[S’]AKOONTALA.

Ever since that happy moment, my heart’s affections have been fixed upon him, and my energies of mind and body have all deserted me, as you see.

KING. [With rapture.

Her own lips have uttered the words I most longed to hear.

  Love lit the flame, and Love himself allays
  My burning fever, as when gathering clouds
  Rise o’er the earth in summer’s dazzling noon,
  And grateful showers dispel the morning heat.

[S’]AKOONTALA.

You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some means by which I may find favour with the King, or you will have ere long to assist at my funeral.

KING.

Enough!  These words remove all my doubts.

PRIYAMVADA. [Aside to ANASUYA.

She is far gone in love, dear Anasuya, and no time ought to be lost.  Since she has fixed her affections on a monarch who is the ornament of Puru’s line, we need not hesitate for a moment to express our approval.

ANASUYA.

I quite agree with you.

PRIYAMVADA. [Aloud.

We wish you joy, dear [S’]akoontala.  Your affections are fixed on an object in every respect worthy of you,.  The noblest river will unite itself to the ocean, and the lovely Madhavi-creeper clings naturally to the Mango, the only tree capable of supporting it.

KING.

Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Vi[s’]akha pines to be united with the Moon[53]?

ANASUYA.

By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend the
accomplishment of her heart’s desire both speedily and secretly?

PRIYAMVADA.

The latter point is all we have to think about.  As to ‘speedily,’
I look upon the whole affair as already settled.

ANASUYA.

How so?

PRIYAMVADA.

Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by the tender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he has become the last few days, as if he had been lying awake thinking of her?

KING. [Looking at himself.

Quite true!  I certainly am becoming thin from want of sleep: 

  As night by night in anxious thought I raise
  This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head,
  My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears
  That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams,
  Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist. 
  Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain;
  So easily it spans the fleshless limb
  That e’en the rough and corrugated skin,
  Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall[54].

PRIYAMVADA.

An idea strikes me, Anasuya.  Let [S’]akoontala write a love-letter; I will conceal it in a flower, and contrive to drop it in the King’s path.  He will surely mistake it for the remains of some sacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick it up.