SONG-PRELUDE
The purple secondary curtain [1] goes up, disclosing the elevated rear stage with a skyey background of dark blue, on which appear the horn of the crescent moon and the silver points of stars. Trees in the foreground, with two rope swings entwined with garlands of flowers. Flowers every where in profusion. On the extreme left the mouth of a dark cavern dimly seen. Boys representing the \"Bamboo\" disclosed, swinging.
[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, ( Enter a troop of girls, dancing, representing birds. )
Song of the Bird ( Disclosed among the branches of trees, suddenly lighted up, boys representing champak blossoms. )
Song of the Blossoming Champak 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. ] [In the following dialogue only the names of the principal characters are given. Wherever the name is not given the speaker is one or other of the Youths.]
April pulls hard, brother, April pulls very hard.
How do you know that?
If he didn''''t, he would never have pulled Dada outside his den.
Well, I declare. Here is Dada, our cargo-boat of moral-maxims, towed against the current of his own pen and ink.
Chandra
But you mustn''''t give April all the credit for that. For I, Chandra, have hidden the yellow leaves of his manuscript book among the young buds of the pial forest, and Dada is out looking for it.
The manuscript book banished! What a good riddance!
We ought to strip off Dada''''s grey philosopher''''s cloak also.
Chandra
Yes, the very dust of the earth is tingling with youth, and yet there''''s not a single touch of Spring in the whole of Dada''''s body.
Dada
Oh, do stop this fooling. What a nuisance you are making of yourselves! We aren''''t children any longer.
Chandra
Dada, the age of this earth is scarcely less than yours; and yet it is not ashamed to look fresh.
Dada, you are always struggling with those quatrains of yours, full of advice that is as old as death, while the earth and the water are ever striving to be new.
Dada, how in the world can you go on writing verses like that, sitting in your den?
Dada
Well, you see, I don''''t cultivate poetry, as an amateur gardener cultivates flowers. My poems have substance and weight in them.
Yes, they are like the turnips, which cling to the ground.
Dada
Well, then, listen to me——
How awful! Here''''s Dada going to run amuck with his quatrains.
Oh dear, oh dear! The quatrains are let loose. There''''s no holding them in.
To all passers-by I give notice that Dada''''s quatrains have gone mad, and are running amuck.
Chandra
Dada! Don''''t take any notice of their fun. Go on with your reading. If no one else can survive it, I think I can. I am not a coward like these fellows.
Come on, then, Dada. We won''''t be cowards. We will keep our ground, and not yield an inch, but only listen.
We will receive the spear-thrusts of the quatrains on our breast, not on our back.