With saffron and musk he carefully traces firm designs upon your brow, cheeks, throat, and hair. Again and again he colors you with the pigment of passion, himself immersed in the rasa of love. Happy only in your happiness, he studies your every inclination and entreats you with eyes full of longing. Ready from nail to crown with every adornment, he stands present—the crest-jewel among connoisseurs, says Mod.
Pada 188
Tell me, dear one—under love's command, what does your beloved not do for you? Moment after moment your beauty assumes a fresh splendor; he gazes without even blinking. The Unmanifest becomes manifest and fills your feet with crimson alta. Deeply attached, almost intoxicated, he bows his head before them. He secretly tends and embellishes them, then hides them within his heart. Judging them a hundred times softer than his own curls, he nearly dies of reverent shame. Seeing Sita's feet, he offers himself—body and life—again and again. He becomes exceedingly tender toward every devotee who repeats Sita's name.
Pada 189
Kishori, I need nothing from anyone but you. I have no concern at all with the rest of the world. Ever since I heard of your gate, the longing to meet you has possessed me. Ask only my own heart how one in separation remains alive. I have made this single vow: one day I shall take refuge beneath your feet.