His lotus eyes are darkened with kohl—mother is captivated, mother offers herself up, seeing his sidelong glance. His wondrous lips are crimson—mother is captivated, mother offers herself up, seeing his smile. His pearl shines with radiant light—mother is captivated, mother offers herself up, seeing his dancing nose-ring. A necklace and close-fitting coat grace his throat; he stands with a bow in his hand—the carefree king, the enraptured king, the young lord of Ayodhya. He stands with a handkerchief in his hand, wiping his face and musing to himself—the mischievous bridegroom. His feet are reddened with mahavar, and above them falls his yellow dhoti. A companion stands holding the ritual vessel—mother is sold, utterly sold, at the thought that he will return to Ayodhya.
Entrance Within — Pada 44
Walk slowly, slowly, dear boy, into Lali's courtyard. Do not mistake this courtyard for Ayodhya and rush through it as swiftly as your heart desires. Golden trees rise above emerald garden beds; flowerpots shine with a diamond-like splendor. Jasmine vines, white jasmine, and chrysanthemums bloom here in hundreds of thousands of varieties. Spring dwells forever in Mithila, through all thirty days and all twelve months. In the center of the palace gleams a jeweled pavilion, beyond comparison in all the three worlds. Seeing it, Snehalata praises its beauty—yet this is merely the adornment of the courtyard.
Pada 45
Raghubar, walk slowly, slowly through Lali's lanes; behold how the lovely women bloom like night-lotuses.