During the evening rite you faced east and, by some trick of moonlight, cast your enchantment. When the moonlike groom rose dark as night, the shadow of fair Kishori, Janaka's beloved daughter, fell upon him and turned him green with love. You broke the bow and proudly wore the victory garland; yet when you tried to open Kishori's bracelet, it would not come loose, and then you blushed. You bound everyone in the bonds of maya, but in Mithila you yourself were bound. The whole world rests cool beneath your shelter, yet you alone became ensnared in Mithila. You are the receiver of all the world, yet they call you the crown-jewel of generous donors; in Mithila the donor was noble Janaka, and you became the recipient. Everywhere else you are worshiped as lord of the gods with the Vedas' sacred verses; here at your in-laws' home you received no morsel without the abuse of sisters-in-law. Though proclaimed by the Vedas, you became the girls' defeated opponent in the kohbar dice game. Losing and growing vexed, at last you fled from Mithila!
The Daily Wedding Feast — Pada 130
Seeing that Raghubar was burning from the spicy food, a companion offered the edge of her veil and laughingly said, “Dear red-lipped boy, whose son are you? Openly tell us the truth.” “Listen, dear one: I am the son of Dasharatha, whose noble fame is known throughout the world.” “Your husband is fair, while you, dear boy, are dark—how am I to recognize you as the same lord?” “Listen, clever woman: had I not become dark, what adornment would remain for me? Without a word, I drank the rasa of Sri Janaka's daughter, and so, beloved, I became dark.” “What bee must be summoned to the sweet nectar within a lotus?” Hearing Ramcharan's intimate words, all the companions smiled.