Maid. Come, sir, and enter the seventh court.
Maitreya. [Enters and looks about.] Well! Here in the seventh court the mated doves are sitting comfortably in their snug dove-cotes, billing and cooing and nothing else, and perfectly happy. And there is a parrot in a cage, chanting like a Brahman with a bellyful of curdled milk and rice. And here, again, is a talking thrush, chattering like a housemaid who spreads herself because somebody noticed her. A cuckoo, her throat still happy from tasting all sorts of fruit-syrups, is cooing like a procuress. Rows of cages are hanging from pegs. Quails are being egged on to fight. Partridges are being made to talk. Caged pigeons are being provoked. A tame peacock that looks as if he was adorned with all sorts of gems is dancing happily about, and as he flaps his wings, he seems to be fanning the roof which is distressed by the rays of the sun. [He looks in another direction.] Here are pairs of flamingos like moonbeams rolled into a ball, that wander about after pretty girls, as if they wanted to learn how to walk gracefully. And here, again, are tame cranes, walking around like ancient eunuchs. Well, well! This courtezan keeps a regular menagerie of birds. Really, the courtezan's house seems to me like Indra's heaven. Show me the way, madam.
Maid. Come, sir, and enter the eighth court.
Maitreya. [Enters and looks about.] Madam, who is this in the silk cloak, adorned with such astonishingly tautologous ornaments, who wanders about, stumbling and stretching his limbs?
Maid. Sir, this is my mistress' brother.
Maitreya. What sort of ascetic exercises does a man have to perform, in order to be born as Vasantasenā's brother? But no,
He may be shiny, may be greasy,
And perfumed may he be.
And yet I warn you to go easy;
He's a graveyard champak-tree. 29
