Sandhya
BY G. SANKARA KURUP
(Rendered from Malayalam by Prof. K. R. Pisharoti)
Scene I
(On the slope of the Sunset Mount. Enter Taraka,
Smiling)
Taraka
Here has the noble Sandhya promised to meet me. The
saintly Divasa will have his suspicions roused if he were to meet me. In this love affair my lord Akasa is the
rival of that fiery spirit.
Fie upon Aja's indiscretion! His lovely daughter,
created out of his ideal, he made the spouse of Divasa. A bouquet is an
ornament, it is a joy; it isn’t a broom to clean with. I shall await her here
some time longer.
Yonder comes Sandhya! No wonder that my lord is
lost in love over this sprout of loveliness! This timid, sweet form must have
been made of soft lustre.
Carrying in her left arm the flower-basket of the
earth’s blue orb, and radiating golden lustre all around, here comes from the
slope of the Sun-rise Mount, Sandhya, the fairest of the fair, swaying in her
sighs, her blue, glossy-laced veil falling away from her glorious forehead, and
her loosened cloud-like tresses hanging gracefully on her body!
Welcome to my dear Sandhya!
Sandhya
Good luck to my friend! I’m a little late. What’s
it, Taraka? I don’t understand the meaning of your laugh.
Taraka
(To herself) My bashful friend has not noticed my master Akasa,
observing her from afar. There the mere vision of my friend creates a flush on
the emaciated, pale face of the love-lorn lover. His love, which lay dormant in
the ashes of disappointment, has now lept into flame! (Aloud) Nothing, madam, nothing. Do stand thus for a moment.
Sandhya
(Her face more
flushed than usual) I must be
going. You are making fun of me, aren’t you?
Taraka
Pardon me, Madam, I was afraid that you would put
back to its place the golden silk Uttariya,
slipping from your bosom. Insult not thy breasts which possess the hue of champaka flowers. Do stand thus for a
while. (To herself) May my master’s
thirsty, drooping eyes at least realise the fruit of their existence!
Sandhya
Flattery is deceit, double-edged deceit. It wounds
the hearts alike of the hearer and of the speaker.
Taraka
All praise is, indeed, an insult to this maddening
loveliness divine. Look into thy green flower basket: lost in amazement, the
beautiful flowers are glancing at you, with their blossomed faces and their
hopeful, throbbing petal-lips.
Sandhya
(Suppressing a
smile) Love’s messenger,
indeed, thou art!
The messenger of truth am I, the adorer of beauty;
and plain is my speech.
Sandhya
Yes, thou art poetry, the lie charming.
Taraka
Poetry is truth, real and beautiful. To make it
more attractive and appealing, a thin veil of untruth is resorted to, when
other means fail. Even Heaven’s Creator, who is truth personified, seeks the
help of illusion.
Sandhya
Beaten am I. Indeed, love’s messenger art thou.
Taraka
When thou movest thy tender fingers, the heart of
time throbs; when thy charming face is visualised, even the southern breeze
becomes maddened and the flushed waves of the ocean dance, adorned with
garlands of foam. My lord Akasa has become pale through you. Friend, I do not
wonder. The creator of the universe went into contemplation for long to create
thy form.
Sandhya
(To herself) Why this flutter of heart for no reason? (Looks up, sees Akasa and feels abashed) Ha,
he…….the dark handsome figure appears pale and emaciated! (Sighing) O, my heart, be still. Oh speech, help me to hide my
emotions. Vain is it. Would not my flushed face reveal the secret of my heart?
Taraka
(With a smile)
Why this tremour of the body? Why
this deep breath?
Sandhya
(Pale with
emotion) I am going to the
hermitage. I never thought that my mute emotions would invent a medium of
expression and betray me.
Taraka
If thou wilt imprison truth for fear of breach of
custom, it cannot contain itself there. If it is not released, great will be
the retribution.
Sandhya
My heart’s secret treasure thou hast opened out
with a false key. Vain, however, is thy effort. Thy master I cannot love; it is
improper even to see him. (She sighs and
pats down with her palm the flowers dancing in the flower basket).
Taraka
Lady, if thou desirest……..
My stern lord who is wrought in lustre, thou
knowest not well.
Why waste this golden life in collecting flowers
for the ritual of that ash-smeared lord–a life purer than rituals and fairer
than flowers?
Sandhya
Purity is life.
Taraka
Renunciation is death, it’s negation of life. Why
dost thou stand trembling, lost in thought? The golden wings of opportunity do
not always come into our hands. Reject not the happiness that has, of its own
accord, come unto you.
Sandhya
Let us separate. Thou hast given cyclonic wings to
my passion, and its speed will blast the lives of thy master and myself. Let us
separate. (Listening) I hear the
voice of my lord, of Sattvik temperament
and of lustrous form, repeating the sacred names of the Lord Divine, as he
returns after his bath. Haste, haste thee away. If his suspicions are roused,
thou wilt be reduced to ashes.
Well, in the western horizon shall we meet. The
saint must, after his Dhyana, be
repairing to the sacred western waters. (Taraka
suddenly disappears, as if in fear, and Akasa recedes further and further
backwards).
Sandhya
Fear encompasses my heart, as frost does the
lotus-bud. Why dost that dark form dance again before my eyes? To the brink of Adharma has Taraka dragged me, who am
blinded by passion. How shall I get back? 1 feel giddy: I’m swooning,
swooning......
Scene II
(Enter Akasa shrouded in
Tiraskarini, receding)
Akasa
What a fiery lustre! Yonder is that saint.
Besmeared with ashes, his body seems blazing; his grey beard of rays is grown
longer. In his hand is the lotus, plucked for his puja. Shrouded in Tiraskarini
am I, yet I am hesitant, am afraid…How to get away from this place? I must
reach somewhere far away and there spend my anxious hours, contemplating the
delightful form of Sandhya, the glorious music of which still echoes through
the veins of my heart.
(Enter Divasa)
Divasa
I never thought that the Unborn would be so kind
towards me. The father of the Universe has offered unto me, rejecting the suit
of Akasa, his daughter to be my consort in the discharge of my Dharma,–his Daughter Sandhya, the visible form of idealised beauty,
born of his mind! Since the benign Sandhya’s arrival, the hermitage is rich in
flowers, and my penance flourishes. I know that her heart is purer and fairer
than flowers; yet am I afraid. Pure water becomes more easily contaminated; the
tenderest flower drops more easily. Is she not Taraka, the confidante of Akasa? Why should she have come here? The moment she
saw me, stepping up the horizon after my bath, she disappeared hurriedly. (His face begins to throb.) No, I shan’t
suspect my noble Sandhya. Suspicion is love’s suicide. Once inside the heart,
it pains and wounds, whenever it stirs. Pure is the daughter of Brahma; she is
bliss ecstatic; she is the light of release....What is this? The flower-basket
with the flowers collected lies stride the door! Where is Sandhya? (His face becomes sterner.) She is in the
hermitage, and yet she does not face me. She is lost in thought. Why this
temerity, this fear? (Looks on all sides
with fiery eyes. In sheer fear the air stands still and the flowers shrivel
up). What, lust poisons divine loveliness? Alas, this golden fish has been
caught in Akasa’s fishing rod of love-pleadings. Now she can only struggle and
die there, nothing more. (Heaves a sigh.
Proceeds to the western horizon slowly lost in thought the Sun-lotus drops from
his hand.)
(The western horizon.The lover
Akasa, his face flushed, awaits at the
rendezvous)
Hope is the elixir of life. It has warmed up my
cold and benumbed veins; my disappointed desires have become strong and mobile.
But how this may end, I know not. As the lightning flash of sensuous enjoyment
rends through the cloud of fickle mind, the whirlwind of passion drives me on
to some height, I am afraid. Happen what may. That darkness follows is no
reason for giving up the light in front. If there be no union with my beloved
Sandhya, my greatness is a meaningless void.
Why does Taraka not turn up? When the saint repairs
for his evening bath, she would be brought here–that was her promise. Anxiety
is, indeed, intensely sweet pain. Could Taraka be playing false with me?
Moments come awakening hope, but fly away deceiving.......
No. Yonder she comes leading my queen and pointing
her shivering fair finger at me. (His
ashy face becomes flushed.) Ha! My heart rushes at her; quick is the march
of passion.
(Enter Sandhya, followed by Taraka)
Taraka
My lord, my friend is afraid of Adharma. The natural flush of her body
is reddened by the toil of the journey. (To
Sandhya) Exceedingly considerate is my lord. Rest here. I shall await you
in the cloud-bower. (Smilingly
disappears)
Sandhya
Taraka, I am alone. Ha, what have you gone
away? I am also coming
Akasa
(Catches hold
of the ends of her Uttariya) Noble lady, wait. Very tired art thou. Rest for a while. I shall
accompany thee as far as the hermitage. (Embraces
her).
Sandhya
Desist, desist!
Akasa
This face of thine, with its crescent mark fading
and disappearing, let me raise up once. This beautiful body, similar unto the champaka flower, let me just feel. My
beloved shivers, swoons, and, like the lotus drooping on to the blue waters,
she leans and lies on my breast, her golden garment falling off of its own
accord.
Release me, release. The senses have learnt only to
covet, but not to be satisfied. Like frost in the rays of the Sun, I melt away
in this bliss ecstatic. Release me, release.
Akasa
Unquenchable is this thirst of passion roused in my
mind. I must sip and drink this divine
elixir of loveliness: pour unto me this balm for a while. (Listening) What is this dreadful sound? Is it the ocean’s roar?
There! (Taraka falls prostrate in
terror.)
Sandhya
Ha, my friend, we are undone. It isn’t the roar of
the ocean; it’s the sound of the noble soul’s curse. These are the meshes which
vicious natural tendency has spread, to see life writhing in agony, using the
bait of unmoral pleasures to attract, catch and wound it.
Akasa
The price that enjoyment demands of life is beyond
its capacity to pay. Don’t, don’t despair, my love.
Sandhya
Ha, my lord’s face is become pale!
Akasa
Alas, my beloved’s body, lovely like the champaka flower, becomes transformed
into stone-darkness. Those timid lips move to utter something, but no sound
escapes. Like beautiful truth in untutored minds, like feeble light in
expanding smoke, how long is she to lie in this curse?….What is this? Eyes
begin to appear throughout my body! Or, this is no curse for me: it is a
blessing. Even a thousand eyes are not enough for me to bemoan and cry over the
eternal calamity that has befallen my beloved at my instance.
Sandhya, the noble light of my soul, has become now
stone-dark and here stand I mute with a thousand lotus eyes, filled with tears.
In this helpless condition, what else can I do but weep? Wretched is my life,
it has become void. If that angry stern saint were not a volcano, how could
that rushing lava of a curse flowing from his mouth convert that delightful
form into dark stone? These are not eyes, on my body, but so many glowing
sparks emitted from that wretched curse. That terrific anger of the saint–may
it for ever and ever blaze forth unquenched in my heart! This delightful form
divine, the beneficence of all the three worlds, to lie indistinguishable from
dead stone–this thought like poison courses through my veins; I am benumbed, I
swoon. Ha, my beloved Sandhya.......
(Falls into a swoon)
Curtain