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Twenty-two Poems of Bidyapati
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Childhood and youth each other are nearing; Her two eyes their office yield to the hearing. Her speech has learned sweet maiden craft And low not as of old she laughed Her laughter murmurs. A moon on earth Is dawning into perfect birth. Mirror in hand she apparels her now And asks of her sweet girl-comrades to show What love is and what love does And all shamed delight that sweet love owes. And often she sits by herself and sees Smiling with bliss her breasts’ increase, Her own milk-breasts that, plums at first, Now into golden oranges burst. Day by day Love’s vernal dreams Expand her lovely blossoming limbs. Maadhuv, I saw a marvellous flower Of girls; childhood and youth one power, One presence grown in one body fair. Foolish maiden, not thus declare The oneness of these contraries. Rather the two were yoked, say the wise.
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Day by day her milk-breasts drew splendour, Wider her hips grew, her middle more slender. Love has enlarged her childlike gaze. Yea, all grace of childhood and childhood’s ways Fall from their thrones and take sweet flight. Her breasts before were plums of light, Golden oranges next and then As bodiless Love made bloom with pain Of increase her body day by day, Pomegranate seed-cities were they. Their fair maturities now begin, Now are they fruits-of-opulence twin. Maadhuv, I sought thy lovely lady, Bathing I found her in woodland shady. Coiled on her heart but not to drape Her thin dress clung to her lovely shape. Blest were his eyes who had seen her thus And his whole life made felicitous. Over her bosom her great hair floods With curls divine two golden gods. True love must his be, O youth, who would play, Her darling and joy, with this beautiful may.
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Now and again a sidelong look Along her lashes its shy curve took. Now and again her thin white dress O’erlies like dust all her loveliness. Now she laughs divine and clear And her pearly teeth like stars appear, And now to hide in her robe make shift. For a little her startled feet run swift But soon that bounding gait subsides And she in maiden gravity glides. Love’s scholar she and newly set To his first lesson and alphabet. Where her bosom’s buds are hardly seen Now she draws fast her robe to screen, Now careless leaves. In her limbs divine Child and woman meet and twine. Nor mark I yet whether older she Of girlhood or younger of infancy. Beautiful Krishna, youth in her Its childhood begins, these signs declare.
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Childhood and youth, maiden, are me And strife twixt their armed powers is set. Now her ordered locks she dresses, Now scattering loosens a storm of tresses. Sometimes she covers her body fair, Sometimes the golden limbs are bare In childhood’s naked innocence. And childhood’s steadfast eyes with a sense Of girlhood a little waver now And her bosom is stained where the flowers grow. Her light uncertain feet now tell The uncertain heart and variable. Love is awake but his eyes are shut. O Krishna, flower of lovers, put In thy heart patience, for surely she Shall be brought at last and given to thee.
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Playing she plays not, so newly shy She may not brook the passing eye. Looking she looks not lest surmise Laugh from her own girl-comrades’ eyes. Hearken, O hearken, Maadhuv, to me. Just is the case I bring to thee. Radha today these eyes beheld; A maid she is unparalleled. O her face and its lovely lights! O looks that ravish, O charm that invites! Flower of ruby with lotus grows In her vermeil lips that exceed the rose; And with honey have snared her large twin eyes Two shapes of bees that may not rise; And her brow’s arch is as tho’ left slack Love’s own bow in hue were black. Saith the envoy girl whose words I teach “The bloom of her limbs surpasseth speech.”
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In elders’ eyes she brooks not stay, Half-clad no more her body but always She covers her most maidenly. Yet with young girls when bideth she Knowing her ripened child and budding may They plague her with sweet mockery. Maadhuv, for thee I wooed the sight Of this fair flower; whom some delight Child to call, but most agree That woman’s morning bloom has she. When of Love’s rites she hears and lovers’ play She turns her downcast eyes another way, O but her ears drink greedily. Should with more words one tease her shame, With tears and angry smiles she utters blame. Who is wise in love alone knoweth The ways of a girl, the poet saith.
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A little and a little now See the bright bud half-open blow. Her swift and wilful feet grown wise Yield their rudderless gait to the eyes. Ever her hand to her bosom’s dress Clings to control its waywardness. Afraid to utter her shy, hushed thought Her comrade-girls she questions not. Maadhuv, how shall faltering word Her sweet and twilight age record? Love, even Love, beholding her In his own bonds her captive were. Nay but the lord of all desire Her heart’s precincts raising higher Has set for passion’s sacred duty Altars of surpassing beauty. Love’s speech her listening heart doth stop As the hunter’s song the antelope. Two powers dispute this beauteous prize. Nought one deems gained while aught there is To gain, nor the other failure owns While yet he holds to his golden thrones. Still with sweet violence she clings To her loved childhood’s parting wings.
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Childhood is fled and youth in its seat; Not light as of old her wandering feet, Yet are Love’s glorious envoys two Seeing her eyes her errands do. In secret dawns each lovely smile And laughter low with maiden guile. Her hand each moment plucks her dress Its fluttering treasons to repress. And all the low speech of her lips From a modest head and drooping slips. Her heavy hips have now replaced The old lost pride of her rounded waist.
Thus I decide her doubtful state, Conclusion sweet of sweet debate. Thine is this fair decision’s fruit Judgment to give and execute. I, Bidyapati, love’s lights bring To lady Lochima and the King.
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As the swan sails, so moved she Then when her face was lost to me. As she went, O she turned, she looked, she smiled. Ah arrows made of Love’s own flower, O sweet magician! faery power! No mortal maid but an enchantress wild.
Her arms, those sweet twin lovelinesses, Clasped, bent in languorous self-caresses, Enhaloed had the lustres of her face. Her fingers slim for champaks taking, Love to delicious worship waking A moon of autumn with such flowers did bless.
Her careless breasts, (O happy lover!) Their rich defence but half did cover Because of haste when the light robe was worn. As tho’ by winds that overpower Clouds in the season of storm and shower, The hills of heaven thro’ a dim veil made morn.
Vision delightful! shall again I ease with you my life’s deep pain? Ah! shall again division’s boundaries break? The henna that her feet enrosed Was fire wherein my heart enclosed Did burn and all my limbs to burn did make.
O lovely maiden, hear the speech These numbers murmur each to each. My soul since then no ease, no quiet knows. Ah! shall I ever, fortune, meet her, The woman than all women sweeter, The jewel of all beauties that earth owes?
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I have seen a girl no words can measure, On golden tendrils proudly borne a face, A spotless moon, a snowy treasure. Her eyes two lotuses with unguent shaded, Were play-grounds of sweet loving thought, Or fluttering, captive birds in a net embedded Of that dark unguent solely wrought. Her heavy hills of milk a necklace richer Of elephant pearls did touch and gleam – Love sprinkling from her throat, that brimful pitcher, On golden images heaven’s stream. Fortunate were he who by Proyaga’s waters Long sacrificing might avail At last to win her. Lover of Gocool’s daughters! Darling of Gocool! true thy tale.
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When the hour of twilight its period kept The damsel out from her dwelling stepped. Like flashes in a new-born cloud that battling crept, Golden, a beauty dire.
A highborn maiden, a little child, Woven of flowers and fragrance she smiled. How with a little sight should hope be reconciled? Love but increased his fire.
Her small sweet body of pale gold made That shining gold thro’ her robe displayed, The forest lion yields to her slender middle; swayed Glances much love must earn.
A soft smile burned on her lips and she With a smile and a look did murder me. Lord of the five Bengals, may longer life with thee Star-like eternal burn.
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A shining grace the damsel’s face to her laughter and speech doth lend, As tho’ the sweet full moon of autumn heaven’s nectar rained. A jewel of women with beauty more than human, I saw her gait of lion state ungraced nought nor common. Her middle than the lion’s slender is, Her body soft as lotuses; It seemed a branch with weight breaking of her breasts pomegranate. Yea and her lovely eyes being with blackness dressed Were unstained lotuses enamoured bees invest. The lover beautiful seeing sweet Radha’s grace Breaketh his longing heart with passionate distress.
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The moon-white maiden from her bath Passing I saw from a woodland path. From all sweet things she stolen had Beauty in one fair girl arrayed. Her tresses that her small hands wrung A shower of faery water flung As tho’ a fan of beauty whirled Carcanets with gems impearled. Her wet curls wearing wondrous grace Like bees besieged her lotus face For all that honey wild with lust. The water from her sweet eyes thrust Yet left them reddened, as in the ooze Petals of lotus with ceruse. Heavy with water her thin robe Defined each bright and milky globe; Like golden apples gleamed her breasts On which the happy hoarfrost rests. So the robe clung as if it said “Soon will she leave me and love be dead, Nor ever once shall I attain Such exquisite delight again.” So the robe thought, as well appears, And therefore sorrowed, showering tears.
Page – 406 14 Beauty stood bathing in the river When I beheld her — Love’s whole quiver Pierced my heart with fivefold fire. Her curls flung back from the face of my desire Rained great tears as tho’ the night Stood by and wept in fear of the moon’s light. To every limb her wet robe kissed and clung. Had even the sage been there His heart had burned, even his grown young Seeing through her dress her marvellous limbs made bare. Her fair twin breasts were river-birds Whose language is three amorous words. It seemed that pitying heaven had to one shore Brought the sweet lovers thence to part no more. Yet she I deem in such alarm Held them fast bound within one golden arm, As if some noise should startle the sweet pair And they take flight from her. O amorous boy, be not afraid – For youth like thine heaven gave this wondrous maid.
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O happy day that to mine eyes betrayed Bathing the beautiful maid! Drops like a carcanet of pearls Fell from her cloud of showering curls. Her lifted hands did harshly press The lingering water from her face That wore new luminousness As tho’ a golden mirror were made clean. Therewith her robe fell to her lovely feet And naked breasts revealed their beauties twin, Like golden cups that seemed reversely set. The lapse her robe’s one bond undid And naked made what yet lay hid. O Mithil lyre, This is the apex of desire.
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Beautiful Rai, the flower-like maid Risen from the river where she played Saw under down-cast lids and shy The lovely boy, dark Krishna named. A highborn child with face afraid Before her elders and eyes ashamed She might not gaze as she went by. O subtle is that beautiful girl! She left the gracious troop behind; With half-turned face and half-declined From far in front full sweet her call. She broke her carcanet of pearl And let the precious seedlings fall. “O friends, my broken carcanet.” Each girl her lovely hand did set Stooping to find the scattered grain. Meanwhile the damsel’s eyes full fain, Like birds that on white moonbeams feed, Of Krishna’s shape took amorous heed. Divine the nectar that she drained, O Krishna, from thy cheeks of light. Yea, each of each had honied sight. Thus gazing girl and boy extend Love’s boundaries seen by none but me The poet, sweet Bidyapati.
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Ah how shall I her lovely body express? Fair things how many Nature in her blended, Mine own eyes saw ere my lips praise.
Her twin fair feet were lordly leaves of summer, Her gait vied with the forest’s best. Upon two golden trees a lion slender, Thereover the hills of heaven placed.
And on the hills two lotuses were budding That stemless kept their gracious hours. In shape of pearl-drops strung heaven’s stream descended, Therefore not withered those sweet flowers.
Her teeth pomegranate-seeds on lips of ruby, The sun and moon on either side, Her hair eclipse, but coming never nearer Hid not at all their golden pride.
The cuckoo’s speech, the antelope’s eyes has Radha, And Love has in her glances thrones — Upon two lotuses two bees that hover And sip their honey: these she owns
The spring’s five children. O delicious maiden, Not the wide worlds her second know, To Sheva Singha Ruupnaraian my music And lady Lochima doth show.
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When the young warm Love her heart doth fill Where is the let stays woman’s will? Alone to set forth lightly she dares, Path or pathless not Radha who cares. She has left her pearled carcanet Her breast’s high towers that hampered. The bracelets fair on her wrists that shone All by the path has the young girl thrown. Anklets gemmed on her feet did glow, She has thrown them far the lighter to go. The gloom is thick and heavy the night, But Love to her eyes makes darkness light. Her every step new perils doth prove, She has pierced thro’ all with the sword of Love. Her passionate heart the poet knows. Another like her not the wide world shows.
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“‘Tis night and very timid my little love. How long ere I see her hither swanlike move! Dread serpents fill with fear the way; What perils those soft beloved feet waylay. Providence, I lay her at thy feet; Scatheless keep she the tryst, my own, my sweet. The sky is thick and mired the earth, Perils wide-strewn: ah me, what fears have birth. Thick darkness are the quarters ten. The feet stumble, nought clear the eyes may gain. She comes! With timid backward glances Every creature’s heart how she entrances! A girl she is of human grace, Yet wears all heaven stolen in her face.” For high-born women to be o’erborne By love endure; all other check they scorn.
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The best of the year has come, the Spring, Of the six seasons one season king; And now with all his tribes the bee Runs to the creeper spring-honey. The sun’s rays come of boyish age, The day-describing sun, his page, A sceptre of gold the saffron-bloom And the young leaves a crowning-room. Gold-flowers of champak o’er him stand, The umbrellaed symbol of command; The cary-buds a crown do set And before him sings a court-poet, The Indian cuckoo to whom is given The sweetest note of all the seven. Peacocks dance and for instrument Murmur of bees, while sacrament Of blessing and all priestly words Brahmins recite, the twice-born birds. Pollen, the flying dust of flowers, His canopy above him towers, His favourite the southern breeze, Jasmine of youth and Tuscan-trees His battle-flag. The season of dew, Seeing sweet blossoms-of-bliss renew, Seven-leaf and boughs that fragrance loves And kings-hook and the climbing cloves, Seven things of bloom together, flees Nor waits the perfumed shock of these. Spring’s army too the chill estate Of the dew-season annihilate — Invading honey-bees — and make Secure the lilies of the lake. And these being saved yield them a home In their own soft, new-petalled bloom. In Brindabun anew is mirth
Page – 413 For the restored bloom of earth. These are the season’s sweets and these The essence of the Spring’s increase.
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In the spring moonlight the lord of love Thro’ the amorous revel’s maze doth move; The crown of love love’s raptures proves, For Radha his amorous darling moves, Radha, the ruby of ravishing girls With him bathed in love’s moonlight whirls. And all the merry maidens with rapture Dancing together the light winds capture, And the bracelets speak with a ravishing cry, And the murmur of waist-bells rises high — Meanwhile rapture-waking string Ripest of strains the sonata of Spring, That lover and lord of love-languid notes With tired delight in throbbing throats. And rumours of violin and bow And the mighty Queen’s-harp mingle and flow, And Radha’s ravisher makes sweet measure With the flute, that musical voice of pleasure. Bidyapati’s genius richly wove For King Ruupnaraian this rhythm of love.
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Hark how round goes the instruments’ sound! With the sweet love wild Of Gocool’s child She danceth mistress of the fair arts sixty-four. And her hands rhyme keeping time, Her smitten hands that still the fall restore. And the tabors keep melody deep And the heavy thrum Of the measured drum And anklets’ running cry their own slim music loving. The waist bells sprinkle their silver tinkle And bracelets gold that gems do hold; Loud is the instruments’ din to madness moving. And harps begin and the violin And the five vessels Where melody swells Thro’ all the gamut move and various moods express. And over and under the twydrum’s thunder, With whose noise the vessels five mix and embrace. From loosened tresses that toil undresses And floating whirls On the shoulders of girls The jasmine garlands’ buds sprinkle the vernal night. Ah revels of Spring! with powerless wing These verses grieve not reaching your delight.
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