Note 2 — Chapter CIV

Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, afflicted with separation, being without Madanamanchuká, roamed about on those lower slopes of mount Malaya, and in its bordering forests, which were in all the beauty of spring, but found joy nowhere. The cluster of mango-blossoms, though in itself soft, yet seeming, on account of the bees2 that settled on it, like the pliant bow of the god of Love, cleft his heart. And the song of the cuckoo, though sweet in itself, was hard to bear, and gave pain to his ears, as it seemed to be harsh with the reproachful utterances of Mára.3 And the wind of the Malaya mountain, though in itself cool, yet being yellow with the pollen of flowers, and so looking like the fire of Cupid, seemed to burn him, when it fell on his limbs. So he slowly left that region, being, so to speak, drummed out of it by those groves that were all resonant with the hum of bees.