Chapter XCVI

_Rādhā:_ A sorry end to all my love, my dear,
To let my life depend upon a wanton,--
Nowhere to look for help!

I could not see the hidden well,
But as I ran, I fell therein:
At first I nowise knew the heavy from the light,--
Now would I might return!

His honey-speech I understood for love,
At first I knew no better:
I yielded all my skill into another's hands,
Pride had fled afar my heart.

Till now I led another way of life,
But now I know what drowning is:
I with my own hands sharped the stake,
Whom can I blame now?

_Hearken, fair young thing says Vidyāpati:_
_No other thought be in your heart!_
_Oft is life lost for sake of love,_
_Who does not know this in the world?_

XCVII.

Rādhā: Why would you burn my body, O thou Bodiless?
I am not Shankara, but a gentle girl,

This is my flowing hair, not matted locks,
Not Gangā, but a jasmine garland on my head.

This is a pearl tiara, not the moon,
No eye upon my forehead, but a scarlet beauty-spot:

Not poison, but a trace of musk upon my throat,
A necklace on my breast, and not the lord of serpents.

Blue silk my robe, and not a tiger's skin,
This is a lotus of delight, and not a skull!

_All this is loveliness, says Vidyāpati:_
_Not ashes on her limbs, but dust of Malaya._