SRI AUROBINDO
Collected Plays and Short Stories
Part Two
Bappa, Sungram. The Captain and Rajput soldiers, guarded by Bheels.
Ponder it, captain. Sungram, see the bearers
Released, but let those cowards first be scourged
Who put their lives above their lady's honour.
Give golden largess to the faithful four
And send them with a script. Let Edur know
That Bappa holds his cherished daughter fast
And frees her not save for a lakh of mohurs,
Her insufficient ransom. If it displease him,
Let him come here with all his fighting men
And take her from my grip. Word it to wound him
So that he shall come thundering up the hills
Incensed inexorably.
'Tis not my wont to slay my prisoners,
Who am a Rajpoot, and to pen you here
Eating your hearts away like prisoned lions
Were the world's loss and to myself no profit.
Take then your choice and either follow me
Or to your Edur back return unharmed.
Thou art a noble enemy, young chieftain;
But change thy boon; for I have lost my charge
Ingloriously and now can only entreat
The use of my own sword to avenge my honour
On its betrayer. Living I go not back
To Edur.
Soldier, thou art too scrupulous.
The wariest captain need not think it shame
To be surprised among these mountains. If Edur
Receive you not, follow my fortunes, Rajpoot.
I am as noble as the prince you serve,
And he who waits on Bappa's fateful star
May be more fortunate than kings.
Chieftain,
Save my old master's blood I serve no other
Than noble Edur.
Upon thy sword-hilt? Where hadst thou that weapon?
What moves thee thus? It is my father's sword,
Though who my father was, Fate hides from me.
I take thy offer, prince. I am thy soldier,
And all these men shall live and die for thee.
What dost thou, captain?
I have never swerved
From the high path of Rajpoot honour. Trust me,
Rajpoots.
Thou wast our chief in war and always
We found thee valiant, proud and honourable.
Convince us that we may transfer unshamed
Our falchions only stained with foemen's blood,
And still we'll follow thee.
I will convince you
At a fit season.
Know'st thou something, soldier,
That's hid from me?
Pardon my silence, chieftain.
All things have their own time to come to light.
I will expect my hour then and meanwhile
Think myself twice as great as yesterday
Whom your strong hands now serve. Come, friends, with me;
Resume your swords for yet more glorious use
In Bappa's service.
The road through the valley to Dongurh.
Toraman, Canaca, Hooshka and Scythians.
I know not what impelled these mountain-boars
To worry Death with their blunt tusks. This insult
I will revenge in kind at first, then take
A bloody reckoning.
Fegh! it was a trick even beyond my wits. To put a servant-girl on the throne of Cashmere! All Asia would have been one grin had the jest prospered.
They take us for barbarians
And thought such gross imposture good enough
To puzzle Scythian brains. But I'll so shame
The witty clowns, they shall hang down their waggish heads
While they are still allowed to live. You'll wed
A princess of the Rajpoots, Canaca?
I would prefer a haunch of Rajpoot venison any day; they have fat juicy stags in their mountains.
I give thee Edur's daughter. While I ride
With half my lances to our mountains, thou
Shalt ruffle round as Scythian Toraman
And wed the princess.
Shall I indeed?
Do you take me for a lettuce that you would have me sliced for a Rajpoot salad?
Oh, I'ld love to be a prince if only 
to comfort myself with one full meal in a lifetime; but an empty plebeian paunch is a more comfortable possession than a princely belly full of Rajpoot lances.
Why should they at all
Discover thee, dull fool? None know me here.
The Rana and his men have not received me.
No doubt the arrogant princeling scorned to eat
As host and guest with me in Edur; even to dine
With us is thought a soil! Therefore 'twas fixed
In this rare plot that I should ride from Dilsa
On a fool's errand. Well, it helps me now,
Though I'll avenge it fearfully. 'Tis feasible.
None know us, you are richer-robed than I,
And what's uncouth in you, they will put down
To Scythia's utter barbarousness, whose princes
Are boors and boors unhuman. Oh, 'twill work.
Will it? Well, so long as I keep my belly unprodded, 'tis a jest after my own heart.
And mine. These haughty Rajpoots think themselves
The only purity on earth; their girls
So excellent in Aryan chastity,
That without Rajpoot birth an emperor's wooing
Is held for insult. This they hoped to avenge
By foisting a baseborn light serving-wench
On the prince of all the North. How will they stare,
How gnash their teeth and go stark-mad with shame
When they discover their sweet cherished lily,
The pride of Rajasthan, they thought too noble
To lower herself to Cashmere's lofty throne,
Bedded with the court-jester of Cashmere,
Soiled by the embraces of a low buffoon
Who patters for a wage, her pride a jest,
Her purity a puddle and herself
The world's sole laughing-stock.
Hem! 'Twill be a jest for the centuries.
About it, then.
Feign to laugh off the insult put on you
And urge your suit. Bound by their trick that failed,
They must, though with great sullenness, consent;
And that's desirable: the shame will taste
A thousand times more bitter afterwards.
Have her by force, if they are obstinate;
But have her. Soon, be sure, I will be back
With an avenging host and ring in Edur
With loud assaults till I have crucified
King, queen and princess on her smoking ruins.
Exit with a number of Scythians.
Well then, I am Prince Toraman of Cashmere; remember that, villains. Or why not Prince Toraman-Canaca or Prince Canaca- Toraman? it is rounder and more satisfying to the mouth. Yet simple Prince Toraman has a chastity of its own and all the magnificence of Cashmere marches after it. Ho, slave! What sounds are those approaching my majesty? Send scouts and reconnoitre. Prince Toraman, the imperial son of Cashmere! It is a part I shall play with credit; nature made me for it of sufficient proportions and gave me a paunch imperial.
Prince Canaca-Toraman or Prince Toraman-Canaca or very simple Toraman, I hear tramp of men and the clang of armour. No doubt, the princess of Edur, thinking all safe by now, rides to Dongurh. Will you charge them and seize her?
To cover, thou incompetent captain, to cover. Hast thou learned war and knowest not the uses of ambush? We will hide, slave. See thou pokest not out that overlong nose of thine! Find thyself a branch big enough to cover it.
Humph! What signal shall we expect from your Majesty for the charge?
Prate not to me of signals! How lacking are thy dull soldier-wits in contrivance! If I jump down into the road and howl, you will all come jumping and howling after me; but if I run, you will catch hold of my tail and run too like the very devil. Nay, I have a rare notion of tactics. To cover, to cover!
They conceal themselves. Enter the Rao of
Ichalgurh, Ruttan and Rajpoots.
She has escaped me, or the Scythian has her.
We've held the road
Since dawn. The Scythian had the serving women.
I'm glad of it.
Will you pursue it farther?
Ambition only
Engaged me once to woo her; now my honour
Is deeply pledged.
The spur of chivalry
Suffers me not to yield a Rajpoot flower
To Scythian handling; nor could I refuse
A challenge to adventurous emprise
So fairly given. About, to Dongurh!
Brother,
The place is strong, nor we equipped for sieges.
I'll have her out even from that fortressed keeping
And set her in my crest at Ichalgurh
For gods to gaze at.
Canaca leaps down into the road brandishing a sword,
followed by Hooshka and his Scythians.
Ho Amitabha! Buddha for Cashmere!
Put up your skewers! Quiver not, ye wretches; steady, steady your quaking kneecaps. Though I have cause for anger, yet am I merciful. Ye would have robbed me of some very pretty property, but ye are mountain-thieves by nature and nurture and know no better. Therefore peace. Sleep in thy scabbard, thou dreadful servant of the wrath of Toraman; await a fitter subject than these carcasses. Courage, Rajpoots, you shall not die.
Who is your Mightiness?
I am the very formidable and valiant hero and Scythian, Toraman, 
prince of Cashmere.
Nevertheless, tremble not.
I am terrible to look at, but I have bowels; — ay, a whole paunchful of them.
You sought the Princess?
What, she has slipped through your most valiant fingers?
As if she had greased herself with butter. But I am going to Dongurh straight away to demand her and dinner.
Together then. We're comrades in her loss;
Why not allies to win her?
Am I to be so easily bamboozled? Wilt thou insult my cranium? Thou wouldst use my valiant and invincible sword to win her, thinking to steal her from me afterwards when I am not looking.
Who would dare
Defraud the formidable Toraman,
The valiant and heroic Scythian?
Well!
I am content; fall in behind me, mountaineers.
Ruttan, we'll keep an eye upon this Scythian.
His show of braggart folly hides, I fear,
A deal of knavishness.
Bappa's cot on the hillside.
Bappa, the Captain, Coomood, decorating the cot with flowers.
Where was she when you had the script from her?
Singing of battle on the rocks alone
With wrestling winds in her wild hair and raiment,
A joyous Oread.
Said she anything?
She gave it me with glad and smiling eyes
And laughed: “This for my noble Bheel, my sovereign
Of caterans, my royal beast of prey,
These to their mighty owners.”
Will you read it?
“Cateran, I have given thy captain letters which when thou hast read them, fail not to despatch. I have sent for teachers for thee to beat thee into modesty and lesson thee in better behaviour to a lady and princess — ”
What letters has she given thee, captain? These?
To Pratap, Rao of Ichalgurh; — and one
To Toraman the Scythian.
Deliver them.
Thou'lt find at Dongurh both these warlike princes.
Let me hear the rest.
“Cateran, I will show thee the sum of thy bold and flagitious offences, though I dare not to hope that it will make thee ashamed.
Thou hast laid injurious hands on a royal maiden, being thyself a mere Bheel and outlaw and of no parentage; thou hast carried me most violently to this thy inconsiderable and incommodious hut, treating the body of a princess as if it were a sack of potatoes; thou hast unmercifully and feloniously stripped my body with thy own rude Bheel hands of more ornaments than thou hast seen in thy lifetime and didst hurt me most cruelly in the deed, though thou vainly deniest it; thou hast compelled and dost yet compel me, the princess of Edur, by the infamous lack of women-servants in thy hut, to minister to thee, a common Bheel, menially with my own royal hands, so that my fingers are sore with scrubbing thy rusty sword which thou hast never used yet on anything braver than a hill-jackal, and my face is still red with leaning over the fire cooking thy most unroyal meals for thee; and to top these crimes, thou hast in thy robustious robber fashion taken a kiss from my lips without troubling thyself to ask for it, and thou yet keepest it with thee.
All which are high misdoings and mortal offences; yet would I have pardoned them knowing thee to be no more than a boy and a savage.
But now thou darest to tell me that I, a Rajpoot maiden, am in love with thee, a Bheel, and that even if I deny it, thou carest not; for I am thine already whether I will or no, thy captive and thy slave-girl.
This is not to be borne.
So I have written to my noble suitors of Ichalgurh and Scythia to avenge me upon thy Bheel body; I doubt not, they will soon carry thy head to Edur in a basket, if thou hast the manners to permit them.
Yet since thy followers call thee Smiter of the Forest and Lion of the Hills, let me see thee smite more than jackals and rend braver than flesh of mountain-deer.
Cateran, when thou trundlest the Scythian down-hill like a ball, thou mayst marry me in spite of thy misdeeds, if thou darest; and when thou showest thyself a better man than the Chouhan of Ichalgurh, which is impossible, thou mayst even keep me for thy slave-girl and I will not deny thee.
Meanwhile, thou shalt give me a respite till the seventh morn of the May.
Till then presume not to touch me.
Thy captive, Comol Cumary.”
Why, here's a warlike and most hectoring letter,
Coomood.
She pours her happy heart out so
In fantasies; I never knew her half so wayward.
The more her soul is snared between your hands,
The more her lips will chide you.
Can you tell
Why she has set these doughty warriors on me,
Coomood?
You cannot read a woman's mind.
It's to herself a maze inextricable
Of vagrant impulses with half-guessed tangles
Of feeling her own secret thoughts are blind to.
But yet?
Her sudden eager headstrong passion
Would justify its own extravagance
By proving you unparalleled. Therefore she picks
Earth's brace of warriors out for your opponents.
Pratap the Chouhan, Rao of Ichalgurh!
To meet him merely were a lifetime's boast;
But to cross swords with him! Oh, she has looked
Into my heart.
You'll give her seven days?
Not hours, — the dainty rebel! Great Ichalgurh
Will wing here like an eagle; soon I'll meet him
And overthrow, who feel a giant's strength,
Coomood, since yesterday. My fate mounts sunward.
Ours, Bappa, has already arrived. Our sun
Rose yesterday upon the way to Dongurh.
Outside Dongurh.
Ichalgurh, a letter in his hand; Ruttan, the Captain.
Who art thou, soldier?
The leader of the lances
That guarded Edur's princess and with her
Were captived by the Bheels. Their chief I serve.
Thou hast dishonoured then the Rajpoot name
Deserting from thy lord to serve a ruffian
Under the eyes of death, thou paltry trembler.
My honour, Rao of Ichalgurh, is mine
To answer for, and at a fitting name
I will return thy insults on my swordpoint.
But now I am only a messenger.
I'll read
The princess' writing. (reads) “Baron of Ichalgurh,
My mother's clansman, warrior, noble Rajpoot,
Thrice over therefore bound to help the weak
And save the oppressed! A maiden overpowered,
Comol Cumary, Edur's princess, sues
For thy heroic arm of rescue, prince,
To the Bheel outlaws made a prey, unsought
By her own kin; whom if thou save, I am
A princess and thy handmaid, else a captive
Only and Bappa's slave-girl.” Go! my war-cry
Echoing among the hills shall answer straightway
This piteous letter.
Ruttan, swift!
Arm! arm!
I will not vent my wrath in braggart words,
But till it leap into my sword, I suffer.
You shall not wait for long.
I have a letter
To Toraman, the Scythian.
Give it to him,
For this is he.
Enter Canaca, Hooshka and Scythians.
It will not fill. This paltry barren Rajputana has not the wherewithal to choke up the gulf within me. Ha! avaunt! Dost thou flutter paper before me? I have no creditors in Rajputana.
I understand thee not. This is a script
Comol Cumary sends thee, Edur's princess.
Is it so? Well then, thou mayst kneel and lay it at my feet; I will deign to read it. (The Captain flings it into his hands. ) What, thou dirty varlet! (The Captain lays his hand on his sword. ) Nay, it is a game? Oh, I can catch, I can catch.
“Prince Toraman, they say thou desirest me and earnest from Cashmere as far as Edur for my sake.
Thou must come a little farther, prince!
Bappa, the outlaw, has been beforehand with thee and holds me in durance among the hills.
Prince, if thou yet desirest this little beauty one poor body can hold, come up hither and fight for its possession which otherwise I must in seven days perforce yield to my captor.
From whom if thou canst rescue me, — but I will not drive bargains with thee, trusting rather to thy knightly princeliness to succour a distressed maiden for no hope of reward.
Comol Cumary.”
No, no, no; there is too much butter about thee. No hope of reward! What! I shall fight like an enraged rhinoceros, I shall startle the hills by my valour, I shall stick three thousand Bheels with my own princely hand like so many boar-pigs; and all this violent morning exercise for what? To improve my appetite? I have more gastric juice than my guts can accommodate. They roar to me already for a haunch of venison.
Prince Toraman, shall I give the order for the hills?
Ay, Hooshka Longnose, hast thou news of venison, good fellow?
I meant, to rescue the Princess Comol Cumary from the Bheels.
Didst thou mean so? Nay, I will not hinder thy excellent intentions. But bring some venison with thee as thou comest along with her, Hooshka.
Prince of Cashmere, lead us to the hills and tear her from the grip of the outlaws. As a prince and a soldier thou canst do no less.
Thou liest through thy long nose!
I can do much less than that.
I will not suffer thee to put limits to my infinite ability.
And I 
can tell a decoy-duck from a live gander.
Shall I waddle my shins into Bappa's trap?
This letter was written under compulsion.
The Princess must be rescued. I wonder, Prince Toraman, that thou wilt jest over a thing so grave and unhappy.
Why, genius will out, you cannot stable it for long, Hooshka; it will break bounds and gallop. Yet go, Hooshka, go; take all my men, Hooshka. Hooshka, slay the Bheel; rescue the lady, Hooshka. I wish I could go with thee and swing my dreadful blade with my mighty arm till the mountains re-echoed. But the simple truth is, I have a bleeding dysentery. Willingly would I shed my princely blood for my sweet lady, but it is shedding itself already otherwise.
Thou fat-gutted cowardly rogue, wilt thou blacken the name of a hero with thy antics? Out at once, or the Rajpoots shall know who thou art and carve thee into little strips for a dog's dinner.
Sayst thou, my little captain? Thy arguments are strangely conclusive. Arms! arms! my horse! my horse! Out, Scythians, to the hills! My horse, I say! I will do deeds; I will paint the hills in blood and tattoo the valleys. (Enter Scythians. ) Amitabha! Amitabha! yell, you rogues, have you no lungs in your big greasy carcasses? With what will you fight then?
Amitabha!
Rajpoots, to save a noble lady captived
We march today. No gallant open enemy,
But savages who lurk behind the rocks
Are our opposers. Sweep them from the hills,
Rajpoots, with the mere flashing of your swords
And rescue from their villain touch a princess.
Exeunt Ichalgurh, Ruttan and Rajpoots.
March, Scythians! (aside) Hooshka, what say you? We will keep behind these mad-dog Rajpoots and fight valiantly in their shadow. That is but strategy.
If thou dost, I will kick thee into the enemy's midst with my jackboots.
Wilt thou muddy such a fine coat as this is? Hast thou the heart? (aloud) Trumpets! Into the breach, into the breach, my soldiers!
In the forest.
Bappa! Bappa! Ho, Sheva Ekling!
An arrow descends and a Rajpoot falls.
Still upwards!
Upwards still! Death on the height
Seats crowned to meet us; downwards is to dishonour
And that's no Rajpoot movement. Brother Ruttan,
We're strangled with a noose intangible.
O my brave Rajpoots, by my headlong folly
Led to an evil death!
What is this weakness,
Chouhan of famous Ichalgurh? Remember
Thyself, my brother. But a little more
And we have reached their wasps'-nest on the hills.
Not one alive.
Another arrow. A Rajpoot falls.
I ask no better fate
Brother, than at thy side however slain,
Victorious or defeated.
We have acted
Like heedless children, thinking we had to stamp
Our armoured heel on a mere swarm and rabble,
But find ourselves at grip with skilful fighters
And a great brain of war. Safe under cover
They pick us off; we battle blindly forwards
Without objective, smiting at the wind,
Stumbling as in a nightmare and transfixed
Ignobly by a foe invisible
Our falchions cannot reach, — like crows, like jackals,
Not like brave men and battle-famous warriors.
Still on!
Yes, on, till the last man falls pierced
Upon the threshold that immures the sweetness
We could not save. Forward the Chouhan!
Halt!
Speak, but talk not of surrender.
'Tis that I'll talk of. I am Bappa's mouthpiece.
Rajpoots, you're quite surrounded. If we choose,
Our arrows buzzing through your brains can end you
In five swift minutes. Lay then at Bappa's feet
Your humble heads; else like mad dogs be skewered
And yelp your lives out.
Return unpunished; the name
Of envoy guards thy barbarous insolence.
You speak too insolently your message, Kodal.
Chouhan of Ichalgurh, thou art too great
To die thus butchered. We demand a parley
For courteous equal terms, not base surrender.
Thou art a Rajpoot; dost thou lead these arrows?
I lead the shafts that wear thee out; another
Surrounds the Scythian; but we are the hands
Of one more godlike brain.
With him I'll parley.
'Tis well. Go, Kodal, learn our chieftain's will.
Young man, thou hast a Rajpoot form and bearing,
Yet herd'st with the wild forest tribes, remote
From arms and culture. Dost thou hide thy name too?
I am a Chouhan like thyself, of birth
As princely. Ask the warriors of Ajmere
Who valiant Martund was; his sons are we,
Sungram and Prithuraj.
O youth, thy father
Was my great pattern and my guide in war.
Brother and enemy, embrace me.
Who is thy captain? For the sons of Martund
Serve not a Bheel.
Thine eyes shall answer thee.
A noble-featured-youth! What son of Kings
Lives secret in these rugged hills?
Chouhan
Of famous Ichalgurh, now if I'm slain
In battle, I can tell the dead I've seen thee,
Thou god of war. O let there be no hatred,
Hero, between us, but only faith.
Young chieftain,
Thou bear'st a godlike semblance, but thy deeds
Are less than noble. Hast thou not seized a princess
By robber violence, forced her with thee
To thy rude lair and threatenest her sweet body
With shameful mastery?
We are warriors, Rajpoot;
Two ways of mating only fit for us,
By mutual sweet attraction undenied
To grow to oneness as they do in heaven,
Or else with lion leap to seize our bride
And pluck her from the strong protecting spears
Taking her heart by violence.
We mate not
Like castes unwarlike, from a father's hand
Drawing an innocent wide-eyed wondering child
Like cattle given or sold. This was the way
Of Rajpoots long before the earth grew aged;
And shall a Rajpoot blame it? Wherefore then rod'st thou
Clanging last morn from Ichalgurh in arms,
Pratap the Chouhan?
Chieftain, I am pledged
To save the girl from thee.
But canst redeem
The vow with thy dead body only. Hero,
I too am sworn to keep her 'gainst the world.
Let us in the high knightly way decide it.
Deign to cross swords with me and let the victor
Possess the maiden.
O thou springing stem
That surely yet will rise to meet the sun!
Agreed. Let no man intervene betwixt us.
Kodal, restrain thy Bheels.
Bold is thy chieftain
To match his boyish arm against my brother!
He is a mighty warrior, but not age
Nor bulk can measure strength; the exultant spirit
Facing towards glory gives the arm a force
Mightier than physical. He's down.
Great Ichalgurh!
Who is this godlike combatant?
Surrender
My princess, Chouhan.
Thou hast her who deserv'st
Much more than her.
Young hero who in thy first battle o'erbear'st
Maturer victors! Know Pratap the Chouhan
Unalterably thy friend. When thou shalt ask
My sword, 'tis thine.
Thou'rt wounded?
I have been worse
And ridden far to meet the foe. Another day
We'll share one rocky pillow on the hills
And talk of battles.
Pratap, I could but offer
A rude and hill-side hospitality.
But when I hold my court in mighty Edur
I will absolve thy morning's debt.
Farewell.
Escort him, friend.
Exeunt Sungram, Ichalgurh, Ruttan and Rajpoots.
How speeds the battle, comrade,
There with the Scythians?
It is finished, prince.
They fell in slaughtered heaps.
Prince Toraman?
Lay flat and bellowed. We'ld have taken him,
But Prithuraj, mad for the joy of battle,
Leaped on their foremost; while he hewed them down,
Like an untiring woodman, one giant Scythian
Crashing through bush and boulder hurled himself
Out of thy net; with him a loyal handful
Carried this Toraman.
Pardon my error,
Bappa.
It was a noble fault, my soldier.
We have done all we hoped. The amorous Scythian
Will not return in haste mid our green hills
To woo a Rajpoot maiden. Let us go.
I wonder when great Edur moves upon us.
I long to hear his war assail our mountains.
Outside Bappa's cot.
Have I too dangerously ventured my all
Daring a blast so rude? The Scythian roar
Appals no more the forest, nor the war-cry
Of Ichalgurh climbs mightily the hills;
The outlaws' fierce triumphant shout is stilled
Of their young war-god's name. Who has won? who fallen?
Comol Cumary (coming eagerly to him)
How went the fight? You're safe! And Ichalgurh?
Give me your hands; I'll tell you.
I see your head's
Not in the basket.
He takes her hands and draws her towards him.
To touch me till the seventh day.
I touch
What is my own. To bid or to forbid
Is mine upon this hill-side where I'm sovereign.
I will not be commanded.
Oh, you are right, love. At my feet's more fitting
Who am your master and monarch. Come, no rising.
Stay there, where I can watch your antelope eyes
Look up at me bright with all love's own sunshine.
Oh, you provoke me. You've not met the Chouhan,
Or you'ld have been much chastened.
I have met him.
Great Ichalgurh?
We soon o'ercame the Scythians.
Your lover, Comol, the great Toraman,
Was borne, a mass of terror-stricken flesh,
By faithful fugitives headlong down the hill-side.
You need not triumph. These were only Scythians.
But done.
Why, you're a boy, a child! O my bright lion,
You are a splendid and a royal beast,
But very youthful. This was the maned monarch
Whose roar shook all the forest when he leaped
Upon his opposite.
Then the great tusker
Went down beneath his huge and tawny front
As if it were an antelope. Him you've conquered?
He fell and yielded.
You have learned romance
From the wild hill-tops and the stars at night
And take your visions for the fact.
Arch-infidel!
As in your duel with me, quite unfairly.
You used your sleight of hand?
Perhaps, my princess,
His foot slipped and he fell; 'twas my good fortune,
Not I that conquered him.
Indeed it was
Your high resistless fortune. O my king,
My hero, thou hast o'erborne great Ichalgurh;
Then who can stand against thee? Thou shalt conquer
More than my heart.
(Bappa takes her into his arms)
What dost thou, Bheel? Forbear!
Do you recall your letter,
Comol?
I have outdone the Chouhan, girl.
Bheel, I wrote nothing, nothing.
I'll keep you now
For my sweet slave-girl, princess? You will not
Deny me?
'Twas not my hand. Your Coomood forged it.
Rebel against your heart!
You're trapped in your own springs. My antelope!
I've brought you to my lair; shall I not prey on you?
I will not.
The memory of this May to keep with me
Till death and afterwards, a dream of greenness
With visions of the white and vermeil spring,
A prelude set to winds and waterfalls
Among the mountains of immortal Dongurh
Far from the earth, in a delightful freedom
Treading the hilltops, all the joy of life
In front of me to dream of its perfection,
Bappa.
When you entreat, who shall refuse you,
O lips of honey?
Till the seventh morning,
Bappa.
Only and till then.
That is a promise.
Which, having won, I do deny, unsay,
Wholly recant and absolutely abjure
Whatever flattery I have said or done
To win it. You are still my Bheel and Brigand,
My lawless cateran; I great Edur's princess.
I love you! Do not dream of it. Six days!
By then my father'll smoke you from your lair
And take me from your dreadful claws, my lion,
An antelope undevoured.
Have you yet thought
Of the dire punishments you'll taste for this,
Deceiver?
Not till the seventh morning, lion.
Till then, my antelope, range my hills and make them
An Eden for me with thy wondrous beauty
Moving in grace and freedom of the winds,
Sweetness of the green woodlands; for of these
Thou seem'st a part and they thy natural country.
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