Part 2
While I--what, did he deem light loves so tender, To tarry for them when the vow was made To yield him up my bosom's maiden splendour, And fold him in my fragrance, and unbraid My shining hair for him, and clasp him close To the gold heart of his Rose?
And sing him strains which only spirits know, And make him captive with the silk-soft chain Of twinned-wings brooding round him, and bestow Kisses of Paradise, as pure as rain; My gems, my moonlight-pearls, my girdle-gold, Cymbaling music bold?
While gained for ever, I shall dare to grow Life to life with him, in the realms divine; And--Love's large cup at happy overflow, Yet ever to be filled--his eyes and mine Will meet in that glad look, when Time's great gate Closes and shuts out Fate.
_Listen to the unsaid things Of the song that Radha sings, For the soul draws near to bliss, As it comprehendeth this. I am Jayadev, who write All this subtle-rich delight For your teaching. Ponder, then, What it tells to Gods and men. Err not, watching Krishna gay, With those brown girls all at play; Understand how Radha charms Her wandering lover to her arms, Waiting with divinest love Till his dream ends in the grove._
For even now (she sang) I see him pause, Heart-stricken with the waste of heart he makes Amid them;--all the bows of their bent brows Wound him no more: no more for all their sakes Plays he one note upon his amorous lute, But lets the strings lie mute.
Pensive, as if his parted lips should say--
"My feet with the dances are weary, The music has dropped from the song, There is no more delight in the lute-strings, Sweet Shadows! what thing has gone wrong? The wings of the wind have left fanning The palms of the glade; They are dead, and the blossoms seem dying In the place where we played.
"We will play no more, beautiful Shadows! A fancy came solemn and sad, More sweet, with unspeakable longings, Than the best of the pleasures we had: I am not now the Krishna who kissed you; That exquisite dream,-- The Vision I saw in my dancing-- Has spoiled what you seem.
"Ah! delicate phantoms that cheated With eyes that looked lasting and true, I awake,--I have seen her,--my angel-- Farewell to the wood and to you! Oh, whisper of wonderful pity! Oh, fair face that shone! Though thou be a vision, Divinest! This vision is done."
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_ KLESHAKESHAVO.)
_SARGA THE THIRD._
MUGDHAMADHUSUDANO.
KRISHNA TROUBLED.
Thereat,--as one who welcomes to her throne A new-made Queen, and brings before it bound Her enemies,--so Krishna in his heart Throned Radha; and--all treasonous follies chained-- He played no more with those first play-fellows: But, searching through the shadows of the grove For loveliest Radha,--when he found her not, Faint with the quest, despairing, lonely, lorn, And pierced with shame for wasted love and days, He sate by Jumna, where the canes are thick, And sang to the wood-echoes words like these:
(_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÎ _and to the Mode_ YATI)
Radha, Enchantress! Radha, queen of all! Gone--lost, because she found me sinning here; And I so stricken with my foolish fall, I could not stay her out of shame and fear; She will not hear; In her disdain and grief vainly I call.
And if she heard, what would she do? what say? How could I make it good that I forgot? What profit was it to me, night and day, To live, love, dance, and dream, having her not? Soul without spot! I wronged thy patience, till it sighed away.
Sadly I know the truth. Ah! even now Remembering that one look beside the river, Softer the vexed eyes seem, and the proud brow Than lotus-leaves when the bees make them quiver. My love for ever! Too late is Krishna wise--too far art thou!
Yet all day long in my deep heart I woo thee, And all night long with thee my dreams are sweet; Why, then, so vainly must my steps pursue thee? Why can I never reach thee, to entreat, Low at thy feet, Dear vanished Splendour! till my tears subdue thee?
Surpassing One! I knew thou didst not brook Half-hearted worship, and a love that wavers; Haho! there is the wisdom I mistook, Therefore I seek with desperate endeavours; That fault dissevers Me from my heaven, astray--condemned--forsook!
And yet I seem to feel, to know, thee near me; Thy steps make music, measured music, near: Radha! my Radha! will not sorrow clear me? Shine once! speak one word pitiful and dear! Wilt thou not hear? Canst thou--because I did forget--forsake me?
Forgive! the sin is sinned, is past, is over; No thought I think shall do thee wrong again; Turn thy dark eyes again upon thy lover Bright Spirit! or I perish of this pain. Loving again! In dread of doom to love, but not recover.
_So did Krishna sing and sigh By the river-bank; and I, Jayadev of Kinduvilva, Resting--as the moon of silver Sits upon the solemn ocean-- On full faith, in deep devotion; Tell it that ye may perceive How the heart must fret and grieve; How the soul doth tire of earth, When the love from Heav'n hath birth._
For (sang he on) I am no foe of thine, There is no black snake, Kama! in my hair; Blue lotus-bloom, and not the poisoned brine, Shadows my neck; what stains my bosom bare, Thou God unfair! Is sandal-dust, not ashes; nought of mine.
Makes me like Shiva that thou, Lord of Love! Shouldst strain thy string at me and fit thy dart; This world is thine--let be one breast thereof Which bleeds already, wounded to the heart With lasting smart, Shot from those brows that did my sin reprove.
Thou gavest her those black brows for a bow Arched like thine own, whose pointed arrows seem Her glances, and the underlids that go-- So firm and fine--its string? Ah, fleeting gleam! Beautiful dream! Small need of Kama's help hast thou, I trow,
To smite me to the soul with love;--but set Those arrows to their silken cord! enchain My thoughts in that loose hair! let thy lips, wet With dew of heaven as bimba-buds with rain, Bloom precious pain Of longing in my heart; and, keener yet,
The heaving of thy lovely, angry bosom, Pant to my spirit things unseen, unsaid; But if thy touch, thy tones, if the dark blossom Of thy dear face, thy jasmine-odours shed From feet to head, If these be all with me, canst thou be far--be fled?
_So sang he, and I pray that whoso hears The music of his burning hopes and fears, That whoso sees this vision by the River Of Krishna, Hari, (can we name him ever?) And marks his ear-ring rubies swinging slow, As he sits still, unheedful, bending low To play this tune upon his lute, while all Listen to catch the sadness musical; And Krishna wotteth nought, but, with set face Turned full toward Radha's, sings on in that place; May all such souls--prays Jayadev--be wise To lean the wisdom which hereunder lies._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_ MUGDHAMADHUSUDANO.)
_SARGA THE FOURTH._
SNIGDHAMADHUSUDANO.
KRISHNA CHEERED.
Then she whom Radha sent came to the canes-- The canes beside the river where he lay With listless limbs and spirit weak from love;-- And she sang this to Krishna wistfully:
(_What follows is to the Music_ KARNÂTA _and the Mode_ EKATÂLÎ.)
Art thou sick for Radha? she is sad in turn, Heaven foregoes its blessings, if it holds not thee, All the cooling fragrance of sandal she doth spurn, Moonlight makes her mournful with radiance silvery; Even the southern breeze blown fresh from pearly seas, Seems to her but tainted by a dolorous brine; And for thy sake discontented, with a great love overladen, Her soul comes here beside thee, and sitteth down with thine.
Her soul comes here beside thee, and tenderly and true It weaves a subtle mail of proof to ward off sin and pain; A breastplate soft as lotus-leaf, with holy tears for dew, To guard thee from the things that hurt; and then 'tis gone again To strew a blissful place with the richest buds that grace Kama's sweet world, a meeting-spot with rose and jasmine fair, For the hour when, well-contented, with a love no longer troubled, Thou shalt find the way to Radha, and finish sorrows there.
But now her lovely face is shadowed by her fears; Her glorious eyes are veiled and dim like moonlight in eclipse By breaking rain-clouds, Krishna! yet she paints you in her tears With tender thoughts--not Krishna, but brow and breast and lips And form and mien a King, a great and godlike thing; And then with bended head she asks grace from the Love Divine, To keep thee discontented with the phantoms thou forswearest, Till she may win her glory, and thou be raised to thine.
Softly now she sayeth, "Krishna, Krishna, come!" Lovingly she prayeth, "Fair moon, light him home." Yet if Hari helps not, Moonlight cannot aid; Ah! the woeful Radha! Ah! the forest shade!
Ah! if Hari guide not, Moonlight is as gloom; Ah! if moonlight help not, How shall Krishna come? Sad for Krishna grieving In the darkened grove; Sad for Radha weaving Dreams of fruitless love!
_Strike soft strings to this soft measure, If thine ear would catch its treasure; Slowly dance to this deep song, Let its meaning float along With grave paces, since it tells Of a love that sweetly dwells In a tender distant glory, Past all faults of mortal story._
(_What follows is to the Music_ DESHÂGA _and the Mode_ EKATÂLÎ.)
Krishna, till thou come unto her, faint she lies with love and fear; Even the jewels of her necklet seem a load too great to bear.
Krishna, till thou come unto her, all the sandal and the flowers Vex her with their pure perfection though they grow in heavenly bowers.
Krishna, till thou come unto her, fair albeit those bowers may be, Passion burns her, and love's fire fevers her for lack of thee.
Krishna, till thou come unto her, those divine lids, dark and tender, Droop like lotus-leaves in rain-storms, dashed and heavy in their splendour.
Krishna, till thou come unto her, that rose-couch which she hath spread Saddens with its empty place, its double pillow for one head.
Krishna, till thou come unto her, from her palms she will not lift The dark face hidden deep within them like the moon in cloudy rift.
Krishna, till thou come unto her, angel though she be, thy Love Sighs and suffers, waits and watches--joyless 'mid those joys above.
Krishna, till them come unto her, with the comfort of thy kiss Deeper than thy loss, O Krishna! must be loss of Radha's bliss.
Krishna, while thou didst forget her--her, thy life, thy gentle fate-- Wonderful her waiting was, her pity sweet, her patience great.
Krishna, come! 'tis grief untold to grieve her--shame to let her sigh; Come, for she is sick with love, and thou her only remedy.
_So she sang, and Jayadeva Prays for all, and prays for ever. That Great Hari may bestow Utmost bliss of loving so On us all;--that one who wore The herdsman's form, and heretofore, To save the shepherd's threatened flock, Up from the earth reared the huge rock-- Bestow it with a gracious hand, Albeit, amid the woodland band, Clinging close in fond caresses Krishna gave them ardent kisses, Taking on his lips divine Earthly stamp and woodland sign._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_ SNIGDHAMADHUSUDANO).
_SARGA THE FIFTH._
SAKANDKSHAPUNDARIKAKSHO.
THE LONGINGS OF KRISHNA.
"Say I am here! oh, if she pardons me, Say where I am, and win her softly hither." So Krishna to the maid; and willingly She came again to Radha, and she sang:
(_What follows is to the Music_ DESHIVARÂDÎ _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.)
Low whispers the wind from Malaya Overladen with love; On the hills all the grass is burned yellow; And the trees in the grove Droop with tendrils that mock by their clinging The thoughts of the parted; And there lies, sore-sighing for thee, Thy love, altered-hearted.
To him the moon's icy-chill silver Is a sun at midday; The fever he burns with is deeper Than starlight can stay: Like one who falls stricken by arrows, With the colour departed From all but his red wounds, so lies Thy love, bleeding-hearted.
To the music the banded bees make him He closeth his ear; In the blossoms their small horns are blowing The honey-song clear; But as if every sting to his bosom Its smart had imparted, Low lies by the edge of the river, Thy love, aching-hearted.
By the edge of the river, far wandered From his once beloved bowers, And the haunts of his beautiful playmates, And the beds strewn with flowers; Now thy name is his playmate--that only!-- And the hard rocks upstarted From the sand make the couch where he lies, Thy Krishna, sad-hearted.
_Oh may Hari fill each soul, As these gentle verses roll Telling of the anguish borne By kindred ones asunder torn! Oh may Hari unto each All the lore of loving teach, All the pain and all the bliss; Jayadeva prayeth this!_
Yea, Lady! in the self-same spot he waits Where with thy kiss thou taught'st him utmost love, And drew him, as none else draws, with thy look; And all day long, and all night long, his cry Is "Radha, Radha," like a spell said o'er:
And in his heart there lives no wish nor hope Save only this, to slake his spirit's thirst For Radha's love with Radha's lips; and find Peace on the immortal beauty of thy breast.
(_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÎ _and the Mode_ EKATÂLÎ.)
Mistress, sweet and bright and holy! Meet him in that place; Change his cheerless melancholy Into joy and grace; If thou hast forgiven, vex not; If thou lovest, go, Watching ever by the river, Krishna listens low:
Listens low, and on his reed there Softly sounds thy name, Making even mute things plead there For his hope: 'tis shame That, while winds are welcome to him, If from thee they blow, Mournful ever by the river Krishna waits thee so!
When a bird's wing stirs the roses, When a leaf falls dead, Twenty times he recomposes The flower-seat he has spread: Twenty times, with anxious glances Seeking thee in vain, Sighing ever by the river, Krishna droops again.
Loosen from thy foot the bangle, Lest its golden bell, With a tiny, tattling jangle, Any false tale tell: If thou fearest that the moonlight Will thy glad face know, Draw those dark braids lower, Lady! But to Krishna go.
Swift and still as lightning's splendour Let thy beauty come, Sudden, gracious, dazzling, tender, To his arms--its home. Swift as Indra's yellow lightning, Shining through the night, Glide to Krishna's lonely bosom, Take him love and light.
Grant, at last, love's utmost measure, Giving, give the whole; Keep back nothing of the treasure Of thy priceless soul: Hold with both hands out unto him Thy chalice, let him drain The nectar of its dearest draught, Till not a wish remain.
Only go--the stars are setting, And thy Krishna grieves; Doubt and anger quite forgetting, Hasten through the leaves: Wherefore didst thou lead him heav'nward But for this thing's sake? Comfort him with pity, Radha! Or his heart must break.
_But while Jayadeva writes This rare tale of deep delights-- Jayadev, whose heart is given Unto Hari, Lord in Heaven-- See that ye too, as ye read, With a glad and humble heed, Bend your brows before His face, That ye may have bliss and grace._
And then the Maid, compassionate, sang on--
Lady, most sweet! For thy coming feet He listens in the wood, with love sore-tried; Faintly sighing, Like one a-dying, He sends his thoughts afoot to meet his bride.
Ah, silent one! Sunk is the sun, The darkness falls as deep as Krishna's sorrow; The chakor's strain Is not more vain Than mine, and soon gray dawn will bring white morrow.
And thine own bliss Delays by this; The utmost of thy heaven comes only so When, with hearts beating And passionate greeting, Parting is over, and the parted grow.
One--one for ever! And the old endeavour To be so blended is assuaged at last; And the glad tears raining Have nought remaining Of doubt or 'plaining; and the dread has passed.
Out of each face, In the close embrace, That by-and-by embracing will be over; The ache that causes Those mournful pauses In bowers of earth between lover and lover:
To be no more felt, To fade, to melt In the strong certainty of joys immortal; In the glad meeting, And quick sweet greeting Of lips that close beyond Time's shadowy portal.
And to thee is given, Angel of Heaven! This glory and this joy with Krishna. Go! Let him attain, For his long pain, The prize it promised,--see thee coming slow,
A vision first, but then-- By glade and glen-- A lovely, loving soul, true to its home; His Queen--his Crown--his All, Hast'ning at last to fall Upon his breast, and live there. Radha, come!
_Come! and come thou, Lord of all, Unto whom the Three Worlds call; Thou, that didst in angry might, Kansa, like a comet, smite; Thou, that in thy passion tender, As incarnate spell and splendour, Hung on Radha's glorious face-- In the garb of Krishna's grace-- As above the bloom the bee, When the honeyed revelry Is too subtle-sweet an one Not to hang and dally on; Thou that art the Three Worlds' glory, Of life the light, of every story The meaning and the mark, of love The root and, flower, o' the sky above The blue, of bliss the heart, of those, The lovers, that which did impose The gentle law, that each should be The other's Heav'n and harmony._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_ SAKANDKSILAPUNDARIKAKSHO.)
_SARGA THE SIXTH._
DHRISHTAVAIKUNTO.
KRISHNA MADE BOLDER.
But seeing that, for all her loving will, The flower-soft feet of Radha had not power To leave their place and go, she sped again-- That maiden--and to Krishna's eager ears Told how it fared with his sweet mistress there.
(_What follows is to the Music_ GONDAKIRÎ _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.)
Krishna! 'tis thou must come, (she sang) Ever she waits thee in heavenly bower; The lotus seeks not the wandering bee, The bee must find the flower.
All the wood over her deep eyes roam, Marvelling sore where tarries the bee, Who leaves such lips of nectar unsought As those that blossom for thee.
Her steps would fail if she tried to come, Would falter and fail, with yearning weak; At the first of the road they would falter and pause, And the way is strange to seek.
Find her where she is sitting, then, With lotus-blossom on ankle and arm Wearing thine emblems, and musing of nought But the meeting to be--glad, warm.
To be--"but wherefore tarrieth he?" "What can stay or delay him?--go! See if the soul of Krishna comes," Ten times she sayeth to me so;
Ten times lost in a languorous swoon, "Now he cometh--he cometh," she cries; And a love-look lightens her eyes in the gloom, And the darkness is sweet with her sighs.
Till, watching in vain, she glideth again Under the shade of the whispering leaves; With a heart too full of its love at last To heed how her bosom heaves.
_Shall not these fair verses swell The number of the wise who dwell In the realm of Kama's bliss? Jayadeva prayeth this, Jayadev, the bard of Love, Servant of the Gods above._
For all so strong in Heaven itself Is Love, that Radha sits drooping there, Her beautiful bosoms panting with thought, And the braids drawn back from her ear.
And--angel albeit--her rich lips breathe Sighs, if sighs were ever so sweet; And--if spirits can tremble--she trembles now From forehead to jewelled feet.
And her voice of music sinks to a sob, And her eyes, like eyes of a mated roe, Are tender with looks of yielded love, With dreams dreamed long ago;
Long--long ago, but soon to grow truth, To end, and be waking and certain and true; Of which dear surety murmur her lips, As the lips of sleepers do:
And, dreaming, she loosens her girdle-pearls, And opens her arms to the empty air, Then starts, if a leaf of the champâk falls, Sighing, "O leaf! Is he there?"
Why dost thou linger in this dull spot, Haunted by serpents and evil for thee? Why not hasten to Nanda's House? It is plain, if thine eyes could see.
_May these words of high endeavour-- Full of grace and gentle favour-- Find out those whose hearts can feel What the message did reveal, Words that Radha's messenger Unto Krishna took from her, Slowly guiding him to come Through the forest to his home, Guiding him to find the road Which led--though long--to Love's abode._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_ DHRISHTAVAIKUNTO.)
_SARGA THE SEVENTH._
VIPRALABDHAVARNANE NAGARANARAYANO.
KRISHNA SUPPOSED FALSE.
Meantime the moon, the rolling moon, clomb high, And over all Vrindávana it shone; The moon which on the front of gentle night Gleams like the chundun-mark on beauty's brow; The conscious moon which hath its silver face Marred with the shame of lighting earthly loves: