“He adorns the parting of her hair and arranges the curls upon her cheeks; filling her with every nectar of life, he makes a garland of his own heart. He dresses her in ornaments crafted like the sun’s own brilliance, then draws her veil across and shelters her modesty. Ever obedient to Siya, he has cast away every hesitation and reserve.
“Siya knows herself to be queen of queens and looks upon him with proud affection. Gazing upon the moon of her face, the king of the chakora birds is captivated at every instant. In the full assembly of rasa, Priya dances at the front while song and instruments sound. Rasamala’s beloved, darling of his mistress, performs every service for her.”
Pada 171
“Mistress, let me celebrate your wedded blessedness! Whenever I enter this world, may I serve Sri Mithilesha’s cherished daughter. I shall apply perfume and sandal paste, dress and adorn my beloved Lord’s lovely beloved, and lovingly rub fragrant ubtan upon her.
“I shall prepare and offer betel, then speak words steeped in rasa. Each day I shall pamper her with her beloved and make myself her attendant. I shall remain at Shyamasakhi’s doorway and sustain myself upon her blessed remnants.”
Pada 172
How tender are Siya’s little feet— soft as the down of a bird! What are rose and crimson lotus beside them? What greater redness could one imagine? What is a drop of safflower dye, whose color fades even as it is wrung out? What are velvet, the plume of the siris blossom, or the delicacy of a malati garland? Before their softness, what comparison can stand?