Chapter Eight: Literature of the Rasika Tradition in Hindi

Friend, Rama—the colourful abode of colour—shines beside Sita.
The two reign upon a beautiful many-hued throne; I sacrifice a hundred million Kamadevas upon every limb.
A radiant company has assembled, a canopy of colour has been stretched, and Rasaraja reigns, bestowing colour upon all.
Kripanivas says: the dark cloud Shyama has joined the fair lady, filled with the colour and nectar of the rāsa.

Look, sister: the lover filled with colour shines with colourful Sita upon his left.
Her speech is filled with colour, and the cultivated lady is lovely with millions upon millions of beautiful hues.
Undying waves of colour flow from the palace of nectar and spread their supreme colour over every companion.
The companion, dwelling in colourful delight, unites and shimmers there, enclosed within the garland of his arms.

The two nectar-filled lovers reign in the colourful palace.
In the beauty of their close embrace, arms resting upon shoulders, they teach one another the arts of love.
Eyes converse, feelings find their places, lips respond, and their faces smile.
Their hearts and dispositions meet in mutual delight, continually forming accomplished companies of play.
The companions’ love and cleverness join together, paying delighted homage to Love itself.
Kripanivas says: the intimate worshippers serve Sri Janakivallabha.

My mind, a traveller, has lost its way upon the path.
The beloved’s body is a many-coloured forest; moving from limb to limb, it has been caught by Love.
Rows of hair are dense trees of beauty, and it cannot escape the network of their shade.
Passing the river of the three waist-folds, it entered a cave between the high breast-mountains and cannot emerge.
Lovely khañjana-bird eyes shine there, while the deer of her far-reaching sidelong glances roam freely.
The lion of passion wanders unrestrained through the forest, frightening away the elephants of patience, discipline, and pride.
Locks of hair are serpents, cheeks are lovely pools, and lotus ears contain stolen nectar.
Rows of bee-like eyebrows come forward and block the khañjana birds’ path.
Victory to Prasad! Hear of this blissful wilderness, nourished by the excellent moon of beauty and stealing every heart.
Kripanivas says: by sportive Sita’s grace, I wander the forest of the mind without fear of Love.

He tugs at the knot of her lower garment, and the beloved resists.
The libertine of rasa joins his hands like a cup, touches her feet, and pleads with her again.
She turns away her face in magnificent feigned anger, then flashes a curving glance like lightning.
Upon the bedspread they raise a tumult of rasa, laughing and laughing; Kripanivas says that Sita carries away the victory.

Make me intoxicated by the ecstasy of beautiful happiness.
Uncover the celestial river of your radiant rasa and make my mind worthy of it.
I take refuge in you, supremely generous lady, tender-hearted, enchanting, and benevolent.
Kripanivas says: playful Sita spreads the nectar of her lover’s mind throughout the world.