Rādhā: A peerless beauty I beheld, my dear,
If you but listen, you may know it was the vision of a dream
Twin lotus-feet that wore a string of moons,
From them two tender tamāl-shafts arising,—
Around them twined a vine of lightning,
(He slowly passed along Kālindī's bank):
Upon his leaf-like hands another string of moons—
The lustre of the sun on new-blown flowers.
Twin flawless bimba-fruits were ripe.
Above them sat a tranquil parrot:
Over him twin restless wagtails.
Over them a serpent coiled about his head.
My playful maid, explain:
Why did he steal my wits when I beheld him thus?
Vidyāpati says: It is a sign of love;
Well have you weighed the worthy wight.
XXIV.
Rādhā: How can I tell the limits of my grief, my dear?
The blowing of that flute diffuses poison through my frame:
Insistently I hear it sounding,
And then my heart and body melt in shame.
In that supreme instant, my body fills to overflowing,
I dare not lift my eyes lest anyone should know of it:
In the company of elders, waves of emotion sweeping through me,
I draw my dress across each limb to hide it carefully.
With softest steps I walk about the house—
Kind fate has so far hidden my secret shame—
But rapture fills my heart and body, my girdle slips!
Vidyāpati is dazed! What can he say?