Sarga the Ninth — Kalahantaritavarnane Mugdhamukundo
The End of Krishna’s Trial
Yet not quite did the doubts of Radha die,
Nor her sweet brows unbend; but she, the Maid—
Knowing her heart so tender, her soft arms
Aching to take him in, her rich mouth sad
For the comfort of his kiss, and these fears false—
Spake yet a little in fair words like these:
(What follows is to the Music Gurjjarî and the Mode Yati.)
The lesson that thy faithful love has taught him
He has heard;
The wind of spring, obeying thee, hath brought him
At thy word;
What joy in all the three worlds was so precious
To thy mind?
Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè,3
Ah, be kind!
No longer from his earnest eyes conceal
Thy delights;
Lift thy face, and let the jealous veil reveal
All his rights;
The glory of thy beauty was but given
For content;
Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè,
Oh, relent!
Remember, being distant, how he bore thee
In his heart;
Look on him sadly turning from before thee
To depart;
Is he not the soul thou lovedst, sitting lonely
In the wood?
Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè,
’Tis not good!
He who grants thee high delight in bridal-bower
Pardons long;
What the gods do love may do at such an hour
Without wrong;
Why weepest thou? why keepest thou in anger
Thy lashes down?
Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè,
Do not frown!
Lift thine eyes now, and look on him, bestowing,
Without speech;
Let him pluck at last the flower so sweetly growing
In his reach;
The fruit of lips, of loving tones, of glances
That forgive;
Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè,
Let him live!
Let him speak with thee, and pray to thee, and prove thee
All his truth;
Let his silent loving lamentation move thee
Asking ruth;
How knowest thou? All, listen, dearest Lady,
He is there;
Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè,
Thou must hear!
O rare voice, which is a spell
Unto all on earth who dwell!
O rich voice, of rapturous love,
Making melody above!
Krishna’s, Hari’s—one in two,
Sound these mortal verses through!
Sound like that soft flute which made
Such a magic in the shade—
Calling deer-eyed maidens nigh,
Waking wish and stirring sigh,
Thrilling blood and melting breasts,
Whispering love’s divine unrests,
Winning blessings to descend,
Bringing earthly ills to end;—
Me thou heard in this song now
Thou, the great Enchantment, thou!
(Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled
Kalahantaritavarnane Mugdhamukundo.)
Notes
3 My proud one! do not indulge in scorn.