The goddess Mridani
takes the archer’s katakamukha pose—
bending the bowstring
back to her ear.
Red nails
by her ear a cluster of moist
glistening petals.
And her greedy blue side-darting
eye like a hornet—
May it protect you.
NOTE: Mridani is one name for the Goddess, wife of Shiva, whose many other manifestations include Parvati, Durga, or Kali. In some guises Shiva’s consort appears as a fearsome warrior as well as a voluptuous lover.
The katakamukha pose, known to classical dance and to yoga, is simply “(bow) string to the mouth.”
This verse serves as the first of four invocations in the Amarushataka to one or another of the gods.
Shaken off it clung
to their hands,
batted away it clutched
the hems of their robes,
rejected it caught at their hair.
When it fell at their feet they refused
in agitation to look.
Though dismissed it wrapped around the
teary blue-lotus-eyed girls
of Tripura citadel.
Not a lover caught
cheating but the fire of Shiva’s arrows—
May it burn off your
indiscretions.
NOTE: Central to the mythology of Shiva is his destruction of the stronghold of demons, Tripura, or the Three Cities, one built of gold, one silver, one iron, all magically linked together. Shiva caused a vast conflagration in the triple citadel by releasing a single flaming arrow empowered with mantras into its midst.
Front curls tossed in disorder
earrings scattered
beads of sweat smearing the sandal
paste on her brow—
now her eyes droop as astride her
companion she finishes.
May the face of this lady protect you.
Vishnu, Shiva, Brahma,
the gods
mean nothing.
Tender lip bitten she
shakes her fingers alarmed—
hisses a fierce
don’t you dare and her
eyebrows coil like a vine.
Who steals a kiss from a
proud woman flashing her eyes
drinks amrita.
The gods—fools—
churned the ocean for
nothing.
NOTE: After enormous labor, the gods collectively managed to raise amrita, the drink of immortality (Greek: ambrosia), from the ocean floor. They secured it in the moon, away from the grasp of their enemies, the asuras, warring titans who crave immortality. As a life-bestowing fluid on the moon, amrita became identified with soma, the potent vision-inducing drink of the Vedas. Precious, generative fluids, both amrita and soma hold strong sexual implications—the juices of life.
Trembling with awakened love
they dart off,
then contract into two moist buds.
An instant they shamelessly stare,
a moment glisten with shy indirection.
Dear girl so artless—
who is it you look at
as though the feverish spell lodged
in your heart
had rushed to your eyes?
Why weep in silence
striking aside
angry tears with your fingernails?
When spurred by cheap gossip this fit
gets completely out of hand,
your lover will
tire and grow grim and indifferent.
Then your tears will break
violently,
out of control.
You provided love,
you touched her
intimately for a long time.
Now in a fatal twist
you’ve inflicted the most savage wound.
Tender words can’t assuage
her unbearable jealousy.
Our friend needs to cry now—
grief has
unlocked her throat.
Your lover sits
dejected
scratching figures in the dirt outside.
Your friends won’t eat
their eyes are swollen from crying.
There’s no silly chatter from the
household parrots
and you’re a wreck.
Stubborn one, isn’t it
time to quit
sulking?
Women of intrepid
charm
can’t be stopped—
they’ll even steal what they want.
Why be timid? Tears cannot bring
satisfaction.
You want him,
he’s hungry for sexual pleasure—
try some crudely explicit suggestion
and make
him your own.
She binds him
in her arms
pliant as tendrils.
It happened again.
Stammering in front of her friends
she draws him into the bedroom,
his misconduct apparent.
Lucky man—
the crying girl playfully strikes him
he laughs and denies
everything.
Don’t those who depart
always return?
Sweet creature, you fret and are
wasting away….
I stammered through tears.
She stared blankly
swallowing her own emotion.
Shame lay across her dark pupils.
Then a dry desperate laugh
said it all—
she intended to die.
Forcing my face
from his
I glared at his feet.
Desperate for his voice I closed
my ears, even hid the
sweat on my cheeks with my palms.
But friends, what could I do—?
Where my thin top
gathers my breasts a hundred
stitches had split.
After the first watch,
the middle,
or is it toward dusk you return?
Not gone the whole day?
Words choked with emotion she
stalls his departure.
And he’s intent
on a district
a hundred days off.
We were making love
when something hurt. I cried
get away!
He tore himself
from the bed and departed.
Impetuous, pitiless, he tramples on romance—
but my heart
craves him shamelessly,
what do I do?
All night the two of them
exchanged
intimate words—
now dawn
the household parrot
chatters it out to the in-laws.
She slips a ruby
from her ear, mortified,
into the parrot’s beak—
it could be a pomegranate seed—
and stifles the
unguarded cries.
Stupidly, out of
sheer wickedness—
my face turned in grief—
you embrace me.
What does cheating get?
It comes down to this—
your chest
streaked with tawny
paste from your girlfriend’s breasts
now smudged with
oil from my braid ends.
Rising to greet him—
still far off—
she avoided sharing a couch.
When he reached for her
off she ran for betel-nut leaf.
Nor could he speak to her
so diligent was she
to the servants’ instructions.
Shrewd girl, every courtesy
applied just
to get back at him.
Rascal,
he slips behind his two
seated lovers.
A playful advance—
he covers the eyes of one—
then turning his neck
kisses the other.
A deep erotic thrill goes through
her cheeks
the flush of a
secret smile.
When she’d been icy he
dropped at her feet.
But accused of cheating in secret
he bristled and
left. She exhaled audibly
both hands on her breasts
and glanced
through moist eyes at
her girlfriends.
Why is this enchanted
creature asleep,
a sash fastened over her robe?
He was softly querying
the servants
when she cried bitterly
Mother, he disrupts my dreams even here!
and turned as if
sleeping to make room
on the couch.
Each turned aside
on the bed
silently suffering
secretly hoping to reconcile but
afraid to lose face.
At some point their furtive eyes met—
there was a quick
unintentional laugh and the
quarrel broke
in one wild embrace.
Thinking I’d see how
she took it
I put on a hard implacable look.
Why can’t this snake even talk to me—?
said the glare on her face.
Charming stand-off
eyeing each other warily.
When I gave a cautious
smile she lost her nerve and broke
into tears.
In bed he whispers
the wrong name.
She feels her youthful enthusiasm wilt
and curls coldly away
from excuses.
He falls silent.
And she turning back softly
eyes him—
Don’t go to sleep.
Why fall at my feet?
You can’t hide
the unguent from her nipples
streaking your chest.
Where? I said rising quickly—
and to rub it away
took her fiercely. Rough
pleasure—
the slender creature
forgot everything.
Your eyes enchant me.
Remove this camisole and
take my glamorized heart
captive.
He fingered her
knotted braid as he spoke.
Delighted by radiant
eyes and quick smile of their friend—
perched at the end of her bed—
the other ladies with soft
excuses
withdrew.
Scowling I knot up
my forehead
but this traitorous eye shamelessly lifts.
I refuse words but
my rebellious face softens.
Make a stone of my heart
and on its own
this aroused body tingles.
Anger just
can’t keep its grip
when that boy
comes into view.
The lord of her heart
made some
injurious remark.
Lacking the counsel of friends
she could not compose her bewildered
body or phrase
a slant reply.
Blue eye petals darting about
she just wept—
tears on bright cheekbones
locks of stray hair.
Now I know everything.
Please go. Talking is pointless.
You don’t bear the
slightest blame,
fate has simply turned from me.
Since your so abundant love
comes to this
what pain could I experience
if hateful life—
mere flicker of nature—
were to go also?
Milky chatter
of pearls
at your breasts
over your belly a jangling belt
gemstones clattering along your trim ankles.
If you set off with a drum roll
to meet your lover
why do you tremble, child—
as though every
slight shadow
might catch you?
Dawn after dawn
our lovemaking
took the sleep from my eyes.
A weight lifted.
For once my heart felt light.
Now what have you done?
Go—you are foolish and miserable
and death no longer scares me.
One day you may hear
down which road
I’ve decided to go.
My bracelets are gone.
Tears, those sweet friends, departed forever.
Courage left instantly
and my heart
went fastest of all.
They set off in concert
when my beloved decided
to leave.
You should go too, life—
why lag behind that troop
of dear comrades?
He sleeps, dear,
you should sleep too.
My girlfriends withdrew and
a wild hunger
consumed me. I pressed
my mouth to his.
But he was already aroused—
I felt it—he’d shut his eyes
to deceive us!
How shy I got—
but he dispelled it with touches
the late
hour warranted.
Those days a slanted brow
meant anger,
silence a quarrel,
two smiles forgiveness.
Grace was held in
a glance.
Look at the wreckage
that’s come of love.
You at my feet groveling,
me thrashing about
in frustrated anger.
Sweetheart, please speak.
Look at me
collapsed at your feet.
Your anger never gets this bad—
He was pleading.
She winced, jerked her tearful
eyes aside
and said nothing.
Her breasts
flattened against me
her flesh seemed to ripple,
at her thighs the sheer
silk parted.
I heard a mute don’t—
don’t—this is enough for me—
did she sleep, did she die then?
sink into my heart?
completely dissolve?
She averts a well-bred face
when her lord
fingers her skirt.
He moves to enfold her,
she extracts
her limbs mildly.
Caught wordless,
eyeing the conspiratorial smiles
of her bridesmaids,
at a first joke the girl
nearly perishes.
No kindness no word
of endearment
could soothe her bruised pride.
All day long
her heart strangled.
Two faces averted but
who can say how
the sidelong glance meets?
A smile
a quick laugh
and indignation was
banished.
Love’s bond is broken.
The heart’s high
passion has waned.
Even truth is a ghost
when that man
walks past like someone unknown.
Days long vanished rise up
dear friend to haunt me
and why this heart
doesn’t split into a hundred shards
who can tell?
The young lovers,
bodies a long time aching apart,
are now reunited.
How utterly
new the world seems and the
long day drifts past unnoticed.
At nightfall
they put off
for later their stories,
not so their lovemaking.
With dark eyes
not blue lotus
she fashions a welcome garland.
Petals she strews—
not various species of jasmine
but smiles.
Water she offers from ripe
moistened breasts
rather than ceremonial jars.
With only her own body
she makes for her
lover an
auspicious welcome.
At twilight today
he deceived me.
I’d banished him for some offense
and he returned in my
girlfriend’s clothes.
Naive, clasping the imposter,
I confided how urgently I wanted
to sleep with him.
“That will be hard to achieve—”
A laugh in the
darkness
he forcibly took me.
Suspecting I might
fall at her feet
she deftly folds them beneath her skirt
hides a sly smile
won’t glance upward.
To avoid answering she chats
with a girlfriend. If
displeased she’s this charming—
imagine
her passionate.
Instructed by servants—
skilled liars—
she chatters a quick excuse to her
skeptical husband.
Then to perform what the love god requests….
This is love’s
inmost enchantment—
innocence
adorns it.
When a lover is faithless
the eye in an
instant changes its theme.
He’s far off, it’s restless,
he arrives,
it turns to the side,
dilates if he speaks,
reddens when he attempts
an embrace.
He clutches her robe and its brow
twists like a vine.
He falls to the angry
woman’s feet
it wells up with tears.
Your body so thin
trembling
and cheeks pale as ash—?
When the lord of her life confronts her
the slim girl says these
things just happen
turns and between her eyelashes
catches the tears
for someplace else.
Night
turbulent overhead clouds
and a ripple of thunder.
The traveler
stung with tears
sings of a faraway girl.
Oh traveling
is a kind of death,
the village people hear it,
lower their heads
and quit their proud
tales of adventure.
We’d been drinking.
She noticed wounds on my skin
from her own
fingernails
and bolted up jealously.
Let go, she cried when I caught her skirt.
Tear-streaked face averted
lower lip quavering—
who could forget
what she said next?
O troubled heart!
At the door of the hut
full of hungry affection he dropped
at these feet.
And you denied him?
Now anger and vanity come into fruit.
Now love is a vagabond.
Grief will be your only
refuge
through life.
Through tears
she saw mist
and the clustering
rainclouds. If you leave…
her voice trailed and she clung
to my jacket,
scuffing the parched earth
where she dug in.
What she did next
no poet’s words command
the power to tell.
Dear girl—
My lord?
Stop being bitter and proud.
What does my bitterness do?
Troubles me.
You don’t mistreat me the
faults are mine.
Why tears and whimpering then?
Can anyone see me?
I can.
And am to you—?
My dearest.
That’s why the tears.
I am not.
That precious throat I was too
shy to caress—
when he kissed
why did I drop my face,
not look up, not even speak?
Thoughts of her childish demeanor
as a bride are weighed
with regret.
Her heart has flowered now.
She’s tasted the sweet
arts of the bedroom.
Unhappy women
have used tears, threatening oaths,
even collapse
to prevent a lover
from traveling.
Darling, I’m a pluckier girl.
Good luck and for your
early departure
I hope a propitious day.
After you’re gone you may hear
what I see fit to do with my
love life.
She did not clutch
his soft robe in a tendril-like hand,
block the door,
fall at his feet bitterly,
or cry stay!
As slow tenebrous clouds built in the
sky and her deceitful lover
was starting out
she cut off his path with
a violent
torrent of tears.
The love god has made
everything crooked.
Apart from you I get thinner and thinner.
It must be Yama the death god who
counts out our days.
How does a woman
survive without trust?
I tremble, darling,
a single green leaf on a twig.
NOTE: In Indian folklore, Yama serves as lord of the underworld. See the opening passage of Katha Upanishad for one of his early appearances.
Anger subsided.
She held a moonlit face in both hands.
I’d collapsed to the
earth in despair.
Suddenly across her breasts teardrops
broke from
thick lashes.
We were at peace.
I was still at a distance
and you rose
smiling
to greet with calm words
my requests.
In bed your eyes never softened though.
Your coldness unnerves me.
In that heart coils
something deceptive.
Friends I no longer trust.
I’m too shy
to toss a playful glance
at the one who fires
my passion.
People are quick to mock—
the slightest
indiscretion gets noted.
Oh mother, where can I hide?
The flames
of desire ungratified
wither the heart.
Hear his name
and every hair on my
body’s aroused.
See his moonlike face
I get moist like a moonstone everywhere.
He steps near enough to touch
my throat
and pride is broken oh hard
diamond heart.
NOTE: In Indian folklore, the moonstone is said to secrete moisture when struck by a moonbeam.
Surely in all these houses
girls are coming
of age.
Go inquire: do their
lovers attend them
the way this slave does?
You’ve let the wicked
speak into your ear and disfigure you.
A man suffers like this,
his taste for love
grows bitter.
Love is a swollen
river—
urgent, nearly touching
the lovers stand thwarted.
Parents like embankments
hold them back.
Face to face
motionless as paintings
they drink love’s
nectar through lotus-stalk eyes.
The sandal paste
is rubbed from your lifted
breasts,
your lip rouge is smeared,
the kohl’s gone from your eyes.
Deceitful messenger
your soft skin’s aroused
and you can’t see your own
sister’s despair!
Tell me you went to the
bathing tank
not back
to that scoundrel.
Her cheerless pinched face,
lifeless hair
falling like cinders about it,
brightened the moment I returned
from abroad.
That slender girl’s mouth—
who could forget the sweet moisture,
we drank
love so eagerly.
Though chafing
she no longer struggles if I
loosen her skirt.
No scowling no
biting the lip when her
hair’s fingered.
Even opens her
limbs compliantly and doesn’t
resist when I’m rough.
What is this
new expression of anger?
Thoughts and
emotions disordered
she wordlessly rebukes the lover
who’s lowered himself
at her feet.
When he rises to go
she’s quite limp
eyes clouded with relentless tears—
thin and unsteady
she stands in his way.
Scarlet betel-nut juice
spattered about,
black streaks of sandalwood oil,
smears of camphor,
and imprints
from the henna designs on her feet.
In scattered folds petals
lost from her hair.
Every position a
woman took pleasure from
is told on
these bed sheets.
Tell you a secret—
he called me to a secluded seat.
My childlike curious heart fluttered
drawing near.
He spoke in my ear
breathed near my mouth
then, friend, he seized these braids
and sucked the
honey off my lips.
Feeling the quick
flush of her period she stood
off from the bed.
His eyebrows begged
an intimate kiss,
his lip trembled.
Shaking her head no—
clutching a shawl to bright cheeks
the many glittering pendants
at her ears.
Where to
girl with bright thighs?
There’s no moon tonight.
Out to my lover.
Not afraid, young in the darkness
to travel alone?
Can’t you see—at my side
with lethal arrows the
love god?
Tilted his head
when she cast a vine-knotted
brow at her rival.
Saluted and stood
abstractly off
when somebody noticed.
Her cheeks flashed like copper.
He stared at her feet.
Yet in front of the parents they
managed to keep up
appearances.
Long minutes her
haunted eyes stared,
with clasped palms she pleaded,
clutched the white robe’s
edge and held him in her torment.
When he pushed past her
and grimly started out
she let go first her hold
on life
then him.
She sees smudges of lac on his brow,
on his neck
a bracelet’s imprint,
on his cheek eyeblack
and scarlet streaks of betel-nut juice.
All morning long
she toys with a red lotus,
breathing
deep into its calyx.
From this day on
I’ll be no refuge for
bitterness. I won’t even shape
that man’s poisonous
name in my mouth.
Lady Night sheds
bright laughing moon rays without him.
Can’t I get through one
monsoon day darkened
with thunder?
Wickedly you drop
your arms from my waist
at the sound of somebody’s
girdle gems.
And I can confide in no one.
My girlfriend’s in a whirl.
She says it’s nothing.
Your venomous words all butter and
honey have
softened her.
Finally their quarters
are empty.
She raises herself on the couch
studies his face at length
then searches his sleeping frame
with her mouth.
He isn’t asleep though—
across one cheek
runs a quiver.
With a laugh he
kisses his
bride’s downturned face.
Why treat your man
with contempt
when he falls at your feet?
You think he’s too
slow at love?
At her handmaid’s rebuke
anger subsided. Tears pressed forward.
Suddenly she couldn’t
restrain them
couldn’t let go.
His replies sounded forced
when he got back.
In his absence she’d
grown lean
and contrived not to notice.
But fearful his evasions
might reach the ears
of judgmental friends, she
cast her eyes quickly about.
Nobody there.
She breathed again
deeply.
Look, delicate one, the bed is stained—
intimate love
has caked it with sandalwood powder.
Pulling me onto his chest
he bit my lip roguishly
tore at my gown with his feet
and again
started our raptures.
To the family her
endless tears,
to parents her bitterness,
affliction she’s left
to the servants,
stabs of anguish to friends.
Tomorrow she may provide ecstasies
today it is sighs—
but be sure—
she’s already handed around
all the suffering.
Let this heart split,
friend—
let Kama twist my thin
body however he likes—
I’m done! Done with that man’s
unreliable
comings and goings.
A burst of embittered words—
then in abrupt alarm
she searches with antelope eyes
the hidden
forest path.
NOTE: Kama (Desire) is the god of love, known by other epithets as well, such as Ananga (Bodiless) and Madana (Intoxicator).
His lip
recklessly bruised by some
other girl’s tooth?
She swings a yellow lotus angrily.
He stands
squeezing his eyes.
Did a filament get in—?
Remorse or is it
shrewdness?
She blows softly at his face
through pursed lips.
And no he doesn’t fall at
her feet he just
kisses her.
Those first days
of untempered love
my body and
your body were never apart.
The seasons turned.
You came to be my cherished lord,
I the desolate mistress.
Now you’re the husband,
I’m the wife, and the year
turns again?
Life must be cruel as a thunderbolt
if this is
where it ends.
You’re determined
to lead your whole life
like a child?
Develop some pride,
take a risk.
With a lover you need to be forthright.
Her face whitened
at her friend’s admonishment.
Speak softly he’ll hear you—
he dwells
in my heart.
By the courtyard well
she hangs on to a
spray from the mango tree.
Black female bees
greedy for loose pollen are swarming,
and I think the lady has wrapped
her slight body with a
bit of cloth.
Her breasts tremble—
she’s choking back the sobs
in her throat.
You ignored
the turning seasons of love,
shook off counsel,
and treated your
lovers with cold disregard.
The coals of betrayal flare in your
own bare hands.
The planet is burning.
And now this intractable rage—
like a wild
animal wounded.
You’ve rubbed
the feathery patterns from your
cheeks with your
own palms.
Sighs have removed the dew
that rises from within
to your parted lips.
Your breasts quaver but
it’s from hard
tears in your throat.
Bitter girl, anger makes love
to you not I.
Somehow she
got through the day
anticipating
the hundred pleasures of night.
Her dear one’s returned!
But now it’s time to enter the bedchamber
and relatives
won’t stop their dull conversation.
Mad with desire the girl finally cries
something bit me
shakes her skirt fiercely
and knocks over
the lamp—
My breasts at first
little buds
grew plump under your hands.
My speech
instructed by yours
lost its native simplicity.
What shall I do?
These arms
left my old nursemaid’s neck
to creep around yours,
but you no longer
set foot in the neighborhood.
When my heart leaps at
a sight of her
and I devise a thousand ways to engage her—
when desire flares and the
messenger girl
brings explicit descriptions—
who could imagine the ecstasies
of a single quick night?
I walk the oxcart path
outside her house and obtain the
fiercest pleasure.
Camisole shed to the floor,
she shakes—shakes—
a leaf-soft hand and casts her crushed
string of jasmine at the
lamp flame.
Disheveled but smiling
she covers his eyes.
Now that they’ve made love, again
and again his enraptured
eyes find her.
Face turned aside
eyes squeezed angrily shut
she pretends she’s asleep.
Into her thin legs and arms
with a clever motion he
inserts his own.
And when a trembling
hand goes to her waistband she
sucks her already
tight stomach tighter.
Far as the eye can reach
she gazes down
the footpath her lover takes.
The roads have gone silent.
Day’s given way to stealthy night.
She takes one reluctant step
homewards—
delayed a few minutes maybe—
snaps her head back,
searching darkly.
Kingdoms lie between them.
Hundreds of rivers, soaring peaks,
forests. Nothing
he tries could bring her
to view.
Why stand on tiptoe
on the good earth craning his neck?
The traveler rubs grit
from his eyes, he studies
the far horizon—
thinking—
Sweat on your face?
—the bright sunshine.
Your eyes look red and excited—
—his tone made me furious.
Your black hair scattered—
—the wind.
What about the saffron designs on your breasts?
My blouse rubbed them off.
And winded—
—from running back and forth.
Of course.
But what’s this curious
wound to your lip?
NOTE: A poem nearly identical in content though with quite different vocabulary, attributed to Lady Shilabhattarika (ca. ninth century), appears in several later anthologies. The theme of a jealous young woman and the messenger girl who has possibly betrayed her occurs often in Sanskrit poetry. It is a theme that occurs in devotional poetry as well, with theological and yogic design.
Hard-hearted girl
drop these suspicions, the stories
are false—
malignant rumors
designed to bring discord.
If you’re that impressionable
do as you like though.
May it
bring peace.
Knotted my brows a long time,
learned to squint,
trained myself sedulously
to suppress smiles
even achieved the yoga
of silence.
In my heart courage is fixed.
The stage is set, the attendants of anger
are gathered—
success now
lies with the gods.
He’d drop at my feet,
cry and make oaths,
sweeten me with crazy words.
There’d be savage love for this
starved body and hard
kisses everywhere.
Angry displays bring compelling rewards
but dare I risk it—
this lover lies near my heart—
can I toy with him?
My lover
stepped towards the bed.
Somehow the skirt
clung to my hips
but the knot came undone by itself.
What can I say?
Nothing makes sense in his arms
not who I am
not who is taking me.
Is it me that comes?
Is it him?
Sighs parch my lips.
My heart is a
black torn-up root.
Sleep doesn’t come, my lover’s face
won’t appear.
Night and day this husk of a
body trembles since he lay at my feet
rejected.
What were you thinking, friends—
goading me to
treat him so harshly?
She did nothing to
bar the door
did not turn her face away
there were no brittle words.
She gazed with indifferent eyes through
steady lashes.
He could have been anyone.
When he’s frisky
and steals her undergarments
she squeals in distress
quick—before someone sees us!
But the love god sees,
mighty archer of the three worlds,
and though the fortifications
are breached,
the erotic struggle decided,
he flashes back to the
battlefield.
NOTE: In Indian mythology, the three worlds, or lokas, are traditionally heaven, earth, and the underworld. One can’t help appreciating the distinctness—and perhaps uniqueness—of a cosmology in which the love god goes armed with arrows, not through heaven and earth only, but even into the underworld.
Half mad with desire a young
woman raises her
leaf-soft foot—
anklet and cochineal tattoos—
and kicks him for some offense.
Thus is a man claimed
by the god with the crocodile banner,
the holy
god of love.
NOTE: Crocodile? Some give it as dolphin or sea monster. The Sanskrit word is makara, a “hybrid aquatic creature” of mythology. Like a crocodile but unlike the dolphin, the makara has teeth. It is a mystery why this elemental figure appears on the pennant of Kama, the love god.