
won’t even raise their heads--heads lowered for ever!
Who is that? Surely, it is Kanku! Ah misery me! Even a boy like him
has been chewed dry and thrown away a piece of sugar cane. He was a
very shy lad. He would sit by the sloping side of the river landing
where I used to go and fetch water, pretending he had come to gather
reeds for making arrows. How often have I mischievously teased him.
Kanku, look back at me! Alas, he whose blood would dance in his veins
at a mere sign from me, now leaves my call unanswered.
Gone, gone, all the lights of our village are gone out! Professor,
the steel is all eaten away, only the dark rust remains,--however did
this happen?
_Professor_
Nandini, your notice happens to be attracted towards the ashes, but
turn your eyes towards the flame, and you will behold the brilliance
of its writhing tongues.
_Nandini_