mouth of a dark cavern dimly seen. Boys
representing the "Bamboo" disclosed, swinging._

[Footnote 1: Neither the secondary curtain nor the drop is again
used during the play. The action is continuous, either on the
front stage, or on the rear stage, the latter being darkened when
not actually in use.]

SONG OF THE BAMBOO

_O South Wind, the Wanderer, come and rock me,
Rouse me into the rapture of new leaves.
I am the wayside bamboo tree, waiting for your breath
To tingle life into my branches._

_O South Wind, the Wanderer, my dwelling is in the end of the lane.
I know your wayfaring, and the language of your footsteps.
Your least touch thrills me out of my slumber,
Your whisper gleans my secrets._

(_Enter a troop of girls, dancing, representing birds._)

SONG OF THE BIRD

_The sky pours its light into our hearts,
We fill the sky with songs in answer.
We pelt the air with our notes
When the air stirs our wings with its madness.
O Flame of the Forest,
All your flower-torches are ablaze;
You have kissed our songs red with the passion of your youth.
In the spring breeze the mango-blossoms launch their messages to the
unknown
And the new leaves dream aloud all day.
O Sirish, you have cast your perfume-net round our hearts,
Drawing them out in songs._

(_Disclosed among the branches of trees, suddenly lighted up,
boys representing champak blossoms._)

SONG OF THE BLOSSOMING CHAMPAK

_My shadow dances in your waves, everflowing river,
I, the blossoming champak, stand unmoved on the bank, with my
flower-vigils.
My movement dwells in the stillness of my depth,
In the delicious birth of new leaves,
In flood of flowers,
In unseen urge of new life towards the light.
Its stirring thrills the sky, and the silence of the dawn is moved._

_Morning_

[_The rear stage is now darkened. On the main stage, bright,
enter a band of youths whose number may be anything between three
and thirty. They sing._]

_The fire of April leaps from forest to forest,
Flashing up in leaves and flowers from all nooks and corners.
The sky is thriftless with colours,
The air delirious with songs.
The wind-tost branches of the woodland
Spread their unrest in our blood.
The air is filled with bewilderment of mirth;
And the