KRISHNA PŪRBBARĀGA

I.

Krishna: Some damsel I saw, supremely fair— A moon unstained, that slowly rose, Or a golden vine.

Eyes twin lotus-blooms, dyed with sūrm, The playground of waves of love— Twin timid partridges, snared by Nature With nought but a rope of collyrium!

A garland of ivory-pearls caressed the burden Of her mountain breasts— Kāma pouring celestial streams from a brimming conch On a golden Shambhu!

The sacrificer of a hundred offerings on a sacred shore Were blest by such reward! Vidyāpati says: It is Gokula's lord. The herd-girls' darling.

II.

Krishna: Your hair dismays the yak, the mountain sinks into the vale, Fearing your face, the moon is fading in the sky, The antelope is fearful of your eyes, your voice dismays the koil. Your gait alarms the olifant, he hides him in the wood:

Why came you not for speech with me, fair may? All these have fled afar in fear of you, How then should you in turn fear me?

Dismayed by your breasts, the unblown lily lingers under lake. The globéd jar leaps into fire. The honey-apple and the pomegranate abide aloft. And Shambhu drinks his poison.

Dismayéd by your arms, the golden lily-root leaves not the mud. Affrighted by your fingers, the flower-stems are shivering! Vidyāpati asks: How many shall I cite Of spells of Love like these?

III.

Krishna: Which of the gods this fair face fashioned? Beauty-surpassing, heart's-bliss-granting, Garland-victress of the Triple Worlds.

The sun-bright eyes of her fair face Are tricked with sūrm— Restless wagtails on a golden lotus, At play with pitch-black snakes.

The vine of down from her navel's well Is a serpent thirsting for air: Thinking in terror her nose is Garuḍa's beak It hides in the valley of her bosoms' hills.

Love with three arrows conquered Three World's, Still two of the arrows remained: Very cruel is Nature to slay the love-lorn, Surrendering those to her two eyes!

Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair maids Who haunt the well of Love: Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana And Lakshmī Devī be witness.

IV.

Krishna: Why did that moon-face cross my path? Just for one moment her eyes met mine, Whose sidelong glance is all too keen: An ill day that for me!

My thoughts were set upon her breasts, Love lay waking in my heart. Her voice was ringing in my ears: I would have gone, my feet refused to move.

The bonds of hope constrain me yet: Love is a tide, says Vidyāpati.

V.

Krishna: Fair-face, red brow-spot, there-behind the heavy jet-black hair— As if the sun and moon together rising left the night behind.

Ah damsel fair! with what and what devoted care, Has Nature given to you the utmost beauty of the moon.

A grass green bodice binds your breasts, a glimpse is only seen; So jealously you cover them,—but never snow may hide the hills!

Dark sūrm decks your curving restless eyes. As if the bees would rest their weight upon some wind-bent lotus.

Hearken, young thing, says Vidyāpati; these charms, you know them all,— Witness be Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana and Lakshmī Devī.

VI.

Krishna: She left the shrine at cowdust-time, passing gliding Like a flash of lightning mated with a fresh cloud.

Tender of age she was, a garland deftly woven: A glimpse could not content my hope, but Love's fire fiercer fanned.

Bright was her body, shining under wimple with the shene of gold: Long locks, small middle, sidelong-glancing eyes.

And softly smiling, pierced me with the arrows of her eyes,— Lord of the Five Gaurs, live for ever, says Vidyāpati!

VII.

Krishna: Laughing, talking, milk-white girl. Nectar-showering as autumn moon at full:

Jewel of beauty surpassing, passing before me, Gainly of gait as olifant-king.

Small was her middle as any lion's, her frail frame breaking With the burden of the honey-apples of her breasts.

Her lovely eyes shone white beside the sūrm that dyed them. Bees, as it were, mistaking them for spotless water-lilies.

Says Vidyapati: The Lord of lovers Sorely tholes the sight of Radha's loveliness.

VIII.

Krishna: I could not see her clearly: Like a vine of lightning flashing from a wreath of cloud, She plunged an arrow in my heart.

Half the wimple had slipped, half was her face in smiles. Half a wave in her eyes: Half of her bosom I saw, half of the wimple filling,— Love consumes me ever since.

Bright was her body withal, and golden cups her breasts. Her bodice, Love transformed: My wits were routed,— meseems this snare Was set by Kāmadev.

Pearl-teeth arow her lips did meet. That murmured gentle words. Vidyāpati says: Grief haunts my heart: I saw her indeed, but hope was not sated.

IX.

Krishna: Beholding that my love was at her bath, She pierced my heart with arrows five,— The stream of water pouring from her tresses. Was her moon-face weeping, frighted by their gloom.

The wet cloth clung upon her corse,— So might Kāma shake a hermit's heart! Twin breasts were cakravākas sweet. United by the gods upon the self-same shore,— Caged in the prison of her arms. Lest they should fly away in fear.

Vidyāpati, the poet, sings: The precious maid her lover meets!

X.

Krishna: A joyous day this day for me! I saw my love when she was bathing, A stream of water pouring from her hair,— The clouds were showering strings of pearls!

Wiping her face intentifly, As though she cleansed a golden mirror,— Discovering both her breasts. Where had been set inverted golden cups,

She let her zone fall free: That was the bound of my desire, says Vidyāpati.

XI.

Krishna: Rāi of the lily face had not yet climbed the bank, When she beheld brave Kān before her: 'A maid demure, with hanging head, in company of elders. How was I to see her face?'

But matchless was the bright may's art: Stepping before them all, she called aloud, With half-averted face, And broke withal her string of pearls. Crying aloud: 'My garland's broken!' Every person, one and all, was gathering up the beads,— Then she gazed on Shyāma!

Her partridge-eyes beholding Krishna's moon-fair face. Were drinking draughts of dew: Each on the other gazing, spread abroad the taste of bliss,— That Vidyāpati knoweth well.

XII.

Krishna: She smiled a little when she saw me lurking there— As if the rising moon lit up the night: And when she rained on me her sidelong glances, The heavens became a swarm of bees.

Who knoweth whose the maid may be, Setting my heart a-shake, and vanishing? The humble-bee is prisoned in the lotus-flower of love,— I was amazed to see the timid fair one passing by.

Then was made manifest the beauty of her breasts,— (Whose heart does not the golden lily snare?) Half was she hidden, half revealed. Her globéd breasts told me of her desire.

Vidyāpati says: That was love's dawn: Whom does Madans secret arrow spare?

XIII.

Dūtikā: The flower is open all amidst the thorns; The frenzied bee can find no place of rest, But haunts continually the nectar-laden jasmine, Reckless of life in eager thirst.

He honey-life, you honey-heap. Already hiding hoarded sweets,— The maddened bee has neither home Nor rest without your jasmine-self.

Deep in your heart consider this: Why should you be the murderer of a bee? For Vidyāpati avows: He will return to life. If He may drink the nectar of your lips.

XIV.

Krishna: Wheresoever her twin feet fall, A lotus-flower uplifts them: Wheresoever her body passes swaying, There is the lightning's undulation!

Surpassing radiance that I beheld, Has made her seat amidst my heart: Wheresoever her eyes are opened, There are water-lilies seen!

Wheresoever her light laugh rings, There very nectar sours in envy: Wheresoever fall her sidelong glances, Fly the myriads of Madan's arrows!

Even an instant to behold such loveliness Suffices to eclipse the Triple Worlds: But and I see her once again, My mourning may depart!

Says Vidyāpati: In sooth, For your dear sake, I'll bring her.