Krishna: Refrain your wrath, disdainful lady:
Breasts that are globes of gold, and serpent-necklace,
By these I swear,—
If ever I touch another girl, forsaking you,
May I be bitten by that necklace-serpent!

Or if you will not trust my protestation,
Inflict on me at will a fitting penance:
Bound in the rope of your two arms, bruise me with your hips.
Rest on my body the weary burden of your breasts.
Prison me night and day within your bosom's gaol!

Vidyapati says: This penance is befitting!

LXI.

Dutika: He who was wont to wanton with a flute, has cast away his jewels,
He who was wont to wear a yellow weed, now grovels at your feet,—
There was a time your eyes would overflow, might you not see him.
Now you will not so much as look upon his face!

Beauty, abandon your bitter mood.
Lusty Kanu is praying at your feet:
By happy hap this amorous Shyam is yours.
By happy hap the tide of spring,—

By happy hap this love's attainment,
By happy hap this blissful night,—
Damsel disdainful, will you forsake your Krishna's body,
And spend your life henceforth in lonely weeping?

These be love's ways, says Vidyapati,—
Yet prayer's denial deserves no praise.

LXII.

Dutika: One little moment of a day you keep your youth,—
The days are floating by:
Evil and good, these two will travel at your side,—
The only final gain is what you give to others.

Beauty, you have had part in killing Hari,
All day and night he thinks of only you,—
This is his hour of separation!

In sorrow's sea he swims or sinks,—
Show him your globÉd breasts:
O worthy fair one, Gokula's Lord preserve,
And win the praise of the Triple Worlds!

Of a myriad lovers, whosoever looks on Kana,
Deems that day is blest:
Frenzied is Hari by reason of your fury
The poet Vidyapati avows.

LXIII.

Radha: You shall not tell me otherwise, my dear:
Little by little I came to know him better,
That Kanu is so cunning.

He made a sweetmeat of some knotty wood,
By smearing treacle on it:
Filling with poison a golden jar,
He added a layer of milk!

Yet surely Kan is good, and I am bad,
Because his words beguile me:
In heart and speech He is the same,
Matchless amidst a myriad.

The same flower that you cast away, the same you use in prayer.
And with the same you string the bow:
Such is the quality of Kanu s speech.
The poet Vidyapati avows.

LXIV.

Dutika: O lovely wrathful lady, stony-heart,
In such a plight he is, and yet you say no word!

True love's way is not of such a sort;
It is befitting you should mix with him.

When for his loneliness his life is forfeit,
With whom will you continue anger then?

Who says your heart is soft?
Never was heart so hard as yours!

If now you do not mix with Madhava,
The poet Vidyapati will never speak with you again.

LXV.

Kavi: With hanging head, she writes upon the ground,
Whoever utters Shyama's name, she utterly ignores
Over her glowing robe her hair falls free,
She casts away her jewels and all her fine array.

Her face is like a lord of rosy lilies, void of sap:
The earth is flooded with her streaming tears.
Just then the Lady of the Forest came
And said: 'Fair maid, go we to serve the Sun.'

But she of the hanging head made no reply.
Says Vidyapati: She went away.

LXVI.

Krishna: 'Why veil your face, dear beautiful?
You've stolen my wits away:
You have no dread of slaying men,
Your courage is unbounded!

'O wrathful lady, my heart is frenzied,
No more I may sustain the pangs of Madan,
But come to you for refuge.

'Whether two towering hills, or cups of gold,
I gaze and cannot tell:
And on each breast is Shambhu reverenced,
Framed in his crescent moon.

'I fain would touch them with these lotus hands
If fate be not forbidding:
I seek a sanctuary at your feet—
(O that the damsel may be kind!)'

Seeing her restlessness, I was distraught.
My heart beat fast.
Hearken, young damsel, says Vidyapati:
Bestow some boon on Kana.

LXVII.

Krishna: Hearken, hearken, worthy Radha,
For what offence do you refuse my company?

How many stars have risen in the sky,
But the moon is another Avatar!

What more in special can I say?
In a host of a myriad Lakshmis I have eyes for none.

And hearing this the maiden's heart dissolved in tears,
And his desires were realised.

Vidyapati says: There was reunion;
All were astonished at the tale!

LXVIII.

Krishna: Your high round breasts—like golden cups—
And curving eyes, have stolen my wits away:
O lady fair, forbear your bitter fury,
And give the frenzied bee his draught of honey!

I clasp your hands, my fair sweet girl,
Be not so cruel, have pity on my lot:
How many times must I advise you
I may no more sustain the sting of love!

Vidyapati says: You know full well.
That hope deferred is worse than death.

LXIX.

Dutika: Hearken, O Madhava: Radha is waxen wilful,—
How carefully and in how many ways I warned her.
And yet the beauty gave no answer!

The lovely creature when she hears your name,
Covers her ears with her hands:
She who thought that your love was for ever new.
Now will not even hear you speak!

I laid before her a lock of your hair.
Flowers and grass and pan:
But the wrathful face of a lily she would not turn,—
She sat unmoved, with face averted.

This heart of yours forsooth, is lightning's very essence,—
How shall I soothe your fury?
Vidyapati says: A kind word would be fitting;
But you yourself be still, O Kana.

LXX.

Radha: At last, my dear, I see how Kana is uncouth:
An axe of brass, useless for any work,
A layer of tinsel over it!

Albeit I showed him angry eyes, how came it that the mountains
Slipped in two thick roads?
Taking the shalmal for the sandal, he clasped it close,—
But there was a thorny dart!

He who has spent his life amongst the beasts,
What can he know of Rati's ways?
This is a night of nectar, but I spent it vainly
With yonder boorish Herdsman!

Vidyapati says: Hearken, young woman:
He is not ever a boor!
You are uncouth yourself, your trade is herding too,
You cannot lay such blame on Hari!

LXXI.

Radha: There bloomed a flower of golden shene,
My hope was high the fruit would be a gem,
I fed its roots with streams of milk;
I saw no fruit, and all was vanity!

I am the simple daughter of a cowherd,
And this unworthy love is worse than death;
What woe, Alas, has Fate afflicted me,—
For hope of gain, I lost my all!

This is Vidyapati' s conclusion:
You cannot make a dog's tail straight.

LXXII.

Krishna: The sun is in the East, the tide of night has ebbed,
The moon is merging in the sky.
The water-lily closed,—and even so, my lady fair,
Your lily-face is shut.

A lily-face, two lotus-eyes,
And lips of honey.
All your body flower-wrought,—
Why is your heart of stone?

Your hands are wasted, and you wear no bracelets,
Even a garland is a weary burden:
And yet you will not cast away your mountain load of pride—
What wicked ways are yours!

Now leave these wrongs, give Hari bliss, my fair,
Now with the dawn, give over wrath:
Raja Shivasimha Rupanarayana,
Says Vidyapati!

LXXIII.

Sakhi: Beauty, of lineage and courtesy, without your eyes—
The best of lovers—what may you do?
How may you make jap-tap, or alms bestow or vows accomplish.
Who have no pity on the pitiful?

'I would advise you very seriously, my dear:
One such a virtue many a sin may cancel,
A single sin destroys the fruit of many virtues.

'Though brother to the poison, thief of a guru's wife.
And vomited from Rahu's jaws.
Scorching divided lovers, slayer of water-lilies,—
Yet for his merits the moon shines bright!

'Loving another's children, careless of his own,
The crow drinks dregs of love:
Yet an only word of His, wipes all those faults away,—
He speaks such honey-words.'

Radha: 'What can I say, my dear, of Kana's love—
The roothless root of every virtue?
Touching His flute He makes a hundred vows
But even then I cannot trust Him.

'Renewed embraces: kissing me upon His lap,
He makes protest of loyalty!
But He has spent the night beside some other girl,
And emptied me of hope.

'In something more than fire my body burns
I see the seal of Rati on every limb.'
Life may expire, says Vidyapati,
And yet you will not mix with Hari!

LXXIV.

Radha: Hearken, prithee, heartless Hari,
Fie on your such love!
Why did you speak of keeping tryst,
And with another maiden spent the night?

You make pretence of love for Rai,
And dally with another girl:
Who says brave Kanu is best of lovers?
No such another fool is in the world.

Refusing ruby, you seek for glass,
Leaving an lake of nectar, you long for brine,
Forsaking a sea of curds, to wanton in a well,—
Fie on your amorous blandishment!

Vidyapati the lord of poets avows:
Radha will never look upon your face again.

LXXV.

Radha: Thirsting for fragrance I flew to the flower
But never I came the near,
I saw not a drop of the ocean of honey,
And now the people mock me.

And lo, my dear, the bee bewitched by someone else
And no one passes any judgment thereupon:
By little steps I came to understand him better,
How is his heart as fickle as the lightning.

Forsaking the lily, he followed the screw-pine,
Inhaling its fragrance:
But the thorns have pierced his body
His face is smeared with dust.

Somewhat hurt, I think, he comes again to me,
As though he had been disappointed:
There is one flavour men have never understood—
Distinction of the good and bad.

Hearken, my good girl, says Vidyapati;
Love is only understood by lovers,—
Raja Shivasimha is the storehouse of all virtues.
And Rani Lakshmi Devi his wife!