Gita Govinda 2: Gītagovinda

"The sky is dense with clouds; the forest grounds are dark with tamāla trees; / night approaches, and he is timid: you alone, Rādhā, take him home!" / Wandering thus at Nanda's command to the arbors and trees along the path, / victorious are the secret amorous plays of Rādhā and Mādhava on the bank of the Yamunā.

With the mansion of his mind painted by the deeds of the goddess of speech, / sovereign of wandering bards at Padmāvatī's feet, / the poet Jayadeva composes this lyric composition / accompanied by the story of the amorous play of the illustrious Vāsudeva.

Umāpatidhara causes words to sprout with blossoms; Jayadeva alone / knows the purity of verbal composition; Śaraṇa is praiseworthy for swift movement through the obscure; / no celebrated poet rivals Ācārya Govardhana in compositions of true knowledge heightened by erotic sentiment; / Dhoyī, king of poets, retains all he hears.

If your mind is passionate in remembering Hari, / if you have curiosity for the arts of amorous dalliance, / then listen to the words of Jayadeva, / a garland of sweet, tender, and lovely verses.

In the waters of the ocean of cosmic dissolution you preserved the Veda, / acting effortlessly as a boat. / Keśava, who took the form of a fish, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

The earth rests upon your exceedingly vast back, / heavily scarred by the calloused circle made from supporting the earth. / Keśava, who took the form of a tortoise, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

The earth rests fixed upon the tip of your tusk, / plunged like a dark mark upon the moon. / Keśava, who took the form of a boar, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

On your excellent lotus-hand the claw is a wondrous point / that tore apart the bee that was the body of Hiraṇyakaśipu. / Keśava, who took the form of the man-lion, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

In your strides you deceived Bali, wondrous dwarf, / who purified people through the water from your toenails. / Keśava, who took the form of a dwarf, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

In water made of the blood of kṣatriyas, you bathed the world, / washing away its sins and calming the torment of existence. / Keśava, who took the form of the lord of the Bhṛgus, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

In battle you scatter in every direction, desirable to the guardians of the directions, / the delightful offering of the heads of the ten-headed Rāvaṇa. / Keśava, who took the body of Rāma, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

On your fair body you wear a garment with the luster of a cloud, / dark like the Yamunā fleeing in fear of the strike of your plow. / Keśava, who took the form of the plow-bearer, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

Alas, you condemn the collection of Vedic texts for the sacrificial rite, / your heart full of compassion when the slaughter of cattle was displayed. / Keśava, who took the body of the Buddha, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

For the destruction of the barbarian multitudes, you brandish a sword / terrible as a blazing comet. / Keśava, who took the body of Kalki, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

Listen to this noble utterance spoken by the poet Jayadeva, / which grants happiness and auspiciousness, the essence of worldly existence. / Keśava, who took ten kinds of forms, / triumph, Hari, Lord of the world!

Rescuing the Vedas, carrying the world, bearing aloft the earth-globe, / tearing apart the demon, deceiving Bali, destroying the kṣatriyas, / conquering the descendant of Pulastya, wielding the plow, extending compassion, / and overcoming the barbarians—homage to you, Kṛṣṇa, who assumed ten forms!

Resting upon the orb of Kamalā's breasts, wearing earrings, / adorned with a lovely garland of wild flowers—triumph, God of victory, Hari!

Adornment of the solar orb, destroyer of worldly existence, / swan upon the Manasa lake of the minds of sages—triumph, God of victory, Hari!

Subduer of the venomous snake Kāliya, delighter of the people, / sun to the lotus of the Yadu race—triumph, God of victory, Hari!

O Destroyer of Madhu, Mura, and Naraka, whose seat is Garuḍa!
O source of play for the host of gods, hail, hail, O God Hari!

O you whose eyes are pure lotus petals, liberator from worldly existence!
O treasure of the abode of the three worlds, hail, hail, O God Hari!

O you who are adorned by Janaka's daughter, conqueror of Dūṣaṇa!
O you who quelled the ten-necked [Rāvaṇa] in battle, hail, hail, O God Hari!

O you who are handsome as a fresh raincloud, upholder of Mount Mandara!
O cakora bird to the moon of Śrī's face, hail, hail, O God Hari!

May this auspicious, radiant song
of the poet Śrī Jayadeva bring delight: hail, hail, O God Hari!

Imprinted with saffron clinging from an embrace against the slope of Padmā's breasts,
filled with the waters of perspiration born of the weariness of erotic play, as if manifesting passion—
may that chest of Madhusūdana fulfill your desired wish!

In spring, to Rādhā wandering through the forest on limbs tender as vāsantī flowers,
seeking Kṛṣṇa in every direction,
overcome with intense torment through the agitation of anxiety born of Kandarpa's fever,
her companion spoke these passionate words:

When the breeze from the Malaya mountains is gentle from caressing graceful clove creepers,
when bower huts resound with the cooing of cuckoos mingled with swarms of bees—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

When travelers' wives are made to lament by desires of intoxicating Madana,
when dense clusters of bakula flowers are crowded with swarms of bees—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

When tamāla trees have rows of fresh shoots subject to the intense scent of musk,
when clusters of kiṃśuka flowers shine like the claws of mind-born love tearing the hearts of youth—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

When the bloom of keśara flowers shines like the golden scepter of King Madana,
when clusters of pāṭali flowers, met by bees, display the splendor of Smara's quivers—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

When the fresh karuṇa tree seems to laugh at the sight of the world with its shame dissolved,
when all directions are bristling with ketaka blossoms shaped like spearheads that pierce separated lovers—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

Charming with the scent of mādhavī, fragrant with fresh mālika and jasmine flowers,
bewitching even the minds of sages, an unprompted friend of youth—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

When mango trees are budding and bristling with horripilation at the embrace of swaying atimukta creepers,
in the forest of Vṛndāvana, purified by the waters of the Yamunā that encompass its borders—
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

This description of the forest in passionate springtime, following the transformations of love,
spoken by Śrī Jayadeva, arises as the essence of remembering Hari's feet:
Hari sports here in passionate spring,
dancing with young women, O friend, in this season so cruel to separated lovers!

Scenting the forests with perfumed powder revealed
by shaking pollen from gently opened jasmine creepers,
here the breeze—kinsman to the fragrance of ketakī blossoms,
like the very breath of the Bodiless One with his uneven arrows spreading wide—burns the heart!

A fever in the ear is cast out by the soft notes of cuckoos sporting
on mango sprouts shaken by bees greedy for the opening scent of nectar;
how, oh how, are these days endured by travelers,
except through the surging aesthetic flavor of reunion with their life's equal, attained for a moment in deep meditation?

Pointing out Murāri from nearby, longing for charming amorous dalliance
radiant in the flurry of embracing many women,
this confidante spoke again to Rādhikā before her:

His dark body anointed with sandalwood paste, wearing yellow garments and a garland of wild flowers,
smiling, his cheeks adorned with jeweled earrings trembling in erotic play—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

Clasping Hari passionately with the weight of her swelling breasts,
a cowherd girl sings in accompaniment to the heightened fifth melodic mode—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

Her mind-born love aroused by the play of his eyes restless with amorous dalliance,
a naive young woman meditates deeply on Madhusūdana's lotus face—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

Approaching the base of his cheek to whisper something in his ear,
a woman with shapely hips beautifully kissed her beloved, who was responsive with bristling hairs—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

Eager with curiosity for the art of erotic play, on the bank of the Yamunā's waters,
another drew him by his fine cloth with her hand as he entered a lovely cane bower—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

To the soft sound of the flute accompanied by rows of bracelets jingling with the clapping of hands,
a young woman devoted to dancing beside him in the aesthetic flavor of the rāsa was praised by Hari—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

He embraces one, he kisses another, he delights yet another lovely woman;
he looks at one beautiful smiling woman, and follows after another perverse woman—
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

May this secret of Keśava's wondrous erotic play, composed by the poet Śrī Jayadeva,
charming in the forest of Vṛndāvana, bestow blessings and fame:
here Hari revels, O charming girl, amid a crowd of charming young women intent on erotic play!

Delighting everyone and producing bliss, bringing a festival of the Bodiless One with his limbs soft and dark like a cluster of blue lotuses, / embraced on every limb from all sides at will by the beauties of Vraja, / innocent Hari plays in spring, O confidante, like the erotic sentiment incarnate.

Today, as if from distress at the swallowings by serpents dwelling on its slopes, the wind of Mount Malaya / pursues the Lord's mountain with a desire to bathe in snow. / Moreover, seeing the buds at the tips of the glossy mango branches, from a surge of delight / the soft, loud voices of the cuckoos burst forth: “Kuhū! Kuhū!”

While Hari amused himself in the forest, his love shared equally, / Rādhā, driven by jealousy because her own pre-eminence had slipped away, went elsewhere; / hidden in a certain vine-bower whose high crests hummed with swarms of buzzing bees, / dejected, she spoke in secret to her confidante:

His enchanting flute resounding with the sweet sound of the nectar from his moving lips, / with rolling glances from the corners of his eyes, his head shaking and his ear-ornaments swinging on his cheeks— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

His hair encircled with a crown of lovely peacock feathers bearing eyes, / well attired like a dense raincloud adorned with a vast rainbow— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

Seized with longing to kiss the faces of the cowherd women with shapely hips, / the sprout-like sweetness of his lips like bandhujīva flowers, the splendour of his smile shining forth— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

Surrounded by a thousand cowherd maidens whose sprout-like arms thrilled with broad horripilation, / the darkness shattered by the rays of jewel ornaments on his hands, feet and chest— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

His forehead bearing a sandalwood mark that mocks the moon moving through clouds, / the door of his chest merciless in crushing the orbs of their full, firm breasts— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

His cheeks adorned with handsome jewel-encrusted sea-monster earrings, noble, / clad in yellow garments, followed by an entourage of the best among sages, men, gods and asuras— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

Met beneath a fair kadamba tree, quelling the fear of the defilements of Kali, / giving delight also to me somehow with his mind and with eyes brimming with desire— / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

This form of the enemy of Madhu, exceedingly handsome and enchanting, sung by Śrī Jayadeva, / is worthy now for the virtuous who remember Hari's feet: / here, in the rāsa-dance, my mind remembers Hari who performed amorous dalliance, mocking me.

It counts his multitude of virtues; it does not seek anger even by mistake; / it bears satisfaction and casts faults far away. / When Kṛṣṇa sports without me, his thirst turned toward other young women, / my contrary mind still feels desire—what shall I do?

Staying hidden in secret at night as I went to the solitary bower-chamber, / looking timidly in all directions, laughing in the excitement and passion of amorous pleasure— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

Brought round by hundreds of clever flatteries when I was shy at our first encounter, / my voice murmuring soft, sweet smiles, the silk cloth loosened from my hips— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

Placed upon a bed of tender sprouts, he lay long upon my very chest; / embraced by me who kissed him, he embraced me and drank my lips— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

My eyes languidly closed, his cheeks charming with rows of bristling hairs, / my whole body covered in drops of sweat from exertion, he restlessly agitated by the intoxication of supreme love— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

Cooing like the melodious cry of the cuckoo, he surpassed the teachings of the manual of love; / my hair dishevelled and loosened of flowers, he scratched with nails the weight of my firm breasts— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

The jewel-anklets jingling on my feet, spreading out an awning for lovemaking, / the girdle of bells jingling and loose, he gave a kiss while seizing my hair— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

Languid with the flavor of the moment of love's joy, his eye-lotuses half closed, / my slender creeper-like body fallen helpless, Madhusūdana's desire aroused— / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

Spoken by Śrī Jayadeva, recounting the secret amorous sports of Madhu's foe, / spoken by the longing cowherd maiden, may this playfully spread joy: / O confidante, bring noble Keśi's slayer / into union with me, full of passion, overcome with erotic yearning!

His playful flute slipped from his hand, his eyebrow-creeper curved, glances from the corners of his eyes driving off the throng of cowherd girls, / his cheek-region drenched with abundant sweat, / seeing me and embarrassed, his charming face sweet with a smile in the forest— / I see Govinda surrounded by the multitude of Vraja's beauties, and I rejoice.

Hard to behold, the budding blossom of the fresh young aśoka creeper, / and the breeze from the grove beside the lake, torments me; / nor does this blossoming crest of mango trees, delightful with the humming of wandering bees, / bring pleasure, O confidante!

Even the foe of Kaṃsa, holding Rādhā in his heart / as the chain binding him to worldly longing, abandoned the beauties of Vraja.

Having sought Rādhā here and there, his heart tormented by wounds from the arrows of the Bodiless One,
Mādhava, filled with remorse, sank down in despair in a bower on the bank of Kalinda's daughter.

Seeing me surrounded by a crowd of young women, she walked away;
and I, conscious of my fault and utterly terrified, did not hold her back.
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

What will she do? What will she say during this long separation?
What use to me is wealth, or people, or life itself, or home?
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

I picture her face, its brows knit with the weight of anger,
like a red lotus unsettled by a bee hovering above it.
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

I delight in her intensely day and night as she dwells in my heart;
why do I follow her in this forest? Why do I lament here in vain?
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

Slender girl, I know your heart is pained with jealousy;
I know not where you have gone, and therefore cannot appease you.
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

You appear before me; you do nothing but come and go;
why do you not grant me an eager embrace, as in the past?
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

Forgive me; I will never again do such a thing to you!
Show yourself to me, beautiful one; I am tormented by love!
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

This was composed by Jayadeva, devoted to Hari,
a moon born from the ocean of Kindubilva.
Alas, alas! Feeling slighted, she departed as if enraged.

This necklace on my chest is a lotus stalk, not the king of serpents;
this garland of blue water-lily petals on my neck has not the gleam of poison;
this dust of sandalwood is not ashes, on me who am fit to strike—
do not strike me, mistaking me for Hara! O Bodiless One, why do you rush in wrath?

Do not place that mango blossom arrow in your hand! Do not string your bow!
What manly valor is there in striking one who is already stunned, having conquered the universe in sport?
My mind, shattered by the shower of side-glance arrows fluttering with mind-born love from that fawn-eyed girl,
does not revive even a little, even now.

Let the side-glance arrow set upon the bow of her brow inflict a wound in my heart;
let her dark and winding mass of braid also strive to kill me;
and let her passionate, bimba-red lip spread confusion, O slender girl;
yet how is it that your well-rounded orb of breasts plays with my life?

Those pleasures of her touch, those fluttering, tender glances,
the fragrance of her lotus face, the sweet ambrosial curve of her words,
that sweetness of her bimba-red lip—even though the mind is deeply absorbed
in contemplation fixed on her, alas, how does the disease of separation continue to grow?

The shoot of her eyebrow the bow, her undulating side-glances
the arrows, her ear-lobe the string: did Smara thus deliver
his world-conquering weapons unto her,
the moving deity of the Bodiless One's triumph?

To Mādhava, who sat dejectedly in a cane bower on the bank of the Yamunā,
distracted by the burden of love, Rādhā's confidante spoke:

She curses the sandalwood paste, and feels restless grief at the rays of the moon;
she considers the breeze from the Malaya mountains to be like poison from its contact with serpents' dens.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

As if to protect you from the arrows of Madana falling continuously,
she places an armor of fresh lotus leaves, wet with dew, over the core of her heart.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

A bed of arrows of the flower-arrowed god, charming with the arts of varied amorous play,
she turns into a bed of flowers, like a vow taken for the joy of your embrace.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

Her noble lotus face bears the burden of fallen tears,
like the moon dripping a stream of nectar when crushed by the terrifying teeth of Rāhu.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

In secret she paints you with musk as the god with uneven arrows;
placing a sea monster beneath, and a fresh mango sprout in your hand, she bows down.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

At every step she says this: “O Mādhava, I have fallen at your feet!
When you turn away from me, even the moon, that store of nectar, burns my body!”
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

Visualizing you before her through deep absorption, though you are so hard to reach,
she laments, laughs, desponds, weeps, trembles, and vents her burning pain.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

If this poem spoken by illustrious Jayadeva is to be deeply meditated upon in the heart,
these words of the confidante to the young cowherd woman, agitated by separation from Hari, should be recited.
She is wretched in separation from you,
O Mādhava, absorbed in meditation on you as if out of fear of the arrows of mind-born love.

Her home becomes like a wilderness; the circle of dear friends becomes like a net;
her burning fever, through her sighing, becomes like the mass of flames of a forest fire;
even she, alas, in separation from you, takes on the form of a doe; oh, how is it that
even Kandarpa turns into Death himself, enacting the sport of a tiger?

Even the splendid necklace placed upon her breast
she, of emaciated body, considers too heavy a burden,
O Keśava, in separation from you, Rādhā [suffers]!

Even the moist and smooth paste of sandalwood
she looks upon with dread on her body, as if it were poison,
O Keśava, in separation from you, Rādhā [suffers]!

She bears the breath of her sighing, of matchless expanse,
as if it were the fire of Madana burning her.
Rādhikā languishes in separation from you, Keśava!

In every direction she casts a shower of tears,
like a lotus-eye severed from its stem.
Rādhikā languishes in separation from you, Keśava!

Even the bed of sprouts within her sight
she considers to be a raging fire.
Rādhikā languishes in separation from you, Keśava!

She does not remove her cheek from the palm of her hand,
like the young moon resting motionless at evening.
Rādhikā languishes in separation from you, Keśava!

"Hari! Hari!" she chants with longing,
as if wholly resigned to death through separation.
Rādhikā languishes in separation from you, Keśava!

May this song uttered by Śrī Jayadeva,
brought before the feet of Keśava, bring delight.
Rādhikā languishes in separation from you, Keśava!

Her hair bristles; she groans; she laments; she trembles; she languishes;
she meditates; she wanders wildly; she droops; she falls; she starts up; she even faints.
In such a fever born of the Bodiless One, how should the lovely-bodied girl survive, unless by your sweet love
you show favor, O you who resemble the physician of heaven? Otherwise, Death will not let her go.

Afflicted by Smara, pleasing to the heavenly physician, curable only by the nectar of your embrace—
if you do not relieve Rādhā of her distress, O Upendra, you are harder than a thunderbolt!

It is wondrous how, with her body tormented by the burning fever of Kandarpa,
her heart has long grieved amidst thoughts of sandalwood, the moon, and lotus ponds;
yet, overcome by exhaustion, meditating in secret on you alone, her beloved of cooling limbs,
she, wasting away, somehow breathes for a moment.

Formerly, distressed even by the blinking of an eye,
she could not bear separation from you for a moment;
how does she draw breath now, gazing upon the mango branch
blossoming at its tip, through this long separation?

"I am staying here; go, conciliate Rādhā, and bring her here with my word"—
thus dispatched by the enemy of Madhu, the confidante herself went again and spoke to Rādhā:

While the breeze from the Malaya mountains blows, carrying Madana with it,
and clusters of flowers burst open to crush the hearts of separated lovers,
in separation from you, O friend, the garlanded one suffers!

When the cool-rayed moon burns, he imitates death;
when the arrow of Madana falls, exceedingly agitated, he laments;
in separation from you, O friend, the garlanded one suffers!

When swarms of bees hum, he covers his ears;
with separation stirring in his heart, night after night he undergoes agony;
in separation from you, O friend, the garlanded one suffers!

He dwells in the canopy of the forest, abandoning his charming abode;
he rolls upon the bed of earth, loudly crying out your name;
in separation from you, O friend, the garlanded one suffers!

As poet Jayadeva sings of the lover's anguish,
may Hari arise through merit in the heart rich with passion!
in separation from you, O friend, the garlanded one suffers!

There where the perfections of the lord of Rati were attained together with you before,
in that very same arbor, the great sacred ford of Manmatha, Mādhava once again,
meditating on you unceasingly and chanting the rosary of the mantras of your words,
yearns again for the nectar of embracing the fullness of your pitcher-like breasts.

Gone to the rendezvous, his dress enchanting as Madana, he is the essence of amorous pleasure;
do not delay your going, O wide-hipped woman, follow him, the lord of your heart!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

Calling your name, signaling a meeting, he plays his sweet flute;
he highly prizes even the dust stirred by the breeze that has touched your body!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

When a bird swoops or a leaf quivers, suspecting your approach,
he prepares a bed and watches your path with anxious eyes!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

Discard your noisy, restless anklet like an enemy in the eagerness of love-play;
go, friend, to the bower dense with darkness, and wrap yourself in a dark-blue cloak!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

On Murāri's chest adorned with a necklace, like a dark cloud with restless cranes,
you will shine like lightning on yellow silk in inverted love-play, the fruit of good deeds!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

Bring your hips, their garments fallen, their girdle removed, uncovered
upon the bed of sprouts, O lotus-eyed woman, like a treasure that is the source of joy!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

Hari is full of pride, and now this night is also drawing to an end;
heed my words, prepare swiftly, fulfill the desire of the enemy of Madhu!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

As Śrī Jayadeva, devoted to Hari's service, sings this most delightful song,
bow to Hari, joyful of heart, exceedingly compassionate, desirable through good deeds!
In the gentle breeze on the bank of the Yamunā, the garlanded one dwells in the forest!

Repeatedly he sighs; he looks repeatedly ahead toward all directions;
he enters the bower again and again, groaning frequently, sorely distressed;
he arranges the bed over and over, glancing around anxiously in confusion—
exhausted by the torment of Madana, O lovely one, your beloved waits!

Along with your reluctance, the hot-rayed sun has now completely set;
and together with Govinda's longing, the darkness has grown dense;
my plea is as protracted as the plaintive cry of the cakravāka birds;
therefore, foolish girl, delay is in vain—this is the charming moment for the rendezvous!

After an embrace, after a kiss, after a scratch of fingernails, after passion is aroused,
after breathless agitation, after amorous play begins, what aesthetic flavor mixed with bashfulness
is not experienced in the darkness by the loving couple who, having gone seeking another,
met by mistake and recognized each other through their conversation?

Casting fearful and startled glances along the dark path,
pausing again and again at every tree, taking slow steps,
having somehow reached the secret place, her limbs rippling with the Bodiless One—
may that fortunate youth find fulfillment as he gazes upon you, O lovely-faced woman!

Then, seeing her unable to go, long devoted [to him], staying in the bower of creepers, / the confidante reported her state to Govinda, who was sluggish with mind-born love:

She looks in every direction for you in secret, / drinking the sweet nectar of your lips. / O Lord Hari! Rādhā languishes in her dwelling-bower.