of your rolling thunder.
6
Winds chilled by the icy waters of the Mandakini arrive
to cool the ladies, and hibiscus trees
Growing along the riverbanks protect them with shade,
even as they run along the shore
With fistfuls of sand, playing hide and seek with jewels
kept buried within golden dunes.
Even the immortal gods come here to Alaka in search
of these lovely young ladies at play.
7
Eager young lovers chase these ladies through mansion halls,
anxious to untie their waist-knots
And loosen their silk saris with their quick and clever hands.
Although these innocent ladies,
Whose lips are red as ripe bimba fruits, douse the tall flames
of the lamps with their fistfuls of sand,
The golden lampstands, fitted with the most lustrous gems,
continue to glow and give light.
8
Roused and steered by a soaring high wind, clouds like you,
O deliverer of water, reach the high terrace
Of a seven-storeyed mansion, where fine paintings on display
are damaged by their droplets of moisture.
And so struck with dread and alarm, they use their powers
to transform into vapour, and like smoke,
Diffuse into tiny particles, escaping through the matrix of
spaces in the mansion’s lattice windows.
9
At midnight, when you leave the moon unobscured,
clear bright rays of moonlight
Filter to bedroom canopies where networks of twine
suspend moonstones that melt
Into water when kissed by moonlight, trickling down
as tiny drops to revive women,
Tired from lovemaking, and just freed from the grasp
of their lovers’ clinging arms.
10
Alaka’s lovers, whose limitless riches lie hidden away
in their mansion safes,
Enjoy the company of celestial courtesans, gossiping
with them and their mistress,
Day after day in a garden grove known as Vaibhraja
where a chorus of Kinnaras
With voices full of intense feeling, sing out in praise
of the Lord of Wealth.
11
Should Alaka’s women steal away in search of their lovers,
their bodies swaying on the way,
Then tomorrow’s rising sun would reveal their midnight path,
strewn with hibiscus flowers
Fallen from the curls of their hair, and torn petals of golden
lotuses slipped from their ears,
And scattered pearls from their heavy necklaces, shattered
on the curves of their breasts.
12
There in Alaka, where the young ladies are so clever
they can share secrets
Just with the wink of an eye, a solitary Wishing Tree
offers them countless gifts—
Colourful silk saris, honey wine, full blown flowers
threaded with tender new blossoms
To be fashioned into ornaments, and fine red lac fit
to decorate their lotus feet.
13
There, swift steeds of the colour of dark leaves
rival the stallions of the Sun,
And elephants, mighty as mountains, mimic you
with a shower of their musth.
And those warriors, who fought in the vanguard
during the war against Ravana,
Remove their fine jewellery to flaunt battle scars
won from enemy swords.
14
Where Love, who stirs the hearts of men, puts down his bow
with its bowstring of bees
Out of fear, knowing that Kubera’s friend the great god Shiva
lives there in his manifest form.
But still, Love’s aims are realized through the clever moves
of women with curved brows
And lashes, who shoot arrows from their eyes, never missing
the mark of an eager man.
15
There, just north of Lord Kubera’s palace, is our home,
visible from afar
By an arched gateway that glows like a perfect rainbow.
And nearby grows
A tender young hibiscus tree that my dear wife cares for
as our own son,
Its branches bent by heavy clusters of flowers hanging
low enough to touch.
16
And then there is a pond, fashioned with a stairway
of emerald stones, and filled
With golden lotuses in bloom, their stalks smooth
and glistening like lapis.
The swans there, who make these waters their home,
are so free of all worries
That they forget Lake Manasa, even when they see you
coming with the rains.
17
Near the edge of the pond is a pleasant hill where we
used to play, its peak covered
In dark polished sapphires and fenced in by a perfect
ring of golden plantain trees.
My friend, when I see your lightning flash all around
your dark body, my mind stirs
And I am reminded of that hill, for that is the place
my beloved loved most.
18
On the hill grows a red ashoka tree, swaying with new buds,
and beside it an evergreen kesar tree,
Both ringed in by a bower of red amaranth bushes and a
canopy of fragrant madhavi vines.
The ashoka tree waits with deep desire, just as I do, for the
loving touch of my beloved’s left foot,
While the kesar tree, pretending that it’s springtime, thirsts
for a mouthful of wine from her lips.
19
And just between those two trees lies a crystal slab,
where a golden pillar rises
From a base crafted with emeralds that glow like reeds
of bamboo yet to mature.
And towards day’s end, your true friend, a blue-necked
peacock perches on that pillar,
While my wife makes him dance to the steady beat
of her jingling bracelets.
20
Wise friend, with all these images now entrusted
to your heart, you are
Sure to find a doorway with a conch and a lotus
painted on either side,
And you will know it to be my home, its radiance
perhaps shadowed now
By my absence, just as a lotus loses its inner glow
once the sun has set.
21
Transform yourself into the shape of a little elephant calf
so you might dive quickly
To rest upon that peak, that special place I just described
where she and I would play.
Now you must, for my sake, cast a tiny bolt of lightning
gently into our bedroom,
Illuminating inner spaces with a soft light, like a trail
of flashing fireflies.
22
And there you will find her, my precious wife, young
and blessed with teeth like jasmine,
Lips as red as ripe bimba fruit, a slender waist with a
deep navel, and eyes like a timid doe.
With her heavy hips she sways gracefully while her
breasts arch her back, just barely.
It’s as if the primal God of Elements created her to be
his archetype of feminine beauty.
23
You will know her to be my second life, gentle and
measured in speech,
And all alone while I’m away,
like a cakravaka bird
without her companion.
But many heavy days have come to pass, drowned
in despair, and perhaps
My poor love’s beauty has faded, like a lotus
beat down by winter frost.
24
I know my beloved’s eyes shall be swollen after
crying uncontrollably,
Her lower lip bereft of former colour by the heat
of her heavy breathing,
And with her cheek resting in her hand, her face
will be veiled by her
Long hair, like a waning moon whose light fades
as you draw close.
25
And just when your eyes find her, my love might be
making offerings to the gods,
Or perhaps painting a picture of my thinning body,
as if she could feel my pain,
Or maybe even asking our sweet-talking sarika bird,
nestled in her wicker cage,
“O my sweet one, you were so precious to our lord.
26
Or perhaps, dear friend, you will find her preparing to sing
a song she composed herself
With lyrics that invoke my name, accompanied by her veena
that rests on a tattered cloth
Draped across her lap. But somehow, even after managing
to tune the strings, still wet
With her falling tears, she will sadly forget, time after time,
her own words and melodies.
27
Or perhaps my love will be arranging flowers on the floor
near the doorway to our home,
Counting them as if they were the days since our parting
and the months that still remain.
Or maybe she is enjoying an act of love with me, by virtue
of memories saved in her heart,
For all these actions are but familiar diversions for women
separated from their husbands.
28
All during the day when she can busy herself with chores,
the loss of our union
May torment her less, but at night, when it’s quiet, I know
her grief to be greater.
And when you, my friend, waiting at the bedroom window,
find my loyal wife
Sprawled on the floor, sleepless at midnight, comfort her
with my message.
29
Wasted by the worries of her heart, and curled up
on one side of our lonely bed
Like the very last sliver of the waning moon, cold
on the eastern horizon,
She endures the darkness, prolonged by her pain,
by shedding warm tears,
And passes the night like it was a minute with me
fulfilling her body’s desires.
30
Hidden behind her lashes, and heavy with tears
of sadness, her eyes
Are like lotuses on a cloudy day, neither awake
nor asleep, but darting
Here, there and back again to cool moonbeams
of nectar that penetrate
The lattice window of our bedroom, reminding
her of past pleasures.
31
With heavy sighs that dry her tender lips, she is
sure to blow aside
The strands of rough, uncombed hair that fall
across her cheeks.
But as she falls asleep, imagining how she might
make love to me
In her dreams, her eyes are forced open again
by a burst of tears.
32
With untrimmed nails, her hand brushes past the middle
of her soft cheek, over and
Over again, pushing away her single braid of hair, coarse
and dry and painful to touch,
For on the first day of our separation she did away with
garlands woven for her hair,
Waiting for the pain to pass until the day my curse ends
and I return to untie her braid.
33
And to support her delicate frame, my frail wife strips off
her ornaments, one at a time,
Dropping each piece of jewellery off the side of our bed
with a pain beyond pains.
Even you would be moved to tears, shedding them in the
shape of fresh raindrops,
For acts of sympathy are but natural to those whose hearts
are soaked in compassion.
34
I have pictured my wife looking like this since
the first day of our parting,
Because I know full well that her heart is filled
with enduring love for me.
And truly, it is not a glorified view of myself
that makes me speak so,
For all that I’ve described to you, dear brother,
you shall see soon enough.
35
Her eyes, like those of a doe, move towards their corners
only to be hidden by strands
Of her long hair, brittle without the silkiness of collyrium.
And losing all taste for wine,
Her eyes will forget the playfulness of her own lashes,
and still her left eye will throb
As you arrive and take on the beauty of a lonely blue lotus
36
Her left thigh, pale as the trunk of a mature plantain tree
will throb, naked
Without the marks of love left by my nails, and deprived
by force of fate
Of the pearl belt-string hanging from her waist that she
was so fond of wearing.
I remember massaging those thighs with my hands, softly
after we made love.
37
And if at that moment, dear cloud, you find her fallen
into a peaceful sleep,
Then quiet your thunder and stay by her side patiently
for just one watch
Of the night, for in her dreams she may be holding me
in a tight embrace,
And you mustn’t let her slender arms slip so suddenly
from my neck.
38
Wake her with a cool breeze that carries your raindrops
and she will breathe new life,
As if she were a freshly opened bud of white jasmine.
You are honourable, hiding
Your lightning within yourself, so begin now to deliver
these words like deep thunder
To my noble wife, whose unflinching eyes must be set
on the window where you wait.
39
“Loyal wife, I am but a cloud, a mere water-bearer
whose deep and soothing
Thunder gives hope to caravans of weary travellers,
anxious to untie the dry
Braids of their waiting wives. But know that I am
your husband’s trusted friend
And I come to you now bearing his message that I
keep safe in my heart.”
40
Hearing these words, her heart shall breathe new hope,
and raising her eyes
To find you, she will honour you, just as Sita once did
for mighty Hanuman.
Now she will listen with rapt attention to what you say,
for when a true friend
Carries tidings from a husband to his wife, it’s almost
as if they were united.
41
Dear friend of noble life, on account of my asking,
and so your soul may be
Enriched, say this to her exactly—“Your beloved
is alive, he lives alone
In an ashram on Rama’s Mountain and asks you,
; ‘Are you well, my love?’
For it is the frailty of human life that makes these
his first words to you.
42
Both bodies frail and fragile, burning within
with an inner fire,
Wet with tears and sighs of sorrow, and filled
with lust and longing.
But he’s worse off than you, being so far away,
his way being barred
By fate, and so he endeavours to enter your heart
through his imagination.
43
Yearning to touch your face, and hoping
to whisper in your ear
That which should have been said before,
he is beyond your reach,
Unable to be seen, too far off to be heard,
and so he speaks
Through me, with a lyric message crafted
with cherished words.
44
I can see your slender arms in the vines of priyangu,
your eyes in the glance
Of a startled doe, your glowing face in the moon,
your hair in the plume
Of a peacock, and your playful brows in the gentle
waves of a flowing river,
But alas, my perfect one, there is no single place
where can I see all of you.
45
With colours of ground minerals, I paint your likeness
on a tablet of stone,
But after portraying you, upset with me over our plight,
I want to draw myself
Into the scene as if falling at your feet, but each time