PRATHAMA MILNA

XXXIII.

Dūtika: Hearken, hearken, beautiful Kānāi: I give the maiden Rādhā to your care, A lotus-damsel, softly-wrought, And thirstier bee than you.

The feast of honey is prepared,— Only forget the Archer's cruelty, Touching her bosom gently As an olifant a lily.

Making excuse to count her necklace pearls, Your hands may lift the burden of her breasts: She does not understand the ways of love, But now consents, and now refuses.

The shirīsh-flower is not more delicate than she, therefore Inure her to the Archer's way by little steps,— The poet Vidyāpati lays down This prayer of a messenger upon your feet.

XXXIV.

Sakhī: When first the damsel to her leman came, Her heart beat fast with shame and fear: Like to a golden image, Rādhā stood quite still, Nor moving forward, nor returning.

Taking her hands, he sets her by his side, And she in shame and anger veils her face: When he unfolds her face and kisses her upon her mouth, She hides the shamefast face in Mādhav's breast.

This is the merry song of Vidyāpati the poet, Delighting Rājā Shivasimha's heart.

XXXV.

Sakhī: The sakhī soothed her fears, and led her lovingly,— Her leman's heart was gladdened, he took her by the hand: But Rādhā paled at Kānu's touch, A lotus fading in the moon's embrace.

She cries: Oh no, no, no! and tears are pouring from her eyes, She lies outstretched upon the margin of the bed, His close embrace has not unloosed her zone,— Even of handling of her breasts has been but little.

She lifts the wimple up to hide her face, She cannot rest, but trembles through and through. Says Vidyāpati: The heart of it is patience: Step by step may Madan claim his own.

XXXVI.

Sakhī: Ah damsel fair! in dalliance is no delight, For Madan wounds the heart with double pains.

The maidens all together setting her by Kānu's side, The damsel breathes in frightened gasps: When Kānu lifts her to his lap, she bends her body back, Like the young snake, untamed by spells.

'But shut your eyes this once, my fair one, As a sick man drinks his draught: A little moment's pain, and then the birth of bliss,— Why do you turn your face away from this, my girl?'

Hearken, Murāri, saith Vidyāpati: You are the ocean of desire, and she is artless.

XXXVII.

Rādhā: How can I tell of what was done that night? Unhappily the hours were spent with Mādhava: He clasped my breasts and drank the nectar of my lips, Laying his face on mine, he killed my life.

(First youth, and hence this pouring out of passion: So rash is Kān,—he has no skill in love). Madan-maddened, nothing recking, He would not heed how many prayers!

Hearken, Lady fair, says Vidyāpati: You are but artless, and Murāri is athirst.

XXXVIII.

Rādhā: What can I say, my sakhī? It is shame to tell All that my Lover did imperiously; A young thing I, unlearned in lore of love,— It was the messenger that led me to his side.

My body shivered at the sight of him, So fierce he was to fall on me, I lost my wits in his embrace: How can I tell what amorous play he played?

In everything my Lord behaved ungently, How can I speak of it amongst my friends? Why ask of it, who know it all too well? Happy is she whom he may not distress!

Fear not, says Vidyāpati: Such is the fashion of first dalliance.

XXXIX.

Rādhā: Do not urge me, dearest maiden, do not urge. What can I do, if he should soothe my fears? Few are my years, for I am not so old as Kānu,— I am too shamefast and too tender.

Cruel Hari played with me impatiently, How can I tell how many woes the night bestowed? Passion flamed up, I lost my wits,— Who knows when he broke my girdle?

He held me close, with pinioned arms, And then my heart was beating wildly; I let him see my streaming eyes, But even then Kānu had no pity.

My wicked lover parched my lips— Abetted by the night, Rahu devoured the moon; He tore my twin breasts with his nails, Just as a lion tears an elephant.

Ah amorous woman, says Vidyāpati,— You knew full well Murāri was aflame!

XL.

Sakhī: Shyāma sitting in his pride Speaks of the night's delights: 'She is the beauteous sweet-faced Rāi, With rapture I received her in my inmost heart.

'How many ways she kissed me, Laughing light and low in gladness, Diversely disporting, My dream of delight.

'How nectar-sweet her words, Eyebrows arching, wanton glances, Damsel waking in my heart's core.' This is first love, says Vidyāpati.

XLI.

Rādhā: O maiden, dearest maiden, do not lead me to him, Too young am I, and he is a burning lover: My heart is shaken, going to his side,— The amorous bee will spring upon the lotus.

The muslin hides my harmless body Like wimpling waters of a lily-lake: Oh Mother mine, how creatures suffer pain! What Power shaped the wicked Night?

Says Vidyāpati: What is befitting now? Who cannot tell when it is dawn?

XLII.

Sakhī: Her gentle words she can but stammer, Her shamefast speech will not well out: To-day I found her most contrary, Sometimes consenting, sometimes fearful.

At any word of dalliance, she tightly shuts her eyes, For she has caught a glimpse of the great sea of Love: At kissing-time she turns her face away,— The moon has taken the lotus on his lap!

Stricken with terror if her zone be touched, the shining maiden Knows that Madan's treasury is being rifled. Her clothes are disarrayed, she hides her bosom with her arms,— The jewels are exposed, and yet she knots her garment!

What is Vidyāpati to think, forsooth? For at the moment of embrace, she flies the bed!

XLIII.

Rādhā: Oh Hari, Why do you seek to loose my girdle? You shall not win your will: I cannot tell what pleasure there can be in seeing me, But now I know your guile, O Banamāli!

If you will listen to my plea, Murāri, I shall abuse you only very gently: Sufficed with dalliance, what need for sight? My soul may not endure it.

Never has like been heard, While lamps are lit, to play with me: The people of the house will hear our very breath! Deal with me gently, for the people of the house are very near.

This savour Vidyāpati knoweth well,— Rājā Shivasimha and Lakshmī Devī be witness!

XLIV.

Rādhā: You that are skilled in passion's lore have pity on my shame,— I will forsake it when my youth increases: My little savour cannot satisfy you now, The little draught will not suffice to slake your thirst.

Would you but take it drop by drop, Daily increasing like the digit of the moon! These little breasts of mine will hardly fill your hands as yet,— O Hari, do not wound them with your nails, be wise in love.

Vidyāpati exclaims: What are these gestes, To set such store upon a green pomegranate?

XLV.

Rādhā: You are that Banamāli that did slay Chānur: This tender woman is the shirīsh-flower. O cruel messenger that made this war, And gave a jasmine-garland to an olifant!

No longer does the sūrm paint my eyes, And wet with sweat are musk and sandal: O wounded Mādhav, I beseech you, Do not offer up my life upon the altar of Desire!

O Hari, Hari, let your purpose be To spare my life until another day. Give Love his due, impatient lover! Says Vidyāpati: Your wish shall be accomplished.

XLVI.

Sakhī: Amorous the swain, and little is his darling: If hands be laid on her, how many are her wiles! With what entreaties and persuasions have the maidens led her To her lover's house, and laid her on his bed!

With face averted, lying closely curled, (For who may turn the tide when passion flows?) She hides her face beneath the wimple,— The frightened moon escaping from the storm.

No word comes out, she hears nought that is said, Repeatedly she folds her hands imploringly: With covering arms she guards the treasures of her life,— She needs no bodice to enfold her breasts.

Insistently from sight and touch alike She keeps her jewels hidden in the granary of Love,— A matter for her maidens' mocking many days, Now learning her the lore of Love.

Vidyāpati finds great delight herein: For at a sudden touch, she pushes out her hand!

XLVII.

Sakhī: Enough! and cast the trouble from your heart. Be not afraid, go to your lover's side: Have done with obstinacy, for I tell you Never can be joy without its pain.

But half a grain of grief, and then a life of gladness Why are you so averse to this, my girl? Just for a moment shut your eyes, As a sick man drinks his draught.

Go, Beauty, go, and play loves game, Vidyāpati prays for your consent.

XLVIII.

Rādhā: O Hari, if you will insist on touching me, The sin of murdering a wife will fall on you: You are a guileful lover full of passion I know not whether it be sweet or bitter.

When passion is outpoured, I shiver Like an arrow-smitten bounding antelope: O do not realise your hopes before the time,— Savour is never lacking to the wise man's end.

Vidyāpati says: I see it clear, That honeyed fruit is never green.

XLIX.

Sakhī: How to direct the flying arrows of her restless eyes The Archer-guru teaches her the unfamiliar lesson (And who would practise uninformed?)

'Oh do not take my life by force! Toy not with me, O Kānu,—release my skirt; I am so faint, I fear love's war.

How can my early youth content your will at all? A little riches cannot satisfy a beggar. The unblown jasmine of the early spring Cannot appease the hunger of the lusty bees: There cannot be a happy ending of a sinful deed— Be not so rash, when you ought rather hesitate.'

Says Vidyāpati: Oh amorous Kānu! The maddened elephant heeds not the goad.

L.

Sakhī: With soft persuasion all the maidens Led her to her lover's side, A fawn ensnaréd from the forest Panting hard.

The sweet-face sits beside the bed With busily averted looks, Her mind wide-wandering,— Love breathing hard.

Cruel is Love, and loveliness is stubborn, She will not follow reason: Fast is her girdle knotted, bodice bound, And barriers before her lips.

Her body closely swathed on neither side A glimpse revealed, She yields her life at a hand's touch,— How may Hari win his will?

Unhappy Kānta lays how many prayers Upon the maiden's feet, Hurting her soul (so Rādhā thinks): Such is the song of Vidyāpati.