Part 25 (1/2)

_Maitreya._ What sort of ascetic exercises does a man have to perform, in order to be born as Vasantasena's brother? But no,

He may be s.h.i.+ny, may be greasy, And perfumed may he be.

And yet I warn you to go easy; He's a graveyard champak-tree. 29

[_He looks in another direction._] But madam, who is that in the expansive garment, sitting on the throne? She has shoes on her greasy feet.

[72.9. S.

_Maid._ Sir, that is my mistress' mother.

_Maitreya._ Lord! What an extensive belly the dirty old witch has got! I suppose they couldn't put that superb portal on the house till after they had brought the idol in?

_Maid._ Rascal! You must not make fun of our mother so. She is pining away under a quartan ague.

_Maitreya._ [_Bursts out laughing._] O thou blessed quartan ague!

Look thou upon a Brahman, even upon me, with this thy favor!

_Maid._ Rascal! May death strike you.

_Maitreya._ [_Bursts out laughing._] Why, wench, a pot-belly like that is better dead.

Drinking brandy, rum, and wine, Mother fell extremely ill.

If mother now should peak and pine, A jackal-pack would have its fill. 30

Well, I have seen Vasantasena's palace with its many incidents and its eight courts, and really, it seems as if I had seen the triple heaven in a nut-sh.e.l.l. I haven't the eloquence to praise it. Is this the house of a courtezan, or a piece of Kubera's[57] palace? Where's your mistress?

_Maid._ She is here in the orchard. Enter, sir.

_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! What a beautiful orchard!

There are any number of trees planted here, and they are covered with the most wonderful flowers. Silken swings are hung under the thick-set trees, just big enough for a girl to sit in. The golden jasmine, the shephalika, the white jasmine, the jessamine, the navamallika, the amaranth, the spring creeper, and all the other flowers have fallen of themselves, and really, it makes Indra's heaven look dingy. [_He looks in another direction._] And the pond here looks like the morning twilight, for the lilies and red lotuses are as splendid as the rising sun. And again:

The ashoka-tree, whose twigs so merry And crimson flowers have just appeared, Seems like a battling mercenary, With clotting crimson gore besmeared. 31

Good! Now where's your mistress?

P. 126.7]

_Maid._ If you would stop star-gazing, sir, you would see her.

_Maitreya._ [_Perceives Vasantasena and approaches._] Heaven bless you!

_Vasantasena._ [_Speaking in Sanskrit._[58]] Ah, Maitreya! [_Rising._] You are very welcome. Here is a seat. Pray be seated.

_Maitreya._ When you are seated, madam. [_They both seat themselves._]

_Vasantasena._ Is the merchant's son well?

_Maitreya._ Well, madam.

_Vasantasena._ Tell me, good Maitreya,