The Little Clay Cart by Sudraka (summer beach reads .txt) 📖

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the patient law;
In court-rooms even the righteous with their lies
Hide their offenses from judicial eyes;
And those who did the deed are lost to view,
Who sinned with plaintiff and defendant too;
To sum it up: false blame is easy won,
A true judge little praised, or praised by none.4

For the judge must be

Learnèd, and skilled in tracing fraud's sly path,
And eloquent, insensible to wrath;
To friend, foe, kinsman showing equal grace,
Reserving judgment till he know the case;
Untouched by avarice, in virtue sound.
The weak he must defend, the knave confound;
An open door to truth, his heart must cling
To others' interests, yet shun each thing
That might awake the anger of the king.5

[137.94. S.

Gild-warden and Clerk. And do men speak of defects in your virtue? If so, then they speak of darkness in the moonlight.

Judge. My good beadle, conduct me to the court-room.

Beadle. Follow me, Your Honor. [They walk about.] Here is the court-room. May the magistrates be pleased to enter. [All enter.]

Judge. My good beadle, do you go outside and learn who desires to present a case.

Beadle. Yes, sir. [He goes out.] Gentlemen, the magistrates ask if there is any here who desires to present a case.

Sansthānaka. [Gleefully.] The magishtrates are here. [He struts about.] I desire to present a cashe, I, an arishtocrat, a man, a Vāsudeva, the royal brother-in-law, the brother-in-law of the king.

Beadle. [In alarm.] Goodness! The king's brother-in-law is the first who desires to present a case. Well! Wait a moment, sir. I will inform the magistrates at once. [He approaches the magistrates.] Gentlemen, here is the king's brother-in-law who has come to court, desiring to present a case.

Judge. What! the king's brother-in-law is the first who desires to present a case? Like an eclipse at sunrise, this betokens the ruin of some great man. Beadle, the court will doubtless be very busy to-day. Go forth, my good man, and say "Leave us for to-day. Your suit cannot be considered."

Beadle. Yes, Your Honor. [He goes out, and approaches Sansthānaka.] Sir, the magistrates send word that you are to leave them for to-day; that your suit cannot be considered.

P. 229.13]

Sansthānaka. [Wrathfully.] Confound it! Why can't my shuit be conshidered? If it is n't conshidered, then I 'll tell my brother-in-law, King Pālaka, my shishter's husband, and I 'll tell my shishter and my mother too, and I 'll have thish judge removed, and another judge appointed. [He starts to go away.]

Beadle. Oh, sir! Brother-in-law of the king! Wait a moment. I will inform the magistrates at once. [He returns to the Judge.] The brother-in-law of the king is angry, and says—[He repeats Sansthānaka's words.]

Judge. This fool might do anything. My good man, tell him to come hither, that his suit will be considered.

Beadle. [Approaching Sansthānaka.] Sir, the magistrates send word that you are to come in, that your suit will be considered. Pray enter, sir.

Sansthānaka. Firsht they shay it won't be conshidered, then they shay it will be conshidered. The magishtrates are shcared. Whatever I shay, I 'll make 'em believe it. Good! I 'll enter. [He enters and approaches the magistrates.] I am feeling very well, thank you. Whether you feel well or not—that depends on me.

Judge. [Aside.] Well, well! We seem to have a highly cultivated plaintiff. [Aloud.] Pray be seated.

Sansthānaka. Well! Thish floor belongs to me. I 'll sit down wherever I like. [To the gild-warden.] I'll sit here. [To the beadle.] Why should n't I sit here? [He lays his hand on the Judge's head.] I 'll sit here. [He sits down on the floor.]

Judge. You desire to present a case?

Sansthānaka. Of courshe.

Judge. Then state the case.

Sansthānaka. I 'll whishper it. I was born in the great family of a man as glorioush as a wine-glass.

My father's father of the king—in law;
The king, he is my daddy's son-in-law;
And I am brother to the king—in law;
And the husband of my shishter is the king.6

[140.1. S.

Judge. All this we know.

Why should you boast of this your noble birth?
'T is character that makes the man of worth;
But thorns and weeds grow rank in fertile earth.7

State your case.

Sansthānaka. I will, but even if I was guilty, he wouldn't do anything to me. Well, my shishter's husband liked me, and gave me the besht garden there is, the old garden Pushpakaranda, to play in and look after. And there I go every day to look at it, to keep it dry, to keep it clean, to keep it blosshoming, to keep it trimmed. But fate decreed that I shaw—or rather, I didn't shee—the proshtrate body of a woman.

Judge. Do you know who the unfortunate woman was?

Sansthānaka. Hello, magishtrates! Why shouldn't I know? A woman like that! the pearl of the city! adorned with a hundred golden ornaments! Shomebody's unworthy shon enticed her into the old garden Pushpakaranda when it was empty, and for a mere trifle—for her money!—shtrangled Vasantasenā and killed her. But I didn't—[He breaks off, and puts his hand over his mouth.]

Judge. What carelessness on the part of the city police! Gild-warden and clerk, write down the words "I didn't," as the first article in the case.

Clerk. Yes, sir. [He does so.] Sir, it is written.

Sansthānaka. [Aside.] Goodnessh! Now I've ruined myshelf, like a man that shwallows a cake of rice and milk in a hurry. Well, I'll get out of it thish way. [Aloud.] Well, well, magishtrates! I was jusht remarking that I didn't shee it happen. What are you making thish hullabaloo about? [He wipes out the written words with his foot.]

P. 233.3]

Judge. How do you know that she was strangled—and for her money?

Sansthānaka. Hello! Why shouldn't I think sho, when her neck was shwollen and bare, and the places where you wear jewels did n't have any gold on them?

Gild-warden and Clerk. That seems plausible.

Sansthānaka. [Aside.] Thank heaven! I breathe again. Hooray!

Gild-warden and Clerk. Upon whom does the conduct of this case depend?

Judge. The case has a twofold aspect.

Gild-warden and Clerk. How so?

Judge. We have to consider the allegations, then the facts. Now the investigation of the allegations depends upon plaintiff and defendant. But the investigation of the facts must be carried out by the wisdom of the judge.

Gild-warden and Clerk. Then the conduct of the case depends upon the presence of Vasantasenā's mother?

Judge. Precisely. My good beadle, summon Vasantasenā's mother, without, however, giving her cause for anxiety.

Beadle. Yes, Your Honor. [He goes out, and returns with the mother of the courtezan.] Follow me, madam.

Mother. My daughter went to the house of a friend to enjoy her youth. But now comes this gentleman—long life to him!—and says "Come! The judge summons you." I find myself quite bewildered. My heart is palpitating. Sir, will you conduct me to the court-room?

Beadle. Follow me, madam. [They walk about.] Here is the court-room. Pray enter, madam. [They enter.]

Mother. [Approaching.] Happiness be yours, most worthy gentlemen.

Judge. My good woman, you are very welcome. Pray be seated.

[141.24. S.

Mother. Thank you. [She seats herself.]

Sansthānaka. [Abusively.] You 're here, are you, you old bawd?

Judge. Tell me. Are you Vasantasenā's mother?

Mother. I am.

Judge. Whither has Vasantasenā gone at this moment?

Mother. To the house of a friend.

Judge. What is the name of her friend?

Mother. [Aside.] Dear me! Really, this is very embarrassing. [Aloud.] Any one else might ask me this, but not a judge.

Judge. Pray do not be embarrassed. The conduct of the case puts the question.

Gild-warden and Clerk. The conduct of the case puts the question. You incur no fault. Speak.

Mother. What! the conduct of the case? If that is so, then listen, worthy gentlemen. There lives in the merchants' quarter the grandson of the merchant Vinayadatta, the son of Sāgaradatta, a man whose name is a good omen in itself—that name is Chārudatta. In his house my daughter enjoys her youth.

Sansthānaka. Did you hear that? Write those words down. My contention is with Chārudatta.

Gild-warden and Clerk. It is no sin for Chārudatta to be her friend.

Judge. The conduct of this case demands the presence of Chārudatta.

Gild-warden and Clerk. Exactly.

Judge. Dhanadatta, write as the first article in the case "Vasantasenā went to the house of Chārudatta." But must we summon the worthy Chārudatta also? No, the conduct of the case summons him. Go, my good beadle, summon Chārudatta,—but gently, without haste, without giving him cause for anxiety, respectfully, as it were incidentally,—with the words "The judge wishes to see you."

P. 236.11]

Beadle. Yes, Your Honor. [He goes out, then returns with Chārudatta.] Follow me, sir.

Chārudatta. [Thoughtfully.]

My character and kin are known
Unto the king who rules our state;
And in this summons there is shown
A doubt begotten of my wretched fate.8

[Reflectively. Aside.]

Ah! Were there those, the man to recognize
Who met me on the road, from bondage freed?
Or did the king, who sees through cunning spies,
Learn that my cart was lent him in his need?
Why should I else be forced to tread the street,
Like one accused of crime, my judge to meet?9

But why consider thus? I must go to the court-room. My good beadle, conduct me to the court.

Beadle. Follow me, sir. [They walk about.]

Chārudatta. [Apprehensively.] And what means this?

Hear how the gloomy raven hoarsely croaks;
The slaves of justice summon me again;
My left eye twitches; these repeated strokes
Of threatened evil frighten me and pain.10

Beadle. Follow me, sir, gently and without haste.

Chārudatta. [Walks about and looks before him.]

Upon the withered tree, a crow
Turns to the sun;
His left eye falls on me. Ah, woe!
My doubt is done.11

[He looks in another direction.] But see! a snake!

His eye is fixed upon me; and his back
Flashes like antimony's lustrous black;
His long tongue quivers; four white fangs appear;
His belly swells and coils. He slumbered here,
This prince of serpents, till I crossed his path,
And now he darts upon me in his wrath.12

[143.21. S.

And more than this:

I slip, although the ground has felt no rain;
My left eye, and my left arm throb again;
Another bird is screaming overhead;
All bodes a cruel death, and hope is fled.13

Surely, the gods will grant that all may yet be well.

Beadle. Follow me, sir. Here is the court-room. Pray enter.

Chārudatta. [Enters and looks about.] How wonderfully splendid is the court-room. For it seems an ocean,

Whose waters are the king's advisers, deep
In thought; as waves and shells it seems to keep
The attorneys; and as sharks and crocodiles
It has its spies that stand in waiting files;
Its elephants and horses[83] represent
The cruel ocean-fish on murder bent;
As if with herons of the sea, it shines
With screaming pettifoggers' numerous lines;
While in the guise of serpents, scribes are creeping
Upon its statecraft-trodden shore: the court
The likeness of an ocean still is keeping,
To which all harmful-cruel beasts resort.14

Come! [As he enters, he strikes his head against the door. Reflectively.] Alas! This also?

My left eye throbs; a raven cries;
A serpent coils athwart my path.
My safety now with heaven lies.15

But I must enter. [He does so.]

P. 238.16]

Judge. This is Chārudatta.

A countenance like his, with clear-cut nose,
Whose great, wide-opened eye frank candor shows,
Is not the home of wantonness;
With elephants, with horses, and with kine,
The