[_The rear stage is darkened, and the light on the main stage dimmed to the heavy purple blackness of mourning._]
(_Enter the Band of Youths._)
Chandra has gone away again, leaving us behind.
It is difficult to keep him still.
We get our rest by sitting down, but he gets his by walking on.
He has gone across the river with the blind minstrel, in whose depth of blindness Chandra is seeking the invisible light.
That is why our Leader calls him the Diver.
Our life becomes utterly empty, when Chandra is away.
Do you feel as though something was in the air?
The sky seems to be looking into our face, like a friend bidding farewell.
This little stream of water is trickling through the _casuarina_ grove. It seems like the tears of midnight.
We have never gazed upon the earth before with such intentness.
When we run forward at full speed, our eyes keep gazing in front of us, and we see nothing on either side of us.
If things did not move on and vanish, we should see no beauty anywhere.
If youth had only the heat of movement, it would get parched and withered. But there is ever the hidden tear, which keeps it fresh.
The cry of the world is not only "I have," but also "I give." In the first dawning light of creation, "I have" was wedded to "I give." If this bond of union were to snap, then everything would go to ruin.
I don"t know where that blind Minstrel has landed us at last.
It seems as though these stars in the sky above us are the gazing of countless eyes we met in all forgotten ages. It seems as if, through the flowers, there came the whisper of those we have forgotten, saying Remember us.
Our hearts will break if we do not sing.
(_They sing._)
_Did you leave behind you your love, my heart, and miss peace through all your days?
And is the path you followed lost and forgotten, making your return hopeless?
I go roaming listening to brooks" babble, to the rustle of leaves.
And it seems to me that I shall find the way, that reaches the land of lost love beyond the evening stars._
What a strange tune is this, that comes out of the music of Spring.
It seems like the tune of yellow leaves.
Spring has stored up its tears in secret for us all this while.
It was afraid we should not understand it, because we were so youthful.
It wanted to beguile us with smiles.
But we shall sleep our hearts tonight in the sadness of the other sh.o.r.e.
Ah, the dear earth! The beautiful earth! She wants all that we have--the touch of our hands, the song of our hearts.
She wants to draw out from us all that is within, hidden even from ourselves.
This is her sorrow, that she finds out some things only to know that she has not found all. She loses before she attains.
Ah, the dear earth! We shall never deceive you.
(_They sing._)
_I shall crown you with my garland, before I take leave.
You ever spoke to me in all my joys and sorrows.
And now, at the end of the day, my own heart will break in speech.
Words came to me, but not the tune, and the song that I never sang to you remains hidden behind my tears._
Brother, did you notice that some one seemed to have pa.s.sed by?
The only thing you feel is this pa.s.sing by.
I felt the touch of the mantle of some wayfarer.
We came out to capture somebody, but now we feel the longing to be captured ourselves.
Ah, here comes the Minstrel. Where have you brought us? The breath of the wayfaring world touches us here,--the breath of the starry sky.
We came seeking a new form of play. But now we have forgotten what play it was.
We wanted to catch the Old Man.
And everybody said that he was terrifying, a bodiless head, a gaping mouth, a dragon eager to swallow the moon of the youth of the world. But now we are no longer afraid. The flowers go, the leaves go, the waves in the river go, and we shall also follow them. Ah, blind Minstrel, strike your lute and sing to us. Who knows what is the hour of the night?
(_The Minstrel sings._)
_Let me give my all to him, before I am asked, whom the world offers its all.
When I came to him for my gifts, I was not afraid; And I will not fear, when I come to him, to give up what I have.
The morning accepts his gold with songs, the evening pays him back the debt of gold and is glad.
The joy of the blooming flower comes to fruit with shedding of its leaves.
Hasten, my heart, and spend yourself in love, before the day is done._
Minstrel, why is Chandra still absent?
_Minstrel_