Chapter XXXVII

_Rādhā:_ How can I tell of what was done that night?
Unhappily the hours were spent with Mādhava:
He clasped my breasts and drank the nectar of my lips,
Laying his face on mine, he killed my life.

(First youth, and hence this pouring out of passion:
So rash is Kān,--he has no skill in love).
Madan-maddened, nothing recking,
He would not heed how many prayers!

_Hearken, Lady fair, says Vidyāpati:_
_You are but artless, and Murāri is athirst._

XXXVIII.

_Rādhā:_ What can I say, my sakhī? It is shame to tell
All that my Lover did imperiously;
A young thing I, unlearned in lore of love,--
It was the messenger that led me to his side.

My body shivered at the sight of him,
So fierce he was to fall on me,
I lost my wits in his embrace:
How can I tell what amorous play he played?

In everything my Lord behaved ungently,
How can I speak of it amongst my friends?
Why ask of it, who know it all too well?
Happy is she whom he may not distress!

_Fear not, says Vidyāpati:_
_Such is the fashion of first dalliance._

XXXIX.

_Rādhā:_ Do not urge me, dearest maiden, do not urge.
What can I do, if he should soothe my fears?
Few are my years, for I am not so old as Kānu,--
I am too shamefast and too tender.

Cruel Hari played with me impatiently,
How can I tell how many woes the night bestowed?
Passion flamed up, I lost my wits,--
Who knows when he broke my girdle?

He held me close, with pinioned arms,
And then my heart was beating wildly;
I let him see my streaming eyes,
But even then Kānu had no pity.

My wicked lover parched my lips--
Abetted by the night, Rahu devoured the moon;
He tore my twin breasts with his nails,
Just as a lion tears an elephant.

_Ah amorous woman, says Vidyāpati,--_
_You knew full well Murāri was aflame!_

XL.

_Sakhī:_ Shyāma sitting in his pride
Speaks of the night's delights:
'She is the beauteous sweet-faced Rāi,
With rapture I received her in my inmost heart.

'How many ways she kissed me,
Laughing light and low in gladness,
Diversely disporting,
My dream of delight.

'How nectar-sweet her words,
Eyebrows arching, wanton glances,
Damsel waking in my heart's core.'
_This is first love, says Vidyāpati._