Catu Puspanjali

Fair as fresh gorocana pigment, clad in garments the colour of the finest blue lotus; her braid is like a female serpent whose hood is a cluster of shining gems.

Her round face defeats every object proposed for comparison; her forehead, shaming even the new moon, bears the beauty of a rising musk tilaka.

Her eyebrows conquer even Cupid's own bow; her row of dark curls is restless; her eyes, lovely as cakori birds, shine brilliant with collyrium.

The tip of her nose, radiant as a sesame flower, is graced with a fine pearl; her lips outshine the bandhuka flower, and her teeth are lovely as a row of jasmine buds.

Her ears are adorned with jewelled, golden lotus-pod earrings; a dot of musk marks her chin, and a jewelled necklace shines at her throat.

Her lotus-stem arms are radiant, embraced by divine armlets; sapphire bracelets hang gracefully at her wrists.

Her lotus hands, with lovely fingers, gleam with jewelled rings; her bud-like breasts are adorned with a captivating, magnificent necklace.

A line of fine down, like a small serpent, bears a jewel-bright, trembling ornament at its head; her slender, graceful waist is bound by three delicate folds.

A jewelled girdle-belt holds back her broad, swelling hips; her two thighs, shaped like golden plantain trunks, humble even the pride of that tree.

The radiance of her knees defeats even a small casket of yellow gems; her feet, worshipped as if by autumn lotuses, ring sweetly with anklets.

The brilliance of her toenails conquers the beauty of millions of full moons; her whole form is thrown into disarray by the eight sattvika transformations of love.

Whose sidelong glance shows mercy upon Mukunda's own limbs, and who is rippling with the waves of Cupid -- to you, O queen of Vrindavana, whose beauty has just begun to bloom in bliss, I offer my obeisances.

O you whose inner being is overwhelmed by the rising sweetness of maha-bhava, whose wondrous conduct manifests every possible state of a heroine,

whose lotus feet are honoured with arati by every kind of sweetness in rows, whose radiant toenails possess a beauty even the goddess of fortune herself seeks,

who are the crown-jewel ornament in the parted hair of all the moon-faced women of Gokula, whose budding smile is the very life of the assembly of sakhis headed by Lalita,

who maddens Madhava with but a single drop of the sweetness of your sidelong glance, who are the moonlight that delights the night-lotus of your revered father's abundant fame,

whose lake-like heart is filled to the brim with a flood of boundless mercy -- O goddess, be pleased with this person, who longs for your own personal service.

Will I ever see you, entreated by that clever, flattering son of the king of the cowherds, mercifully granting him the favour of your own restless limbs?

When shall I fan you, sweating, as the skillful Madhava properly adorns you with madhavi flowers?

O beautiful goddess, when will you assign this humble servant the task of arranging anew your curling locks, loosened in your loving sport?

O bimba-lipped one, when, as I offer betel to your lotus mouth, will the son of the king of Vraja snatch it away and enjoy it himself?

O crown-jewel among the beloveds of the prince of Vraja, be pleased with me, so that my path may never grow distant from your circle of attendants.

Again and again I beg for your supreme mercy, O empress of Vrindavana, that this person might become an object of the flattering entreaties even of the enemy of Kesi, Krishna, himself.

Whoever recites this hymn to the queen of Vrindavana, named Catu-puspanjali, a flattering handful of flowers, becomes an object of her mercy.