Chapter Eight: Literature of the Rasika Tradition in Hindi

New trees and vines form tender bowers, and sweet upon sweet sounds delight the ear.
Peacocks dance and cuckoos sing, enchanting and awakening the heart.
Their bodies bear the colours of blue-and-yellow cloud and lightning, refreshing the beauty of millions of Love-gods and Ratis.
Gyanali gives herself again and again before the swing, as the beloved clings to her lover’s waistcloth.

The water falls in a gentle patter of drops.
Within Pramodavana beside the Sarayu, Raghubar sports with delicate Sita.
As her beloved’s brilliant turban grows wet, so too does the sari upon Sita’s body.
Their fine garments cling wetly to every limb—how exquisite and rasa-filled that beauty!

Lightning flashes and clouds thunder; frightened, she falls into her beloved’s embrace.
Gyanali says the surging monsoon brings the rasikas beneath its sway and intoxicates them.

The two rasikas swing in loving seclusion.
The succulent monsoon season is the root of happiness.
Fresh canopies of trees appear as artfully fashioned pavilions,
While masses of cloud surge high above the terraces.

Great drops rain continually;
They set the swing in motion, swing together, and become saturated with happiness.

Companion, even the unmoving grow restless when lover and beloved meet in the grove.
Ever-new happiness begins to rain as the companions sing, play instruments, and drive the swing.

Hearing this, the hearts of lover and beloved blossom.
This is a new vision of Sita and her accomplished Lal:
Whichever direction she graces with a slight smile,
That person alone is greatly fortunate, their understanding brought to maturity.

Close beside the Sarayu’s bank, beneath the shade of the Somashravana banyan,
Says Gyanali, their love increases as the Lord places an arm about her neck.
This is precisely the happiness that pleases her beloved.

Sita, the connoisseur of love, swings.
During monsoon in the bowers of Pramodavana on the Sarayu’s bank, delight overflows.
Adorned in flowers from toenails to crown, the moon of Awadh and his fair moon-faced lady shine; millions of Ratis and Love-gods may be sacrificed before them, yet not one equals their beauty.

Sita swings and her beloved sways as he drives the swing. Gazing and gazing upon her beauty, he gives himself repeatedly in sacrifice; the mind’s delight removes every thorn from the heart.