Rādhā: My mother-in-law was asleep, and I lay in her lap,
And love-learned Kānu was lurking behind.
Somehow I made it clear to him by signs:
'Will you give over fooling, or shall I begone?
'Refrain this affection, O foolish lover,—
As at this time your prayers are not to be granted!
(Can there be any pleasure in embraces from behind,
Shall thirst for water be slaked with milk?)'
Bending his face to mine, how did he drink the nectar of my lips
How often silently he laid his hand upon my breasts,
Nor let betray him any panting breath,—
What laughing battles were fought with flashing teeth!
My mother-in-law awoke, and Kāna ran away:
My hopes were not fulfilled, says Vidyāpati.
LXXXVII.
Rādhā: I was alone, and weaving garlands,
My skirt and bodice were unloosed,
And then came Kānu with quiet smiles!
(How shall I hide my bosom and my girdlestead?)
My darling clasped me with a merry laugh,
Modesty and shame departed to the underworld—
(How may I dout the lamp, that's out of reach of hands?)
And yet my brazen life dies not of shame!
This is the very work of love, says Vidyāpati:
Wherefore this shame of him to whom your life is dedicate?
LXXXVIII.
Rādhā: To-day my awkward shame was far away,
He realised his heart's desires:
What shall I say, my dear? (I smile to speak of it,)
So very marvellous was the dalliance of to-day.