The Birth of Kumāra 7.17

7.17

karṇārpito lodhrakaṣāyarūkṣe gorocanākṣepanitāntagaure |
tasyāḥ kapole parabhāgalābhādbabandha cakṣūṃṣi yavaprarohaḥ ||

With sweetest influence a star of power
Had joined the spotted Moon—at that blest hour
To deck fair Uma many a noble dame
And many a gentle maid assiduous came;
And well she graced their toil, more brightly fair
With feathery grass and wild flowers in her hair—
A silken robe flowed free below her waist.
Her sumptuous head a glittering arrow graced—
So shines the young unclouded Moon at last.
Greeting the Sun, its darksome season past.
Sweet-scented Lodra dust and Sandal dyed
The delicate beauties of the fair young bride.
Veiled with a soft light robe: her tiring-girls
Then led her to a chamber decked with pearls
And paved with sapphires, where the lulling sound
Of choicest music breathed divinely round.
There o'er the Lady's limbs they poured by turns
Streams of pure water from their golden urns.
Fresh from the cooling bath the lovely Maid
In fairest white her tender form arrayed—
So opes the Kása all her shining flowers
Lured from their buds by softly falling showers.
Then to a court with canopies o'erhead
A crowd of noble dames the Maiden led—
A court for solemn rites, where gems and gold
Adorn the pillars that the roof uphold.
There on a couch they set her with her face
Turned toward the East—so lovely then the grace
Of that dear Maid, so ravishing her smile,
E'en her attendants turned to gaze awhile,
For though the brightest gems around her lay,
Her brighter beauty stole their eyes away.
Through her long tresses one a flower-wreath wound,
And one with fragrant grass her temples crowned,
While o'er her head sweet clouds of incense rolled
To dry and perfume every shining fold.
Bright dyes of Saffron and the scented wood
Adorned her beauty, till the Maiden stood
Fairer than Ganga when the Love-birds play
O'er sandy islets in her silvery bay.
To what rare beauty shall her maids compare
Her clear brow shaded by her glossy hair?
Less dazzling pure the sacred Lotus shines
Flecked by the thronging bees in dusky lines—
Less bright the Moon, when a dark band of cloud
Enhances beauties which it could not shroud.
Behind her ear a head of barley drew
The eye to gaze upon its golden hue,
But then her cheek with glowing Saffron dyed
To richer beauty called the glance aside;
Though from those lips where Beauty's guerdon lay
The vermeil tints were newly washed away.
Yet o'er them, as she smiled, a ray was thrown
Of quivering brightness that was all their own.