Dushm. This asylum is more delightful than paradise itself: I could fancy myself bathing in a pool of nectar.
Mát. [Stopping the car.] Let the king descend.
Dushm. [Joyfully descending.] How canst thou leave the car?
Mát. On such an occasion it will remain fixed: we may both leave it.—This way, victorious hero, this way.—Behold the retreat of the truly pious.
Dushm. I see with equal amazement both the pious and their awful retreat.—It becomes, indeed, pure spirits to feed on balmy air in a forest blooming with trees of life; to bathe in rills dyed yellow with the golden dust of the lotos, and to fortify their virtue in the mysterious bath; to meditate in caves, the pebbles of which are unblemished gems; and to restrain their passions, even though nymphs of exquisite beauty frolick around them: in this grove alone is attained the summit of true piety, to which other hermits in vain aspire.
Mát. In exalted minds the desire of perfect excellence continually increases.—[Turning aside.]—Tell me, Vriddhasácalya, in what business is the divine son of Maríchí now engaged?—What sayest thou?—Is he conversing with the daughter of Dacsha, who practises all the virtues of a dutiful wife, and is consulting him on moral questions?—Then we must await his leisure.—[To Dushmanta.] Rest, O king, under the shade of this Asóca tree, whilst I announce thy arrival to the father of Indra.
