Chapter Eight: Literature of the Rasika Tradition in Hindi

Seeing me, he cast sacred ash toward me; since then, city friend, my heart has known no peace.
Here I remain unsated by that charmer’s sixfold nectar, while there I greatly fear my husband’s family.
I have lost my place both here and there and taken the burden of disgrace upon my head.
For love of my beloved, I abandoned every honour and restraint of the household.
Shyam Sakhe says: accepting infamy, I met that connoisseur and embraced him.

At the waterside, the dark darling of Dasharatha enchanted me.
As I drew water and lifted the pot, a pang struck my waist; gazing upon his beauty, my sari slipped.
My veil fell open and my mind grew so restless that I seemed to go mad.
Regaining myself, I repeatedly steadied the pitcher on my head, but then my eyes fell upon the heart-enchanter’s curling locks.
As our eyes met, longing increased fourfold and I forgot all awareness of home and village.
My beloved seized and drew away the edge of my yellow cloth, like a raincloud embracing lightning.
Shyam Sakhe says: I sold myself without price and took the wedding rounds with my beloved.

My meditation has become fixed upon the Lord.
Dasharatha’s son is my Lord, and Mithila’s young princess my Lady.
They sit in the bower with arms about one another’s necks, while Chandrakala and Vimala attend them on every side.
Shyam Sakhe beholds the Couple’s beauty—the lovely union of beloved and beloved.

Friend, my heart has gone mad
From repeatedly beholding the splendour of those sidelong eyes:
The net of curling hair, the painted mark upon the brow, the pearl necklace at his throat, and the actor’s grace in every movement.
With arms about one another beneath the kadamba shade on the bank of the Sarayu, their lotus hands sport amid cascading sweetness.
Connoisseurs alone hold this meditation as their life, wealth, breath, and honour; Shyam Sakhe is the thirsty papīhā bird and his beloved the raincloud.

Today the lovely woman has assumed the darling’s appearance:
A tilted turban, a handsome coloured robe, and curling locks arranged in coils.
Holding a rose-coloured staff and a flower garland in her hand, she stands within the bowers.
Shyam Sakhe says: she has met her beloved and laughingly clasped him to her breast.

Rama, crown jewel of connoisseurs,
Wanders with his beloved at his left.
Chandrakala, Kisala, and Vimala shine around him on every side.
Amid golden vines the Couple appear like a peacock accompanied by lightning.
Their curling locks hang down in strands.
The youthful Pair move through the forest where flowering bushes grow and bee-like companions sing.
Parrots, frogs, cuckoos, swans, and cakora birds celebrate the loving rasa of beloved and beloved.