Vasanta Līlā
LVI
Kavi: Came the lord of seasons,—Royal Spring:
The hosts of bees besieged the mādhavī flowers,
The sun’s rays reached their youthful powers,
The keshara flowers upheld the sceptre of the king.
Fresh pītal flowers composed the royal throne,
Golden blossoms raised the state umbrella.
And mango-buds the crest above:
Before the king the koils sang the pancam-note.
The peacocks danced, the bees buzzed,
The twice-born sang the blessing spells:
Enamoured of the southern breeze.
The pollen of the flowers upraised a canopy.
Jasmine and honey-apple bore the banner:
Pātal the quiver, rows of ashoka trees the arrows.
Seeing the allied kimshuk and labanga-vine
The Winter season broke before the Spring.
The army was a swarm of honey-bees
That rooted out the Winter utterly:
The rescued lotus came to life.
Offering its fresh leaves for a throne.
There is delight in Brindāban, says Vidyāpati,
Befitting what shall there befall.
LVII
Kavi: In Brindāban renewed the groves are green,
The flowers new-spread:
The Spring is new, and the new southern breeze
Excites the swarms of lusty bees.
The bloom of youth disports.
The bowers beside Kālindī’s banks display unwonted loveliness,
New snares of love are laid:
The bees are frenzied by new sappy buds,
The callow koils are a-calling.
The new young maidens, maddened with new longings,
Are hurrying to the groves.
A new Lord reigns: the lusty lovers young
Are bright with new-found lustre.
For ever and for ever new diversions such as these
Delight the heart of Vidyāpati.
LVIII
Kavi: Drunken are the honey-bees in honey-season
With the honey of the honey-flowers:
In Honey-Brindāban resides
The Honey-Lord of honey-love.
Amid the companies of honey-maids
Is honey-honey-dalliance:
Honeyed are the blissful instruments of music,
Honeyed hands are beating honey-measures.
Honeyed is the dance’s sway,
Honeyed are the movements of the dancers.
Honeyed are their happy songs,
And honeyed are the words of Vidyāpati.
LIX
Kavi: The blissful night of Spring holds sway
Glad dalliance among, and passionate rāsa-dance;
And lovely Rādhā, jewel of maids, is filled with longing,—
Skilled in the dance. He bathes with her in bliss.
Merrily the company of maidens dancing,—
Golden bangles tinkling tunefully,—
Now will they sing an amorous air
The mode of Spring, more passionate than any other.
Rabāb, pināsh, and mahātik are sounding:
Murali sports, delighting Rādhā’s heart.
The merry poet Vidyāpati sings
What Rūpanārāyan his lord, well knows.