Part 3

_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!_

XL.

_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._

XLI.

_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?_

XLII.

_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,-- The jewels are exposed, and yet she knots her garment!

_What is Vidyāpati to think, forsooth?_ _For at the moment of embrace, she flies the bed!_

XLIII.

_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!_

XLIV.

_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 as yet,-- 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?_

XLV.

_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._

XLVI.

_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 She keeps her jewels hidden in the granary of Love,-- 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!_

XLVII.

_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._

XLVIII.

_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._

XLIX.

_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._

L.

_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._

ABHISĀRA

LI.

_Sakhī:_ Gainlier than a royal olifant, more graceful than the swan, She goes to keep her tryst: 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:_ _Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana_ _Is the eleventh Avatar!_

LII.

_Sakhī:_ Rādhā's love is young, No obstacle can stay her: She has started all alone, Reckless of any path.

She casts away the jewelled necklace That weighed upon her jutting breasts: She casts the rings and bracelets from her hands. And leaves them all along the road.

The jewelled anklets from her feet 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._

LIII.

_Krishna:_ The night is late, the fair one timorous and fearful: When will she of the olifant gait be here? 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._

LIV.

_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.

_Ha! Rājā Shivasimha and Lakshmī Dev,_ _Says Vidyāpati: My heart is fearless._

LV.

_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?_

VASANTA LĪLĀ

LVI.

_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._

LVII.

_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._

LVIII.

_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._

LIX.

_Kavi:_ The blissful night of Spring holds sway Glad dalliance among, and passionate rāsa-dance; And lovely Rādhā, jewel of maids, is filled with longing,-- 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._

MĀNA

LX.

_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!_

LXI.

_Dūtikā:_ He who was wont to wanton with a flute, has cast away his jewels, He who was wont to wear a yellow weed, now grovels at your feet,-- 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._

LXII.

_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._

LXIII.

_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._

LXIV.

_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._

LXV.

_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, She casts away her jewels and all her fine array.

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._

LXVI.

_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._

LXVII.

_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!_

LXVIII.

_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._

LXIX.

_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._

LXX.

_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!_

LXXI.

_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._

LXXII.