The Penguin Book of Classical Indian Love Stories and Lyrics Read online

  hardening your mass of waters within,

  form yourself into wave-like steps

  and go before her as she climbs the jewelled slopes.

  63

  When struck by swarms of sparks off Indra’s thunderbolt

  your water-jets shoot out, celestial maidens there

  will surely use you for their bath;

  having found you in summer’s heat, my friend,

  if these girls eager for play will not let you go,

  you should scare them with harsh-sounding roars.

  64

  Sipping Manasa waters where golden lotuses grow,

  joyfully giving Airavata

  the fleeting pleasure of your veiling shade,

  fluttering with rain-drenched breezes

  the fine silk garments of tender leaves

  the Tree of Paradise wears,

  amuse yourself on that majestic mountain

  whose jewelled slopes glitter in chequered light and

  shade.

  65

  Once seen, O wanderer-at-will, you cannot but recognize

  Alaka on its upper slope seated as on her lover’s lap

  —Ganga, her fine garment, falling down—

  High over her many-storied mansions

  like a woman with her hair piled up

  and bound in a net of pearls, she bears

  masses of clouds shedding water in the rainy season.

  66

  Where palaces with their cloud-kissing tops

  equal you in loftiness,

  and their gem-paved floors rival the glitter

  of your glistening rain drops;

  where paintings on the walls vie

  with your rainbow hues;

  and graceful movements of lovely women

  rival the lightning’s play;

  where drums beaten to the sound of music

  resemble your thunder, mellow, deep-throated:

  And in each particular more than compare with you.

  67

  Where women toy with a lotus held in the hand,

  twine fresh jasmines in their hair;

  the beauty of their faces glows pale gold

  dusted with the pollen of Lodhra flowers;

  fresh amaranth-blooms encircle the hair-knot,

  a delicate Sirisa nestles at the ear;

  and on the hair-parting lie Kadamba blossoms

  born at your coming.

  68

  Where yakshas accompanied by highborn ladies

  resort to their palace-terraces

  paved with precious gems star-flower-mirroring,

  to partake of passion-kindling flower wines

  pressed from the Tree of Paradise,

  while drumheads softly struck

  throb deep-throated tones like yours.

  69

  Where at sunrise the path-followed at night

  by amorous women hastening to midnight trysts

  with faltering steps, is marked by telltale signs—

  Mandara flowers fallen from playful curls

  and petals of golden lotuses worn at the ears,

  dislodged, lie strewn on the ground, with pearls

  scattered loose as the threads snapped

  of bodices of pearls that closely held their breasts.

  70

  Where lovers undoing the knot at the waist, hands

  trembling with passion,

  toss aside silken garments loosening,

  yaksha women with lips like Bimba fruit,

  overcome by shy confusion

  aim handfuls of aromatic powder

  at glittering gems serving as lamps.

  Ah! What fruitless throws even though they hit their

  mark.

  71

  Where, led to terraces of lofty mansions

  by their guide the ever-moving wind,

  rain clouds like you stain the paintings

  with droplets of water;

  then, seeming fearful flee at once

  fragmented through lattices,

  assuming with practised skill

  the shapes of smoke streaming out.

  72

  Where at midnight moonstones

  hanging from networks of threads,

  touched by the moon’s feet

  resplendent as you move away

  shed clear drops of coolness

  to dispel the languor born

  of oft-enjoyed loveplay in women

  just released from a loved husband’s close embrace.

  73

  Where, knowing the Supreme One to dwell incarnate,

  friend to the Lord of Treasures,

  the God of Love out of fear refrains from drawing

  his bow strung with honeybees,

  his work accomplished by lovely women

  displaying their alluring charms, who bend

  the bow of their eyebrows to shoot bright glances

  unerringly at Love’s targets.

  74

  There, to the north of the palaces

  of the Lord of Treasures stands our home

  recognizable from afar by its arched gateway

  beautiful as the rainbow.

  Close by grows a young Mandara tree

  nurtured by my love like a son and now bending

  with clusters of blossoms

  within reach of her hand.

  75

  A flight of steps, all emerald slabs—

  a pool patterned over

  by full-blown lotuses on glossy beryl stems—

  Wild geese haunt its waters, freed from restless longing,

  no longer resorting to nearby Manasa-lake

  even after they see you coming.

  76

  By its edge is a miniature hill, wondrous,

  with sapphire-inlaid crest, exquisitely blue

  and ringed round by golden plantain-trees.

  Watching you glitter at the edges with lightning-gleams

  my heart trembles struck by the memory of that hill, my

  friend,

  remembering how dear it was to my beloved wife.

  77

  On it by a fragrant jasmine bower

  encircled by a hedge of amaranth

  stands a red Ashoka fluttering its tender leaves,

  and the dearly-loved Kesara too.

  One craves the touch of your friend’s lovely foot,

  the other longs for the wine of her mouth,

  pretending it is blossom-time.

  78

  And between them a golden rod rising

  from a pedestal of jade whose sheen

  rivals that of bamboos newly-sprouted

  supports a crystal tablet;

  your blue-throated friend

  settles on it at close of day

  after my love clapping her hands has made him dance

  to the sweet tinkling of her bracelets.

  79

  By these tokens of recognition

  treasured in your heart, O wise one!

  And noting the beautifully-drawn forms

  of lotus and conch on the sides of the door,

  you will know the mansion, its lustre dimmed

  no doubt by my absence: when the sun has set

  the lotus does not show forth in all its glory.

  80

  At once becoming small as an elephant cub

  for a speedy descent, seated on the charming crest

  of that pleasure-hill I described before,

  you may easily dart into the mansion

  faint lightning-glances twinkling

  like a glittering line of fireflies.

  81

  There you will see her, in the springtime of youth,

  slender,

  her teeth jasmine-buds, her lips ripe bimba-fruit,

  slim-waisted, with deep navel

  and the tremulous eyes of a startled doe,

  moving languidly from the weight of her hips,

  her body bowe
d down a little by her breasts

  —Ah! The Creator’s master-work among women.

  82

  Know her to be my second life,

  alone, speaking little,

  mourning like a cakravaki

  her companion far away.

  With the passing of these long days, racked

  by intense longing, the young girl

  would appear so changed I think,

  like a lotus-plant struck by the chilling hoar-frost.

  83

  Weeping passionately, her eyes would be swollen

  and her lips withered by burning sighs;

  my beloved’s face cupped in the palm of her hand,

  only glimpsed through loose tresses flowing down

  would surely appear like the miserable moon

  stricken pale when shadowed by you.

  84

  She will come into your view absorbed

  in the day’s rites of worship or drawing my likeness

  imagined wasted by separation

  or asking the melodious songster in the cage,

  ‘sweet one, do you remember our lord?

  You were a favourite with him.’

  85

  Or, clad in a drab garment she may place

  the lute on her lap, wishing to sing a melody

  set to words signifying my name;

  succeeding somehow in tuning the strings

  wet with her tears, O gentle friend, she forgets

  again and again the sequence of notes

  even though she composed it herself.

  86

  Or, beginning with the day of our parting

  she may count the months remaining,

  laying out in order on the floor,

  flowers placed at the threshold;

  or, savouring imagined pleasures of love

  treasured in her heart:

  —such are the only diversions of women

  sorrowing in the absence of their husbands.

  87

  Occupied by day, the pangs of loneliness

  would not distress your friend too keenly,

  but I fear the nights devoid of diversions

  would pass heavy with grief;

  therefore, I pray, meet the faithful girl

  at midnight with my messages,

  standing at the window close to where she lies

  wakeful on the ground, and comfort her.

  88

  Wasted by anguish

  she would be lying on her bed of loneliness

  drawing herself together on one side,

  seeming like the last sliver

  of the waning moon on the eastern horizon.

  By my side her nights flew by

  on winged moments in rapture’s fullness;

  now they drag on, heavy with her burning tears.

  89

  With a burning sigh that withers her lips

  tender as leaf-buds, you will see her

  toss aside those curling tresses

  rough with frequent ritual-baths,

  that stray down her cheeks uncared for.

  Longing for sleep, hoping in dreams at least

  she would be one with me in love,

  a sudden torrent of tears might wash away those hopes.

  90

  On that first day of parting, her tresses

  with their wreath of flowers stripped off were twisted

  and plaited into one single braid

  which I shall unwind when the curse is ended

  and all my sorrows melted away:

  you will see her with untrimmed nails pushing

  that tangled braid, rough and painful to the touch,

  repeatedly off the curve of her cheek.

  91

  Remembering past delights her eyes would turn

  towards the moonbeams, cool, ambrosial,

  streaming in through the lattices,

  and turn away at once in sorrow.

  Veiling her eyes with lashes heavy-laden with tears

  she will seem to be hovering uncertain

  between waking and dreaming

  —a day-lily on a cloudy day neither open nor shut.

  92

  Casting aside all adornments,

  keeping alive her fragile body in measureless sorrow,

  desolate, my love would try in vain

  time and again to throw herself on her bed;

  the sight I am sure will make you shed some freshwater

  tears;

  for tender hearts ever melt in compassion.

  93

  I know well your friend’s heart is filled with love for me,

  hence I believe her brought to this pitiable state

  in this our very first parting.

  It is not vain self-esteem that makes a braggart of me;

  all I have said, my brother,

  you will soon see before your very eyes.

  94

  Lack-lustre without glossy collyrium,

  the sidelong glance blocked by straying hair,

  the eyebrow’s graceful play forgotten

  through abstaining from wine,

  the doe-eyed lady’s left eye

  would throb at your coming, I guess,

  and match the charm of blue lotuses

  quivering as fishes dart among them.

  95

  And her left thigh—bare of my nail marks,

  unadorned by the network of pearls of the long-worn zone

  she cast aside struck by the turn of fate,

  so used to the gentle stroking of my hands

  after love’s enjoyment—

  pale as a tender plantain’s stem will start quivering.

  96

  If at that time, O Rain-Giver,

  she has found happiness, pray wait near her,

  just one watch of the night withholding your thunder,

  having striven hard to find me, her beloved,

  in a dream of love, let not her arms

  twined like tender vines round my neck in close embrace,

  suddenly fall away from their hold.

  97

  Awakening her with a breeze

  cooled by your fine spray, when revived

  along with the fragrant jasmine’s

  fresh clusters of buds, she gazes intensely

  at the casement graced by your presence,

  begin to address the noble lady

  in vibrant tones courteous,

  with your lightning-gleams hidden deep within you.

  98

  O unwidowed lady! Know me,

  your husband’s dear friend, and rain cloud

  come to tender to you

  his messages treasured in my heart.

  With deep but gentle tones

  I speed weary travellers yearning

  to unknot the tangled braids of their grieving wives,

  on their way home from distant lands.

  99

  Thus addressed, like Mithila’s princess

  lifting her face up to the Son of the Wind,

  she will gaze on you, her heart opening

  like a flower from eager expectation:

  welcoming you at once, with deep respect

  she’ll listen with rapt attention, gentle friend;

  for news of husbands brought by a friend

  are to women the closest thing to reunion.

  100

  O long-lived one! In response to my plea

  and to honour yourself, speak to her thus:

  your consort lives,

  haunting Ramagiri’s hermitages,—

  parted from you he asks

  if all is well with you, tender lady!

  Such soothing words should be addressed first

  to living beings who fall prey to calamity.

  101

  Far off, his way barred by adverse decree,

  in his imaginings

  his body becomes one with your body;

  thin with thin,


  anguished with intensely anguished,

  tear-drowned with tear-drenched

  yearning with endlessly yearning,

  your hotly-sighing body

  with his racked by long drawn-out sighs.

  102

  Who, before your companions

  loved to whisper in your ear

  what could well be said aloud indeed,

  for he longed to touch your face,

  he, gone beyond range of your hearing,

  not seen by your eyes, speaks

  through my mouth to you, these words

  shaped by his intense yearning.

  103

  In the syama-vines I see your body,

  your glance in the gazelle’s startled eye,

  the cool radiance of your face in the moon,

  your tresses in the peacock’s luxuriant train,

  your eyebrow’s graceful curve in the stream’s small

  waves;

  but alas! O cruel one, I see not

  your whole likeness anywhere in any one thing.

  104

  Scent of warm earth rain-sprinkled, rising fresh,

  O my darling, as the fragrance of your mouth, and

  the God of Love, five-arrowed, wastes my frame

  already wasted, grieving, far from you.

  For pity’s sake, think how my days pass

  now at summer’s close, as massed rain clouds

  rending the sunshine, scatter the pieces

  and cling enamoured to the sky in all directions.

  105

  With bright ores, I draw you on a rock

  feigning anger, but when I wish

  to draw myself fallen at your feet,

  at once my eyes are dimmed by ever-welling tears.

  Ha! How cruel is fate that even here

  it will not suffer our reunion.

  106

  Striving hard I find you in a waking dream,

  I stretch my arms out into the empty air

  to fold you in a passionate embrace.

  Those large pearl-drops clustering on tender leaf-shoots

  are surely—are they not—the tears

  the tree-goddesses shed watching my grief?

  107

  Sudden, Himalayan breezes split open

  the tightly-shut leaf-buds on deodars,

  and redolent of their oozing resin

  blow south; I embrace those breezes

  fondly imagining they have of late

  touched your limbs. O perfect one!

  108

  If only the long-drawn-out night

  could be squeezed into a single moment,

  if only the hot summer’s day

  would glow at all times with a gentle warmth;

  my heart, breathing the unattainable prayers

  is left a defence-less prey,

  O lady with bright-glancing eyes!

  To the fierce pangs of separation from you.

  109

  But no more of me; reflecting deeply

  I bear up, drawing on my own inner strength;

  you too, lady most blessed,

  should resist falling into utter dejection.