Part 2

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:_ _Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana_ _And Lakshmī Devī be witness._

IV.

_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._

V.

_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,--_ _Witness be Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana and Lakshmī Devī._

VI.

_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!_

VII.

_Krishna:_ Laughing, talking, milk-white girl. Nectar-showering as autumn moon at full:

Jewel of beauty surpassing, passing before me, 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._

VIII.

_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 Was set by Kāmadev.

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._

IX.

_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!_

X.

_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._

XI.

_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 of bliss,--_ _That Vidyāpati knoweth well._

XII.

_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?_

XIII.

_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._

XIV.

_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._

RĀDHĀ BAYASANDHI

XV.

_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._

XVI.

_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._

XVII.

_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._

XVIII.

_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._

XIX.

_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.

_Lo, Vidyāpati's enquiry,--_ _Shall she not leave her childhood finally?_

XX.

_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 PŪRBBARĀGA

XXI.

_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!_

XXII.

_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._

XXIII.

_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._

XXIV.

_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-SHIKSHĀ-BACANĀDI

XXV.

_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._

XXVI.

_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!_

XXVII.

_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, He cries, _O Wel-a-way:_ His helpless body trembles, None can hold him still.

_Saith Vidyāpati: Dear maiden,_ _Witness Rūpanārāyana._

XXVIII.

_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._

XXIX.

_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?_

XXX.

_Sakhī:_ Attend my teaching, artless maid, And I shall give you good advice: First you shall deck your hair with jewels, And paint your curving eyes with sūrm.

Then you shall go to him with all your body folded close, And seeming to be dumb, shall stay apart: 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._

XXXI.

_Rādhā:_ I know not the taste of love, nor the colour of desire; How may I have ado, my dear, with yonder swain, 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._

XXXII.

_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._

PRATHAMA MILNA

XXXIII.

_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._

XXXIV.

_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._

XXXV.

_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._

XXXVI.

_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._

XXXVII.

_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._

XXXVIII.

_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._

XXXIX.