Vanyasrita Murarih Kanyah

May Murari, who took shelter by the water while maddening the young maidens there, and whose friendship is granted only to the fortunate, destroy in you the desire for anything other than himself.

In the month of Sahas, near the pious girls who, observing their vow, were bathing in the water while praising Girija, naked, their garments lying on the bank, the cowherd's son, greedy for rasa and plainly full of boyishness, was filled with delight.

That eager one, conceiving a plan with a playful mind, approached, charming as Cupid himself, and stole the garments of his dear friends; then swiftly and joyfully he climbed a kadamba tree standing among the trees of the forest on the bank.

Then, as if out of kindness prolonging their bath, he caused the girls great embarrassment, holding aloft the pile of washed garments with delight; shining with the radiance of his laughter, he said: 'O young women, hear words that will relieve your weariness!'

"Come forward, together or one by one, openly and without evasion, and take your garments — there is no trick in this; I have not spoken falsely since my birth. These friends of mine, charming, bright with fame and moon-like of heart, know this. I say this not in jest but in earnest, for you, alas, have grown weary from keeping your vow" — so he said, displaying his cleverness.

"O most restless one, do not start a quarrel! Give us our garments right now and stop your tricks; we will always do as you say, O giver of delight. We are devoted to your service and to no one else. If you do not return them at once, you cheat, we will report all your doings to the mighty king, you who are wild with pride!" Such were the harsh words that burst out of them in anger, and they wept in their anger, those fair-eyed girls whose lovely bodies trembled hard in the numbing waters of the Yamuna, their charming eyes darting about.

Having heard this, then, his affectionate smile shining brighter still, he said: "If you women insist on holding your ground without heeding my nectarean words, then come, approach the tree, and take up your own garments, each her own, with joy; give up this unbecoming, timid hesitation — for if you do not, I certainly will not hand them down. What indeed could even an angry, powerful king do against me, whose strength has no limit?"

Speaking these clear, pure words, twirling a lotus, he rose up joyful like the moon; seeing those doe-eyed girls covering themselves with their own hands as their only garments, he shook his head and said: "Alas, young women, by bathing naked in the water out of eager longing, against the rule, you have slighted Varuna, lord of the waters. So enough of this: to wipe away that fault, devoutly and quickly place both your radiant, reddish hands upon your heads," so he now said.

The rows of young women, intoxicated at heart by the honey of his words, casting only sparing glances and joining their palms, bowed before that sweet one, sweet in his playful pretence.

To that row of lovely, bashfully bowed women, his heart sprouting all around with tender affection, he gladly restored their garments and ornaments — those women joyous yet still yearning with longing, modestly bowed, granted at last the union they desired with their beloved; their fresh love now blossoming, their radiance shining forth, faint smiles breaking on their faces, their sashes and skirts fluttering, their whole bodies visibly trembling, their fingertips trembling with joy — and to that whole delighted host he granted the very boon each one desired.

He, the foremost of lovers, now greatly delighted, surrounded by his joyful companions, with the ever-fresh, murmuring melodies of his flute played in manifold ways, stirred waves of longing in the lovely-eyed girls, maddening their hearts with delight, and mercifully sent the young women home, himself filled with joy.

Wearing a fresh cluster of flowers as an ornament at his ear, he who is the shelter of the entire universe —

All glories to you, slayer of Kesi, whose very pastimes are proof of the highest love! You who bestow the deepest affection upon your own people — O Lord, even upon me, wicked-hearted and without compassion, please cast your mercy, O red-lipped one!

O Mukunda, even the slightest spark of whose love, the moment it touches the hearts of sages, makes them instantly lose all taste for the happiness of liberation the very moment it is tasted — who indeed would have the audacity to pray for such love? Yet may at least my longing for it grow greater birth after birth.