Part 7 (2/2)

This:

(_They sing_.)

_Play blooms in flower and ripens in fruit In the suns.h.i.+ne of eternal youth.

Play bursts up in the blood-red fire, and licks into ashes the decaying and the dead._

Our Dada's objection was about this play.

_Dada_

Shall I tell you the reason why?

Yes, Dada, you may tell us, but we shan't promise to listen.

_Dada_

Here it is:

_Time is the capital of work, And Play is its defalcation.

Play rifles the house, and then wastes its spoil, Therefore the wise call it worse than useless._

_Chandra_

But surely, Dada, you are talking nonsense. Time itself is Play.

Its only object is Pas-time.

_Dada_

Then what is Work?

_Chandra_

Work is the dust raised by the pa.s.sing of Time.

_Dada_

Leader, you must give us your answers.

_Leader_

No. I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another.

That is my leaders.h.i.+p.

_Dada_

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