Chapter Eight: Literature of the Rasika Tradition in Hindi

Beloved Janakiraman, I have fixed my attachment upon you.
This hard knot cannot be loosened even by effort; understanding it, I have become absorbed in love.
Keeping company with rasikas, I recognised the true colour and forgot all five coverings of the body.
I have examined doctrine after doctrine and found no true happiness even in a dream.
Now, O dark Lord, nothing else appears; only the tenderness and shadow of your beauty remain.
Yugalananyasharan bows before you—Beloved, show mercy at once.

How could the pitiless know pain?
Such a wound has not entered their hearts, so they do not acknowledge sorrow.
Those who never felt the longing to attain him turn it into laughter and mockery.
If I remain silent, I cannot survive; if I speak, life itself trembles.
I am defeated—no effort works against suffering such as this.
Yugalananyasharan says: the arrows of those eyes pierce the eagerly waiting heart.

Friend, how shall I extinguish separation, and by what means shall I obtain my beloved’s vision?
Under separation’s power every limb remains weak; filled with pain, I grow frantic.
Suddenly I rise, unconscious and mad, crying “Beloved! Beloved!” and lamenting.
Sometimes, abruptly pressing a hand to my heart, I am declared dead while still alive.
Sometimes, finding a moment’s awareness, I peer through the window and question travellers on the road.
“I do not know who has detained him”—thinking this, my heart fills with regret.
Yugalananya says: sometimes I gather courage and sing the lovely virtues of my Beloved.

Another mode

To whom shall I tell this, and who will believe me?
You count yourself clever and discerning, while in your judgement I am a witless village girl.
The longing and passion for the Beloved have not yet seized you; you are still an innocent, delicate maiden.
You have never been wounded, not even slightly, by his virtues; that is why you heap abuse upon me.
When you meet the rasika and behold him for yourself, then, my dear, you too will fall silent.
Yugalananya says: your condition will admit no description, so boundless will be its shame and reserve.

Drops rain from the cloud of separation.
Lightning crackles through the lover’s heart; defeated, she cannot speak what it contains.
The proud thundercloud roars and roars, burning the heart as it spreads fear.
On every side the hostile lightning flashes—Love’s severe and merciless force.
Twisted by wounded pride, drunk and intoxicated, a slow peacock calls—