Pocket Tales

Naren Saves a Performance

GITANJALI MURARI A fictional narrative based on incidents from the childhood of Swami Vivekananda. “Kalidasa’s play Shakuntala has opened at the theatre,” Shibu cried excitedly. “Let’s go,” Naren said, and the boys reached just in time for the show. As soon as they were seated, the lights dimmed in the hall. “Act one,” announced the director and a hush fell over the audience. The curtain rose to reveal a forest.

While hunting, King Dushyant spotted the beautiful and innocent Shakuntala. It was love at first sight. The king made a proposal of marriage and the fair maiden shyly

accepted. The happy couple spent idyllic days at the hermitage, forgetting the rest of the world. One day, a messenger arrived from the palace. “I must return, my beloved,” Dushyant told Shakuntala, “it’s an urgent matter…I shall soon send for you.” Slipping a gold band on her finger, he continued, “Whenever you will look at this ring, I’ll know you’re thinking of me.” The king parted from his dejected queen and the director announced an intermission.

“The actors are brilliant,” Naren declared, “especially the one playing Dushyant.”

“Yes,” agreed Shibu, “his acting is very real.”

After the interval, the play proceeded with act two.

Lost in thoughts of Dushyant, Shakuntala failed to attend to Sage Durvasa. In a fit of rage, he cursed her, and lo and behold, on the way to the palace, Shakuntala lost her ring. Without the ring, she was unable to convince Dushyant she was his wife. Shedding tears, she returned to the forest.

The audience heaved a sigh, deeply moved by the queen’s sorrow.

In time, a boy was born to Shakuntala and she named him Bharat. Years rolled by. One day, a fisherman found the royal ring in the belly of a fish and he immediately took it to the palace. On seeing the ring, Dushyant started up from his throne, remembering his marriage to Shakuntala. With a cry of anguish, he rushed to the forest.

Now came the final act.

In the forest, Dushyant was astonished to find a small child pry open the mouth of a lion and count its teeth. “Who are you, O fearless one?” he asked the boy.

Before Bharat could reply, a loud shout startled everyone in the theatre. “In the name of the law, I command you to stop the performance,” a government official, waving an order, charged up the stage. The actors froze and the director rushed out from the wings, wringing his hands. “Sir,” he pleaded, “this is the last act…if you could wait—”

“The law doesn’t wait for anyone,” yelled the officer and pounced on the trembling Dushyant. “This man is a thief! You are under arrest...come with me at once!”

“How dare you interrupt the performance?” A firm voice rang out clearly in the hall.

The officer spun around. Naren had jumped to his feet, eyes flashing. “Let the actors finish their job, officer…then you can do yours.”

“The boy is right,” members of the audience cried out, “we’ve bought tickets for this play…get off the stage immediately.”

The officer hesitated, but when the clamour to see the play to its end grew, he quickly left the hall with the warning, “I’ll be waiting outside.”

“If it weren’t for you, the play would’ve been ruined,” the director thanked Naren.

“Indeed,” the audience agreed, “because he spoke up, we too found the courage to face the officer.”

The play resumed, and when at last King Dushyant reunited with his Queen Shakuntala and his son Bharat, everyone cheered and burst into thunderous applause.

Brave, bold men, these are what we want. The brave alone do great things, not the cowards. What we want is vigour in the blood, strength in the nerves, iron muscles and nerves of steel.

— Swami Vivekananda