This heart of yours forsooth, is lightning's very essence,—
How shall I soothe your fury?
Vidyāpati says: A kind word would be fitting;
But you yourself be still, O Kāna.
LXX.
Rādhā: At last, my dear, I see how Kāna is uncouth:
An axe of brass, useless for any work,
A layer of tinsel over it!
Albeit I showed him angry eyes, how came it that the mountains
Slipped in two thick roads?
Taking the shālmal for the sandal, he clasped it close,—
But there was a thorny dart!
He who has spent his life amongst the beasts,
What can he know of Rati's ways?
This is a night of nectar, but I spent it vainly
With yonder boorish Herdsman!
Vidyāpati says: Hearken, young woman:
He is not ever a boor!
You are uncouth yourself, your trade is herding too,
You cannot lay such blame on Hari!
LXXI.
Rādhā: There bloomed a flower of golden shene,
My hope was high the fruit would be a gem,
I fed its roots with streams of milk;
I saw no fruit, and all was vanity!
I am the simple daughter of a cowherd,
And this unworthy love is worse than death;
What woe, Alas, has Fate afflicted me,—
For hope of gain, I lost my all!
This is Vidyāpati' s conclusion:
You cannot make a dog's tail straight.