Twelve years with the Masters
In a hut near Kampur,
The days when I'd slosh
To the Ganges to wash
And try not to step in manure.

But oh, what I learned there!---
That truth is my duty,
That you're part of me
And soon you shall see
That we're both a part of
The lowliest cootie.

(The lights rise on a full stage studded with copies of Twelve Years With the Masters. Each member of the CHORUS holds a copy of his own, as IRENE waltzes on, dressed now in an expensive sari, her forehead decorated with sacred ash. Upstage CHARLOTTE and HORACE appear. CHARLOTTE regards the scene with great satisfaction while HORACE scurries around counting copies of the books and recording the figures in a notebook.) CHORUS We've been transcendental,
We've been pantheistic,
We've worshipped Hera
And we've worshipped Horus;
The Unitarians
Got too simplistic;
And Existentialism
Began to bore us.
We turned away
From each Latter Day Saint---
Christianity wasn't Christian,
And the Quakers were too quaint.

Oh, Madame Polenska!
Show us the way,
Show us the light!
Oh, Madame Polenska,
Teach us the truth,
Teach us what's right.

We've been searching for spiritual sparks,
But we've been searching through a prism;
We've tried Mohammed and we've tried Karl Marx,
Now let's try Polenskaism.

Oh, Madame Polenska,
We'll be your serf,
We'll be your slave!
Oh, Madame Polenska,
Teach us to get
All that we crave.
You're someone we need---
Our lives are so hollow---
Polenska, please lead,
We'll willingly follow.

(THEY dance about her, as SHE regards them with a blasé movement of her Hindu fan. As the dance builds to a crescendo, IRENE is suddenly aware of a strikingly virile, muscular YOUNG MAN who is staring at her with awe.)