An account of the drama staged in a school
A play of king Harichandra
Last Monday we had a grand time. For our school had tagged the famous drama of king Harichandra in aid of the children welfare fund.
Exactly at 6 O’ clock the performance began with a fine chorus which sent a thrill of joy in the hearts of audience. Shouts of ``Satya Harichandra’’ rent the air.
Every one kingdom was full of joy and peace. But the king himself was restless at heart. Had he not given away his whole kingdom in charity to Viswamitra in his dream last night? What right had sit on the throne which did not belong to him now?
The king was thus brooding, surrounded his ministers, when the swami of his dream appeared. He reminded him of his dream of the previous night, and demanded Dakshina along with the great Daan.
King Harichandra went to Kashi and there sold himself, his wife and his child, and then paid the Dakshina to the swami.
The king now went to work in the service of Chandal. His duty was to charge tax from those who came to the cremation grounds to burn their dead. His wife and son went to work in the houses of a Seth. What life she had there!
Years rolled on! One day, her son, Lohitasya, while out in the forest to pluck flowers, was bitten by a cobra. The queen now took the dead body to the cremation grounds to burn it there. At this stage the play became very pathetic and tragic. Wild laminations rose from the spectators. The king demanded the tax. She had no money o pay. She cried with wild grief and tore her hair. Unfathomable was her grief! But the king was untouched. He must do his duty. He could not allow her to burn her dead child unless she parted with half of the shroud. At last she is forced to tear the shroud, But as she is about to tear it. The scene changes, flowers began to rain from heaven. A divine melody echoes through the sky. The period of trail is now over. The dead boy rises as if from a sweet dream of sleep. The king and the queen return to their kingdom.
The performance came to an end with the singing of Jan Gana Mana and the loud shouts of, `Jiao. Jai’ is to our Motherland.
I return home full of rich and varied impressions.
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