‘She is Fortune herself in my home; she is a pencil of ambrosia for the eyes; her touch here on my body is as fragrant as sandal juice; her arm round my neck is cool and soft as a necklace of pearls; what in her is there that is not dear, save only the misery of separation from her?’ Scarcely are the words said than the attendant enters with the word, ‘It has come’, which on her lips is to announce the advent of the spy whose report is to lead to Sītā’s banishment, while the audience, following the words, applies it at once to the separation which Rāma was deploring, [[200]]and which to him was the parting in the past when Rāvaṇa stole his bride.
The spontaneous regard which springs up for each other in the hearts of the two princes Lava and Candraketu when they meet is admirably depicted:[22]
yadṛcchāsampātaḥ kim u guṇagaṇānām atiçayaḥ
purāṇo vā janmāntaranibiḍabandhaḥ paricayaḥ
nijo vā sambandhaḥ kim u vidhivaçāt ko ’py avidito
mamaitasmin dṛṣṭe hṛdayam avadhānaṁ racayati?
‘Is it this chance encounter, or his wealth of splendid qualities, or an ancient love, firm bound in a former birth, or a common tie of blood unknown through the might of fate, which draws close my heart to him even at first sight?’
The rebuke which Vāsantī addresses to Rāma for his treatment of Sītā, despite the loyalty of the queen, is effectively broken off by a faint:[23]
tvaṁ jīvitaṁ tvam asi me hṛdayaṁ dvitīyam
tvaṁ kaumudī nayanayor amṛtaṁ tvam an̄ge