Kumbhīlaka. [Approaching.] I salute you, sir.
Chārudatta. You are welcome, my good fellow. Tell me, is Vasantasenā really here?
Kumbhīlaka. Yes, she's here. Vasantasenā is here.
Chārudatta. [Joyfully.] My good fellow, I have never let the bearer of welcome news go unrewarded. Take this as your recompense. [He gives him his mantle.]
Kumbhīlaka. [Takes it and bows. Gleefully.] I'll tell my mistress. [Exit.
Maitreya. Do you see why she comes in a storm like this?
Chārudatta. I do not quite understand, my friend.
Maitreya. I know. She has an idea that the pearl necklace is cheap, and the golden casket expensive. She isn't satisfied, and she has come to look for something more.
Charudatta. [Aside.] She shall not depart unsatisfied.
[Then enter the love-lorn Vasantasenā, in a splendid garment, fit for a woman who goes to meet her lover, a maid with an umbrella, and the courtier.]
Courtier. [Referring to Vasantasenā.]
Lakshmī[1] without the lotus-flower is she,
Loveliest arrow of god Kāma's bow,[2]
The sweetest blossom on love's magic tree.
See how she moves, so gracefully and slow!
In passion's hour she still loves modesty;
In her, good wives their dearest sorrow know.
When passion's drama shall enacted be,
When on love's stage appears the passing show,
A host of wanderers shall bend them low,
Glad to be slaves in such captivity. 12
