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?

O land-lotus, it is fitting that you are proud in this forest and, under the pretext of your flower-clusters, offer a lovely smile -- for today that dark bee, Krsna, having abandoned all those fragrant creepers, is searching for your trail.

O Rati-manjari, amid the residence of Vraja's king, thronging with all kinds of cowherd women, you alone are the one whose store of merit has risen so abundantly, for today, entreated by your own mistress, you go to the mountain cave to search for the beloved girdle she forgot in the abandon of her pastimes.

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 independent, 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.

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

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 medicine of the red lac that clings to 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 my head -- ah! -- bearing supreme beauty through the ornament of the scented powder of the shining pollen of your lotus feet, at last make its name, 'the highest limb', meaningful?

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 your moonlit rendezvous, O Devi, will this person ever be noticed by the corners of your bee-like eyes, which, rolling in every direction out of fear, turn the forests into nothing but clusters of blue-lotus petals?

Ever since a certain manjari whose name begins with Rupa gave light to this pair of eyes of mine here in the land of Vraja, from that moment, O queen of Vrndavana forest, I have felt an intense longing to see the red lac on your lotus feet.

O you whose eyes are blooming lotuses, when your lake -- resplendent with clusters of lotuses over which joyous swarms of bees hummed, filled with sweet water -- appeared directly before my two 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 friendship with you -- obeisance, obeisance! And let my relish, truly, be for service to you -- relish, relish!

O golden one, fairer than turmeric freshly split by a fingernail, whose pride you crush -- when, with great delight, will you mark my two arms with rows of auspicious seals of exquisitely charming red lac and grant me the service of your lotus feet that is so dear to me?

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 brought into the house clay mixed with camphor, and scented water -- 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 perform before you your excellent bath with pot after pot of pure water scented with fragrant camphor and flowers, handed to me with love by your sakhi Lalita?

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 strung by Narmada?

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 draw with a jeweled stick in the parting of your hair adorn it, together with your curling locks?

Ah, Devi, will the dots all around your tilaka, made with that reddish, sweetly fragrant paste -- themselves the foremost of great medicines for maddening Krsna -- be drawn here by me with a steady hand?

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, suddenly taking its place, hides away that pair of treasures more dearly than his own life-breath.

O golden one, will this maidservant of yours ever lay upon your lovely breast -- the soft couch of Mukunda when he is weary and languid -- a beautiful pearl necklace strung with an abundance of gems?

O blue-lotus-eyed one, will I at some time adorn your pair of wrists, so dear to Hari, with rows of sapphire bangles studded with clusters of gems, and your fingers with divine rings?

O fair-eyed one, will I soon carefully worship your lotus feet with a pair of jeweled anklets, the row of their petal-like toes with dear toe-rings, and with a girdle-string this waist of yours, the incomparable throne of love for the enemy of Kamsa?

Bending low under the weight of 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, will I make into the central gem of your necklace this shimmering Syamantaka jewel, the friend of the Kaustubha, which the enemy of Pralamba, delighted at heart by the destruction of the fierce Sankhacuda, gave you through Madhumangala's hand?

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, together with the armlet, this garland of nine jewels beautifully set off with silken tassels?

O restless-eyed one, may the pair of wheel-shaped ornaments that I place upon your ears spin round like a wheel the enemy of Mura, who agitates all the cowherd women.

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 golden-limbed one, when this pair of your nectar-sweet, bimba-red lips has been tinted by me with fine catechu-red, brightened with fresh camphor, will the parrot Krsna then forcibly plant his bite there?

When will this person adorn with collyrium that pair of your eyes, which defeat the khanjana birds -- 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 your two gently sloping shoulders, the source of manifest rasa for Krsna, Mura's enemy, the moon radiant with abundant desire?

O sweet-faced, enchanting one, when you, surrounded by your many girlfriends upon the altar built of sun-crystal, are eager at heart to offer arghya to the sun with devotion, will this maidservant of yours hand you, close by, the articles made ready for 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 maidservants like me the many varieties of sweet food you have cooked yourself with such great care?

O auspicious one, 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 fed by me with care with these various foods and drinks, elixirs of the very essence of nectar, mixed with Krsna's 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, will Lalita, overflowing with joy, wave the arati lamp before you, the goddess, to ward off all inauspiciousness; the other sakhis, with fresh auspicious songs and flowers; and this maidservant, with millions of her own life-breaths and even with her own hair?

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?

O you whose heart is charming and merciful, will that glorious, auspicious day ever come when this maidservant massages your two feet and Rupa-manjari your two lotus 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 from your mouth, the water with which you have rinsed your mouth, 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 lowing of cows, the calls of cowherd men, and the uproar of various bards and skilled artists, 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 being fed by the queen of Vraja -- more affectionate to you than countless mothers -- out of playful fondness, amid 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 on your arm, sporting in rising waves of desire -- into the playful bower adorned by Hari?

O friend, will that mistress, adorning her beloved with flower ornaments on the bank of her own 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 beak of Vicaksana, the parrot of Vraja's prince, that the appointed hour for the tryst 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 at once prepare a bed of jasmine clusters in the chamber named Madananandada, "giver of Cupid's bliss," whose doorway shines with garlands of many flowers hummed over by bees and with rows of amorous paintings 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, slip away on some pretext from the jasmine pleasure-bed made by Candravali's own hand and come like a bee to meet you on 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 Hari, delighted, braids with trembling hands the hair of my mistress, whose body blossoms with joy, using the clusters of half-opened flowers, large gunja berries and shining peacock feathers that some sakhi, her heart swelling, eagerly and swiftly hands to him -- 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, your own lovely arm embracing the prince of Gokula, your bowed shoulder shining in the embrace of his shapely arm, singing sweet songs of love together with him -- 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 Radha, the time for your worship of the sun has come -- where have you been?" 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, O compassionate one, will this person, 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, on the full-moon day called Raksa, when your brother Sridama has lovingly given ten thousand cows to placate miserly Jatila and has brought you home, will your parents, melting in floods of tears of joy and sorrow, out of parental love lavish their caresses on you here before my eyes?

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 single me out from the group, though I sit with head bowed in shyness, and teach me 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 lies forgotten in your 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 your beloved sports with you in love, take me there too, close by, for loving service.

O Queen, 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.