cannot turn his mind from Sakoontala. This is the
opening episode of their love.

The second act introduces the king's jester, a Brahman on confidential
terms with his master, who, while Dushyanta is thinking of love, is
longing to get back to the city. He is tired of the hot jungle, the
nauseating water of bitter mountain streams, the racket of fowlers at
early dawn, and the eternal galloping, by which his joints are bruised.
The king is equally tired of hunting, and confesses that he cannot bend
his bow against those fawns which dwell near Sakoontala's abode, and
have taught their tender glance to her. He calls back the beaters sent
out to surround the forest, takes off his hunting-suit, and talks to the
jester about the charms of Sakoontala--whom the Creator, he says, has
formed by gathering in his mind all lovely shapes, so as to make a
peerless woman-gem. He recalls the glance which she shot at him as she
cried, "a _kusha-grass_ has stung my foot." Meanwhile two hermits
approach him with the news that the demons have taken advantage of
Kanwa's absence to disturb the sacrifices. They request him to take up
his abode in the grove for a few days, in order to vanquish the enemies.
A messenger arrives to tell him that his mother, in four days, will be
offering a solemn sacrifice for her son's welfare, and invites his
presence at the rite. But he cannot leave Sakoontala, and sends the
jester Mathavya in his stead, telling him to say nothing about his love
for Sakoontala.

In the third act the love of the king and the hermit girl reaches its
climax. The king is found walking in the hermitage, invoking the God of
Love, whose shafts are flowers, though the flowery darts are hard as
steel. "Mighty God of Love, hast Thou no pity on me?" What better
relief, he asks, than the sight of my beloved? He traces Sakoontala, by
the broken tubes which bore the blossoms she had culled, to the arbor,
enclosed by the plantation of canes, and shaded by vines, at whose
entrance he observes in the sand the track of recent footsteps. Peering
through the branches, he perceives her reclining on a stone seat strewn
with flowers. Her two companions are with her, and she is sick unto
death. The king notices that her cheeks are wasted, her breasts less
swelling, her slender waist more slender, her roseate hue has grown
pale, and she seems like some poor _madhave_ creeper touched by winds
that have scorched its leaves. Her companions anxiously inqu