_Watchman_
Is it your custom to answer questions by songs?
_Chandra_
Yes, otherwise the answer becomes too unintelligible.
_Watchman_
Then you think your songs intelligible?
_Chandra_
Yes, quite, because they contain music. (_They sing._)
_We move and move without rest.
World, the Rover, loves his comrades of the road.
His call comes across the sky.
The seasons lead the way, strewing the path with flowers._
_Watchman_
No ordinary being ever breaks out singing, like this, in the middle of talking.
_Chandra_
Again we are found out. We are no ordinary beings.
_Watchman_
Have you got no work to do?
_Chandra_
No, we are on a holiday.
_Watchman_
Why?
_Chandra_
Lest our time should all be wasted.
_Watchman_
I don"t quite understand you.
_Chandra_
Then we shall be obliged to sing again.
_Watchman_
No, no. There"s no need to do that. I don"t hope to understand you any better, even if you do sing.
_Chandra_
Everybody has given up the hope of understanding us.
_Watchman_
But how can things get on with you, if you behave like this?
_Chandra_
Oh, there"s no need for things to get on with us, so long as we ourselves get on.
_Watchman_
Mad! Quite mad! Raving mad!
_Chandra_
Why, here comes our Dada.
Dada, what made you lag behind?
_Chandra_
Don"t you know? We are free as the wind, because we have no substance in us. But Dada is like the rain-cloud of August. He must stop, every now and then, to unburden himself.
_Dada_
Who are you?
_Ferryman_
I am the Ferryman.
_Dada_
And who are you?
_Watchman_
I am the Watchman.
_Dada_