Chapter CXX

_Dūtikā:_ Ah Mādhava, I come just now from seeing Rāi:
For grief of loneliness she answers nought,
But lies with her face on the earth.

She lay outstretched on the grassy ground,
Her body was wasted with love,
As if with a touchstone the Lord of Five Arrows
Had proved a streak of gold.

The orb of her face lay low in the dust--
(More lovely it seemed therefor):
The moon in fear of Rāhu had fallen down on the floor--
(Such was the fashion of my delusion).

What can I say of the pangs of disunion?
Hearken, most cruel Kānu:
_Vidyāpati says: She is of good fame,--_
_You know that her life is in danger._

CXXI.

_Dūtikā:_ Mādhava, lo, I have seen your lovely Rāi,--
Her gaze is fixed like a painted puppet's,
Friends surround her on every side,
Exceeding faint is the breath of her nostrils.

Exceeding thin is her corse, like a streak of gold,
(None that beholds it believes it hers),
Bracelets and bangles fall from either wrist,
Her hair untressed, her head unhidden.

I cannot solve these sentiments and swoons,--
Fiercely the fever of longing scorches her relentlessly.
_Vidyāpati says: Her loveless body_
_Has abandoned now all love on earth._

CXXII.

_Dūtika:_ Mādhava, prithee, visit yonder babe:
To-day or to-morrow she is like to die,
Such burning love she bears!

Refreshing water, lotus-leaves upon her bed,
Or ointment of sandal-paste,
Each and all are flames of fire;
The moon with tenfold heat annoys.

Devoid of might, she leans upon the earth to rise,
All night she wends and wakes,
And starting suddenly, she murmurs 'Shiva, Shiva!'
Her fire has filled the earth.

_I know not if there be a remedy._
_Says Vidyāpati the poet:_
_Nought but the fated tenth-day plight remains,--_
_Be well-advised forthwith._

CXXIII.

_Dūtika:_ She turns her face away from looking on the moon.
She stands and gazes piteously down the road;
With eye-collyrium she makes a painted Rāhu
And speaks with him in wrath.

Mādhava, unyielding heart, delaying abroad,
Her that you dallied with I have beheld all birdalone,
I pray you turn again to home.

How can the tender child support the southern zephyr?
For Love is doing her hurt:
Her breath has ceased, which hope sustained,--
With every finger she draws a snake.

_Vidyāpati says: O Lord Shrvasimha,_
_This is the cure for sundering's sorrow--_
_Avoiding the koil, and taking sweets in hand,_
_Loudly to summon the crows._

CXXIV.

_Rādhā:_ There was a time my lover leaned above my face in bliss,
Not for an instant would he leave my body:
He bound my flesh in a bond of measureless love,
Who now forsakes my company.

Why should I live any more, O fair sweet friend?
He without whom I could not rest for a moment,
Is filled with the love of another.

My friend would fare to a far-away land, and I shall
die of grief,
I will cast away my heart in the sea, and none shall know:
Or taking the necklace lay on my lover's neck,
I will wander wide in the world as a yoginī.

_Vidyāpati Kavi sings of this sundering--_
_Record I take of Rājā Shivasimha and Lakshmī Devī._