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 us the desire for anything other than himself.

Boldly, all around the pious young girls who were observing their vow — worshiping Girija with a bath in the water — that mischievous, relish-loving cowherd boy, his boyish nature still so plainly evident, appeared there at the riverbank, and they found themselves, as it were, exposed before him.

That mischievous one, forming his plan, his mind stirred with longing like Cupid himself, approached and stole the heaped garments belonging to his dear friends; then swiftly and joyfully he climbed up into a tree standing in the forest grove 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; the Lord, laughing and overjoyed — hear now these joyful words of his that dispel all distress!

"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. Know this to be true, radiant with my good name; those who are pure of heart understand these are the words of a true well-wisher. I say this not in jest but in earnest, for you, alas, have grown weary from keeping your vow" — so he said, testing their resolve.

"O most fickle one, do not pick this quarrel! Give back our garments at once, play no more tricks — we will not always speak you sweet words. We are not your servants, nor are we without power over you; if you do not act at once, we shall tell everyone of this deed, you cheat, so reckless and puffed up with pride!" — thus they cried out in anger, their words sharp and forceful, even as their bodies, lovely even while shivering in the cold of the Yamuna's water, betrayed them, their charming eyes darting every which way.

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 in his hand, he rose, joyful as the moon; then those doe-eyed young women, ceasing to bathe out of a rising modesty, their heads bowed low in the shame that cheat had caused them — enough, indeed, to burn away their sin — heard him say: "Now come quickly and place your folded, radiant hands upon your heads; this alone is the price now owed."

Delighting inwardly, his heart brimming with the sweet intoxication of his own words, the joyful young women, forming the gesture of folded hands with beautiful sidelong glances, bowed low before that sweetly playful, artfully charming one.

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 by his mercy sent joy into their very homes, he who is himself the very embodiment of playful 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, wretched of heart, at the hour of parting, 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 is capable of praying for such love, offered so boldly? Yet this alone is my desire: that it may increase, birth after birth, within me.