Sexual Life in Ancient India: A Study in the Comparative History of Indian Culture v2.c11.150.2

v2.c11.150.2

This fire—the spring, whose (glowing) embers are the flowery clusters of the açoka grove, whose crackling and roaring are the notes of the bees, and whose red flames are the young shoots—this fire will burn me up. For life has no meaning for me, O son of Sumitrā, if I do not see this woman with the soft-lashed eyes, lovely hair, and gentle speech. Look, O Lakshmaṇa, the love-racked peahen dances on the mountain-top to the dancing peacock, her mate, and the peacock hastens, filling with longing, to the darling one, spreading his shining wings, and, as it were, laughing while he calls. Clear it is that the Rākshasa has not robbed the peacock in the forest of his beloved. And to me, too, would come the great-eyed daughter of Janaka in welling maze and love, were she not robbed from me. Even if ’tis spring there where my darling is, yet Sītā, in the power of another, will of a surety be mourning just as I am. But without a doubt spring does not touch that place; for how could she with the black lotus-eyes go on living without me! For of a truth Sītā’s soul is sunk in me, and my soul is utterly sunk in Sītā. This coolness-bringing wind, scattering the flowers, and softly caressing, is for me, who am thinking of my sweet one, as fire. I could bear the love that came to me, were it not that spring, which brings the trees to blossom, were wounding me. My eye believes it sees the petals of the lotus-cups—ah! Lakshmaṇa, so do the flower-cups of Sītā’s eyes indeed appear.