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.
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.