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Translation of Shatakatraya (Śatakatraya)
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Bhartṛhari: The Three Centuries (1. Nītiśataka, 2. Śṛṅgāraśataka, 3. Vairāgyaśataka)
1.1
The Century on Worldly Wisdom
by Bhartṛhari
To that embodiment of pure consciousness alone, infinite and unbounded by space, time, and the like,
whose sole measure is direct personal experience, to that tranquil splendor, homage!
1.2
The discerning are seized by envy;
those in power are ruined by pride;
and others are struck down by ignorance:
so the well-turned verse has decayed within the body.
1.3
An ignorant person is easy to please;
one of specialized discernment is pleased even more easily;
but a man corrupted by a mere particle of knowledge
not even Brahmā can satisfy.
1.4
One might forcibly pluck a jewel from between the jaws of a crocodile,
one might even cross the ocean tossing with a multitude of surging waves,
one might even wear an enraged serpent upon one's head like a flower,
but one cannot win over the mind of an obstinate fool.
1.5
One might even obtain oil from sands by pressing with effort,
one tormented by thirst might even drink water from mirages,
wandering somewhere one might even find a hare's horn,
but one cannot win over the mind of an obstinate fool.
1.6
He strives to bind a rogue elephant with fibers of a tender lotus stalk;
he prepares to slice a diamond with the edge of a śirīṣa blossom;
he attempts to make the salty ocean sweet with a single drop of honey—
he who desires to lead the wicked onto the path of the virtuous with verses dripping nectar.
1.7
A cover for ignorance, under one's own control and entirely beneficial,
has been fashioned by the Creator:
especially in an assembly of all-knowing men,
silence is the ornament of the unlearned.
1.8
When I knew only a little, I was blinded by pride like an elephant;
then my mind was haughty, thinking, "I am omniscient."
When I learned bit by bit in the presence of wise men,
then, realizing "I am a fool," my pride departed like a fever.
1.9
Devouring with delight a human bone, devoid of meat, teeming with worms,
soaked in saliva, foul-smelling, and repulsive, as if it had peerless flavor,
a dog does not flinch even seeing the lord of the gods standing nearby;
indeed, a petty creature does not consider the worthlessness of what it grasps.
1.10
From heaven to Śarva's head, from Paśupati's head to the mountain,
from the lofty peak to the earth, and from the earth into the ocean,
this Gaṅgā has descended step by step, ever lower;
or rather, for those fallen from discernment, downfall happens in a hundred ways.
1.11
Fire can be checked by water, the sun's heat by an umbrella,
a rutting elephant by a sharp goad, and a bull or donkey by a stick;
disease by collections of medicines and poison by various mantra-practices;
there is a remedy prescribed by authoritative treatises for everything, but there is no remedy for a fool.
1.12
One destitute of literature, music, and the arts
is a beast in visible form, devoid of tail and horns;
that he lives without eating grass
is the supreme good fortune of the beasts.
1.13
Those who have neither learning nor ascetic austerity, neither generosity
nor knowledge, neither moral conduct nor virtue, nor righteousness—
they, existing as burdens upon the earth in the mortal world,
wander in human form as beasts.
1.14
Better to wander in mountain strongholds
with wild forest dwellers
than to have association with fools,
even in the mansions of Surendra.
1.15
When renowned poets, whose speech is beautified by words polished by the authoritative treatises,
and whose traditional wisdom is ready to be imparted to pupils, dwell impoverished in a sovereign's realm,
it is the dullness of the king; poets, however, are lords even without wealth.
Despicable indeed are bad appraisers by whom gems are depreciated in value.
1.16
It never comes within the thief's sight; it ever fosters an indescribable well-being;
even when constantly bestowed upon petitioners, it attains supreme increase;
it does not perish even at the end of cosmic eons:
toward those who possess such an inner treasure called learning, cast aside your pride, O kings! Who can compete with them?
1.17
Do not demean wise men who have attained the ultimate truth;
wealth, light as a blade of grass, cannot restrain them at all.
A lotus fiber is never a check for elephants
whose temples are dark with fresh streaks of rut.
1.18
The Creator, when exceedingly angered, can destroy only
the swan's pleasure of sporting in the lotus thicket;
he is not capable, however, of taking away
its fame for skill celebrated in separating milk from water.
1.19
Armlets do not adorn a man, nor pearl necklaces brilliant as the moon,
nor bathing, nor unguents, nor flowers, nor decorated hair;
speech alone adorns a man, provided it is cultivated with refinement;
all ornaments indeed perish constantly; the ornament of speech is the true ornament.
1.20
Learning is truly a man's higher beauty, his secret, guarded wealth;
learning confers sensual pleasure, brings fame and happiness; learning is the teacher of teachers;
learning is a kinsman when traveling in a foreign land; learning is the supreme deity;
learning is honored among kings, not wealth: one destitute of learning is a beast.
1.21
If one has forbearance, what need of armor? If embodied beings have anger, what need of enemies?
If one has a kinsman, what need of fire? If one has a friend, what use is divine medicine?
If there are wicked persons, what need of serpents? If one has flawless learning, what need of riches?
If one has modesty, what need of ornaments? If there is good poetry, what need of kingship?
1.22
Courtesy toward one's own kin, compassion toward dependents, deceit always toward the wicked,
affection toward the virtuous, diplomacy toward kings, straightforwardness toward the learned,
valour against enemies, patience toward elders, and boldness toward lovely women:
those men who are skilled in these arts—upon them alone rests the stability of the world.
1.23
It removes dullness of the intellect, sprinkles truth into speech,
directs elevation of honor, dispels sin,
pacifies the mind, and spreads fame in all directions:
tell me, what does the company of the virtuous not do for men?
1.24
Triumphant are those meritorious poets,
masters of verse accomplished in aesthetic relish,
in whose body of fame there is
no fear born of old age and death.
1.25
A son of virtuous conduct, a faithful, beloved wife, a master inclined to favor,
an affectionate friend, an undeceptive servant, a mind free from the slightest distress,
a handsome appearance, stable prosperity, and a countenance bright with learning:
these are attained by an embodied soul when Hari, remover of the world's distress, is pleased.
1.26
Refraining from taking life, restraint in seizing another's wealth, truthful speech, / giving in due season according to one's capacity, silence regarding other men's young wives, / breaking the current of craving, humility toward elders, compassion for all beings: / this is the universal, unimpeded path to the highest good taught in all authoritative treatises.
1.27
Lowly people, indeed, undertake nothing out of fear of obstacles; / middling people begin, but desist when struck by obstacles; / repeatedly thwarted though they are by obstacles, / the best men never abandon what they have begun.
1.28
One must not beg of the wicked; a friend should not be importuned if his wealth is meager; / a just livelihood should be loved; a vile deed must not be committed even when life is perishing; / one must stand firm in misfortune, and follow the footsteps of the great: / who showed virtuous people this harsh vow, as sharp as a sword's edge?
1.29
Wasted with hunger, worn out with old age, his breath failing, fallen into / a wretched state, his radiance vanished, though life itself is departing: / does the lion, foremost among those great in self-respect, whose only desire / is fixed on a mouthful of flesh from the split temple of a rutting lord of elephants, eat withered grass?
1.30
Having found a cow's bone without flesh, smeared with just a trace of sinew and fat, / a dog is satisfied, yet it does not serve to quell his hunger; / the lion, letting go a jackal that has come right into his grasp, slays an elephant: / every person, even when fallen into distress, desires a fruit worthy of his own spirit.
1.31
Wagging the tail, falling down beneath the feet, / rolling on the ground, and showing mouth and belly: / these a dog performs for the one who gives him a morsel; but the noble elephant / gazes calmly, and eats only after a hundred flatteries.
1.32
In this revolving cycle of worldly existence, / who, when dead, is not born again? / He alone is truly born, by whose birth / his lineage attains high eminence.
1.33
Just like a cluster of blossoms, / the man of spirit has only two courses: / either to stand on the head of all the world, / or to wither away in the forest.
1.34
There are indeed five or six other honored beings, such as Bṛhaspati; / Rāhu, who delights in extraordinary valor, bears no enmity toward them; / it is only the two brilliant lights, the lords of day and night, that he swallows: / behold, brother, the lord of the Dānavas on the new or full moon day, with only a head for his form!
1.35
Śeṣa bears the succession of worlds resting upon his hood-plates; / and he is constantly supported on the middle of his back by the king of tortoises; / the ocean carelessly takes even him into its embrace: / ah, boundless are the manifestations of the conduct of the great!
1.36
Far better had been the cutting off of his wings by blows of the thunderbolt hurled by haughty Indra, / heavy with rising, massy bursts of fire; / but for that son of the snowy mountain, while his father was helpless in distress, / alas, this plunging into the water of the lord of waters was not fitting.
1.37
A lion, even when a cub, leaps upon / elephants whose temple-walls are stained with rut: / such is the nature of the spirited; / age is truly no cause of splendor.
1.38
Let caste go to the nether world, and the host of virtues sink down even below it; / let moral conduct fall from a mountain cliff, let noble descent be consumed by fire; / let a thunderbolt quickly strike down upon valor, that enemy; let wealth alone be ours, / without which single thing all these virtues are merely like bits of grass.
1.39
Acquire wealth, O descendant of Kakutstha! / This world is rooted in wealth; / I perceive no difference / between a man without wealth and one who is dead.
1.40
Those very same sense organs are unimpaired, that same name remains, / that same intellect is unhindered, that same speech is there: / yet stripped of the warmth of wealth, in a single moment / that very same man becomes someone else altogether—how astonishing this is!
1.41
He who possesses wealth is a man of noble birth; / he is a wise man; he is learned, an appreciator of virtues; / he alone is an orator, and he is handsome: / all virtues take refuge in gold.
1.42
A king is ruined by bad counsel, an ascetic by company, a son by over-indulgence, / a Brahmin by lack of study, a family by a bad son, moral conduct by attendance on scoundrels, / shame by wine, agriculture also by lack of supervision, affection by dwelling abroad, / friendship by lack of intimacy, prosperity by lawlessness, and wealth by careless giving.
1.43
Generosity, sensual pleasure, and loss: / three are the destinations of wealth; / he who neither gives nor enjoys, / his wealth meets the third destination.
1.44
A gem polished on the whetstone; a victor in battle wounded by weapons; / an elephant thinned by rut; rivers in autumn with their sandbanks dried; / the moon reduced to a single crescent; a young woman exhausted by lovemaking; / and men whose wealth has vanished because of petitioners: these, thinned down, are splendid.
1.45
One who is impoverished longs for a handful of barley; / later, having become full [of riches], he considers the earth to be like grass; / hence, because there is no fixed standard, through the greatness or smallness of their wealth, / circumstances magnify and shrink objects for the rich.
1.46
O king, if you wish to milk this cow that is the earth, / then today nourish this populace like a calf; / and when it is thoroughly nourished day and night, / the earth bears fruit with diverse fruits, like the wishing-tree.
1.47
Truthful and untruthful, harsh and speaking sweet words, / cruel and compassionate, greedy for gain and generous, / constantly spending and receiving a perpetual influx of abundant wealth: / statecraft, like a courtesan, wears many forms.
1.48
Command, renown, protection of Brahmins, / generosity, sensual pleasure, and defending friends: / for those in whom these six virtues are not operative, / what purpose is served by serving a king?
1.49
Whatever wealth is written by the Creator on one's own forehead, whether small or great, / that a man obtains fully even in a desert, and not more than that on Mount Meru; / therefore be resolute, do not engage in that wretched groveling before the wealthy: / look, a jar draws equal water from a well or from the ocean.
1.50
Who does not know / that you alone are the support of the cātaka bird? / Why, O best of clouds, / do you wait for our pitiable plea?
1.51
O cātaka, friend, listen for a moment with attentive mind: / many clouds dwell in the sky, but all are not like this; / some moisten the earth with showers, some rumble in vain; / do not speak wretched words before whichever one you see.
1.52
Ruthlessness, quarrelling without cause, / longing for another's wealth and another's wife, / intolerance toward the virtuous and toward kinfolk— / this is innate in the wicked.
1.53
A wicked person should be avoided, / even though adorned with learning: / Is a serpent adorned with a jewel / not terrifying?
1.54
Dulness is attributed to the modest man, hypocrisy to the lover of vows, fraud to the pure, / cruelty to the hero, stupidity to the sage, servility to the sweet-spoken, / arrogance to the spirited, talkativeness to the eloquent, weakness to the steadfast; / what virtue then can belong to the virtuous that is not branded by the wicked?
1.55
If greed is present, what need of any vice? If slander is present, what need of sins? / If truth is present, what need of ascetic austerity? If the mind is pure, what need of a sacred bath? / If goodness is present, what need of virtues? If great renown is present, what need of ornaments? / If true learning is present, what need of riches? If disgrace is present, what need of death?
1.56
The moon dimmed by day, a beautiful woman whose youth has faded, / a lake bereft of lotuses, a handsome man's mouth illiterate, / a master devoted only to money, a good man constantly impoverished, / and a villain arrived at the royal court: these are seven darts in my heart.
1.57
No one is dear / to kings of fierce wrath: / even touching the sacrificer offering oblations, / fire burns him.
1.58
Silent, he is called dumb; eloquent, a babbler or a prattler; / standing near, impudent; standing far off, lacking confidence; / through patience, a coward; if he cannot endure, generally lowborn: / the duty of service is exceedingly deep, unapproachable even by yogins.
1.59
Who has brought all villains into prominence, who knows no restraint, / who formerly engaged in vile conduct and broad base deeds, / who has attained wealth by fate, a hater of virtue— / how can happiness be found by those who enter the domain of this base man?
1.60
Long at first, then gradually dwindling; / small at first, then increasing afterwards: / different like the shadow of the forenoon and the afternoon / is the friendship of the wicked and of the virtuous.
1.61
Of the deer, the fish, and the virtuous, / whose sustenance is provided by contentment with grass and water, / the hunter, the fisherman, and the slanderer / are enemies in this world without cause.
1.62
Desire for the company of the virtuous, delight in another's virtues, humility before the teacher, / passion for learning, love for one's own wife, fear of public reproach, / devotion to Śūlin, power over self-restraint, freedom from associating with the wicked: / to those men in whom these spotless virtues dwell, homage!
1.63
Fortitude in calamity, and patience in prosperity, / eloquence in the assembly, valor in battle, / delight in renown, and devotion to sacred revelation— / this is innate in great-souled men.
1.64
Giving in secret, offering hospitable honor to an arrived guest, / keeping silence after doing a kindness, proclaiming another's favor in an assembly, / absence of arrogance in fortune, speech about others free from the scent of disparagement: / by whom has this difficult vow, sharp as a sword-edge, been prescribed for the virtuous?
1.65
Praiseworthy charity in the hand, devotion to the teacher's feet on the head, / true speech in the mouth, peerless victorious prowess in both arms, / a pure state of mind in the heart, and sacred revelation acquired in the ears: / even without sovereign wealth, this is the ornament of those who are naturally great.
1.66
In times of prosperity, the heart of the great / is soft as a blue lotus; / but in times of misfortune, it is as hard / as a mass of rock on a great mountain.
1.67
When water falls upon glowing iron, not even its name remains known; / lying upon a lotus leaf, that same water shines in the form of a pearl; / falling into a sea-oyster during the Svāti asterism, it becomes a pearl indeed: / generally, low, middle, and high quality arises from company.
1.68
He who pleases his father with good conduct is a son; / she who desires only her husband's welfare is a wife; / that which behaves the same in adversity and happiness is a friend: / these three in this world are obtained by those who have performed meritorious deeds.
1.69
One god, Keśava or Śiva; / one friend, a king or an ascetic; / one dwelling, in a city or in a forest; / one wife, a beautiful woman or a mountain cave.
1.70
Rising high through humility, making their own virtues known by recounting the virtues of others, / accomplishing their own ends while undertaking broad and extensive efforts for the sake of others, / refuting wicked men whose mouths are noisy with the harsh words of reproach solely through patience: / who would not revere the virtuous, whose conduct is wondrous and highly honored in the world?
1.71
Trees bend low with the emergence of fruits; / clouds hang down far with fresh waters; / good men are humble in their prosperities: / this is the natural disposition of those who benefit others.
1.72
The ear shines with sacred revelation, not with an earring; / the hand with generosity, not with a bracelet; / the body of those devoted to compassion shines / with acts of benevolence to others, not with sandalwood.
1.73
He keeps [one] from sin, directs [one] toward the good, / conceals what is private, reveals virtues, / does not abandon [one] when fallen into calamity, and gives in time [of need]: / this the virtuous call the characteristic of a true friend.
1.74
The sun makes the lotus-pool blossom; / the moon delights the cluster of white water-lilies; / the cloud also gives water without being asked: / the virtuous spontaneously exert themselves for the welfare of others.
1.75
Some are good men, who achieve another's good while abandoning their own; / but the ordinary are those who strive for another's good without conflicting with their own; / these are human demons, who destroy another's welfare for their own sake; / but as for those who destroy another's welfare to no purpose, who they are we do not know.
1.76
All its own qualities were formerly imparted by the milk to the water within it; / seeing the heating of the milk, that water offered itself into the fire; / seeing its friend's distress, the milk grew eager to enter the fire; / reunited with that water, it is pacified: such is the friendship of the virtuous.
1.77
Here sleeps Keśava; here the family of his enemies; / and here rest the hosts of mountains seeking refuge; / here too is the submarine fire, together with all the clouds of doom: / ah, vast, mighty, and able to bear the burden is the body of the ocean!
1.78
Sever craving, cultivate patience, destroy pride, take no pleasure in sin, / speak the truth, follow the path of the virtuous, serve the learned, / honor those worthy of respect, conciliate even enemies, display modesty, / protect your reputation, show compassion to the distressed—this is the conduct of the virtuous.
1.79
Filled with the nectar of virtue in mind, speech, and body, / delighting the three worlds with endless streams of benefactions, / continually magnifying another's particle-like virtues into mountains / and blossoming within their own hearts—how few such virtuous souls exist!
1.80
What is the use of that mountain of gold or that mountain of silver, / on which the trees that dwell remain the very same trees? / We value only Mount Malaya, by resorting to which / even the kaṅkola, the neem, and the bitter kutaja become sandalwood trees.
1.81
The gods were not satisfied with priceless gems, / nor did they succumb to dread at the terrible poison; / they did not rest until they gained the nectar— / the steadfast do not turn back from an intended goal.
1.82
Now sleeping on the bare earth, now resting on a couch, / now feeding on wild greens, now relishing cooked rice, / now wearing a ragged cloak, now clad in celestial raiment— / the resolute person intent on their purpose counts neither pain nor pleasure.
1.83
Good nature is the ornament of power, restraint of speech of valor, / tranquil calmness of knowledge, modesty of sacred learning, spending on worthy recipients of wealth, / absence of anger of ascetic austerity, patience of a ruler, sincerity of righteousness: / moral conduct is the cause of all these, and the supreme ornament of all.
1.84
Let experts in worldly wisdom blame or let them praise, / let fortune enter or depart at will, / let death come this very day or at the end of an aeon— / the steadfast do not step aside by a single foot from the righteous path.
1.85
Into the mouth of a serpent, whose hopes were crushed, body coiled in a basket, faculties withered by hunger, / a rat, having gnawed an opening, fell of its own accord at night; / satisfied with its flesh, the serpent quickly departed by that very way. / Behold, O people: fate alone is the cause of men’s rise and fall!
1.86
Indolence is indeed a great enemy / dwelling within the bodies of men; / there is no friend equal to exertion, / by which one acts and does not falter.
1.87
Though hewn down, a tree grows again; though waned, the moon fills out once more. / Reflecting thus, the virtuous do not grieve amid sorrows.
1.88
He whose guide was Bṛhaspati, whose weapon was the thunderbolt, whose soldiers were the gods, / whose citadel was heaven, whose favor was surely Hari's, whose war elephant was Airāvata— / even he, endowed with such power and strength, was broken by enemies in battle! / It is clear, then, that fate alone is our refuge; fie, fie upon futile human effort!
1.89
The fruit of actions depends on karma, / the intellect conforms to karma; / nonetheless, the wise man must act / only after careful reflection.
1.90
A bald man, scorched on the crown of his head by the sun's rays, / desiring a spot free from heat, went by force of fate beneath a palmyra tree; / there too, his head was cracked with a crash by a large falling fruit. / Wherever an unfortunate person goes, calamities almost always follow him there.
1.91
Seeing the eclipse of the sun and the moon, / the captivity of both the elephant and the serpent, / and the poverty of the intelligent, / 'Fate, alas, is all-powerful'—such is my conviction.
1.92
After creating a jewel of a man, a mine of boundless virtues, / an ornament to the earth, / the Creator nevertheless makes him frail and fleeting— / alas, what a pity is the Creator's lack of wisdom!
1.93
If a leaf never appears on the karīra shrub, is it the fault of spring? / If an owl cannot see by day, what blame attaches to the sun? / If streams of rain do not fall into the mouth of the cātaka bird, what blame belongs to the cloud? / What was written long ago by fate upon the forehead—who is able to wipe it away?
1.94
We bow to the gods, yet they are subject to accursed fate; / fate should be revered, yet it merely grants the fruits of predetermined deeds. / If the fruit depends on karma, what need is there of the gods, and what need of fate? / Homage to those karmas over which even fate has no power!
1.95
By which Brahmā was confined like a potter within the vessel of the cosmic egg, / by which Viṣṇu was cast into the deep crisis of the ten incarnations, / by which Rudra was made to wander begging with a skull cupped in his hand, / and by which the sun ever circles in the sky—homage to that karma!
1.96
Neither beauty brings fruit, nor noble family, nor moral conduct, / nor learning, nor service rendered with great effort; / the fortunes amassed by prior ascetic austerity / bear fruit in due season for a man, just like trees.
1.97
In a forest, in battle, amidst enemies, water, or fire, / on the great ocean, or on a mountain peak, / whether asleep, careless, or plunged into danger, / merits performed in a past life protect a person.
1.98
That which turns the virtuous into rogues, the learned into fools, well-wishers into enemies, / and makes invisible things visible, and deadly poison into nectar in an instant— / revere that divine power of good deeds to enjoy the desired fruit; / O virtuous man, do not fix your hopes in vain upon a vast store of talents through afflictions!
1.99
Whether undertaking an act that is good or bad, / its ultimate outcome must be carefully deliberated by the wise man; / for actions performed with too much haste, the maturation brings / a dart-like, heart-burning anguish until ruin ensues.
1.100
He cooks sesame grains in a pot made of lapis lazuli using bundles of sandalwood for firewood, / furrows the soil with golden plowshares merely for the sake of the root of the calotropis plant, / and sets up an enclosure all around coarse grain by using lumps of camphor— / that ill-fated man who, having attained this land of karma, does not practice ascetic austerity.
1.101
Let one plunge into the water, scale the peak of Meru, conquer the enemy in battle, / engage in trade or agriculture, and study all the sciences and arts; / let one soar across the vast sky like a bird with supreme effort— / what is not destined to be will not happen here through the force of karma; how could what is destined to be ever perish?
1.102
A terrifying forest becomes a great city, / every stranger becomes kin, / and the whole earth becomes filled with buried treasures / for that man whose vast merit from a past life exists.
1.103
What is gain? Association with the virtuous. What is misery? Company with those other than the wise. / What is loss? A lapse in opportunity. What is skill? Delight in the essence of righteousness. / Who is a hero? One who has conquered his senses. Who is the dearest wife? She who is devoted. What is wealth? / Learning. What is happiness? Not having to live abroad. What is kingship? That whose fruit is obedience to command.
1.104
By men poor in harsh words and rich in the wealth of gentle speech, content with their own wives, / and turned away from slandering others, the earth is adorned here and there.
1.105
Even when a man of resolute conduct is mistreated, / the quality of fortitude cannot be wiped away; / for even if fire is turned face downward, / its flame never travels downward.
1.106
He whose heart the arrow-like glances of a lovely woman do not pierce, / whom the heat of the fire of anger does not burn, / and whom manifold sense objects do not drag with the snares of greed— / that steadfast man conquers this entire threefold world.
1.107
For even by a single hero / the surface of the earth is stepped upon and conquered, / just as by the sun alone, / with its wide, blazing splendor.
1.108
Fire becomes water to him, the ocean instantly becomes a brook, / Mount Meru becomes a tiny pebble, the king of beasts at once becomes a deer, / a serpent becomes a garland, and the draft of poison becomes a shower of nectar / on whose person moral conduct blooms, dearest to all the world.
1.109
Spirited men readily give up even their lives, / which follow them like their own mother—the source of a multitude of virtues like modesty, with an utterly pure heart— / but those devoted to the vow of truth never surrender their word.
1.109.p1
The Śṛṅgāraśataka / of Bhartṛhari
2.1
Homage to that blessed Makaraketana, / of marvelously wondrous deeds beyond the reach of words, / by whom Śambhu, Svayambhū, and Hari were made / constant household water-pot slaves of fawn-eyed women.
2.2
With smiles and gestures, with modesty and fear, / with averted glances and half-glances, / with words, jealous quarrels, and playful grace— / indeed, with all their moods, women are a bond of captivity.
2.3
Glances with contracted eyes from the clever movement of the brow, / affectionate words and laughter ending in bashfulness, / walking with playful slowness, and standing still— / this is both an ornament and a weapon for women.
2.4
Here with a knit of the brow, and there enveloped in modesty; / here full of fright, and there gracefully languid; / by these movements of young maidens' eyes, charming with love, / the directions seem strewn with a shower of blooming blue lotuses.
2.5
A face radiant as the moon, eyes able to mock the lotus, / a complexion that casts gold aside, a mass of hair conquering the female black bee, / breasts dispelling the charm of an elephant's temples, heavy hips, / and a captivating softness of speech—this is the natural adornment of young women.
2.6
Her glance's power, enchanting with a gentle smile, straightforward yet trembling; / the movement of her speech, charming with ever-new playful words; / the beginning of her gait, its playful graces bursting into sprout— / what is not delightful about the fawn-eyed maiden as she touches youth?
2.7
Among things to be seen, what is the best? The fawn-eyed woman's face, bright with love. / Among things to be smelled, what? The breath of her mouth. Among things to be heard, what? Her voice. / Among things to be tasted, what? The nectar of her sprout-like lip. Among things to be touched, what? Her body. / What is to be meditated on by connoisseurs in fresh youth? Her playful charms everywhere.
2.8
Whose mind do these young women not make helpless / with their side-glances like those of a frightened, bewildered doe, / surpassing royal female swans with the jingling of their anklets / rising from moving bracelets and girdles?
2.9
Her body stained with the paste of saffron, / the necklace trembling on her fair breasts, / her lotus-feet resounding with the swans of anklets— / what man on earth does a lovely woman not captivate?
2.10
Surely those best of poets spoke contrarily / who constantly called those amorous women 'the powerless' (abalāḥ); / for how can they be powerless by whom, with casting of eyes with rolling pupils, / even Śakra and the other gods are conquered?
2.11
Surely Makaraketana is the servant of that fair-browed woman's command, / since he acts upon whatever is indicated by the roving of her eyes.
2.12
Your hair is restrained; your eyes have gone even beyond the limit of the ears; / the inside of your mouth is filled with rows of teeth, pure and bright by nature; / and these jar-like breasts are charming with the constant presence of pearls: / slender girl, though your form is thus ascetic, it only produces passion in us!
2.13
Charming girl, what is this unprecedented archery seen in you, / by which you pierce hearts with mere virtues/bowstrings, not with arrows?
2.14
Though the lamp is there, though the fire is there, though the stars, the sun, and the moon are there, / without my fawn-eyed beloved this whole world has turned to darkness.
2.15
Let this prominent weight of breasts, these trembling eyes, these arching brow-creepers, / and this sprout-like lip filled with redness cause distress—so be it; / but why does that line of hair, lying in the middle, create even greater torment, / like a garland of syllables of fortune written by Love himself?
2.16
With a face like moonstone, with hair like sapphires, / and with two hands like rubies, she shone as if made of gems.
2.17
With the heavy weight of breasts (Guru), with a face like the shining moon and sun (Candra, Bhāsvat), / and with slowly moving feet (Śanaiścara), she shone as if made of planets.
2.18
If her breasts are plump, her hips captivating, / and her face lovely, why, O mind, is your agitation? / Perform meritorious deeds if you desire them; / for without merit, desired goals are never attained.
2.19
These fresh fragrances of the beauty of youth, / the beginnings of the majesty of mature lovemaking, sureties that grant victory to Smara, / constant thieves of the heart, sole preceptors of new agitation— / the playful movements of fawn-eyed women reign supreme beyond words.
2.20
Sweet with affection, bursting with love, turned to vessels of aesthetic relish, / sweet in expression, mostly naive, displaying joy, / naturally charming, moist with trust, giving rise to Smara— / in secret, the spontaneous conversations of fawn-eyed women captivate beyond measure.
2.21
Resting again and again in the shade of the forest trees,
a certain slender maiden wandered about,
warding off the rays of the moon
with the upper garment of her breasts lifted by her hand.
2.22
When she is not seen, desiring only sight; / having seen her, eager only for the joy of an embrace; / and when the large-eyed maiden is embraced, / we long for the non-difference of our two bodies.
2.23
Mālatī flowers on the head, a yawn upon the face, / sandalwood on the body mixed with saffron, / the beloved woman upon the chest languid with passion— / this is heaven; the rest is mere tradition.
2.24
First coming to me slightly, desire awakened though pleasure is not yet reached, / bashfully next, then with slackened resistance, then with fortitude shattered; / moistened with love thereafter, bold in the desirable, intense play of intimacy, / delightful with the heightened bliss of dragging off her clinging garments—such is making love with a highborn wife.
2.25
Fallen onto the chest, their braids undone, / their eyes half-closed, slightly opened, / their cheeks damp with perspiration from the fatigue of lovemaking— / fortunate men drink the nectar of their wives' lower lips.
2.26
The relish of love which shines upon consciousness / for those whose eyes are half-closed, / perceived mutually by the pair— / this alone is the true fulfillment of desire.
2.27
This is improper and disorderly for men, / that even in old age the disturbances of love exist here; / nor was it arranged that the life or the love of round-hipped women / should terminate only with the falling of their breasts.
2.28
No one in this world has ever reached the end of the ocean of desire for kingly wealth; / what is the use of abundant riches when youth, accompanied by passion, has departed from one's own body? / Let us go home before the beauty of our beloveds, / who gaze with blossom-like blue-lotus eyes, is suddenly destroyed by the relentless assault of old age.
2.29
The sole abode of passion, the cause of attaining the great suffering of hundreds of hells, / the seed from which delusion springs, the mass of clouds that obscures the moon of knowledge, / the sole friend of Kandarpa, a continuous display of various evident faults— / in this world, there is nothing other than wealth, family lineage, high dwelling, and youth.
2.30
When fresh youth arrives—a raincloud for the tree of erotic love, a streaming river of the relish of amorous play, / the dear kinsman of Pradyumna, an ocean holding pearls of clever speech, / a purifying moon for the cakora birds of slender women's eyes, a storehouse of the fortune of beauty— / rare is that fortunate man who suffers no perturbation.
2.31
In this worthless cycle of worldly existence, how could men of pure intellect / fix their minds, whose fortitude is broken by attachment to the disgrace of attending at the doors of petty kings, / if there were not these young maidens, bearing the gathered radiance of the rising moon, / with lotus eyes, trembling girdles, and waists bending under the weight of their breasts?
2.32
While the auspicious abode of the Himalayas stands, its caves inhabited by Siddhas, / its trees broken by the shoulders of Śiva's bull, its rock surfaces washed by the Gaṅgā, / what high-minded man would bow his head, making it dirty and dejected, / if women, with eyes like frightened fawns, were not the weapons of Smara?
2.33
O cycle of worldly existence, the road to your end would not be distant, / if those intoxicating-eyed women did not stand in between, hard to cross.
2.34
Offer to the forest does a mouthful of kuśa grass, / green as a bamboo shoot, its roots cut with the sharp edge of a stone; / or to young women the leaf of the betel vine, pale as the cheek of a Śaka maiden, / torn with the tips of red fingernails.
2.35
All sense objects are insubstantial, distasteful in their end, and sinful; / or let them be abhorred, knowing they are indeed the seat of all faults; / yet upon this earth there is no merit greater than the welfare of others, / and in this cycle of worldly existence there is nothing more delightful than a blue-lotus-eyed woman. / The fruit of desire in this world is that the two become of one mind; / when love is made with divided minds, it is like the union of two corpses.
2.36
Casting away envy and considering what must be done, / let noble men speak with propriety: / should one resort to the slopes of mountains, / or to the hips of playful women smiling with desire?
2.37
In this cycle of worldly existence, whose essence is like a dream and whose outcome is fleeting, two paths lie before wise men: / either let their time pass somehow with intellects delighted by plunging into the nectar-waters of knowledge of reality; / or else in the company of lovely women relishing the full swell of breasts and hips, / playfully eager to touch with trembling palms the expansive slopes of their loins.
2.38
Let a dwelling be made in the waters of the Gaṅgā that remove sin, / or upon the twin breasts of a young woman, charming and adorned with a necklace.
2.39
What is the use of many words, idle chatter devoid of reason? / Only two things in this world should always be resorted to by men: / either the youth of beautiful women, eager for the fresh sports of passion / and weary from the weight of their breasts, or the forest.
2.40
Truly, O people, I speak not out of partiality; / in all seven worlds this is the simple truth: / there is nothing more captivating than round-hipped women, / and there is no other single cause of sorrow.
2.41
"My beloved," "lotus-eyed," "she of wide hips," "with rising, / plump, high breasts," "with a face like a lotus," "fair-browed"— / seeing her thus, even a learned man is intoxicated, rejoices, revels, and praises / a woman who is palpably a bellows full of filth; oh, the wicked work of delusion!
2.42
Remembered, she causes torment; seen, she produces madness; / touched, she brings delusion. How, then, is she called a beloved?
2.43
She is full of nectar only as long as she remains within range of the eyes; / but once she has passed beyond the path of sight, she surpasses even poison.
2.44
There is neither nectar nor poison apart from this round-hipped woman; / she alone, when passionate, is a vine of nectar; when indifferent, a creeping vine of poison.
2.45
A whirlpool of doubts, an abode of insolence, a city of rash deeds, / a receptacle of faults, a field filled with a hundred deceptions and mistrust, / an obstacle at the door of heaven, the entrance to the city of hell, a casket of all illusions— / by whom was this contraption of woman created, poison made of nectar, a snare for the living world?
2.46
In truth, this face has not become the deer-marked moon, nor has a pair of blue lotuses / turned into eyes, nor is the slender body fashioned of gold; / yet, his mind deceived by poets in this way, even while knowing the reality, / the foolish man attends upon the fawn-eyed women's body of skin, flesh, and bones.
2.47
The playful gestures of lovely women are natural; / they alone shine in the heart of a fool; / for redness is natural to the lotus, / yet the bee hovers there in vain. / They delude, they intoxicate, they mock, / they scold, they delight, they deject; / having entered tenderly into the hearts of men, / what indeed do fair-eyed women not do?
2.48
This lotus-face of the slender-limbed woman, surpassing all else, robbing the full moon of its luster, / where indeed the nectar of her lower lip resides— / is this the fruit of a tree of retribution, which now, after its excessive sweetness has passed, / will become painful like poison, giving no happiness?
2.49
With the unfolding ripples of three waist-folds as its abode, with a pair of ruddy geese emerging in the pair of high, plump breasts, / shining with a lotus-face, / this cruel river wearing the form of a lovely woman spares no one here: / if you do not desire drowning in the ocean of the cycle of worldly existence, then abandon it from afar!
2.50
They chat with one man, but look with coquetry at another; / they ponder in their heart another still: who indeed is truly dear to women?
2.51
Honey stays on the speech of women; in their heart is nothing but deadly poison. / Therefore, their lower lip is drunk, while their chest is beaten with fists alone.
2.52
Keep away, friend, far from this woman-serpent, whose fiery poison is her sidelong glance, / cruel by nature, bearing a hood of playful charm! / A man bitten by another serpent can be cured with medicines by clever exorcists; / but for one seized by the woman-serpent, [there are none].
2.53
The fisherman Makaraketana has cast into this ocean of worldly existence / a fishhook called woman, / with which, having swiftly hooked mortal fish who are greedy for the bait of her lower lip, / he roasts them in the fire of passion.
2.54
In the wilderness of an amorous woman's body, impassable due to the mountains of her breasts, / do not wander, traveler mind! For Smara, the robber, lurks there.
2.55
By a very long, trembling, curving, radiant, hooded serpent / possessing the luster of a blue lotus, I was bitten, not merely looked upon by her eye! / When bitten [by a snake], there are physicians everywhere, generally seeking money and duty; / but for me, struck by the glance of a lovely-eyed woman, there is neither doctor nor medicine.
2.56
"Here is sweet song; this is dance; here is aesthetic relish; / here shines fragrance; this is the touch of breasts": / thus led astray by the senses that have destroyed the highest truth, / rogue-like when procuring their own interests, I have been deceived by the five [senses].
2.57
It cannot be reached by mantras, nor does it fall within the domain of medicine, / nor is it destroyed by hundreds of various pacification rites; / repeatedly producing a certain convulsion in the limbs through the onset of delusion, / this epilepsy of Smara confuses the vision and makes the head spin.
2.58
Who would take pleasure in courtesans—axes to the wish-granting vine of discernment— / who offer their enchanting bodies for a mere fraction of wealth / to the blind from birth, to the foul-mouthed, to the decrepit whose whole body is worn out with age, / to the rustic, to the low-born, and to the one overcome with dripping leprosy?
2.59
This courtesan is the flame of Madana, / fueled by the firewood of beauty, / into which lovers offer as oblations / their youth and their wealth.
2.60
What man of noble family would kiss the petal-like lower lip of a courtesan, however charming— / a spitting-bowl for spies, soldiers, thieves, servants, actors, and paramours?
2.61
Fortunate indeed are those whose minds undergo no agitation / upon seeing the form of women with wide white eyes, / whose breasts are firm and plump with the pride of youth, / and above whose slender waists shine the creepers of three skin-folds!
2.62
O maiden, why are these sluggish glances, playfully half-closed, / cast at me? Desist, desist! This labor of yours is useless. / Now we are different: childhood has ceased; our longing is in the forest's edge; / delusion has faded; and we look upon the whole web of the world like a blade of grass.
2.63
This maiden continually casts her long glance, possessing the luster of a blue-lotus petal, / toward me: what does she intend? / Our delusion has vanished; the fever-flame born from the impact of Smara the hunter's arrows / has been extinguished; yet the wretched girl does not desist.
2.64
Why do you trouble your hand, Kandarpa, making the bowstring twang? / Why, O cuckoo, do you uselessly warble your soft, sweet notes? / O charming girl, enough with your affectionate, clever, pleasing, sweet, restless sidelong glances! / My mind is absorbed in the nectar of meditation on Candracūḍa's feet.
2.65
Even in separation there is union / for those whose minds are joined to each other; / but if the heart is estranged, / union only intensifies separation.
2.66
"What is the use of going, if she does not live? / And if my beloved is alive, what is the use even then?" / Pondering thus upon seeing the fresh garland of clouds, / the traveler does not set out for his home.
2.67
Desist, wise men, from the company of women, a pleasure fragile as a moment! / Form a union with the maidens of compassion, friendliness, and wisdom. / Truly, in hell, neither the circle of firm breasts covered with pearl necklaces / nor the curve of the hips with a chiming jeweled girdle is a refuge.
2.68
When unbroken friendship shines between the self and the mind, thinned by devotion to the practice of yoga, / what need has that fortunate man for these: / conversations with beloved women, the nectar of their lower lips, their moon-faces, / the fragrance of their sighs, and lovemaking with the embrace of jug-like breasts?
2.69
When there was ignorance produced by the wandering darkness of Smara, / then this entire world was perceived as consisting of women. / Now that our vision has become impartial, enjoying the sharp collyrium of discernment, / it regards even the three worlds as Brahman.
2.70
Only so long does this spotless lamp of discernment / shine even for fortunate men, / as long as it is not struck / by the restless corners of the eyes of deer-eyed women.
2.71
Talk concerning the abandonment of attachment exists only in words / for learned men whose mouths are loud with Vedic learning: / who is capable of abandoning the hips of blue-lotus-eyed women, / adorned with a girdle tied with ruby jewels?
2.72
He deceives himself and others— / that false wise man who reviles young women! / For even the fruit of ascetic austerity / is heaven, and in heaven too there are apsarases.
2.73
There are brave men on earth skilled in shattering the frontal globes of rutting elephants; / some are adept even at slaying the fierce lion, king of beasts; / but I say openly in the presence of the strong: / rare are the men who can shatter the pride of Kandarpa.
2.74
A man remains on the good path, he has mastery over his senses, / he displays shame, and he maintains humility— / only until these glance-arrows of playful women, released from the bow of the eyebrows, / reaching as far as the ear and tipped with black lashes, do not fall upon his heart, stealing his steadfastness.
2.75
Whatever women undertake
from the impulse of reckless passion,
even Brahmā himself, in truth,
is afraid to oppose.
2.76
Greatness, scholarship, noble birth,
and discernment endure only so long
as the accursed fire of the five-arrowed god
does not blaze within one's limbs.
2.77
Though versed in the authoritative treatises, though an excellent son, though sorely afflicted indeed,
rare in this cycle of worldly existence is a man who becomes a vessel for good destinations,
by whom the curved creeper-brow of fair-eyed women,
unlocking the gates of the city of hell, is treated like a mere key.
2.78
Emaciated, one-eyed, lame, earless, tailless,
covered with sores, dripping with pus, his body swarming with hundreds of worms,
gaunt with hunger, worn out, an earthenware pot-shard fastened to his neck—
a dog still follows a bitch: Madana strikes even him who is already struck down.
2.79
The seal of women, triumphant, bestowing every worldly success, belonging to the flower-weaponed god—
those fools who abandon it, wicked-minded men seeking false rewards,
he ruthlessly strikes down and makes naked, shaven-headed,
some with five tufts of hair, matted-haired, and others skull-bearing ascetics.
2.80
Even Viśvāmitra, Parāśara, and others, who fed on wind, water, and dry leaves,
fell into delusion the moment they saw the lovely lotus face of a woman;
if men who feed on rice with clarified butter, milk, and curd
could restrain their senses, then the Vindhya range would float upon the sea.
2.81
The winds carry perfumes, branches bear points of fresh shoots,
the mates of cuckoo birds are possessed by sweet, aching longing,
and the moon-faces of young brides break into a sparse, bitter perspiration;
when spring advances over the earth, whose qualities do not rise to bloom?
2.82
This spring, with the sweet
and gentle calls of the cuckoo and breezes from Mount Malaya,
slays living beings separated from their lovers;
alas, in misfortune even nectar turns to poison.
2.83
The home of playful coquetry, amorous languor beside the beloved,
in the ear the sweet murmur of a female cuckoo, a blooming vine-arbor,
conversation with a few true poets, the charming rays of the moon—
such wondrous nights in Caitra bring delight to the hearts of some men.
2.84
O traveler, providing fuel for the fire of separation in women, the mango blossom
is now gazed upon with longing by female cuckoos;
and here blow the breezes of the sandalwood mountain,
thieves carrying off an abundance of fresh trumpet-flower perfume, dispelling the languor of travel.
2.85
Let the famed indignation in the hearts of loving women
maintain its place only so long
as the wind from Mount Malaya
does not become fragrant with the sandalwood tree.
2.86
When the ends of the directions are swooning
with the heavy fragrance of mango blossom pollen,
and bees are faint with excess of sweetness,
in spring whose heart would not be filled with longing?
2.87
Deer-eyed maidens anointed with the clearest sandalwood paste,
fountain chambers, flowers, and moonlight,
a gentle breeze, fragrant blossoms, and a pure mansion terrace—
in summer these increase both passion and Madana.
2.88
Garlands of delightful fragrance, the breeze of a fan, rays of the moon,
lotus pollen, a pool, sandalwood powder, clear liquor,
a pure open rooftop terrace, delicate garments, lotus-eyed women—
all these flourish in the summer season, and men of merit enjoy them.
2.89
A dwelling white as nectar, the moon flashing its spotless beams,
the beloved's lotus face, and highly fragrant sandalwood powder,
garlands of delightful fragrance—all this, in an impassioned man,
causes inward agitation, but not in one who has turned away from contact with sense objects.
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