Cupid Sounds a War Drum of Anklets
Bala Kanda, Chaupai 227
Doha 230 · Movement 1 of 2
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The melody of bangles, anklets, and ornaments reaches Ram through the garden. He tells Lakshmana it sounds as though Kama has struck a war drum and announced his campaign to conquer the world.
Ram turns. His eyes become chakora birds fixed upon Sita's moonlike face, so motionless that even the deity of blinking seems to withdraw in bashfulness. Joy rises, but the heart's recognition cannot find speech.
It seems Brahma displayed his entire artistic power in creating her. Sita makes beauty itself more beautiful, like flame illuminating the house of splendour. Poets have exhausted every comparison, leaving Videha's princess beyond analogy.
Anklets sound through the flowers, and Ram's unblinking eyes find Sita.
Read the passage from the Manas
कंकन किंकिनि नूपुर धुनि सुनि। कहत लखन सन रामु हृदयँ गुनि।। मानहुँ मदन दुंदुभी दीन्ही।।मनसा बिस्व बिजय कहँ कीन्ही।। अस कहि फिरि चितए तेहि ओरा। सिय मुख ससि भए नयन चकोरा।। भए बिलोचन चारु अचंचल। मनहुँ सकुचि निमि तजे दिगंचल।। देखि सीय सोभा सुखु पावा। हृदयँ सराहत बचनु न आवा।। जनु बिरंचि सब निज निपुनाई। बिरचि बिस्व कहँ प्रगटि देखाई।। सुंदरता कहुँ सुंदर करई। छबिगृहँ दीपसिखा जनु बरई।। सब उपमा कबि रहे जुठारी। केहिं पटतरौं बिदेहकुमारी।।
Hearing the sweet chime of bangles, the tinkling of waist-bells, and the music of anklets, Rama pondered in His heart and spoke to Lakshmana. It is as though Kamadeva has sounded his war-drum, declaring through the mind alone his conquest of the entire world. Saying this, He turned and gazed in that direction. His eyes became chakora birds, and Sita's face their moon. Those beautiful eyes grew perfectly still, as though Nimi, the god of blinking, had shyly departed from their corners. Beholding Sita's radiance, He tasted deep joy, yet His heart's praise could find no voice in words. It was as if Brahma had gathered all his skill and, fashioning her, displayed it openly before the world. She made beauty itself more beautiful, like a lamp-flame burning inside the very palace of splendor. Every comparison the poets ever fashioned has been spent. To what, then, shall I liken the princess of Videha?