dvau saṁkīrṇau racayati rasau nartakīva pragalbhā.
‘With one angry eye she gazes on the orb of the sun as it tarries on the horizon; with the other, dimmed by her tears, she looks on her soul’s beloved; thus the mate of the Cakravāka, feeling the approach at nightfall of separation from her dear one, expresses two emotions, even as a clever actress.’
Curiously enough we have no less than four stanzas of benediction ascribed to him, which illustrate a formal feature of the Sanskrit drama, the introduction of each play with one or more stanzas involving divine favour. The verses are interesting, not so much for the intrinsic merits of their poetry, which frankly are not great, but because of the curious manner in which Indian poetry treats its deities; the greatest of gods nevertheless in his sportive moods is yet made the prototype of the human lover:[5] [[170]]
cyutām indor lekhāṁ ratikalahabhagnaṁ ca valayam
çanair ekīkṛtya hasitamukhī çailatanayā
avocad yam paçyety avatu sa çivaḥ sā ca girijā
sa ca krīḍācandro daçanakiraṇapūritatanuḥ.
‘Smiling, the daughter of the mountain wrought into one a digit fallen from the moon and a bracelet broken in a love quarrel, and said to her lord, “Behold my work”. May he, Çiva, protect you, and the lady of the mountain, and that moon of dalliance all covered with bites and rays.’
mātar jīva kim etad añjalipuṭe tātena gopāyyate
vatsa svādu phalam prayacchati na me gatvā gṛhāṇa svayam