Gita Govinda 2.1

"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!”