Sakhī: She veils her face, that lady shene,—
They tell the king: The moon is stolen.
O lovely lover, how may you not be seen
By watchmen keeping watch in every house?
Let not your smile flash out, sweet-face,
Murmur but soft and low the music of your words,—
For near your lips are lustrous teeth.
As near the vermeil mark is set a pearl.
Hearken, hearken, to my words of counsel,
Even in dreams may nothing hinder:
The moon differs from you but in her spots,
For she is stained, and you are stainless.
Ha! Rājā Shivasimha and Lakshmī Dev,
Says Vidyāpati: My heart is fearless.
LV.
Sakhī: The citizens are waking on the king's highway,
Rays of the moon light up the dome of earth:
No peace in new-born love,—
I am amazed to see you. Loveliness!
How many ways the damsel seeks to hide herself:
She goes a-trysting in a boy's disguise.
And binds her flowing tresses in a knot.
Changing diversely the fashion of her dress.
And since her breasts may not be hidden by their veil,
She clasps an instrument of music to her bosom:
Thus she attains the darkness of the forest,—
The Lord of lovers cannot know her when he sees her!
Perplexed is Mādhava, when he perceives her,
But at a touch the riddle is resolved.
Says Vidyāpati: What happened then,—
What sports of Love ensued?