Chapter XXII

_Rādhā:_ I had desired to look on Kānu,
But when I saw him I was filled with fear:
Ever since then I am both fond and foolish,
I have no knowledge at all what I say or do.

My twin eyes wept like dripping rain,
Unceasingly my heart went pit-a-pat:
I cannot think what made me look on him, my dear,
Just for that whim, I lent my life into another's hand!

I cannot tell what that dear thief has done to me,--
When I beheld him, he did steal my heart, and went away,
And as he went he showed so many signs of love,
The more I would forget, the less I may!

_Hearken, fair maid, says Vidyāpati:_
_Have patience in your heart, for you shall meet Murāri._

XXIII.

_Rādhā:_ A peerless beauty I beheld, my dear,
If you but listen, you may know it was the vision of a dream
Twin lotus-feet that wore a string of moons,
From them two tender tamāl-shafts arising,--

Around them twined a vine of lightning,
(He slowly passed along Kālindī's bank):
Upon his leaf-like hands another string of moons--
The lustre of the sun on new-blown flowers.

Twin flawless bimba-fruits were ripe.
Above them sat a tranquil parrot:
Over him twin restless wagtails.
Over them a serpent coiled about his head.

My playful maid, explain:
Why did he steal my wits when I beheld him thus?
_Vidyāpati says: It is a sign of love;_
_Well have you weighed the worthy wight._

XXIV.

_Rādhā:_ How can I tell the limits of my grief, my dear?
The blowing of that flute diffuses poison through my frame:
Insistently I hear it sounding,
And then my heart and body melt in shame.

In that supreme instant, my body fills to overflowing,
I dare not lift my eyes lest anyone should know of it:
In the company of elders, waves of emotion sweeping through me,
I draw my dress across each limb to hide it carefully.

With softest steps I walk about the house--
Kind fate has so far hidden my secret shame--
But rapture fills my heart and body, my girdle slips!
_Vidyāpati is dazed! What can he say?_

SAKHĪ-SHIKSHĀ-BACANĀDI