34. O great Vindhyá with thy hollow and snow covered caves! why dost thou not destroy thy dull elephants by thy native lions? It is I that am as silly as an elephant—gaja múrkha.
35. O my arms! which used to break down mountain peaks, why do ye fail to pluck the butter-like moon with thy moony nails?
36. O my breast! which was as fair as the side of the snowy mountain, even without my glassy ornaments; why dost thou not show thy hairs, which were as large as leeches that feed on lion’s flesh?
37. O my eyes! that used to dispel the darkness of the darkest night, and kindle the dry fuel with your glaring fire; why do ye cease to lighten the air with your effulgence?
38. O my shoulder blades! are ye broken down and levelled with the earth? or are ye crushed and smashed or mouldered and worn out by age?
39. O my moonbright face! why dost thou not shine over me with thy bright beams; resembling the everlasting light of the orb of the moon, now at an end for ever?
40. O my hands! where is your strength fled today? See ye not, how I am transformed to an ignoble needle, that is moved about by the touch of the foot of a fly?
41. Alas! the cavity of my navel, which was as deep as a well, and beset by hairs resembling rows of beautiful plants about it; and my protuberant posteriors, which likened to the bottom of the Vindhyá hills.
42. Where is that towering stature reaching to the sky, and what is this new earned contemptible form of the needle; where is that mouth, hollow as the vault of the sky, and what is this hole of the needle? Where is that heap of my flesh meat, and what is this drop of watery food? Ah! how lean have I grown, but who is to be blamed for an act of my own doing?