Chapter Eight: Literature of the Rasika Tradition in Hindi

His two long eyes, with white, dark iris, and pupil—what poet could calculate a comparison for their beauty?
They are like a pair of bees upon lotus petals, wiping away the nectar that stains their feet.
Friend, beholding Hari’s lovely form, more captivating than Love, Rasdev treasures its sweetness from toenails to crown.

Sita’s bindī has assumed a wondrous beauty.
Upon her golden complexion, Brahma seems to have concentrated his skill and painted a strange, tiny picture.
Is it the full moon opening in the sky and doubling the intensity of love’s fire?
Or the complete orb of the rising sun at dawn, newly born in perfect light?
Or a delicate fringe stretched within a crimson lotus?
Or Mars, the son of Earth, shining splendidly amid the assembly of planets?
Is lightning trapped in a champak blossom, or the jewel a serpent has cast away?
Beholding this lovely, Love-enchanting beauty, poet Rasdev treasures it within his mind.

Friend, behold the beauty of darling Rama.
Serpentlike curls hang upon his face as though drinking nectar from the crescent moon.
A golden crown and earrings adorn his ears; seeing the radiance of his teeth, lightning is humbled.
Beholding the beauty of that abode-like face, ten million Cupids consider themselves fortunate to surrender, says Rasdev.

Darling Rama’s beauty remains lodged within my heart.
A broad saffron mark shines upon his brow and curling locks hang down.
Yellow cloth is gracefully bound around his waist, while his fine eyes possess an unfathomable brilliance.
Beholding that beauty, Rasdev stands amazed; ten million Cupids cannot even approach it.

Darling, where did you have that crimson powder applied?
You have been delighting in pleasure with a rival woman.
Where did you spend the night? At dawn you tell false stories.
Your hair is loose, your eyelids heavy with sleep, and beauty spills from every limb.
Collyrium marks your lips, betel stains your eyelids, and crimson foot-dye and saffron mark your brow.
Your garments are crumpled—where did that happen? Bite marks cover your cheeks.
You must have pounced by force and torn the cloth from someone’s breast; that unworthy necklace hangs upon you without its proper thread.
Rasdev says: the dark one has returned here, and seeing his state every companion is delighted.

Raghubar and Janaka’s daughter swing
Upon the supremely sacred bank of the Sarayu, where the forest thickets blossom in joy.
The splendid seat is fashioned and set with clusters of gems, suspended between a pair of lovely pillars.
The Couple, crown jewels of connoisseurs, shine upon it with immeasurable and incomparable radiance.