Part
Four: Tender Krishna
Radha's friend, to one love-burdened in
the reeds of Yamuna, then came and said:
Eighth Song
Confused,
she blames the sandal paste and moon,
finds venomed serpents in Malaya winds.
In Mádhava she dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she
thinks of you.
She hopes in watery lotus leaves to shield
her vital being
from love's raining arrows:
In Mádhava she dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she thinks of you.
She'd turn
the barbs to flowers, make her bed
in blossom echoing to your embrace:
In Mádhava she dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she
thinks of you.
Her eyes are trembling and her gentle face
is split as
moon is by serrated tears:
In Mádhava she dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she thinks of you.
She paints with musk how love
has been,
inclines to monsters with a Mango branch:
In Mádhava she
dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she thinks of you.
Though
unapproachable and locked in thought,
aloud she laughs and trembles at her tears:
In Mádhava she dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she
thinks of you.
Declares each step she takes is to your feet:
what fire
the moon is when you've turned away:
In Mádhava she dreads the love god's
arrows:
apart and miserable, she thinks of you.
If thought would dance
to Jayadeva's words
then study what the friend of Rádha said:
In Mádhava
she dreads the love god's arrows:
apart and miserable, she thinks of you.
* * *
Her home's the forest and her friends a snare;
she fans her blazing
griefs with sighs.
The absence terrifies: as with a deer,
your play's become
the fearsome tiger's sport.
* * *
Ninth Song
She wears
the bright and slender pearls
upon her breasts as though a burden:
Krishna,
Rádhá feels deserted.
She feels the soothing sandal cream
as potent venom
on her body:
Krishna, Rádhá feels deserted.
She sighs the compass of her
love
and in that breath the passion burns:
Krishna, Rádhá feels deserted.
She scatters everywhere a tear
as lotus from its hollow stem:
Krishna,
Rádhá feels deserted.
She holds her palm against her cheek
as evening
steadies with the moon:
Krishna, Rádhá feels deserted.
She sees a bed
of tender leaves
ordained for her as fire instead:
Krishna, Rádhá feels deserted.
Again she whispers Hari, Hari,
as though your absence brought her death:
Krishna, Rádhá feels deserted.
Let Jayadeva's song so chanted
please and
lead to Krishna's feet:
Krishna, Rádhá feels deserted.
* * *
With
pain she bristles, sighs, she shuts her eyes,
she rises, whirls about and falls
in faints:
unless your heavenly healing aid in this
her fever only sends her
to her death.
But you, divine physician, by a touch
of your blest body
can relieve her pain,
do not abandon Rádhá, lest you'd hurt
her grievously
as Indra's thunderbolt.
Against that wantoning and dragging fire
she looks
to lotus, sandalpaste and moon,
and thinks of lover in his lonely place,
and of his coolness as she lingers on.
Before she would not even close her
eyes
a moment lest you leave her sight; no more
she breathes with you away,
nor bears to think
of how the mango trees were full of flowers.