Rādhā: After how long shall this sadness depart?
When shall the heavy load of this grief be lifted?
How long shall it be till the moon and the lotus are joined?
After how many days shall the bee disport with the lily?
When shall my lover converse with me?
When will he put his hands on my breasts?
When will he take my hand to set me on his lap,
When shall my longing be realised?
Hearken, fair woman, says Vidyāpati:
Every sorrow shall fly when Murāri is yours.
CXVII.
Rādhā: Speak to me, speak to me, dear, and tell me, O tell me,
Where is the land where my darling dwells?
For Madan's burning arrows, my body is ablaze
To hear some news of him.
What like is she my Lord has met,
That he is so enamoured?
Some maid he must have found, my Lord is glad.
And plunges in my heart an arrow.
Shatter my bangles of shell, take off my fine array,
And break my necklace of ivory-pearls,—
If my dear will forsake me, what is the use of jewels?
Cast them all in the waves of the Jamunā.
Wipe from my hair the scarlet line and put it far away.
All is hopeless without my darling.
Vidyāpati says: Hearken young damsel:
Your sorrow is come to an end.
CXVIII.
Rādhā: The day that Mādhava went his way
All those words poured forth:
My heart was heavy and heavier still to hear,
The tears were dropping from my eyes.