When morning dawned, then coming close,
Did Kānu swear an oath,
I held his hand upon my head:
Now all is otherwise.
Scanning the road, my heart is heavy:
The mādhavī vine is flowering,
The koil is a-calling, Kuhu, kuhu, resounding.
And every bee is buzzing.
Which is the city where my dear was stolen.
Pleased by what maid he won?
Vidyāpati says: Hearken, young damsel:
The thief is your lover himself.
CXIX.
Dūtikā: A river of tears is flowing from her eyes,
And on its banks she falls and swoons:
O Mādhava, your pity is but too perverse,
You have no fear of murdering a wife.
Then did her breath grow faint,
And some were fanning her with lotus-leaves,
And other clever maids were listening for her breath,
And I have run to tell you.
Some say that Hari is a-coming,
And at that name her wit returns,
The dusky braid begins to dance upon her breast—
A serpent black upon a lily's lap.
Recounting in your heart your former love,
Come back once more to your own home,
Vidyāpati the mighty bard declares:
The wily wight is well aware of all her woe!
CXX.
Dūtikā: Ah Mādhava, I come just now from seeing Rāi:
For grief of loneliness she answers nought,
But lies with her face on the earth.