Eighth Sarga: Relishing the Forenoon Pastimes

Eighth Sarga, entitled 'Relishing the Forenoon Pastimes.'

When the treasure of all beauty entered the forest after gathering the cows, alas, the cowherd women experienced an agony so profound that speech can never reach it. (1)

Without Him the young women of Vraja were unable even to tend their own cows. As if putting those cows to sleep, they themselves long remained sheltered in a strange condition that had become their intimate companion. (2)

That one extraordinary calamity came separately upon all the beautiful-browed cowherd women. Like a yoginī, it instantly spread from house to house, as though to quiet their fever. (3)

Her sakhīs repeatedly rebuked the swoon: 'Inauspicious one, why do you embrace our dear friend?' As though frightened by their scolding, the fainting spell swiftly abandoned Vṛṣabhānu's daughter. (4)

Consciousness entered Her again, though it is the dwelling place of grievous pain. Yet Her companions did not hate even that. Tell us, then, by whom can the substance called love be defined? (5)

Graceful messengers sent by Lalitā left Rādhā's residence unseen by the people. Reaching the mountain's vicinity, they attained elevated joy from the fragrance of the forest garland. (6)

Hari led the cows onto exceedingly cool grass beside a lake, played there with His friends, and ate the food Dhaniṣṭhā had brought. Then, accompanied by the young brāhmaṇa, He reached a secluded place. (7)

Seeing Him there, the delighted maidservants rejoiced. One of them, Rūpa Mañjarī, a mine of glorious virtues and limitless good fortune, was asked for news of the jewel among young women. (8)

'Prince of lovers, when the forest ground was embraced by Your feet, it attained great beauty. As if competing with the forest, the ground of Your cowherd settlement embraced You and offered You its own beauty. (9)

'Hari, by imparting Your own dark color You made this earth resemble sapphire. Had it not assumed a pale hue in return, it would have made You golden as well. (10)

'When the forest dwellers saw Your face covered with cow dust, You made them weep. Alas, the women in Your own home also rolled in that same cow dust and wept. (11)

'Yet the dust acted unjustly toward their lotus eyes by making them continually produce water. Those two together then made a fitting grandson, for mud is born from water and dust, and the lotus-born Brahmā arises from mud. (12)

'Garlands, hair, garments, and all the rest, though ordinarily well behaved, became utterly unruly. When the king is absent from his realm, where and for whom can restraint remain? (13)

'Because Your two lotus feet sport joyfully in the forest's lap, She trusts that place and no longer sighs hotly, though we have warned Her many times. (14)

'A companion had uttered only half the sentence, “But there are sharp stones and thorns there...” The words had scarcely reached the boundary of Her hearing when, crying out, they made Her faint at once. (15)

'Her sakhīs falsely said, “Alas, Your dearest beloved has arrived. Look!” By their words and the powerful fragrance of Your forest garland, She regained awareness and became intensely agitated. (16)

'She said, “Friend, where is that sole dancer intoxicated by the wine of my eyes? Is he hidden here in your house? Why do you deceive me? The fragrance of his limbs bears witness that he is here.” (17)

'She obtained a little happiness in this way, but Cupid could not tolerate it. At once he forcibly made Her the target of all five of his arrows. (18)

'She became distressed, fell, trembled, and bathed Her own residence with tears. Though She entered the house, She could not cool Her eyes with the moon of Your face. (19)

'“Alas, mind, you have uselessly treated my sakhīs' false words as though they were the nectar of joy. Because the fever now burns you twice as fiercely...” Saying this, She again fell to the ground. (20)

'“Shame upon you, life, for remaining without your own beloved!” Though She severely reproached Her life in this way, alas, it did not become even slightly lighter. Instead it grew unbearably heavy. (21)

'Alas, even in separation from Her beloved, what extraordinary delicacy arose in that beautiful-browed girl! Her limbs could not endure even the slight movement of the wind of life within them. (22)

When Madhusūdana learned this news of His beloved, He reeled inwardly in anguish. His eyes filled with tears and His voice became obstructed as He cast His gaze over the faces of His dear friends. (23)

The young brāhmaṇa told the messenger, 'Quickly bring Rādhikā, the golden lotus, to the forest. Otherwise, alas, what refuge could protect Madhusūdana? She alone is His shelter.' (24)

Mādhava then entrusted His own garland to her and made this request: 'Friend, may this campaka garland, which today has arisen from me, reach the heart of my beloved.' (25)

The messenger returned and related everything to Rādhikā. By embracing the excellent garland and receiving the fragrance of Her lover's limbs, She made Her own life live again. (26)

When Kṛṣṇa heard that His beloved was tormented by the bites of a swarm of fierce scorpions in the form of separation from Him, He immediately felt their burning poison shatter the happiness at His own vital core. (27)

The circle of dear sakhīs desired to deceive the elder through the pretext of worshiping the sun. Before long, on the word of Garga's daughter, Jaṭilā came there and instructed them. (28)

'Go into the forest to worship, so that you may gain ten million cows. Perform this rite today, granted to you by the radiant sun, the deity of your eyes.' (29)

By a favorable providence that destroyed every obstacle, the sakhīs attained the fulfillment they desired. They quickly gathered every kind of article, arranging it in many ways pleasing to their beloved. (30)

Rādhikā personally prepared modakas that destroyed the entire succession of nectar's pride. They were so dear to Her lover that even the lord of treasures could never obtain them. (31)

Incense, lamps, fine garments, ornaments, and other articles were required for worship of the radiant sun. Gathering them caused a delay of only a few moments. (32)

Yet Keśava, left without support by the intensity of His longing, could not endure even that delay, although His incomparable ocean of steadiness and patience had once contained the world in a palmful. (33)

Acyuta sent His flute as His messenger. Holding it to His two ears, He played His own melody so that it might draw His beloved to His throat like a golden garland. (34)

That great river of sound, swelling with waves of agitation, cast Rādhā into its deep whirlpool. Did its deity swiftly enter Her and drive away the golden girl's fear and shame? (35)

She did not know where Her lotus feet were falling or what Her two tender hands had taken up. Bathed in the water of Her tears, She trembled without understanding anything at all. (36)

Rādhā's sakhīs were ready to dress Her in garments suitable for a forest tryst. Fearing delay, She dismissed them and adorned Her own body Herself. (37)

She swiftly adorned Her hips with a jeweled belt known as gostana, placed a tinkling necklace around Her throat, and set ornaments upon Her braid, topknot, and forehead. (38)

She anointed Her eyes with liquid musk, decorated Her forehead with a special mark of collyrium, and, alas, fashioned patterns upon Her body with red lac while Her garment echoed the same hue. (39)

She emerged from the town like sweetness itself concealed beneath a charming blue bodice, or like moonlight that had become dense upon the earth because a cloud had hidden it within itself. (40)

With Her companions She placed Her tender feet upon the path at the edge of the grove outside the town. As the night of shame came to an end, Her unveiled lotus face shone openly. (41)

The flute, itself learned in every scripture, now desired to enjoy verbal wit. Though highly eloquent, the rows of cuckoos fell silent, and this was their perfect courtesy. (42)

When Hari called the cows with His flute, the earth sprouted grass and the trees showered honey. Filled with rasa, the earth suddenly displayed supreme horripilation and perspiration. (43)

The speech of parrots, peacocks, and cuckoos at once became paralyzed. Even the waters taking shelter in rivers became motionless. What wonder was unfolding here? (44)

The sky bore streams of tears from newly swelling clouds of joy and considered itself the abode of the highest good fortune. The delighted directions praised it while fanning it with cool, gentle breezes. (45)

This sound did not depend upon the action of a throat. Even without the wish of its player, it remained intent upon its own purpose and led every cow into profound agitation. (46)

Each cow heard the call of her own name, raised her ears, and became delighted. Alas, the entire herd answered in its own language with the cry 'Hamba!' (47)

The flute produced hosts of notes and joined them with modes and melodic types to create enchanting modulations. Since the celestial women fainted upon hearing it, who could blame the flute here? (48)

Mountains and even the finest stones upon them melted to an extraordinary degree. How did those harder than all other things come to bear more love than everyone else? (49)

Thirsty birds and deer remained in their respective places. When the beautiful water came flowing all around them, they drank it in agitation, experiencing an unprecedented wonder. (50)

Ah, this ocean of compassion made his name 'black deer' truly meaningful. He did not hate the does attached to Giridhara; instead, he approached and delighted his own females. (51)

Friend, the does placed their stag behind them and moved forward in intense thirst to reach Kṛṣṇa. Yet when the flute sound entered their ears, they became motionless and appeared like painted figures. (52)

At the moment of drinking, the waterfowl heard the sound. The water assumed the nature of stone, their pale half-submerged beaks became fixed, and they trembled as their wings rose and scattered spray. (53)

Again and again the sakhīs made the nectar of the flute sound fragrant through their descriptions, placed it within the charming cups of their ears, served it to one another, and drank. (54)

Did paralysis, trembling, horripilation, and the other transformations not create hosts of obstacles along their path? Yet love itself swiftly brought them to the garden known as Cupid's battlefield. (55)

Entering the sun temple, they bowed to the deity and satisfied him with praises. Then they prayed, 'Ocean of mercy, quickly reveal the one beloved of our hearts.' (56)

Rādhā appointed the local forest goddess to guard the articles for worship. Then She departed happily with Her companions for the beautiful grove beside Her own delightful lake. (57)

The radiance of Vṛṣabhānu's daughter spread adornment across the ground near the mountain. Though Śrī Hari was very far away, the lotus of His heart suddenly blossomed. (58)

'The lotus maiden now shines in the grove beside Her own lake, surrounded by Her dearest companions.' Madhusūdana understood this at once from a sign that admitted no other explanation. (59)

The wind from that direction appeared carrying the fragrance born from Her limbs. Before long it forcibly agitated Him with eager longing for that bodily perfume. (60)

He stopped playing the flute but could not restrain His restless mind. Where can a bee overwhelmed by the sweet fragrance of mālatī find steadiness without that flower? (61)

Madhumaṅgala, knowing what was in His mind as though he were divine, immediately said, 'Peacock-crested friend, I have a personal task to perform, so I am going to attend to it. (62)

'Today Garga, revered by hosts of sages, will come to bathe at Sūrya-tīrtha. I have a doubt concerning the courses of the luminaries, and he alone can resolve it.' (63)

The subduer of Keśī replied, 'My mind too has become restless and eager to see him. Yet I know that the presence of so many friends will prevent us by exposing our purpose.' (64)

'If this is your policy, what loss is there? You and I are as one. The sun himself is now hurrying toward the middle of his excellent lake.' (65)

'Friend, these white cows are lying ahead beside the dense grove of kadamba trees. Do not needlessly disturb these companions who now wish to sleep by drawing them into play.' (66)

The boys honored the unobstructed cleverness of the young brāhmaṇa and gave their consent for the pair to depart. Kṛṣṇa and Madhumaṅgala swiftly left the forest and joyfully went to the lake sheltered by the young women. (67)

'Friend, where have we come? That mountain before us surely cannot be Govardhana, nor can this ground belong to the cowherd settlement, for both appear to be made of gold. (68)

'Has Mount Meru, surrounded by Ilāvṛta, visibly manifested a portion of itself here in Vraja? But why does Cupid strike me with arrows while I am immersed in these waves of radiance?' (69)

As Kṛṣṇa spoke, Rādhikā too reeled there, filled with the heavy sweetness of thirst to behold Him. Her abundant showers of nectarean radiance awakened immense longing in the beautiful dark clouds and splendid forest around Him. (70)

From afar, each mistook the other: 'Is that lightning, or a campaka vine? Is that a cloud, or a dark tamāla branch?' As they drew near, those false impressions vanished and both recognized, 'This is my beloved' and 'This is indeed that beautiful girl.' Then, wonderfully, through complete absorption in one another, those very impressions returned in a deeper form. (71)

Thus ends the Eighth Sarga, entitled 'Relishing the Forenoon Pastimes,' in the great poem Śrī Kṛṣṇa-bhāvanāmṛta.