human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Laurence Hutton?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Laurence Hutton:
  _Krishna:_      Some damsel I saw, supremely fair--
A moon unstained, that slowly rose,
Or a golden vine.
Eyes twin lotus-blooms, dyed with sūrm,
The playground of waves of love--
Twin timid partridges, snared by Nature
With nought but a rope of collyrium!
A garland of ivory-pearls caressed the burden
Of her mountain breasts--
Kāma pouring celestial streams from a brimming conch
On a golden Shambhu!
The sacrificer of a hundred offerings on a sacred shore
Were blest by such reward!
_Vidyāpati says: It is Gokula's lord._
_The herd-girls' darling._
The antelope is fearful of your eyes, your voice dismays
the koil.
Your gait alarms the olifant, he hides him in the wood:
Why came you not for speech with me, fair may?
All these have fled afar in fear of you,
How then should you in turn fear me?
Dismayed by your breasts, the unblown lily lingers under lake.
The globéd jar leaps into fire.
The honey-apple and the pomegranate abide aloft.
And Shambhu drinks his poison.
Dismayéd by your arms, the golden lily-root leaves not the mud.
Affrighted by your fingers, the flower-stems are shivering!
_Vidyāpati asks: How many shall I cite_
_Of spells of Love like these?_
_Krishna:_  Which of the gods this fair face fashioned?
Beauty-surpassing, heart's-bliss-granting,
Garland-victress of the Triple Worlds.
The sun-bright eyes of her fair face
Are tricked with sūrm--
Restless wagtails on a golden lotus,
At play with pitch-black snakes.
The vine of down from her navel's well
Is a serpent thirsting for air:
Thinking in terror her nose is Garuḍa's beak
It hides in the valley of her bosoms' hills.
Love with three arrows conquered Three World's,
Still two of the arrows remained:
Very cruel is Nature to slay the love-lorn,
Surrendering those to her two eyes!
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair maids_
_Who haunt the well of Love:_
_And Lakshmī Devī be witness._
_Krishna:_  Why did that moon-face cross my path?
Just for one moment her eyes met mine,
Whose sidelong glance is all too keen:
An ill day that for me!
My thoughts were set upon her breasts,
Love lay waking in my heart.
Her voice was ringing in my ears:
I would have gone, my feet refused to move.
_The bonds of hope constrain me yet:_
_Love is a tide, says Vidyāpati._
_Krishna:_  Fair-face, red brow-spot, there-behind the heavy
jet-black hair--
As if the sun and moon together rising left the night behind.
Ah damsel fair! with what and what devoted care,
Has Nature given to you the utmost beauty of the moon.
A grass green bodice binds your breasts, a glimpse is
only seen;
So jealously you cover them,--but never snow may hide
the hills!
Dark sūrm decks your curving restless eyes.
As if the bees would rest their weight upon some
wind-bent lotus.
_Hearken, young thing, says Vidyāpati; these charms,
you know them all,--_
_Krishna:_  She left the shrine at cowdust-time, passing gliding
Like a flash of lightning mated with a fresh cloud.
Tender of age she was, a garland deftly woven:
A glimpse could not content my hope, but Love's fire
fiercer fanned.
Bright was her body, shining under wimple with the
shene of gold:
Long locks, small middle, sidelong-glancing eyes.
And softly smiling, pierced me with the arrows
of her eyes,--
_Lord of the Five Gaurs, live for ever, says Vidyāpati!_
_Krishna:_  Laughing, talking, milk-white girl.
Nectar-showering as autumn moon at full:
Gainly of gait as olifant-king.
Small was her middle as any lion's, her frail frame breaking
With the burden of the honey-apples of her breasts.
Her lovely eyes shone white beside the sūrm that dyed them.
Bees, as it were, mistaking them for spotless water-lilies.
_Says Vidyapati: The Lord of lovers_
_Sorely tholes the sight of Radha's loveliness._
_Krishna:_      I could not see her clearly:
Like a vine of lightning        flashing from a wreath
of cloud,
She plunged an arrow in my heart.
Half the wimple had slipped,    half was her face in smiles.
Half a wave in her eyes:
Half of her bosom I saw, half of the wimple filling,--
Love consumes me ever since.
Bright was her body withal,     and golden cups her breasts.
Her bodice, Love transformed:
My wits were routed,--          meseems this snare
Pearl-teeth arow                her lips did meet.
That murmured gentle words.
_Vidyāpati says:                Grief haunts my heart:_
_I saw her indeed, but hope was not sated._
_Krishna:_  Beholding that my love was at her bath,
She pierced my heart with arrows five,--
The stream of water pouring from her tresses.
Was her moon-face weeping, frighted by their gloom.
The wet cloth clung upon her corse,--
So might Kāma shake a hermit's heart!
Twin breasts were cakravākas sweet.
United by the gods upon the self-same shore,--
Caged in the prison of her arms.
Lest they should fly away in fear.
_Vidyāpati, the poet, sings:_
_The precious maid her lover meets!_
_Krishna:_  A joyous day this day for me!
I saw my love when she was bathing,
A stream of water pouring from her hair,--
The clouds were showering strings of pearls!
Wiping her face intentifly,
As though she cleansed a golden mirror,--
Discovering both her breasts.
Where had been set inverted golden cups,
She let her zone fall free:
_That was the bound of my desire, says Vidyāpati._
_Krishna:_  Rāi of the lily face had not yet climbed the bank,
When she beheld brave Kān before her:
'A maid demure, with hanging head, in company of elders.
How was I to see her face?'
But matchless was the bright may's art:
Stepping before them all, she called aloud,
With half-averted face,
And broke withal her string of pearls.
Crying aloud: 'My garland's broken!'
Every person, one and all, was gathering up the beads,--
Then she gazed on Shyāma!
Her partridge-eyes beholding Krishna's moon-fair face.
Were drinking draughts of dew:
_Each on the other gazing, spread abroad the taste
_That Vidyāpati knoweth well._
_Krishna:_  She smiled a little when she saw me lurking there--
As if the rising moon lit up the night:
And when she rained on me her sidelong glances,
The heavens became a swarm of bees.
Who knoweth whose the maid may be,
Setting my heart a-shake, and vanishing?
The humble-bee is prisoned in the lotus-flower of love,--
I was amazed to see the timid fair one passing by.
Then was made manifest the beauty of her breasts,--
(Whose heart does not the golden lily snare?)
Half was she hidden, half revealed.
Her globéd breasts told me of her desire.
_Vidyāpati says: That was love's dawn:_
_Whom does Madans secret arrow spare?_
_Dūtikā:_  The flower is open all amidst the thorns;
The frenzied bee can find no place of rest,
But haunts continually the nectar-laden jasmine,
Reckless of life in eager thirst.
He honey-life, you honey-heap.
Already hiding hoarded sweets,--
The maddened bee has neither home
Nor rest without your jasmine-self.
Deep in your heart consider this:
Why should you be the murderer of a bee?
_For Vidyāpati avows: He will return to life._
_If He may drink the nectar of your lips._
_Krishna:_  Wheresoever her twin feet fall,
A lotus-flower uplifts them:
Wheresoever her body passes swaying,
There is the lightning's undulation!
Surpassing radiance that I beheld,
Has made her seat amidst my heart:
Wheresoever her eyes are opened,
There are water-lilies seen!
Wheresoever her light laugh rings,
There very nectar sours in envy:
Wheresoever fall her sidelong glances,
Fly the myriads of Madan's arrows!
Even an instant to behold such loveliness
Suffices to eclipse the Triple Worlds:
But and I see her once again,
My mourning may depart!
_Says Vidyāpati: In sooth,_
_For your dear sake, I'll bring her._
_Dūtikā:_  Childhood and youth are mingled both,
Her eyes have taken the road to her ears:
Wily are her words, and her low laugh
As if the moon appeared on earth.
She takes a mirror to array herself,
And asks: 'What is the game of love, my dear?'
How many times she secretly regards her bosom,
Smiling to see her breasts!
First like a jujube, then like an orange,--
Love day by day enfolds her limbs:
O Mādhava, I saw a girl surpassing fair.
Childhood and youth were one in her!
_Saith Vidyāpati: Oh foolish maid,_
_The wise would say, The twain have met._
_Dūtikā:_  Day by day her breasts grew great.
Her hips increased, her middle waned:
Madan now enlarged her eyes.
All of her childhood fled in fear.
Breasts that are jujubes first, and then like oranges,
Daily the sting of Love increasing them:
Thereafter waxing greater than the pummalo,
Now they are twin ripe honey-apple fruits.
Ah Mādhava! I saw the fair one freely,
I suddenly beheld her as she bathed;
The filmy muslin clung upon her breast,--
Happy he who sees her thus!
Her jet-black hair poured down her breast
As though a shaggy yak concealed a gold Mahesh:
_Hearken Murāri, Vidyāpati saith:_
_So fair a may may dally with a man of worth._
_Krishna:_  Now and again her eyes to their corners fly,
Now and again her filmy robe receives them;
Now and again her serried teeth laugh out,
Now and again the smile delays upon her lips.
Sometimes she hurries nervously, sometimes she walks
but slowly,
Now for the first time learning Madan's lessons:
She steals a glance at her breasts' buds,--
Sometimes she draws the wimple close, sometimes she
stands astonished.
Childhood and youth are met in her.
None knoweth which is first or last:
_Hearken, O Kāna, says Vidyāpati,_
_The marks of youth and childhood are indivisible._
_Krishna:_  Childhood and youth are face to face,--
She stands uncertain, in the hold of rival factions:
Sometimes she binds her hair, sometimes she lets it fall,
Sometimes she hides her body, sometimes she leaves it bare.
Her tranquil eyes are somewhat troubled,
There where the breasts arise are purple stains,
Her restless feet reflect her heart's unrest:
Madan awakes, whose eyes were shut.
_Hearken, Murāri, saith Vidyāpati:_
_Sustain with patience till I bring her._
_Dūtikā:_   The little buds are peeping shyly,
Her eyes have stolen the dancing of her feet,
Her hand remains continually upon her robe,
She is ashamed to question her companions.
Oh Mādhav! How shall I recite her growing-up?
E'en Madan's heart, beholding her, must be ensnared!
Love is forsooth the ruler of her heart:
Setting the jars upon her breast, he straightens out her form.
She bends her mind to learn the lore of love,
Just as the deer to hear the song:
Strife springs up twixt youth and childhood.
Neither admits defeat or victory.
_Shall she not leave her childhood finally?_
_Dūtikā:_   Now youth advanced, childhood withdrew,
Her eyes have caught the dancing of her feet.
Twin eyes performed the task of messengers,
Her laughter hid, and shame was born.
Continually she sets her hand upon her robe.
Speaks every word with hanging head:
Her hips have gained their full-grown glory--
She leans on her companions when she walks.
Hearken, O Kana: I have drawn my own conclusions,
Hearken now, and make your own decision:
_The savour of this matter is well-known to Vidyāpati,--_
_Record I take of Rāja Shrvasimha and Lakshmī Devī._
_Rādhā_:   How shall I tell of Kānu's beauty, my dear?
Who shall describe that dream-shape?
His lovely form is a fresh cloud,
His yellow garment the lightning's flash.
So black, so black his waving hair!
The peacock-plume so near the moon's orb!
For fragrance of the screw-pine and the jasmine,
Madan casts away his flower-arrows in dismay.
_Vidyāpati asks: What more shall I say?_
_Nature has emptied Madan's treasury!_
_Rādhā:_    I had desired to look on Kānu,
But when I saw him I was filled with fear:
Ever since then I am both fond and foolish,
I have no knowledge at all what I say or do.
My twin eyes wept like dripping rain,
Unceasingly my heart went pit-a-pat:
I cannot think what made me look on him, my dear,
Just for that whim, I lent my life into another's hand!
I cannot tell what that dear thief has done to me,--
When I beheld him, he did steal my heart, and went away,
And as he went he showed so many signs of love,
The more I would forget, the less I may!
_Hearken, fair maid, says Vidyāpati:_
_Have patience in your heart, for you shall meet Murāri._
_Rādhā:_    A peerless beauty I beheld, my dear,
If you but listen, you may know it was the vision of a dream
Twin lotus-feet that wore a string of moons,
From them two tender tamāl-shafts arising,--
Around them twined a vine of lightning,
(He slowly passed along Kālindī's bank):
Upon his leaf-like hands another string of moons--
The lustre of the sun on new-blown flowers.
Twin flawless bimba-fruits were ripe.
Above them sat a tranquil parrot:
Over him twin restless wagtails.
Over them a serpent coiled about his head.
My playful maid, explain:
Why did he steal my wits when I beheld him thus?
_Vidyāpati says: It is a sign of love;_
_Well have you weighed the worthy wight._
_Rādhā:_    How can I tell the limits of my grief, my dear?
The blowing of that flute diffuses poison through my frame:
Insistently I hear it sounding,
And then my heart and body melt in shame.
In that supreme instant, my body fills to overflowing,
I dare not lift my eyes lest anyone should know of it:
In the company of elders, waves of emotion sweeping through me,
I draw my dress across each limb to hide it carefully.
With softest steps I walk about the house--
Kind fate has so far hidden my secret shame--
But rapture fills my heart and body, my girdle slips!
_Vidyāpati is dazed! What can he say?_
_Sakhī:_    Happy is your birth, and blest your beauty!
For all are crying upon Kānu, Kānu,
And he is laden deep with love of you.
The longing cloud desires the cātak,
The moon desires the partridge,
The vine upholds the full-grown tree,--
There is amazement in my heart!
When there you stood with hanging hair,
Across your breast but half its veil,
Then Kānu, seeing all, was sorely troubled,--
Tell me, dear damsel, what is your intent?
When you laughed and showed your teeth,
With hand on hand held over head,
And your unconscious glances pierced his heart,--
Then seeing him, you took a maiden on your lap!
Such is my tale of you, O beauty,
Advise you thereupon:
_You are the idol of his heart, and he a frame forlorn,_
_Says Vidyāpati the poet._
_Sakhī:_    Hearken, hearken, O virtuous Rādhā:
Murdering Mādhava, what is the good you will gain?
By day the moon is pale and lonely,
Likewise _he_ waxes thinner and thinner:
His rings and bracelets slip,--
I think he must remake them many times.
_I cannot understand your ways;_
_The poet rests his head upon his hands!_
_Sakhī:_    Make your decision, Beauty:
Kāna is waxen wood for want of you,
Sometimes he laughs for little cause:
What would he say with passionate words?
Very sorry are his sighs,
His helpless body trembles,
None can hold him still.
_Saith Vidyāpati: Dear maiden,_
_Sakhī:_    Hearken fair damsel, to good advice,
For I shall teach you special wisdom:
First you shall sit beside the bed,
With bended neck, but half regarding him.
And when your lover touches you, push out your hand,
Remaining silent, uttering never a word:
And when he takes you forcibly and clasps you to his side,
Passionately you shall exclaim. Nay, nay!
In his embrace, your body you shall wrench aside,
Breaking away in the moment of delight.
_Saith Vidyāpati: What can I say?_
_Yourself the Guru shall teach e'en Love himself._
_Sakhī:_    Now hear me, daughter of a king,
For I have come to speak with you:
You have destroyed the life of precious Kāna,--
What work is this that you have wrought?
When day declined, I think,
You walked beside the water's edge,
And when you saw him, did embrace
Some maiden's neck, demurely smiling:
And showing him your moon-face,
You put him in a sorry plight.
Then suddenly you came away, before he saw you well
Now he is weeping, _Wel-a-way_.
Giving him just a glimpse of your breast,
You stole his heart:
_Vidyāpati enquires: Beauty,_
_How shall Kānu live?_
_Sakhī:_  Attend my teaching, artless maid,
And I shall give you good advice:
And paint your curving eyes with sūrm.
Then you shall go to him with all your body folded close,
My dear, at first you shall not go anigh him,
But with wanton glances, fair one, shall awaken Love.
Hiding your breasts, your shoulders showing,
Your girdle knotted fast,
You shall appear offended, yet be loving,
You shall refrain desire, that ever springs afresh.
_Says Vidyāpati: This is the first degree:_
_They that be worthy shall taste the fruit._
_Rādhā:_  I know not the taste of love, nor the colour of desire;
That I should love him as you ask?
A young thing I, afraid of shame.
What can I tell you, dearest maiden?
I may not dare to have ado with him,
He is a herdsman lover, new-enflamed,
With all five arrows Love awakens his desire.
No sooner seeing me, but he will clip me tight:
Who then will save me, when my life is dying?
_Vidyāpati says: Your fears are vain,_
_Believe me, that his love is not of such a sort._
_Rādhā:_  Leave me, dear maid, I pray you,--
I will not go whereas he is:
Nought do I know the skill of words,
Or art of signs, nor how to pretend offense.
All of my friends arraying me at once,--
I cannot even bind my own hair!
I never have heard what dalliance means,
How may I mix with Mādhava?
He is learned in love, a passionate swain,
And I a weak girl of scanty wisdom.
_Says Vidyāpati: What counsel do I give?_
_'Tis that there should be union._
_Dūtika:_   Hearken, hearken, beautiful Kānāi:
I give the maiden Rādhā to your care,
A lotus-damsel, softly-wrought,
And thirstier bee than you.
The feast of honey is prepared,--
Only forget the Archer's cruelty,
Touching her bosom gently
As an olifant a lily.
Making excuse to count her necklace pearls,
Your hands may lift the burden of her breasts:
She does not understand the ways of love,
But now consents, and now refuses.
The shirīsh-flower is not more delicate than she, therefore
Inure her to the Archer's way by little steps,--
_The poet Vidyāpati lays down_
_This prayer of a messenger upon your feet._
_Sakhī:_    When first the damsel to her leman came,
Her heart beat fast with shame and fear:
Like to a golden image, Rādhā stood quite still,
Nor moving forward, nor returning.
Taking her hands, he sets her by his side,
And she in shame and anger veils her face:
When he unfolds her face and kisses her upon her mouth,
She hides the shamefast face in Mādhav's breast.
_This is the merry song of Vidyāpati the poet,_
_Delighting Rājā Shivasimha's heart._
_Sakhī:_    The sakhī soothed her fears, and led her lovingly,--
Her leman's heart was gladdened, he took her by the hand:
But Rādhā paled at Kānu's touch,
A lotus fading in the moon's embrace.
She cries: _Oh no, no, no!_ and tears are pouring
from her eyes,
She lies outstretched upon the margin of the bed,
His close embrace has not unloosed her zone,--
Even of handling of her breasts has been but little.
She lifts the wimple up to hide her face,
She cannot rest, but trembles through and through.
_Says Vidyāpati: The heart of it is patience:_
_Step by step may Madan claim his own._
_Sakhī:_    Ah damsel fair! in dalliance is no delight,
For Madan wounds the heart with double pains.
The maidens all together setting her by Kānu's side,
The damsel breathes in frightened gasps:
When Kānu lifts her to his lap, she bends her body back,
Like the young snake, untamed by spells.
'But shut your eyes this once, my fair one,
As a sick man drinks his draught:
A little moment's pain, and then the birth of bliss,--
Why do you turn your face away from this, my girl?'
_Hearken, Murāri, saith Vidyāpati:_
_You are the ocean of desire, and she is artless._
_Rādhā:_    How can I tell of what was done that night?
Unhappily the hours were spent with Mādhava:
He clasped my breasts and drank the nectar of my lips,
Laying his face on mine, he killed my life.
(First youth, and hence this pouring out of passion:
So rash is Kān,--he has no skill in love).
Madan-maddened, nothing recking,
He would not heed how many prayers!
_Hearken, Lady fair, says Vidyāpati:_
_You are but artless, and Murāri is athirst._
_Rādhā:_    What can I say, my sakhī? It is shame to tell
All that my Lover did imperiously;
A young thing I, unlearned in lore of love,--
It was the messenger that led me to his side.
My body shivered at the sight of him,
So fierce he was to fall on me,
I lost my wits in his embrace:
How can I tell what amorous play he played?
In everything my Lord behaved ungently,
How can I speak of it amongst my friends?
Why ask of it, who know it all too well?
Happy is she whom he may not distress!
_Fear not, says Vidyāpati:_
_Such is the fashion of first dalliance._
_Rādhā:_    Do not urge me, dearest maiden, do not urge.
What can I do, if he should soothe my fears?
Few are my years, for I am not so old as Kānu,--
I am too shamefast and too tender.
Cruel Hari played with me impatiently,
How can I tell how many woes the night bestowed?
Passion flamed up, I lost my wits,--
Who knows when he broke my girdle?
He held me close, with pinioned arms,
And then my heart was beating wildly;
I let him see my streaming eyes,
But even then Kānu had no pity.
My wicked lover parched my lips--
Abetted by the night, Rahu devoured the moon;
He tore my twin breasts with his nails,
Just as a lion tears an elephant.
_Ah amorous woman, says Vidyāpati,--_
_You knew full well Murāri was aflame!_
_Sakhī:_    Shyāma sitting in his pride
Speaks of the night's delights:
'She is the beauteous sweet-faced Rāi,
With rapture I received her in my inmost heart.
'How many ways she kissed me,
Laughing light and low in gladness,
Diversely disporting,
My dream of delight.
'How nectar-sweet her words,
Eyebrows arching, wanton glances,
Damsel waking in my heart's core.'
_This is first love, says Vidyāpati._
_Rādhā:_    O maiden, dearest maiden, do not lead me to him,
Too young am I, and he is a burning lover:
My heart is shaken, going to his side,--
The amorous bee will spring upon the lotus.
The muslin hides my harmless body
Like wimpling waters of a lily-lake:
Oh Mother mine, how creatures suffer pain!
What Power shaped the wicked Night?
_Says Vidyāpati: What is befitting now?_
_Who cannot tell when it is dawn?_
_Sakhī:_    Her gentle words she can but stammer,
Her shamefast speech will not well out:
To-day I found her most contrary,
Sometimes consenting, sometimes fearful.
At any word of dalliance, she tightly shuts her eyes,
For she has caught a glimpse of the great sea of Love:
At kissing-time she turns her face away,--
The moon has taken the lotus on his lap!
Stricken with terror if her zone be touched, the shining maiden
Knows that Madan's treasury is being rifled.
Her clothes are disarrayed, she hides her bosom
with her arms,--
_What is Vidyāpati to think, forsooth?_
_For at the moment of embrace, she flies the bed!_
_Rādhā:_    Oh Hari, Why do you seek to loose my girdle?
You shall not win your will:
I cannot tell what pleasure there can be in seeing me,
But now I know your guile, O Banamāli!
If you will listen to my plea, Murāri,
I shall abuse you only very gently:
Sufficed with dalliance, what need for sight?
My soul may not endure it.
Never has like been heard,
While lamps are lit, to play with me:
The people of the house will hear our very breath!
Deal with me gently, for the people of the house are
very near.
_This savour Vidyāpati knoweth well,--_
_Rājā Shivasimha and Lakshmī Devī be witness!_
_Rādhā:_    You that are skilled in passion's lore have pity
on my shame,--
I will forsake it when my youth increases:
My little savour cannot satisfy you now,
The little draught will not suffice to slake your thirst.
Would you but take it drop by drop,
Daily increasing like the digit of the moon!
These little breasts of mine will hardly fill your hands
O Hari, do not wound them with your nails, be wise in love.
_Vidyāpati exclaims: What are these gestes,_
_To set such store upon a green pomegranate?_
_Rādhā:_    You are that Banamāli that did slay Chānur:
This tender woman is the shirīsh-flower.
O cruel messenger that made this war,
And gave a jasmine-garland to an olifant!
No longer does the sūrm paint my eyes,
And wet with sweat are musk and sandal:
O wounded Mādhav, I beseech you,
Do not offer up my life upon the altar of Desire!
O Hari, Hari, let your purpose be
To spare my life until another day.
_Give Love his due, impatient lover!_
_Says Vidyāpati: Your wish shall be accomplished._
_Sakhī:_    Amorous the swain, and little is his darling:
If hands be laid on her, how many are her wiles!
With what entreaties and persuasions have the maidens led her
To her lover's house, and laid her on his bed!
With face averted, lying closely curled,
(For who may turn the tide when passion flows?)
She hides her face beneath the wimple,--
The frightened moon escaping from the storm.
No word comes out, she hears nought that is said,
Repeatedly she folds her hands imploringly:
With covering arms she guards the treasures of her life,--
She needs no bodice to enfold her breasts.
Insistently from sight and touch alike
A matter for her maidens' mocking many days,
Now learning her the lore of Love.
_Vidyāpati finds great delight herein:_
_For at a sudden touch, she pushes out her hand!_
_Sakhī:_    Enough! and cast the trouble from your heart.
Be not afraid, go to your lover's side:
Have done with obstinacy, for I tell you
Never can be joy without its pain.
But half a grain of grief, and then a life of gladness
Why are you so averse to this, my girl?
Just for a moment shut your eyes,
As a sick man drinks his draught.
_Go, Beauty, go, and play loves game,_
_Vidyāpati prays for your consent._
_Rādhā:_    O Hari, if you will insist on touching me,
The sin of murdering a wife will fall on you:
You are a guileful lover full of passion
I know not whether it be sweet or bitter.
When passion is outpoured, I shiver
Like an arrow-smitten bounding antelope:
O do not realise your hopes before the time,--
Savour is never lacking to the wise man's end.
_Vidyāpati says: I see it clear,_
_That honeyed fruit is never green._
_Sakhī:_    How to direct the flying arrows of her restless eyes
The Archer-guru teaches her the unfamiliar lesson
(And who would practise uninformed?)
'Oh do not take my life by force!
Toy not with me, O Kānu,--release my skirt;
I am so faint, I fear love's war.
How can my early youth content your will at all?
A little riches cannot satisfy a beggar.
The unblown jasmine of the early spring
Cannot appease the hunger of the lusty bees:
There cannot be a happy ending of a sinful deed--
Be not so rash, when you ought rather hesitate.'
_Says Vidyāpati: Oh amorous Kānu!_
_The maddened elephant heeds not the goad._
_Sakhī:_    With soft persuasion all the maidens
Led her to her lover's side,
A fawn ensnaréd from the forest
Panting hard.
The sweet-face sits beside the bed
With busily averted looks,
Her mind wide-wandering,--
Love breathing hard.
Cruel is Love, and loveliness is stubborn,
She will not follow reason:
Fast is her girdle knotted, bodice bound,
And barriers before her lips.
Her body closely swathed on neither side
A glimpse revealed,
She yields her life at a hand's touch,--
How may Hari win his will?
_Unhappy Kānta lays how many prayers_
_Upon the maiden's feet,_
_Hurting her soul (so Rādhā thinks):_
_Such is the song of Vidyāpati._
Her glorious body far surpasses any golden bud,
Or flawless flash of lightning.
Her tresses far surpass the clouds, the night, the yak,
Or bees, or moss:
Her eyebrow-tendril set on a crescent brow, surpasses
Bow and bees and snakes.
Her face excels the golden mirror, the moon, the lily,
Her lips the bimba-fruit and coral:
Her teeth surpass the pearl, the jasmine and the granate seed.
Her neck the figure of the conch.
Her beauteous breasts surpass the honey apple, or twin
palmyra fruits,
Or golden jars, mountains, or goblets:
Her arms excel the lotus-root and jungle-rope.
Her waist the drum's and lion's.
Softer than moss her vine of down and darker than the sūrm,
The triple folds are lovelier than rolling waves:
Her navel far surpasses any lake, or lotus-leaves.
Her buttocks, head of olifant.
Her thighs excel the plaintain-stem, or trunk of royal olifant.
Her hands and feet, the lotus of the land:
Her nails surpass pomegranate-seeds, the moon, or gems.
Her speech is more than nectar-sweet.
_Says Vidyāpati: Her shape is unsurpassed,_
_Peerless is Rādhā's beauty:_
_Is the eleventh Avatar!_
_Sakhī:_    Rādhā's love is young,
No obstacle can stay her:
She has started all alone,
Reckless of any path.
That weighed upon her jutting breasts:
She casts the rings and bracelets from her hands.
And leaves them all along the road.
She flings afar and hurries on:
The night is very thick and black,
But Love lights up the gloom.
The way is fraught with dangers
Which love's weapon overcomes:
_Vidyāpati knows your mind--_
_Never was such another seen._
_Krishna:_  The night is late, the fair one timorous and fearful:
The path is filled with dreadful snakes,
How many dangers do her path beset, and she with feet
so tender!
To the feet of Providence I trust her,
Success attend the Beauty's tryst!
The sky is black, the earth is sodden,--
My heart is anxious for her danger.
Heavy the darkness in every airt,--
Her feet may slip, she cannot find the path:
Her glance beguiles each living thing
Lakshmī comes in human form!
_Says Vidyāpati the poet:_
_The maid enamoured yields to none but Love._
_Sakhī:_    She veils her face, that lady shene,--
They tell the king: The moon is stolen.
O lovely lover, how may you not be seen
By watchmen keeping watch in every house?
Let not your smile flash out, sweet-face,
Murmur but soft and low the music of your words,--
For near your lips are lustrous teeth.
As near the vermeil mark is set a pearl.
Hearken, hearken, to my words of counsel,
Even in dreams may nothing hinder:
The moon differs from you but in her spots,
For she is stained, and you are stainless.
_Says Vidyāpati: My heart is fearless._
_Sakhī:_    The citizens are waking on the king's highway,
Rays of the moon light up the dome of earth:
No peace in new-born love,--
I am amazed to see you. Loveliness!
How many ways the damsel seeks to hide herself:
She goes a-trysting in a boy's disguise.
And binds her flowing tresses in a knot.
Changing diversely the fashion of her dress.
And since her breasts may not be hidden by their veil,
She clasps an instrument of music to her bosom:
Thus she attains the darkness of the forest,--
The Lord of lovers cannot know her when he sees her!
Perplexed is Mādhava, when he perceives her,
But at a touch the riddle is resolved.
_Says Vidyāpati: What happened then,--_
_What sports of Love ensued?_
_Kavi:_  Came the lord of seasons,--Royal Spring:
The hosts of bees besieged the mādhavī flowers,
The sun's rays reached their youthful powers,
The keshara flowers upheld the sceptre of the king.
Fresh pītal flowers composed the royal throne,
Golden blossoms raised the state umbrella.
And mango-buds the crest above:
Before the king the koils sang the pancam-note.
The peacocks danced, the bees buzzed,
The twice-born sang the blessing spells:
Enamoured of the southern breeze.
The pollen of the flowers upraised a canopy.
Jasmine and honey-apple bore the banner:
Pātal the quiver, rows of ashoka trees the arrows.
Seeing the allied kimshuk and labanga-vine
The Winter season broke before the Spring.
The army was a swarm of honey-bees
That rooted out the Winter utterly:
The rescued lotus came to life.
Offering its fresh leaves for a throne.
_There is delight in Brindāban, says Vidyāpati,_
_Befitting what shall there befall._
_Kavi:_  In Brindāban renewed the groves are green,
The flowers new-spread:
The Spring is new, and the new southern breeze
Excites the swarms of lusty bees.
The bloom of youth disports.
The bowers beside Kālindī's banks display unwonted loveliness,
New snares of love are laid:
The bees are frenzied by new sappy buds,
The callow koils are a-calling.
The new young maidens, maddened with new longings,
Are hurrying to the groves.
A new Lord reigns: the lusty lovers young
Are bright with new-found lustre.
_For ever and for ever new diversions such as these_
_Delight the heart of Vidyāpati._
_Kavi:_  Drunken are the honey-bees in honey-season
With the honey of the honey-flowers:
In Honey-Brindāban resides
The Honey-Lord of honey-love.
Amid the companies of honey-maids
Is honey-honey-dalliance:
Honeyed are the blissful instruments of music,
Honeyed hands are beating honey-measures.
Honeyed is the dance's sway,
Honeyed are the movements of the dancers.
Honeyed are their happy songs,
_And honeyed are the words of Vidyāpati._
_Kavi:_  The blissful night of Spring holds sway
Glad dalliance among, and passionate rāsa-dance;
Skilled in the dance. He bathes with her in bliss.
Merrily the company of maidens dancing,--
Golden bangles tinkling tunefully,--
Now will they sing an amorous air
The mode of Spring, more passionate than any other.
Rabāb, pināsh, and mahātik are sounding:
Murali sports, delighting Rādhā's heart.
_The merry poet Vidyāpati sings_
_What Rūpanārāyan his lord, well knows._
_Krishna:_  Refrain your wrath, disdainful lady:
Breasts that are globes of gold, and serpent-necklace,
By these I swear,--
If ever I touch another girl, forsaking you,
May I be bitten by that necklace-serpent!
Or if you will not trust my protestation,
Inflict on me at will a fitting penance:
Bound in the rope of your two arms, bruise me with your hips.
Rest on my body the weary burden of your breasts.
Prison me night and day within your bosom's gaol!
_Vidyāpati says: This penance is befitting!_
_Dūtikā:_  He who was wont to wanton with a flute, has cast away
He who was wont to wear a yellow weed, now grovels at
There was a time your eyes would overflow, might you
not see him.
Now you will not so much as look upon his face!
Beauty, abandon your bitter mood.
Lusty Kānu is praying at your feet:
By happy hap this amorous Shyām is yours.
By happy hap the tide of spring,--
By happy hap this love's attainment,
By happy hap this blissful night,--
Damsel disdainful, will you forsake your Krishna's body,
And spend your life henceforth in lonely weeping?
_These be love's ways, says Vidyāpati,--_
_Yet prayer's denial deserves no praise._
_Dūtikā:_  One little moment of a day you keep your youth,--
The days are floating by:
Evil and good, these two will travel at your side,--
The only final gain is what you give to others.
Beauty, you have had part in killing Hari,
All day and night he thinks of only you,--
This is his hour of separation!
In sorrow's sea he swims or sinks,--
Show him your globéd breasts:
O worthy fair one, Gokula's Lord preserve,
And win the praise of the Triple Worlds!
_Of a myriad lovers, whosoever looks on Kāna,_
_Deems that day is blest:_
_Frenzied is Hari by reason of your fury_
_The poet Vidyāpati avows._
_Rādhā:_      You shall not tell me otherwise, my dear:
Little by little I came to know him better,
That Kānu is so cunning.
He made a sweetmeat of some knotty wood,
By smearing treacle on it:
Filling with poison a golden jar,
He added a layer of milk!
Yet surely Kān is good, and I am bad,
Because his words beguile me:
In heart and speech He is the same,
Matchless amidst a myriad.
_The same flower that you cast away, the same you use
in prayer._
_And with the same you string the bow:_
_Such is the quality of Kānu s speech._
_The poet Vidyāpati avows._
_Dūtika:_  O lovely wrathful lady, stony-heart,
In such a plight he is, and yet you say no word!
True love's way is not of such a sort;
It is befitting you should mix with him.
When for his loneliness his life is forfeit,
With whom will you continue anger then?
Who says your heart is soft?
Never was heart so hard as yours!
_If now you do not mix with Mādhava,_
_The poet Vidyāpati will never speak with you again._
_Kavi:_  With hanging head, she writes upon the ground,
Whoever utters Shyāma's name, she utterly ignores
Over her glowing robe her hair falls free,
Her face is like a lord of rosy lilies, void of sap:
The earth is flooded with her streaming tears.
Just then the Lady of the Forest came
And said: 'Fair maid, go we to serve the Sun.'
_But she of the hanging head made no reply._
_Says Vidyāpati: She went away._
_Krishna:_  'Why veil your face, dear beautiful?
You've stolen my wits away:
You have no dread of slaying men,
Your courage is unbounded!
'O wrathful lady, my heart is frenzied,
No more I may sustain the pangs of Madan,
But come to you for refuge.
'Whether two towering hills, or cups of gold,
I gaze and cannot tell:
And on each breast is Shambhu reverenced,
Framed in his crescent moon.
'I fain would touch them with these lotus hands
If fate be not forbidding:
I seek a sanctuary at your feet--
(O that the damsel may be kind!)'
Seeing her restlessness, I was distraught.
My heart beat fast.
_Hearken, young damsel, says Vidyāpati:_
_Bestow some boon on Kāna._
_Krishna:_  Hearken, hearken, worthy Rādhā,
For what offence do you refuse my company?
How many stars have risen in the sky,
But the moon is another Avatār!
What more in special can I say?
In a host of a myriad Lakshmīs I have eyes for none.
_And hearing this the maiden's heart dissolved in tears,_
_And his desires were realised._
_Vidyāpati says: There was reunion;_
_All were astonished at the tale!_
_Krishna:_  Your high round breasts--like golden cups--
And curving eyes, have stolen my wits away:
O lady fair, forbear your bitter fury,
And give the frenzied bee his draught of honey!
I clasp your hands, my fair sweet girl,
Be not so cruel, have pity on my lot:
How many times must I advise you
I may no more sustain the sting of love!
_Vidyāpati says: You know full well._
_That hope deferred is worse than death._
_Dutikā:_  Hearken, O Mādhava: Rādhā is waxen wilful,--
How carefully and in how many ways I warned her.
And yet the beauty gave no answer!
The lovely creature when she hears your name,
Covers her ears with her hands:
She who thought that your love was for ever new.
Now will not even hear you speak!
I laid before her a lock of your hair.
Flowers and grass and pan:
But the wrathful face of a lily she would not turn,--
She sat unmoved, with face averted.
_This heart of yours forsooth, is lightning's very essence,--_
_How shall I soothe your fury?_
_Vidyāpati says: A kind word would be fitting;_
_But you yourself be still, O Kāna._
_Rādhā:_      At last, my dear, I see how Kāna is uncouth:
An axe of brass, useless for any work,
A layer of tinsel over it!
Albeit I showed him angry eyes, how came it that the mountains
Slipped in two thick roads?
Taking the shālmal for the sandal, he clasped it close,--
But there was a thorny dart!
He who has spent his life amongst the beasts,
What can he know of Rati's ways?
This is a night of nectar, but I spent it vainly
With yonder boorish Herdsman!
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, young woman:_
_He is not ever a boor!_
_You are uncouth yourself, your trade is herding too,_
_You cannot lay such blame on Hari!_
_Rādhā:_  There bloomed a flower of golden shene,
My hope was high the fruit would be a gem,
I fed its roots with streams of milk;
I saw no fruit, and all was vanity!
I am the simple daughter of a cowherd,
And this unworthy love is worse than death;
What woe, Alas, has Fate afflicted me,--
For hope of gain, I lost my all!
_This is Vidyāpati' s conclusion:_
_You cannot make a dogs tail straight._
_Krishna:_  The sun is in the East, the tide of night has ebbed,
The moon is merging in the sky.
The water-lily closed,--and even so, my lady fair,
Your lily-face is shut.
A lily-face, two lotus-eyes,
And lips of honey.
All your body flower-wrought,--
Why is your heart of stone?
Your hands are wasted, and you wear no bracelets,
Even a garland is a weary burden:
And yet you will not cast away your mountain load of pride--
What wicked ways are yours!
_Now leave these wrongs, give Hari bliss, my fair,_
_Now with the dawn, give over wrath:_
_Sakhī:_  Beauty, of lineage and courtesy, without your eyes--
The best of lovers--what may you do?
Who have no pity on the pitiful?
'I would advise you very seriously, my dear:
One such a virtue many a sin may cancel,
A single sin destroys the fruit of many virtues.
'Though brother to the poison, thief of a guru's wife.
And vomited from Rahu's jaws.
Scorching divided lovers, slayer of water-lilies,--
Yet for his merits the moon shines bright!
'Loving another's children, careless of his own,
The crow drinks dregs of love:
Yet an only word of His, wipes all those faults away,--
He speaks such honey-words.'
_Rādhā:_  'What can I say, my dear, of Kāna's love--
The roothless root of every virtue?
Touching His flute He makes a hundred vows
But even then I cannot trust Him.
'Renewed embraces: kissing me upon His lap,
He makes protest of loyalty!
But He has spent the night beside some other girl,
And emptied me of hope.
'In something more than fire my body burns
I see the seal of Rati on every limb.'
_Life may expire, says Vidyāpati,_
_And yet you will not mix with Hari!_
_Rādhā:_  Hearken, prithee, heartless Hari,
Fie on your such love!
Why did you speak of keeping tryst,
And with another maiden spent the night?
You make pretence of love for Rāi,
And dally with another girl:
Who says brave Kānu is best of lovers?
No such another fool is in the world.
Refusing ruby, you seek for glass,
Leaving an lake of nectar, you long for brine,
Forsaking a sea of curds, to wanton in a well,--
Fie on your amorous blandishment!
_Vidyāpati the lord of poets avows:_
_Rādhā will never look upon your face again._
_Rādhā:_  Thirsting for fragrance I flew to the flower
But never I came the near,
I saw not a drop of the ocean of honey,
And now the people mock me.
And lo, my dear, the bee bewitched by someone else
And no one passes any judgment thereupon:
By little steps I came to understand him better,
How is his heart as fickle as the lightning.
Forsaking the lily, he followed the screw-pine,
Inhaling its fragrance:
But the thorns have pierced his body
His face is smeared with dust.
Somewhat hurt, I think, he comes again to me,
As though he had been disappointed:
There is one flavour men have never understood--
Distinction of the good and bad.
_Hearken, my good girl, says Vidyāpati;_
_Love is only understood by lovers,--_
_Rājā Shivasimha is the storehouse of all virtues._
_And Rānī Lakshmī Devī his wife!_
_Sakhī:_  The wrath of the wrathful fled afar
Kānu sank in a sea of nectar:
But when he asked for her embrace,
Albeit heavy with love, her lovely body might not bend.
Honeyed was the swain's speech,
Tremulous the beauty's sighs;
Her Lord enfolded her upon his lap.
But yet the flow of nectar was but little.
Gently he kissed her face--her eyes were full of tears,
And though her heart was full of love, yet love was lacking;
Bravely he touched her bosom with his hands.
But even then desire would not awake.
And when at last he loosed her girdle.
Then even, in Hari's bliss, desire was cold.
And even then she felt no gladness:
_Is it pleasure or pain, says Vidyāpati?_
_Sakhī:_  Peerless Rādhā beside Murāri,--
Her wrath broke down, whose wrath was stubborn!
Mādhava kisses Rādhā's face,
Looks on her moon-face with brimming eyes.
All of her maidens were filled with joy,
Madan entered the hearts of both.
Twain were enraptured, each in the other's lap:
_A sight that fills Vidyāpati with bliss._
_Sakhī:_  'Tell me, O Beauty, what were the night's delights.
How did your Lord fulfil your hopes?
(How curiously, methinks, has Providence
Created man and maid!)
You are the fairest woman of the world
And have attained Murāri, worthiest of men.'
_Rādhā:_  'I am not able to recite my lover's love,
The fates have not bestowed on me a myriad mouths!
Doffing his necklace of ivory pearls,
With care he set it on my neck:
Taking my hands, he set me on his lap,
And cooled my limbs with fragrant sandal.
'He loosed my locks (so neatly bound),
And wreathed them with a campak garland;
With honey-honey-glances Kāna gazed on me,
His eyes brimmed over with tears of joy.'
_Billows of love, says Vidyāpati:_
_Hearken, my dear, I sing their Union._
_Sakhī:_  Measureless virtue! whereso yearning bodies meet--
Now there has been indissoluble union of the twain:
How many a one essayed this way and that,
Yet none availed to put the twain asunder!
Never any household in the wicked world
Has seen such love as this, a very fount of milk!
If one should fetch it to the fire
And stir the milk to separate the water,
The milk, exulting in the heat, boils over--
Goaded by separation pangs, it leaps into the fire!
If any one should pour more water in it,
Then the separation-pangs withdraw afar.
_Avows Vidyāpati: Love is such,_
_And such the love of Rādhā-Mādhava._
_Rādha:_  Very cunning is my Kāna,
Without any spell he broke my wrath!
He appeared to-day in a yogi's weed--
Who can explain such singular gestes?
At the will of my mother-in-law I went to give him alms,
When he saw my face, he began to murmur words of love,
(Then I could tell what guile was his!)
'Tis shame to recite all that he said.
Nobody knows the Lord of lovers!
_Vidyāpati says: lovely Rāi,_
_How can you plumb the depth of his cunning?_
_Rādhā:_  What can I tell of to-day's affair my dear?
Who knows not the price of gold or glass,
Who is lacking in lore of crafts of love,
And reckons milk and water the same:
How can I feel affection for him?
Shall a necklace of pearls adorn the neck of a monkey?
_Wise in this savour, Vidyāpati asks:_
_Has pan ever graced the_ mouth _of a monkey?_
_Rādhā:_  What shall I tell you, dear gay friend?
I cannot speak of to-day's disports:
I was lying alone on my flowery bed,
Love was my fellow, armed with his flowery darts.
Kāna came with his tinkling anklets,
In jest I lay with eyes closed:
Kāna came nigh and sat beside me,
I turned my face to hide my laughter.
Hari lifted from my locks their flowery chaplet,
And gave me his crest of peacock feathers:
With elaborate care he took the pearl from my nose
And lifted the necklet from my neck!
Loosing the bodice, my dear one lost his wits!
Then Madan woke, and I bound the thief my arms:
_Says Vidyāpati: A learned wanton he--_
_You may be lovesome, but your lover is a master of
the art of love!_
_In you there is love, but he is a lover all-wise in loving!_
_Rādhā:_  I was still very wrathful.
But my lover disguised as a girl dissolved my pride:
What can I tell of the pranks of to-day, my dear?
For there came Kān with the maiden-messenger!
He bound his curling hair in a knot,
The Lord of lovers dressed like a girl!
He put on a necklace and made a breast in his bosom,
First he put his left foot foremost,--
Ratipati danced with his flowery bow;
I looked with amazement,--and fondled him freely,
With downbent glances, I set him in my lap!
When I touched his body so full of love,
The pride of my wrath fled Under-earth,
I stood all astonished, with finger to nose.
_Vidyāpati says: The quarrel was ended!_
_Rādhā:_  My frolicsome friend, what shall I say?
There was another prank, unspeakable:
Naked of any weed, I sat alone at home,
When he of the lotus-eyes appeared unseen!
To hide my body on either side revealed the other,
(O open wide and let me sink into the earth!)
Seeking to cover my breasts with my hands, I could not,--
Just as the snow may not conceal the southern hills.
Out on you, fie! my life, my youth, my honour,
The Lord of Braj gazed on my limbs to-day!
_O amorous Rai, Vidyāpati says,_
_Could you outwit such wit as his?_
_Rādhā:_  O mother mine, what can I say to-day!
The stain sticks fast, for all washing with water:
After my bath, and climbing Kālindī's bank,
The filmy muslin clung to my limbs,
That all my shape was clearly seen,--
And there was Yaduvira just before me!
My buttocks broad were plain to see,
I turned me round and over them shook my hair:
And when he fixed his gaze upon my breasts,
I turned my back on Hari and sat me down.
But cunning Mādhava scanned my body with smiling face,
The body I sought to hide would not be hidden!
_You are a witless maid, says Vidyāpati:_
_Why did you not return to the water?_
_Rādhā:_  My mother-in-law was asleep, and I lay in her lap,
And love-learned Kānu was lurking behind.
Somehow I made it clear to him by signs:
'Will you give over fooling, or shall I begone?
'Refrain this affection, O foolish lover,--
As at this time your prayers are not to be granted!
(Can there be any pleasure in embraces from behind,
Shall thirst for water be slaked with milk?)'
Bending his face to mine, how did he drink the nectar of my lips
How often silently he laid his hand upon my breasts,
Nor let betray him any panting breath,--
What laughing battles were fought with flashing teeth!
_My mother-in-law awoke, and Kāna ran away:_
_My hopes were not fulfilled, says Vidyāpati._
_Rādhā:_  I was alone, and weaving garlands,
My skirt and bodice were unloosed,
And then came Kānu with quiet smiles!
(How shall I hide my bosom and my girdlestead?)
My darling clasped me with a merry laugh,
Modesty and shame departed to the underworld--
(How may I dout the lamp, that's out of reach of hands?)
And yet my brazen life dies not of shame!
_This is the very work of love, says Vidyāpati:_
_Wherefore this shame of him to whom your life is dedicate?_
_Rādhā:_  To-day my awkward shame was far away,
He realised his heart's desires:
What shall I say, my dear? (I smile to speak of it,)
So very marvellous was the dalliance of to-day.
The toppling clouds fell down on earth,
The pleasant mountain-kings rose up on high:
I likewise, gazing in the emerald mirror,
Fell there where neither up nor down are known.
Newly advised was Kān, my lord,
His sayings overpowered me:
He gave a refuge to the homeless--
Shamefast I was and hid my heart's fire.
The prince of wantons folded me upon his lap.
And with the wimple wiped the dews of weariness,
Fanning me gently, I fell asleep.
_Vidyāpati exclaims: Delight beyond compare!_
_Rādhā:_      What can I say, my dear? 'Tis measureless!
Whether this was a dream, or real, I cannot tell,
Or very near, or far away.
Beneath the winding lightning, darkness came to birth,
Within, a river of heavenly nectar:
The wavering darkness swallowed the sun and moon.
On every hand the stars were falling!
The heavens fell, the hills were overthrown,
The earth quaked hard,
Stormily rose the sighing winds,
The swarms of bees buzzed:
Like an ocean of chaos the waters overflowed,--
Yet this was not an æon's ending!
_How can I trow this contrary tale?_
_Vidyāpati makes enquiry._
Her tilka ran with sweat.
(Beauty, of fortune-yielding face:
If you should still wage Rati's war,
How may Hari-Hara save?)
Bracelets musical, and bangles noisy,
Anklets clinking:
Drunk with the wine of love, Love yielded,--
Victory, Victory! by beat of drum!
For when from the loins arose a muffled sound,
The warrior was crushed:
_Vidyāpati's Master wins such bliss,--_
_Yamunā and Gangā mingling._
_Kavi:_   Shyāma is drunk with Madan's drowsy wine,
With smiles he takes the moon-face on his lap--
Wanton glances, gentle laughter,
Leaning of limbs, amorous murmuring.
Amorous she, and passionate Kān,
Heart upon heart, face on face,
Both are drunken, both are archers:
_Such song of love shapes Vidyāpati._
_Rādhā:_  If you would have my love, O Mādhava
Make Madan witness to this document:
'You will abandon dalliance 'neath the kadamb,
You will have no more regard to parents.
Even in dreams you will see only me,
And never drink but to my eyes,
Night and day will sing my praise,
And take no other maiden on your lap.'
When I shall have such covenant in hand,
Then I will speak of love with you!
_Hearken, brave Kān, to Vidyāpatis advice,--_
_Preserve your dignity even at cost of life!_
Gokula's darling grovelled on the ground:
Unceasing tears were flowing down his face,
How many ways my love besought me!
O evil day! for I was proud,--
And now my brazen heart declines to die!
Who would have thought black wrath could be so dangerous,
I have been luckless in my woman's lot:
My refuge is in death, I was too proud!
_Hearken, lady Rāi, says Vidyāpati:_
_I shall explain the reason of your weeping._
_Sakhī:_  The mournful beauty, gazing on Kānu's face,
Was sobbing loud with brimming eyes:
The peerless moon-face, when he said 'Farewell,'
Fell fey upon the ground, with cries of 'Hari, Hari!'
How distractedly did Hari comfort her,--
'Now I shall not go to Mathura':
When this sweet sound reached her ears,
The lovesick nymph revived.
And taking Kānu's hands in hers.
She lifted them to touch her head:
'Say unmistakeably, good Kān, my lord,
'I will not go to Mathura.''
And when the damsel had this comfort,
She raised herself again, and sighed no more.
_Murāri went his way, when Rāi was soothed--_
_Vidyāpati refrains from words!_
_Dūtika:_  Mādhava, O moon-face,
Never can you have known the sting of separation!
Hearing you are departed to another land, she wastes away:
O wretched Rāi, bereft of wit by force of love!
Refusing even buds of flowers, she lies exhausted on the ground,
The calling of the koil fills her with fear,
Her tears have washed the beauty-spots away,
Her wasted arms let slip their ornaments.
With hanging head Rādhā regards her throat,
Now are her fingers raw with writing on the ground:
_Says Vidyāpati: Recollecting all his ways,_
_And taking count of them, she fainted._
_Rādhā:_      A sorry end to all my love, my dear,
To let my life depend upon a wanton,--
Nowhere to look for help!
I could not see the hidden well,
But as I ran, I fell therein:
At first I nowise knew the heavy from the light,--
Now would I might return!
His honey-speech I understood for love,
At first I knew no better:
I yielded all my skill into another's hands,
Pride had fled afar my heart.
Till now I led another way of life,
But now I know what drowning is:
I with my own hands sharped the stake,
Whom can I blame now?
_Hearken, fair young thing says Vidyāpati:_
_No other thought be in your heart!_
_Oft is life lost for sake of love,_
_Who does not know this in the world?_
Rādhā: Why would you burn my body, O thou Bodiless?
I am not Shankara, but a gentle girl,
This is my flowing hair, not matted locks,
Not Gangā, but a jasmine garland on my head.
This is a pearl tiara, not the moon,
No eye upon my forehead, but a scarlet beauty-spot:
Not poison, but a trace of musk upon my throat,
A necklace on my breast, and not the lord of serpents.
Blue silk my robe, and not a tiger's skin,
This is a lotus of delight, and not a skull!
_All this is loveliness, says Vidyāpati:_
_Not ashes on her limbs, but dust of Malaya._
_Dūtika:_  Often, in meditation on the name of Mādhava,
She changes into Mādhava himself:
Forgetful of her own desires and of her own identity,
She is enamoured of her own charms.
O Mādhava, your love is peerless!
The fire of sundering from herself devours her body
in its flames,
I doubt if she may live.
Her friends are filled with grief, so sadly she regards them,
The tears are pouring from their eyes:
The cry of 'Rādhā, Rādhā,' echoing repeatedly,
She murmurs broken words.
When she is with Rādhā, she thinks that she is Mādhava,
And when with Mādhav, Rādhā:
And even so, this bitter love may not be broken asunder.
The pang of separation hurts her more and more.
Just as a tree both sides aflame quite utterly consumes
Some wretched insect's life:
_In such a plight, Vallabha, I saw the nectar-face,_
_Rādhā:_  Where wanton Murāri is wont to sit,
There write my name or twice or thrice:
This is my life's last prayer!
And all the number of my friends, write ye my name,--
Kind was my darling, only fate was cruel.
I die indeed, for Kānu's sake:
Seek some occasion to ask news of him.
Once on a day let my beloved write my name,
And pour the lustring water with his rosy hands!
_Hearken fair damsel, says Vidyāpati:_
_Be patient of heart, you shall meet your Murāri!_
_Rādhā:_  Hari has gone to Mathurā town.
And Gokula is void to-day,
My ribs are all shrunken with weeping,
The cows are roaming on the road to Mathurā.
Herdsmen and maidens no more wandering
Beside the Jamunā's banks,--
I shall cast my life away in the waves,
And I will be born again as Kānu!
Then shall Kānu be Rādhā,
To suffer the pangs of love.
_Vidyāpati gives this advice:_
_No need for weeping now!_
_Rādhā:_  Now Mādhav has gone to Mathurā town,
Gokul resounds with the noise of weeping.
See how the waves are swollen with tears!
Empty the temple, empty the lover,
Empty each airt, empty all!
How can I go to Jamunā's banks?
How can I look on the booths and the groves?
How can I look on the place and live,
Where he smothered my friends with flowers?
_Vidyāpati says: Be well advised,_
_Maybe he is hiding there in jest!_
_Sakhī:_  Watching with streaming eyes the way her darling went,
Half a second seems an aeon,--
'Fate is most bitter, sundering thus
Murāri far from me!
'What shall I do, my dear?
What karma's fruit is this, my dear one gone abroad?
Perpetually pierce me the pangs of Madan.
'O that a woman's sighs, may fall beside my dear!
(By whom is my beloved sitting?)
Were I but a bird, I would fly to his side,
And describe to him all my distress!
'Bring me my darling, and save my life,--
Will no one take pity?'
_Vidyāpati says: Soon ye shall meet,_
_Possess your heart in patience._
_Rādhā:_  I am a girl on fire, in the temple bird-alone,
No friend is here with me:
The rain comes on, my love is gone abroad,
And cruel Love is hostile.
This is my day of dissolution,
Fresh clouds are driving in every quarter,
My life is flying from the sight.
Again the thunder roars, my life is shaken as I listen,
My heart is pounding:
The cruel peewit, calling 'Piu, piu,'
Reminds me of his lap.
And since it rains incessantly, I know my life will end,
As though in flames of fire.
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair lady,_
_The worthy lover shall be yours._
_Rādhā:_  Even the moon's cool rays are scorching-hot,
The Spring is comen in:
Even from a crow's mouth not a word of Kānta!
What makes this cruel Madan?
I know, my dear, my evil day is come:
At what a time has Fate opposed me,
Denying me to see him more!
So many days, I kept my body carefully
And now I know my end is near:
My last faint hope is but a legend now,--
How long my wicked heart endures!
_Evil is Madan's mood, says Vidyāpati:_
_To whom may you confide your care?_
_Fiercer than flames of a sea of fire_
_This bitter severance from your darling!_
The southern breeze has reached the snowy hills,
And yet my darling has not come again!
The lunar sandal burns my body hotly,
The bees are buzzing in the woods,
The Spring is here and Kānu far away,
Unfriendly Fate I see.
With steadfast gaze to scan my Master's face,
My eyes have no content:
So many hardships may a woman's shrivelled heart
Endure in such a joyful season!
My body wasting daily, like the winter lotus,
I know not what the end will be!
_Fie upon life, for shame, says Vidyāpati,_
_Pitiless Mādhava's heart!_
_Rādhā:_  Unhappy I, all birdalone.
Calling for Kānu, Kān, my life slipped by:
With promise of return, my lover went away,
He has forgotten all my former charms!
The flowers are blowing in every glade,
Now Spring has come, my dear,
The host of koils spread their noise:
My darling is abroad, I may no more sustain!
To whom shall I confide my heart's distress?
No living creature of the Triple World such pain may know!
_Hearken, fair Rāi, says Vidyāpati:_
_I shall expound it all to Kānu._
_Rādhā:_      There is no limit to my woe, my dear!
O heavy rains of autumn-tide,
My house is empty!
Impenetrable clouds are thundering unceasingly,
And all the world is full of rain:
Kānta is a stone, and Love is cruel,
A rain of arrows pierces me.
A hundred flashes blind my eyes,
The peacock dances in an ecstasy:
The happy frogs but croak and croak,
My heart is bursting.
_Utter darkness, night impenetrable,_
_Unbroken line of lightning:_
_Vidyāpati says: How may you pass_
_The day and night alone?_
_Rādhā:_      Who says that Mādhava will come, my friend?
How can I ever cross the sea of longing?
I have no faith within my heart!
Expectant every moment, I pass the livelong day,
Expectant day by day, a month goes by:
Expectant every month, I pass the year,
I have forsaken all hope in life.
Expectant every year, I pass my life
Wasting my flesh with hopes:
If the lotus die of the winter moon,
What shall avail in the spring?
If the flower be scorched by the summer sun,
What shall avail the autumn rains?
If I waste in longing this fresh young life,
What shall avail my Lover's love?
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, young thing:_
_Do not be hopeless now:_
_That Bliss of Braja, and Heart's Delight_
_Shall quickly be at your side!_
_Dūtikā:_      O Kān, I saw the tender she beside herself!
Love is distraught by koil's calls,--
And day by day she wastes away.
He stays abroad, he sends no news,--
How shall the Braj girls live?
The best and fairest of the world endures
The poison and the pain of parting!
She who might have no bed except his bosom,
Now grovels on the ground,--
As if the full round moon lay fallen asunder
In a withered campak garland.
From then till now I have consoled her,
Nought else has saved her life!
_Vidyāpati says: O pitiless Mādhava,_
_She swooned away to hear your name!_
The day had dawned, she asked of everyone:
Tell me, O tell me, when will to-morrow come?
'Awaiting to-morrow, abandoning hope,--
Never again shall I lie by Kānu's side.'
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair damsel:_
_The beauties of the town are holding him back._
_Rādhā:_  Everyone praises the gifts of love,
That love whereby the virtuous woman is made a wanton!
Had I but known how cruel was love,
Should I have passed the limits of sin?
Now it has come to be poison to me:
Let no one set their love on Hari, on Hari!
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair damsel:_
_Would you first drink water and then consider
the giver's birth?_
_Rādhā:_  How many reproaches and scornful words of my elders
I counted for nought in my heart, deep-laden in love.
For whose sake I forsook without shame the path of duty,
He now has forsaken my companionship.
Now dearest maiden, tell Murari for me and remind him,
'The worthy forsake not any without regard to their innocence.'
O dear companion, he that is wise,
Even though sentence be harsh, does justice at least.
What more can I say, that am but a helpless woman?
It is you that are skilled in speech and full of resource.
Tell Kānu this with honeyed words,
I pray you do it, appease his wrath.
For your wiles are many, and what do I know?
_Vidyāpati says: This song is of love._
_Rādhā:_  I never thought that love would break,
Or that the love of any worthy one might be a stone.
Therefore it is this great misfortune has befallen me,
I cannot fathom what Fate has wrought.
And tell my friend, my dear, with folded hands,
'It is but fruitless to destroy the flower of love.'
If he should answer, 'You are senseless,'
Say that I gave my heart with a free good will.
_Vidyāpati declares: I am amazed;_
_He whom you love, it seems, is blind!_
_Rādhā:_      Explain this all to Kānu, dearest friend:
'If you who sowed the seeds of love, destroy the flower,
In what way shall I live?
'Just as a drop of oil floats on the surface of the water,
Such is the likeness of your love:
Just as the water on the sand immediately vanishes,
Such is the way of your affection.'
I was a woman of honour, and am become a wanton
Since his words beguiled me:
I with my own hands shaved my head
Because of Kānu's love.
Deep in my heart I am grieved, like the wife of a thief,
And hide my face within my veil:
Like the eager moth's that flings itself on the flame
Was the fruit I sought to enjoy.
_Vidyāpati says: This is the way of the Kali age,_
_Let no one wonder thereat:_
_Everyone reaps the fruit of his folly_
_Who puts himself in another s power._
_Rādhā:_  I am dying, am dying, I die indeed, my dear:
To whom shall I leave my Kānu, my storehouse of treasure?
As many as may be, dear friends, remain by me,
And when I am dead, write Krishna's name along my limbs.
And Lalita, friend of my life, whisper such spells in my ears
That my body may die to the sound of Krishna's name:
Nor burn nor cast in the waters Rādhā's body,
But hang me high on a tamāl bough, when I am dead.
The tamāl tree is of Krishna's hue,
There let my body ever rest:
If ever again my darling comes to Brindāban,
I shall come to life at the sight of my dear.
If I may not see his moon-fair face again,
I shall cast off my life in the fire of love!
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair damsel,_
_Be patient of heart, you shall meet your Murāri._
_Rādhā:_  After how long shall this sadness depart?
When shall the heavy load of this grief be lifted?
How long shall it be till the moon and the lotus are joined?
After how many days shall the bee disport with the lily?
When shall my lover converse with me?
When will he put his hands on my breasts?
When will he take my hand to set me on his lap,
When shall my longing be realised?
_Hearken, fair woman, says Vidyāpati:_
_Every sorrow shall fly when Murāri is yours._
_Rādhā:_  Speak to me, speak to me, dear, and tell me, O tell me,
For Madan's burning arrows, my body is ablaze
To hear some news of him.
What like is she my Lord has met,
That he is so enamoured?
Some maid he must have found, my Lord is glad.
And plunges in my heart an arrow.
Shatter my bangles of shell, take off my fine array,
And break my necklace of ivory-pearls,--
Cast them all in the waves of the Jamunā.
Wipe from my hair the scarlet line and put it far away.
All is hopeless without my darling.
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken young damsel:_
_Your sorrow is come to an end._
_Rādhā:_  The day that Mādhava went his way
All those words poured forth:
My heart was heavy and heavier still to hear,
The tears were dropping from my eyes.
When morning dawned, then coming close,
Did Kānu swear an oath,
I held his hand upon my head:
Now all is otherwise.
Scanning the road, my heart is heavy:
The mādhavī vine is flowering,
The koil is a-calling, _Kuhu, kuhu_, resounding.
And every bee is buzzing.
Which is the city where my dear was stolen.
Pleased by what maid he won?
_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, young damsel:_
_The thief is your lover himself._
_Dūtikā:_  A river of tears is flowing from her eyes,
And on its banks she falls and swoons:
O Mādhava, your pity is but too perverse,
You have no fear of murdering a wife.
Then did her breath grow faint,
And some were fanning her with lotus-leaves,
And other clever maids were listening for her breath,
And I have run to tell you.
Some say that Hari is a-coming,
And at that name her wit returns,
The dusky braid begins to dance upon her breast--
A serpent black upon a lily's lap.
Recounting in your heart your former love,
Come back once more to your own home,
_Vidyāpati the mighty bard declares:_
_The wily wight is well aware of all her woe!_
_Dūtikā:_  Ah Mādhava, I come just now from seeing Rāi:
For grief of loneliness she answers nought,
But lies with her face on the earth.
She lay outstretched on the grassy ground,
Her body was wasted with love,
As if with a touchstone the Lord of Five Arrows
Had proved a streak of gold.
The orb of her face lay low in the dust--
(More lovely it seemed therefor):
The moon in fear of Rāhu had fallen down on the floor--
(Such was the fashion of my delusion).
What can I say of the pangs of disunion?
Hearken, most cruel Kānu:
_Vidyāpati says: She is of good fame,--_
_You know that her life is in danger._
_Dūtikā:_  Mādhava, lo, I have seen your lovely Rāi,--
Her gaze is fixed like a painted puppet's,
Friends surround her on every side,
Exceeding faint is the breath of her nostrils.
Exceeding thin is her corse, like a streak of gold,
(None that beholds it believes it hers),
Bracelets and bangles fall from either wrist,
Her hair untressed, her head unhidden.
I cannot solve these sentiments and swoons,--
Fiercely the fever of longing scorches her relentlessly.
_Vidyāpati says: Her loveless body_
_Has abandoned now all love on earth._
_Dūtika:_      Mādhava, prithee, visit yonder babe:
To-day or to-morrow she is like to die,
Such burning love she bears!
Refreshing water, lotus-leaves upon her bed,
Or ointment of sandal-paste,
Each and all are flames of fire;
The moon with tenfold heat annoys.
Devoid of might, she leans upon the earth to rise,
All night she wends and wakes,
And starting suddenly, she murmurs 'Shiva, Shiva!'
Her fire has filled the earth.
_I know not if there be a remedy._
_Says Vidyāpati the poet:_
_Nought but the fated tenth-day plight remains,--_
_Be well-advised forthwith._
_Dūtika:_  She turns her face away from looking on the moon.
She stands and gazes piteously down the road;
With eye-collyrium she makes a painted Rāhu
And speaks with him in wrath.
Mādhava, unyielding heart, delaying abroad,
Her that you dallied with I have beheld all birdalone,
I pray you turn again to home.
How can the tender child support the southern zephyr?
For Love is doing her hurt:
Her breath has ceased, which hope sustained,--
With every finger she draws a snake.
_Vidyāpati says: O Lord Shrvasimha,_
_This is the cure for sundering's sorrow--_
_Avoiding the koil, and taking sweets in hand,_
_Loudly to summon the crows._
He bound my flesh in a bond of measureless love,
Who now forsakes my company.
Why should I live any more, O fair sweet friend?
He without whom I could not rest for a moment,
Is filled with the love of another.
My friend would fare to a far-away land, and I shall
die of grief,
I will cast away my heart in the sea, and none shall know:
Or taking the necklace lay on my lover's neck,
I will wander wide in the world as a yoginī.
_Vidyāpati Kavi sings of this sundering--_
_Record I take of Rājā Shivasimha and Lakshmī Devī._
_Dūtika:_  Mādhava and the babe new-led in love,--
You have forgotten her, forsaken to her fate,
She is become a garland offering.
She who so loves, I see her frame is fretted,
She stares upon your path
With fixed regard, she hears no word,
Her tears are falling fast.
Her country is forsaken of your flute,
Her body is wasted all away
Most like the narrow streak of gold
The goldsmith draws upon the touchstone.
Her hair is disarrayed, she no more tresses it--
So little might the fair thing has:
Wasted and worn and woeful I have seen her
Midst her gay companions.
Like chaff she flies and falls,
She needs her friend's embraces:
Cure of her sickness lies in other hands,
How may she live?
_On solemn oath Vidyāpati reveals_
_A yet more ferly thing:_
_Pondering ever on your ways_
_Is the root of her undoing._
_Krishna:_      Can I forget, my dear and gentle lady,
How when I took her hands, and went my way to Mathurā,
She fell and fainted?
Nor with what trembling speech and gentle murmuring
The fair and gentle creature spake?
My body stiffened, I came away indeed,
But there was left my heart with her.
Now lacking her, the day and night are dimmed,
She is established in my heart:
Beside another love in regal state,
I live like any anchorite!
Surely I come in a day or twain,
Make her assured of this.
_Vidyāpati says: There lies his heart,--_
_They shall be joined in love._
_Rādhā:_  When Hari comes to Gokula town,
In every house shall the trumpets flourish 'Victory'!
I shall give my necklace of pearls for festal knots,
And my heavy breasts as festal urns.
I shall offer my nipples as sprouts of the scented mango,
In Mādhava's service I shall achieve my heart's desires:
I will set before my beloved incense and light and gifts,
And do the anointing with tears of joy from my eyes!
_My outstretched hands shall embrace my dear._
_Vidyāpati says: This is loves ecstasy._
_Radha:_  When my dear and blissful lover comes to my garth,
I shall turn my back with a little smile:
Wildly my darling will grasp my wimple,--
And I shall draw back, for all he may do!
And when my belovéd asks me to play,
Then shall my smiling mouth refuse:
When he shall roughly clasp my breasts,
My hands shall restrain his hands, half-glances belying.
For my lover, the proper man is a bee,
Holding my cheeks will drink the honey of my lips,--
Then shall he ravish my every sense!
_Vidyāpati says: Your life is blest!_
_Rādhā:_  When Kāna shall come to my house,
I shall gaze on his moon-face with swimming eyes:
When as a woman I say 'Nay, nay,'
Then shall Murāri woo me more wildly!
He will take my hands and set me down on his lap,
He will soothe my heart for endless time:
I shall clasp him close, casting out coldness,
He will fill me with balm, I shall close my eyes!
_Vidyāpati says: Lo, lovely lady,_
_Fie on this brazen love of yours!_
_Rādhā:_  I spent last night in bliss,
I saw my darling's moon-face:
Meseemed my life and youth bore fruit,
The ten directions were filled with joy.
I thought to-day that my home was made a home,
To-day my body became a body indeed:
Fate has been friendly to me to-day,
And all my doubts are dissolved.
Now let the koil call a hundred thousand times,
A hundred thousand moons may rise!
Now let the arrows-five become a hundred thousand,
And southern breezes sigh their softest!
Now for so long as he leaves me not
So long I deem my body is verily mine,
_Vidyāpati says: Your bliss is not little,_
_Blessing upon your love renewed!_
_Rādhā:_  How shall I tell of my boundless joy, my dear,--
Mādhav abiding day after day in my house?
Just so much as the wicked moon annoyed me before,
Even so much was the joy when I saw my darling's face.
Even if I might fold in my wimple the best of treasures,
I would not let go my beloved into a far-away land:
A shawl in the winter is my beloved, a gentle breeze in
the summer,
My dear is a shelter from the storm, and a boat on the river.
_Vidyāpati says: Lo, lovely lady,_
_The grief of the goodly endures not for ever._
_Rādhā:_  The hurt that the Lord of the Seasons erstwhile did me,
All hopes and desires that were in my heart,
All are achieved in my Lover's kindness.
When I lay in His arms every hair of my body was glad,
In the dew of His lips my grieving melted away:
Fate has fulfilled the hope of all the days of my life,--
From bending my eyes upon Him I know no rest.
_Vidyāpati says: There is grief at an end,_
_No sickness remains when the cure has been found._
_Sakhī:_  Fate is now friendly for ever more!
Each on the other's countenance gazing, twain are rapt--
Each in the other's arms the other enfolds--
Twain are the mouths contented each with the nectar of
other's lips.
Twain are the bodies a-tremble at Madan's behest,
_What more should I say, Vidyāpati asks:_
_So as their love is, so is their loving._
_Sakhī:_  Rare was that meeting of one with the other,
The grief of disunion vanished afar:
He has taken her hand and put her down on the painted seat,
In many wise playing with diverse delights,
The bee, as it were, with the lotus delaying:
Eyes upon eyes and face upon face,
A chorus of twain entranced by each other's perfections!
_Vidyāpati says: The Lover is rapt,_
_The Love-thief has conquered the Triple Worlds!_
_Rādhā:_  A mirror in hand, a flower in my hair,
Surm of my eyes, tāmbūl of my mouth,
Musk on my breast, a necklace about my throat,
All the gear on my body, the life of my house.
Wings to the bird, and water to fish,
Life of my life--I know Thou art these--
But tell me, O Mādhav, what art Thou in sooth?
_Avers Vidyāpati: Each is both._
_Rādhā:_  What would you ask of my feelings, my dear,--
Can I expound such love and affection
As are moment by moment transformed?
From the day of my birth I have seen His beauty,
And yet are my eyes unsatisfied:
My ears have continually heard His honeyed speech,
But I have not attained the path of audition.
Many a night have I passed in play,
And never have learnt what is dalliance:
Myriad aeons I held Him close to my heart,
And yet no rest has reached that heart.
How many a one tormented and passion-tost
I have seen--without seeing!
_Vidyāpati says: For your heart's ease_
_You have met with One who is nonpareil._
_Kavi:_  Hearken, O Mādhava, what more can I say?
Nought can I find to compare with love:
Though the sun of the East should rise in the West,
Yet would not love be far from the worthy,
Or if I should write the stars of heaven on earth,
Or if I could pour from my hands the water of all the sea.
_Vidyāpati says: O Shivasimha Rāi,_
_To abandon the loving is ever unmeet._
_Kavi:_  Frenzied tresses encircling her radiant face--
It is Rāhu desiring the orb of the moon:
Flowers of her hair with her necklace entwined,
As the Jamunā joins with the waters of Gangā.
The twain beyond speech are out of all reason,
The loveling disports with most ardent passion:
Eagerly fair-face kisses love-face,
The bending moon drinks up the lotus.
Her face is adorned with a bead of sweat--
Madan has offered a pearl to the moon:
Long is the necklace that hangs on her breasts--
It is pouring its milk into golden jars.
The chains on her hips are loudly jingling--
Madan is sounding pæans of conquest.
_Vidyāpati says: O amorous lady,_
_Your skill in love's lore surpasses my speech!_
'_tutoyer_': but in few cases it seemed better to adhere to the
singular.
Rādhā first seen:
_'She was a phantom of delight_
_When first she gleamed upon my sight.'_
_That o nyght were hire gest.'_
_'Straighter than cedar, brighter than glass;_
_More fine in trip than foot of running roe . . ._
_Fresher than poplar, smaller than my span._
Shep. Tony (in 'England's Helicon').
F. H. Andrews, _Journal of Indian Art_, X, 52. See also Max
The Three Worlds, constantly alluded to are _Svarga_, _Mata_ and
_'Oh woe is me, that ever I did see_
_The beauty that did me bewitch.''--_
_Her skin shines through and makes it bright.'--_
_'Whiter far than Moorish milk.'_
The Growing-up of Rādhā
_Shall rear her form to stately height._
_Her virgin bosom swell.'_
For when she hears love's language spoken,
She turns away her eyes,--and lends her ears.
moon-face.
_'Every moment the voice of Love is coming from right and left.'_
Shamsi Tabrīz (Nicholson, IX).
The Counsel of Girl-friends (Sakhīs)
experienced, and _pragalbhā_, fully mistress of love's art (e.g.
_'A honey-comb and a honey-fower_
_And the bee shall have his hour.'_
_'Jyoṅ jyoṅ parasai Lāla tana     tyoṅ tyoṅ rākhata gō, ē_
_Navala bāla ḍara Lāla-kai        indabadhu-sī hū, ē_
(Rādhā's) Going-forth (to visit Krishna)
The Abhisārikā heroine is one who goes from her home to visit her
_To speech, whence music still is heard.'_
constantly acted in the _Rās-līlā_--
_'Two and two the gopīs held hands and between each pair was
Hari their friend. . ._
_Gopi and Nanda-kumara alternate, a round ring of lightnings
and heavy clouds,_
_The fair Braj girls and the dusky Krishnas, like to a gold
and sapphire necklace._
The _Rās Maṇḍala_ thus described is the exact equivalent of the
_'He forsakes goodness; He accepts badness: deceit is pleasing
In Tagore's King of the Dark Chamber:
_'Well, I tell you, your King's behaviour is--mean, brutal,
His claim_
_To be the purest of the pure, thrice holy, stainless, without
_'Cowl of the monk and bowl of wine, how shall the twain by
man be wed'?_
Hafiz (translated by Walter Leaf).
_And tells her what he dosen't tell me.'_
Reunion after Wilfulness
pillar.
The lovers are mixed like milk and water.
_'She lay still and would not wake,'_
Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601.
_Rādhā Hari Hari Rādhā-ke bani-āe sanketa--_
passing.
Fell down on Danäe in a storm of gold--
The departure of Krishna to Mathurā is God forsaking the soul, or
This is one of the most obviously mystical of Vidyāpati's songs:
_'I am he whom I love, and he whom I love is I.'_
Cf. the exclamation _Śivoham_, 'Shiva is myself (_sohambhāva_, He
_'At last I have found myself.'_
Jalālu'd Din Rumi.
_'Whoso has not escaped from will, no will has he.'_
The idea of reproach is essential to the drama of the soul, and a
_'Blessed are ye when men shall revile and persecute you for My
and likewise:
_'Let every reproach that honour disdains and avoids be mine.'_
_'--Cast shame and pride away,_
_Let honour gild the world's eventless day,_
_Shrink not from change and shudder not at crime,_
_Leave lies to rattle in the sieve of Time!_
_Then whatsoe'er your workday gear shall stain,_
_Of me a wedding garment shall ye gain!'_
This song is still to be heard in Bengal, to the Rāgiṇi Bhairavī.
Referring to the circumstances of XCIV.
swallow up the vexing southern breeze.
self-expression.
_'The burne is this world blind.'_
The poet leaves the lovers in each other's arms.
Crow: _kāka, bāyasa, Corvus splendens_,--messenger of separated
lovers: also (LXXIII) an eater of leavings.
_Koil_ or _kokila_: _parabṛtaka_, Indian cuckoo, _Eudynamys
honorata_,--its cry is _kuhu, kuhu_, delightful to united, and
Peacock: _mayūra_, _Pavo cristatus_,--delights in rain.
Wagtail: _khañjana_, _Montacilla alba_,--restless movement.
_Ashoka_: _Jonesia asoka_,--herald of Spring.
_Bandhūka_: _Pentapetes phœnicia_ (or _Leucas linifolia?_)
Betel: _pān, tāmbūla, Piper betle_,--leaves used for chewing.
Honey-apple: _bel, shrĩphala_, 'Bengal quince,' _Aegle
marmelos_,--large round fruit.
Jujube: _badarī_, _Zizyphus jujuba_,--small round fruits.
_Kadamba_: _Anthocephalus cadamba_,--the haunt of Krishna.
_Keshara_: safflower, _Crocus sativa_,--a herald of Spring.
_Labanga_-vine: _labaṅga-latā_, _Limonia scandens_,--a herald of
_Mādhavi_: _Gaertnera racemosa_,--herald of Spring.
Mango: _Mangifera indica_,--tender shoots and herald of Spring.
Orange: _naraṅga, Citrus aurantum_,--round fruits.
_Pītal_: a yellow flower not identified.
Plantain: _kerā_, _Musa paradisaica_,--smooth straight stem.
anything.
Screw-pine: _ketakī, Pandanus odoratissimus_,--fragrance.
_Shirīsh_: _Acacia sirissa_,--tenderness.
_Tāla_: palmyra, _Borassus flabelliformis_,--round fruits.