Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS (GITA GOVINDA): SARGA THE FIFTH, by JAYADEVA


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS (GITA GOVINDA): SARGA THE FIFTH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Low whispers the wind from malaya
Last Line: Sakandkshapundarikaksho.)
Subject(s): Beauty; Soul


SAKANDKSHAPUNDARIKAKSHO.

THE LONGINGS OF KRISHNA.

"Say I am here! Oh, if she pardons me,
Say where I am, and win her softly hither."
So Krishna to the maid; and willingly
She came again to Radha, and she sang:

(What follows is to the Music DESHIVARDÎ and the Mode RUPAKA.)

Low whispers the wind from Malaya
Overladen with love;
On the hills all the grass is burned yellow;
And the trees in the grove
Droop with tendrils that mock by their clinging
The thoughts of the parted;
And there lies, sore sighing for thee,
Thy love, altered-hearted.

To him the moon's icy-chill silver
Is a sun at midday;
The fever he burns with is deeper
Than starlight can stay:
Like one who falls stricken by arrows,
With the color departed
From all but his red wounds, so lies
Thy love, bleeding-hearted.

To the music the banded bees make him
He closeth his ear;
In the blossoms their small horns are blowing
The honey-song clear;
But as if every sting to his bosom
Its smart had imparted,
Low lies by the edge of the river,
Thy love, aching-hearted.

By the edge of the river, far wandered
From his once beloved bowers,
And the haunts of his beautiful playmates,
And the beds strewn with flowers;
Now thy name is his playmate—that only!—
And the hard rocks upstarted
From the sand make the couch where he lies,
Thy Krishna, sad-hearted.

Oh, may Hari fill each soul,
As these gentle verses roll,
Telling of the anguish borne
By kindred ones asunder torn!
Oh, may Hari unto each
All the lore of loving teach,
All the pain and all the bliss;
Jayadeva prayeth this!

Yea, Lady! in the selfsame spot he waits
Where with thy kiss thou taught'st him utmost love,
And drew him, as none else draws, with thy look;
And all day long, and all night long, his cry
Is "Radha, Radha," like a spell said o'er;
And in his heart there lives no wish nor hope
Save only this, to slake his spirit's thirst
For Radha's love on Radha's lips; and find
Peace in the immortal beauty of thy brow.

(What follows is to the Music GURJJARÎ and the Mode EKATALÎ.)

Mistress, sweet and bright and holy!
Meet him in that place;
Change his cheerless melancholy
Into joy and grace;
If thou hast forgiven, vex not;
If thou lovest, go;
Watching ever by the river,
Krishna listens low:

Listens low, and on his reed there
Softly sounds thy name,
Making even mute things plead there
For his hope: 'tis shame
That, while winds are welcome to him,
If from thee they blow,
Mournful ever by the river
Krishna waits thee so!

When a bird's wing stirs the roses,
When a leaf falls dead,
Twenty times he recomposes
The flower-seat he has spread:
Twenty times, with anxious glances
Seeking thee in vain,
Sighing ever by the river,
Krishna droops again.

Loosen from thy foot the bangle,
Lest its golden bell, With a tiny, tattling jangle,
Any false tale tell:
If thou fearest that the moonlight
Will thy glad face know,
Draw those dark braids lower, Lady!
But to Krishna go.

Swift and still as lightning's splendor
Let thy beauty come,
Sudden, gracious, dazzling, tender,
To his arms—its home:
Swift as Indra's yellow lightning,
Shining through the night,
Glide to Krishna's lonely bosom
Take him love and light.

Grant, at last, love's utmost measure,
Giving, give the whole;
Keep back nothing of the treasure
Of thy priceless soul:
Hold with both hands out unto him
Thy chalice, let him drain
The nectar of its dearest draught,
Till not a wish remain.

Only go—the stars are setting,
And thy Krishna grieves;
Doubt and anger quite forgetting,
Hasten through the leaves:
Wherefore didst thou lead him heav'nward
But for this thing's sake?
Comfort him with pity, Radha!
Or his heart must break.

But while Jayadeva writes
This rare tale of deep delights—
Jayadev, whose heart is given
Unto Hari, Lord in Heaven—
See that ye too, as ye read,
With a glad and humble heed,
Bend your brows before His face,
That ye may have bliss and grace.

And then the Maid, compassionate, sang on—

Lady, most sweet!
For thy coming feet
He listens in the wood, with love sore-tried;
Faintly sighing,
Like one a-dying,
He sends his thoughts afoot to meet his bride.

Ah, silent one!
Sunk is the sun,
The darkness falls as deep as Krishna's sorrow;
The chakor's strain
Is not more vain
Than mine, and soon gray dawn will bring white morrow.

And thine own bliss
Delays by this;
The utmost of thy heaven comes only so
When, with hearts beating
And passionate greeting,
Parting is over, and the parted grow

One—one for ever!
And the old endeavor
To be so blended is assauage at last;
And the glad tears raining
Have nought remaining
Of doubt or 'plaining; and the dread has passed

Out of each face,
In the close embrace,
That by-and-by embracing will be over;
The ache that causes
Those mournful pauses
In bowers of earth between lover and lover:

To be no more felt,
To fade, to melt
In the strong certainty of joys immortal;
In the glad meeting,
And quick sweet greeting
Of lips that close beyond Time's shadowy portal

And to thee is given,
Angel of Heaven!
This glory and this joy with Krishna. Go!
Let him attain,
For his long pain,
The prize it promised,—see thee coming slow,

A vision first, but then—
By glade and glen—
A lovely, loving soul, true to its home;
His Queen—his Crown—his All,
Hast'ning at last to fall
Upon his breast, and live there. Radha, come

Come, and come thou, Lord of all,
Unto whom the Three Worlds call;
Thou, that didst in angry might,
Kansa, like a comet, smite;
Thou, that in thy passion tender,
As incarnate spell and splendor,
Hung on Radha's glorious face—
In the garb of Krishna's grace—
As above the bloom the bee,
When the honeyed revelry
Is too subtle-sweet an one
Not to hang and dally on;
Thou that art the Three Worlds' glory,
Of life the light, of every story
The meaning and the mark, of love
The root and flower, o' the sky above
The blue, of bliss the heart, of those,
The lovers, that which did impose
The gentle law, that each should be
The other's Heaven and harmony.

(Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled
SAKANDKSHAPUNDARIKAKSHO.)





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