Vilapa Kusumanjali

O Rupa-manjari, my friend, famed throughout this town as one who looks at no man's face but her husband's -- that mark on your bimba-red lower lip, appearing though your husband was away, was it perhaps made by that excellent parrot of yours?

Adorned like a land-lotus, proud in this forest grove, you offer a lovely smile under the pretext of a flower-cluster -- for today that dark bee, Krsna, having abandoned all the fragrant creepers, is searching everywhere for your trail.

O Rati-manjari, amid Vraja's dwelling place thronging with cowherd women, you alone, whose store of merit has grown so abundant, go today at your own Lord's bidding to the mountain cave -- sent to search for the girdle your lover forgot in the abandon of love's play.

I take shelter of that guru, the master Yadunandana himself, dear to Sri Krishna and of exalted glory, who personally bathed me in the incomparable nectarean stream of his mercy.

I worship that moon of Caitanya who, an ocean dense with compassion by his very nature and self-sufficient, at once pulled me up with the ropes of his mercy from the vast, waterless well of unconquerable household life and its boundless suffering, and, granting me shelter at the tips of his own feet that shame the lotus, personally entrusted me to Sri Damodara.

I take shelter of that master Sanatana, an ocean of mercy who feels others' suffering as his own, who, though I was blind and unwilling, made me drink, through his patient effort, the nectar of devotion joined with renunciation.

Her heart scorched through and through by an exceedingly fierce fire of separation, a certain maidservant -- O my mistress! -- overcome with anguish, laments for a moment here in these verses, with deep love and loud lament.

O Devi, carry this person, who is suffering and utterly wretched in the belly of the ocean of countless sorrows, by the wondrous, powerful boat of your mercy, to the abode of your lotus feet.

O Devi, revive this person, who has died from the bite of the black serpent of not seeing you, with the millions of remedies found at the meeting with your lotus feet.

O Devi, revive with the nectar of a single glance this cowherd maiden, your own lotus feet's maidservant, whose body is being consumed by the forest fire of the crushing weight of separation.

O sweet-faced one, when -- even in a dream -- will this name of mine finally become meaningful, adorned with the finest of ornaments: a garment shining with the pollen-dust of your lotus feet?

O auspicious one, when will my deafness at last be removed by the tinkling of your ankle-bells, which are like the very essence of an ocean of nectar?

During the rendezvous held under the moon, your two eyes -- restless like bees, rolling in every direction from fear, fashioned like the very petal-cups of blue lotuses -- will this person, O Devi, ever be regarded by them?

Ever since a certain manjari, foremost in beauty, first gave light to this pair of eyes of mine here on the land of Vraja, from that moment, O queen of Vrndavana forest, I have felt this overwhelming longing to see the countless lotus footprints of Radha.

O lotus-eyed one, when your lake -- resplendent with clusters of lotuses over which joyous swarms of bees hummed, filled with sweet water -- appeared directly before my opening eyes, right then my longing was born for the mellow relish of your service alone.

O Devi, other than excellent service to your lotus feet I never ask for anything else at any time. Let my obeisance be, eternally, to your position as sakhi -- obeisance, obeisance! And let my relish, truly, be for service to you -- relish, relish!

O golden one, whose fingernails put to shame the pride of turmeric -- when, dear one, marking the ground everywhere with great delight, with rows of your auspicious, exquisitely delicate footprints tinted with red lac, will you grant me the cherished service of your lotus feet?

O Devi, when will I, having thoroughly washed the drain with abundant sweet waters and joyfully swept it with my own loosened hair out of love, perfume your outer chamber daily with excellent fragrant clusters of incense?

In the morning, having carefully gathered fragrant clay blended with a moon-white paste, and scented water, from within the house -- O gracious lady -- when will I wash your lotus feet with a flow of water and dry them here with my own hair?

When, having washed your lotus feet after the tooth-cleansing twig has been used, and as you enter another chamber for your bath, will this maidservant anoint you with abundant, richly fragrant oils and give you an unguent massage?

O you whose lotus face outshines the moon, when will I, in tender love, as your own dear friend, perform before you your gracious bathing ceremony with pot after pot of pure water scented with fragrant camphor and flowers?

O moon-faced one, when -- gently wiping the water from your body with soft, lovely cloths as your fish-like eyes wander joyfully in every direction, wrapping a red silken cloth about your hips and, over it, another incomparable, beautiful blue garment down from your head, my whole body thrilled with joy in every limb -- will I be able to render you this service?

O beloved of the prince of Gokula, after washing your lotus feet in due order, when will this person, with love, braid your tresses, entwining them with beautiful, delicate garlands?

O Devi, when, joyfully applying to your forehead a tilaka of fragrant musk resembling the unbroken full moon, and anointing your body with soft, fragrant kunkuma paste, shall I go on to adorn your two breasts, painting them with fragrances?

O Devi, will the line of vermilion that I trace along the part of your hair with a jeweled applicator ever be fortunate enough to grace that stick, applied by my own hand?

Ah, Devi, must the dots encircling your tilaka -- made with that reddish, sweetly fragrant paste, the finest medicine for enchanting Krsna -- be entrusted to some other steady hand, rather than mine?

O fair one, will I, in joy, ever adorn your two ears with a pair of splendid earrings -- Cupid's own binding rope for capturing the rutting elephant that is the mind of Gokula's prince?

O beautiful one, know that this bodice I fasten upon your breasts is not truly placed there merely to conceal them with a dark cloth, as it may seem. Rather, O mistress, it is Krsna himself who, having eagerly claimed them as his own, hides away that pair of treasures more dearly than his own life-breath.

O golden one, will this maidservant of yours ever fashion for your lovely breast a beautiful pearl garland strung with an abundance of gems -- one soft enough to also serve as a resting pillow for Mukunda when he is weary and languid?

O blue-lotus-eyed one, will I, at some blessed moment, adorn with divine rings -- studded with clusters of gems and crowned with points of sapphire -- your fingers, that graceful pair so dear to Hari?

O fair-eyed one, will I soon lovingly worship your lotus feet, this incomparable treasure belonging to the enemy of Kamsa, adorning that row of petal-like toes with a pair of jeweled toe-ornaments and rings for your dear toes, and encircling this waist, the very throne of love, with a jeweled girdle-string?

O you who bend low beneath the weight of your own joy, shall I adorn, before you, that pair of arms of yours -- delicate as lotus stalks, so skilled at shattering the swan-like composure of Krsna's mind -- with a pair of armlets wrought from clusters of gems?

O fortunate one, will this person again honor with a necklace that region of your neck, which attained the utmost measure of good fortune through the touch of the arm of Gokula's moon during the rasa festival?

O sweet-faced one, that shimmering jewel rivaling the Kaustubha, which Krsna, the enemy of Pralamba, tore from the nose of the slain demon Sankhacuda and placed in Madhumangala's hand to gladden his heart -- shall I fashion that into a pendant, like the Syamantaka jewel, for you?

O slender-waisted one, fearing that your already slim waist might protest, when, out of that very fear, shall I bind it with a fresh golden string, resplendent with a pair of tassels shining at its two ends?

O golden one, will that nose of yours, more graceful than a sesame blossom, ever accept from my hand a round pearl strung high on a golden thread -- a pearl that, like a flower overflowing with nectar, stirs Krsna, the great bee, to distraction?

O golden one, when, at your command, shall I fasten upon your left upper arm this armlet -- a fresh garland of jewels beautifully set off with silken tassels?

O restless-eyed one, when I place upon your two ears a pair of wheel-shaped ornaments, will they become a source of agitation to all the cowherd women, seeming to spin the enemy of Mura round and round like a wheel?

O fawn-eyed one, when shall I brighten your chin, the very abode of Mukunda's delight, with a dot of musk?

O Devi, when shall I adorn your teeth with lines of red, as though stringing pearls with rubies?

O fair one, when this pair of your nectar-sweet, bimba-red lips has been tinted by me with fine catechu-red, glowing like a rising new moon, will Krsna's dark parrot then dare to plant its bite there?

When will this person adorn with collyrium that pair of your eyes -- a mere restless flicker of whose corners is enough to instantly bind fast even the great elephant king, Krsna?

That red lac with which your feet are painted -- the very mark on which Gokula's prince lays his head and attains the greatest beauty when your jealous anger at last breaks -- when, applied by my own hand, will it attain here an even greater splendor?

O accomplished one, when will this maidservant joyfully offer a sweet garland of jasmine, humming with wandering bees, to that pair of bowed shoulders of Krsna, the moon who vanquished Mura, shoulders radiant with the fullness of desire from which manifest rasa is born?

O sweet-faced, enchanting one, when you sit surrounded by swarms of bees upon the altar built of sun-crystal, offering arghya to the sun -- will this eager-hearted maidservant of yours be permitted to prepare and hand you that offering?

O fair one, at the command of Vraja's queen, will you, for Krsna's sake, at once place into the hands of your own sakhis and of one such as me the many varieties of sweet food you have cooked yourself with such great care?

When, out of sheer love, will Vraja's queen, delighted, press her forehead to mine as I bring the food, and ask after your welfare with a mother's affection, simply because I belong to you?

O Devi, will I carry before you, with the greatest care, that supreme prasada -- the remnants from Krsna's own lotus mouth -- given to me by Dhanistha?

O golden-limbed one, surrounded by Lalita and the other sakhis, will you be served with care by me these various foods and drinks -- the very essence of nectar, remnants obtained from Krsna's own prasada?

O restless-eyed one, having given you sweet water to drink, richly scented with fresh patala flowers and camphor, when, at the proper time, shall I lovingly offer you afterward the tooth-cleansing twig and the other things needed to rinse your mouth?

O Devi, at the time of your meal, when, with care and love, shall I offer you excellent fragrant incense and the fan, each suited to that very moment?

O sweet-bodied one, when, my body's hairs standing on end in ecstasy, shall I joyfully place into your lotus mouth a betel roll of leaf and areca-nut, filled to the brim with camphor?

O Devi, O goddess herself, will Lalita, overflowing with joy, wave the arati lamp before you to dispel every trace of inauspiciousness, amid fresh and auspicious songs and flowers -- and will this maidservant too, offering millions of her own life-breaths and even her own hair, join in that worship from the other chambers?

O Devi, when, engaged here in intense, joking conversation together with your host of sakhis headed by Lalita, will you grace with your sleep the enchanting playful bed arranged by my own hands?

That auspicious day will indeed become supremely glorious when this maidservant and Rupa-manjari, our hearts tender and compassionate toward each other, together massage your two feet with our four hands.

O sweet-faced one, will I, a mere creeper of devotion, ever, through the strength of an abundantly rising fortune, obtain in secret, together with love and with the many kinds of your loving devotees, the food remnants surging forth from you like waves, as well as the nectar of your lotus feet?

O Devi, at the time of eating, will you, out of affection, give the nectar from your own lotus mouth to me, whose mind is fixed on you alone?

Ah, O mistress, will I somewhere, with these two eyes of mine, catch sight of you as you go, every hair standing on end, your gait faltering, your heart overflowing with rising happiness, to the town of Vraja's king to prepare rasa-preparations for Madhava?

Will Rupa-manjari, with me following behind supporting your gently swaying waist, lead you here along the path -- you who are surrounded on all sides by Lalita and Visakha at your two flanks, and by other attendants?

There, resplendent with the affectionate lowing of cows, the calls of cowherd men, and the varied melodious cries of many songbirds, reigns a place dearer to Vraja's prince than even Govardhana, the hill worshiped by all of Vraja.

When, having seen from a distance that you have arrived at Nandisvara, the great residence of Vraja's great king, surrounded by your own crowd of loving friends, will joyful Dhanistha quickly bring you before me with love?

Having entered safely and washed your two lotus feet, and bowed down to the queen of Vraja's king and the other elders, when, O relisher of rasa, engaged in preparing the rasa-dishes, will you immerse me utterly in an ocean of happiness?

O Devi, when will I see your blossoming face here as, your head respectfully bowed, you place into Rohini's hand, in due order, the collection of delicious foods and drinks meant for Madhava?

O sweet one, when, while you eat in the assembly of the elders, will your lotus face -- glanced at secretly, with lowered, joy-intoxicated eyes, by Madhava -- delight me here?

Ah, when, yourself being watched, will you gaze upon that prince of Vraja's king, initiated into the task of guarding the herds as he wanders the forest, being fondled by his anxious mother, his cheeks sweetly smiling?

O sweet-faced, bashful one, will I today gain joy in my heart, seeing you, out of curiosity, being fed by the queen of Vraja -- more affectionate even than your own mother -- amid playful oaths and teasing, together with your dear companions?

O restless-eyed one, will I hold a great festival in my heart on seeing you fondled by the queen of Vraja like a new bride, with an embrace, a kiss upon the head, and a heavy, loving gaze?

O friend Rupa-manjari, will I, following behind, lead the large-eyed goddess -- her creeper-like arm placed lovingly about your shoulder -- into the playful bower adorned by Hari, filled with the surging waves of desire?

O friend, will that mistress, adorning her beloved with flower ornaments on the bank of the lake within the bower-cottage together with you -- ah, will that very scene ever fall within range of my eyes?

O fortunate one, having heard from the messenger's own mouth that the appointed hour for the tryst with Vraja's prince has come, will I, overjoyed, adorn you here with fine garments, flower ear-ornaments, necklaces, and the like?

O moon-faced Devi, when shall I, right at the shining doorway of the chamber named Madananandada, "giver of Cupid's bliss," prepare a bed strewn with jasmine, garlands of flowers hummed over by bees, and paintings of amorous scenes traced in shining kunkuma?

O golden one, will I, with joy, gently massage your lotus feet -- feet worshiped by Sri Rupa-manjari's own hands -- while your head rests upon the arm of Gokula's prince?

Will I see you, near Govardhana Hill, playfully detained under the pretext of collecting a toll by Krsna, his head crowned, so expert in joking pastimes, while your eyes are haughtily narrowed in a frown?

O sweet-faced one, when shall I feel proud, seeing Mukunda, drawn by the breeze carrying the fragrance of your excellent body from the jasmine pleasure-bed made by Candravali's own hand, arrive like a bee at the bank of the kunda?

O moon-faced one, when shall we, together with your own host of sakhis, witness your fresh series of pastimes with your life's Lord, at that sweet lake ringed on every side by the humming of maddened bees, gleaming clusters of lotuses, and the cries of birds?

O fair one, when will the arrangement of your ornaments, joyfully made from clusters of various blossoming flowers on the shining bank of the lake, within the bower humming with bees and crowded with opening blossoms, performed by the conqueror of Arista, spread here an ocean of happiness dear to me?

As some sakhi eagerly and swiftly braids my mistress's hair, her heart swelling with joy, her body trembling and blossoming with delight at the lovely arrangement, decorated with clusters of half-opened flowers, large gunja berries, and trailing peacock feathers -- will that braid grant supreme delight to my eyes?

O sweet-faced one, seeing Madhava struck by you with a lotus flower, intoxicated in the playful sport of love, will this one then wear a face of hidden, suppressed laughter?

O fortunate-faced one, embraced by the delicate arms of Gokula's prince, your own graceful arms wound about his bowed shoulders in return, engaging with him in sweet, amorous play -- when will you grant joy to me?

O Devi, when will I keep safely hidden that flute of Hari, which, having won it at a game of dice, you snatched away and tossed to me?

O sweet-faced one, my body thrilled with joy, when shall I fan you as you lie, cheeks smiling, in the sweetest conversation with your beloved, upon the jasmine pleasure-bed in this chamber that grants the joy of Cupid?

O Devi, whose face is like a full-blown lotus, when will you, without hesitation, though you are modesty itself, call this maidservant of yours by name to affectionately massage your pair of lotus feet, made weary and disheveled by the vigorous gait of your amorous tryst?

"Ah, granddaughter, O Radha, born of a devotee of the sun -- where in the world have you been all this time?" Will Mukhara, grumbling thus in anger, ever bring me delight here, sweet as nectar itself?

O Devi, will I ever relish, with my ears and eyes, that nectar of your speech, scented with the camphor of your smile?

O one of noble vows, engaged all around in the game of gathering flowers together with your life's Lord and your teasingly mischievous sakhis, will you, becoming separated somewhere amid a feigned quarrel and anger, grant me boundless joy?

Ah, when, being earnestly entreated with unbearable and repeated pleading by Madhava out of love, will this compassionate one, anxious to break your jealous anger, fall eagerly at Lalita's feet?

Will I get to see that great festival of your coronation as sovereign of Vrndavana forest, performed of her own accord, out of love, by Paurnamasi herself, O composed one, amid pots of pure, richly fragrant milk of many kinds, and festivities of auspicious song, dance, and the playing of vina and drums?

O sweet-faced one, after your brother Sridama has lovingly given ten thousand cows here, and after miserly Jatila has been placated and relieved of her watch over you on this full-moon occasion, and you have been brought back -- will your parents, their hearts melting, weeping with mingled joy and sorrow out of sheer parental love, ever caress me too, here before you?

O compassionate one, when, taking me apart out of shyness before your sakhis into a cave of the mountain-king, will you teach me the various melodic modes of the divine songs?

O Devi, when, at Lalita's request, will you lovingly teach me, though I sit with head bowed in shyness at the thought of singing, the abundant collection of your divine, rasa-filled poetry?

O Devi, when, in the bower on the bank of your own kunda, thronging with humming bees, will you teach me to play the kacchapi vina?

O Devi, when, out of shyness before your sakhis, will you signal to me alone to restring your beloved necklace, broken during love-play?

O Devi, when, at the right moment, after glancing carefully in every direction, will you affectionately place into my mouth the betel you have chewed with your own?

O moon-faced one, in the intense love-battle with your life's Lord, when your sweet, cherished girdle slips off unnoticed in the passion, will I be sent by you to quickly and discreetly recover it?

O Devi of steady mind, when will this person, severely rebuked by you here for the merest shadow of a fault, and then led away in anger by Lalita, at last be regarded, even slightly, with compassion?

"I am yours, I am yours alone; I cannot live without you" -- knowing this, O Devi, lead me to the vicinity of your feet.

O restless-eyed one, your own kunda is the eternal abode of you together with your beloved. Here alone is my dwelling; here alone is my abode.

O sacred lake, my mistress ever sports here within you, with her beloved, in the delightful playgrounds of love. If you are dearer to that couple than even their own dearest selves, then, out of mercy, show me today that very life of mine.

"She never abandons your company even for a moment, since, being her same-aged friend, you are the very ground of her intimate joking" -- O sweet-faced Visakha, with this in mind, show me my mistress, and so save the life of one struck down by separation.

O Lord, O moon of Gokula, whose lotus face is ever gracious and whose smile is sweet, O merciful one -- wherever you, the beloved king, sport in love, take me there too, for loving service.

O Lord, if you, whose toenails' beauty even the goddess Laksmi is unworthy to obtain even a drop of, will not grant the gift of yourself to my eyes, what use is this life of mine, which only feeds the forest fire of sorrow?

Somehow, sustained by hopes as vast as an ocean of nectar, I have passed the time until now. But if you, O fair one, will not show me mercy, of what use to me are my very life-breaths, or Vraja, or even Bakari himself?

O merciful one, if you will not extend your mercy to me in my great suffering, what use is there in this excessive lamenting? Even the middle of your own kunda, though I serve it for a long time, what indeed will it do for me here?

O you who are full of love, may this Vilapa-kusumanjali -- this handful of flowers of lamentation -- offered by me, my very self scorched by abundant sorrow, through excessive weeping, in longing for a loving, devotion-nourished service to you, placed in my heart and at your lotus feet, bring you at least a little satisfaction.