THE PROLOGUE

In Praise of God

1. God, giver of love, the treasure-house of joy
Creator of the two worlds in the one sound O,*
my mind has no light worthy of you,
with which to sing your praise, O Lord!
King of the three worlds* and the four ages,*
the world glorifies you from beginning to end.
Sages, the learned, thinkers on the Absolute,*
all have failed to laud you on earth.
How can I accomplish with a single tongue
what a thousand tongues could not in four ages?

Manifest in so many forms, in all three worlds, in every heart,

how can my senses glorify you with one tongue alone?

2. In every state the Supreme Lord is One,
a single form in many guises.
In heaven, earth, and hell, wherever space extends,
the Lord rejoices in multiplicity of form.
The Maker makes the universe as He wills.
He came as Death, comes still, will always come.*
Placeless, He is present everywhere.
Unqualified, He is Oṃ, the singular sound.
Hidden, He is manifest everywhere.
Formless, He is the many-formed Lord.

One Light there is which shines alone, radiant in all the worlds.*

Countless are the forms that Light assumes, countless are its names.*

3. If gods, men, and serpents, as many as there are,
were to praise the Lord for a million years,
still all would give up, saying in shame,
‘We did not know You as You are.’
If the mind were to wander for a million years,
how could its poor intelligence reach God?
Giver of bread, He feeds the world,
Creator, Destroyer, and sole Sustainer,
alone in the three worlds and the four ages,
He plays, Himself, in multiple forms.

Invisible, untainted,* the one Creator is a single shape in many disguises.

Here, He is in beggar’s rags; there, in the robes of the primordial king.

4. How can I describe the One
who pervades the universe in so many forms?
In the three worlds, all know His Being,
whatever exists, exists in Him.*
Though manifest, not hidden, in all four ages,
yet rarely can anyone know His mystery.
Manifest, He is luminous in ten directions,*
immanent in all things, yet always transcendent.
To the one who applies his mind to Him,
the Creator shows His hidden nature.*

He hides, He plays openly, He permeates all things,

No other exists, nor ever did, nor ever will!

5. The one born on earth never to know You,
lives uselessly and dies repentant.
He has lived his earthly life in vain
who seeks from life anything but You.
Lord, I have a wish in my heart,
that I may love You for Yourself.
My tongue cannot express the certainty
with which my soul knows You.
When every epithet that comes to mind fails,
how can I sing Your praises?

As far as the bird of knowledge can fly, as deep as the mind can fathom,

thus far one can go: beyond that point, where are the means?

6. Beginning of the beginning, end of the end,
many forms but only One Essence,
He is One, there is no other.
He has neither beginning nor end.*
Through Him my heart has realized this truth:
in all three worlds, there is One alone.
No match for You exists anywhere.
Creation itself is the mirror of Your face.*
Only the man who forgets his self
can find You by searching, losing his all.

Knower of all mysteries, Enjoyer of all joys,

behind all of creation, You are the One Lord!

In Praise of Muḥammad

7. Listen now while I tell of the man:
separated from him, the Maker became manifest.
When the Lord took on flesh, He entered creation.
The entire universe is of His Essence.
His radiance shone through all things.
This lamp of creation* was named Muḥammad!
For him, the Deity fashioned the universe,*
and love’s trumpet sounded in the triple world.
His name is Muḥammad, king of three worlds.
He was the inspiration for creation.

The moon split in two at the pointing of his finger;*

from the dust of his feet the cosmos became stable.

8. Muḥammad is the root, the whole world a branch,
the Lord has crowned him with a priceless crown.
He is the foremost, no other is his equal.
He is the substance and the world his shadow.
Everyone knows the Maker, the hidden mover,
but no one recognizes the manifest Muḥammad!
The Invisible One, whom no one can see,
has assumed the form of Muḥammad.
He has named this form Muḥammad,
but it has no meaning other than the One.

I shout it out loud, let the whole world hear:

‘Manifest, the name is Muḥammad; secretly, you know it is He!’*

In Praise of the Four Caliphs

9. Now listen while I tell of his four companions,*
the givers of doctrine, truth, and justice.
The first was Abū Bakr,* the Proof,
who accepted as truth the words of Muḥammad.
The second was ‘Umar,* the king of justice:
he left father and son for the work of God.
The third, ‘Umān,* knew the secrets of scripture.
The fourth was the Lion ‘Alī,* the virtuous,
who conquered the world by the grace of his sword.

They held the original scripture as truth, accepting nothing else.

Visibly, they focused on actions, inwardly walking the path of God.

In Praise of Salīm Shāh*

10. Salīm Shāh has become a great king in the world,
he takes pleasure in the earth through his power.
When he is angry and presses down his stirrup
Indra’s throne* in heaven trembles.
Through the nine regions and the seven continents*
there is fear and confusion at the sound of his name.
When he took the universe as his kingdom
no warrior remained on earth to oppose him.
All ten directions fear his might,
and even in Laṅkā* there is consternation
from the brilliance of his sword.

Lord of the earth, he appreciates virtue: he is a treasury of the fourteen sciences.*

A true man who can break his enemy’s arm, he is a strong, wise king.

11. Through Salīm’s ascetic power, his momentous birth,
the doors of Kabul and India are one.
In the north, snowy mountains attest his authority.
Southwards, Hanumān’s bridge* limits his power.
Syria and Rome are his western frontier;
eastwards, he is famous till the ocean shore.
All nine regions are happy, for Salīm is
a Yudhihira* in virtue, a Harīścandra* in truth.
In creation’s three worlds, I cannot recall anyone
equal to him in the grace of his sword.

The nine regions all bless him, ‘May you rule in the world

as long as moon and sun endure, as long as the pole-star shades the earth!’

12. The fame of his justice resounds high and clear,
lamb and wolf graze together at peace.
I cannot describe his just rule, where the lion
plays with a cow’s tail in its paw.
Through his austerities his kingdom is strong,
a garden come to flower without any thorns.
His policy in the world ensures
the strong cannot oppress the weak.
Right is known from wrong as milk from water.
The man who knocks on his door, finds it open.

Joy and happiness, enthusiasm and delight: everyone accepts these virtues here.

Poverty, grief, oppression, and fear have left the land and fled away.

13. How can I describe the wonders of his kindness?
He grants robes and crowns to monarchs.
When the doors of his generosity are opened
Kara* comes calling with outstretched hands.
When the trumpet-call of his gifts reaches heaven,
Ḥātim,* Kara, Bhoja* and Bali* are all ashamed.
In truth he is Harīścandra, in almsgiving Bali,
Yudhihira in virtue, incarnate in the age of Kali.
King Bhoja cannot equal his merits or knowledge;
in valour, Vikrama* cannot compare.

Joy rules the seven continents, the nine regions are happy.

Save for the pain of separation, there is no grief in all the land.

In Praise of Shaikh Muḥammad Ġhaus*

14. There is a holy man great in the world,
a Shaikh beloved of God,
profound in knowledge, matchless in beauty.
Whoever comes to touch him, calling on his name,
is cleansed from sin and gains enlightenment.
Whomever the Shaikh loves in his heart,
he calls to him gently and crowns him king.
The one whom his gaze touches is protected,*
and the stain of his body is washed away.
The disciple who seeks out this Guru’s glances
and fosters them, washes out the stain of death!*

A sight of the Guru washes away sorrow—bless those who cherish that vision!

The disciple whom the Guru nurtures is the king of all four aeons.

15. Shaikh Muḥammad is a matchless guide,
he is the steersman over seven oceans.*
Whoever comes in contemplation of his feet,
sees his face and is filled with joy.
All hopes are fulfilled, for now and hereafter.
The man who bends and touches his feet
destroys his sins. From the Shaikh’s mouth
comes only knowledge. He teaches the fourteen sciences
and the secret syllables of spiritual power.*
In his heart, there’s no pleasure, nor grief.
He meditates constantly, absorbed in union.

Shaikh Muḥammad is generous and appreciates virtues.

In both the worlds, he is pure and true, a preceptor profound and deep.

16. As the sun’s rising illumines the world,
his light radiates from east to west.
Some people’s eyes are lit by that sun,
like stars, which he lights with ultimate knowledge.
For those who are born as blind as bats,
even that rising sun is dark.
In this Kali age,* the man who takes courage
gains perfection through courage alone.
Shaikh Muḥammad is a matchless adept,
he grants spiritual power even to cowards.

Like a magic stone, his touch transforms base metal to gold.

Even I, irresolute, came to be realized through a glimpse of Shaikh Muḥammad.

17. The man absorbed in the Absolute knows,
he understands the alphabet of the soul.
The letters of the soul are difficult, unfathomable,
only the Guru can take you through them.
If you want to know these syllables,
simply lose your self, it’s simplicity.*
If you want the Guru’s grace,
leave aside all the mind’s arguments; know him!*
Everyone sees his manifest form,
but few recognize his secret nature.*

The Lord has made mighty kings and saints who steady the world,

but Shaikh Muḥammad Ġhau transcends the attainments of both.

18. Shaikh Muḥammad is an ocean of knowledge,
fathomless and profound. The man who serves him
crosses over to the farthest shore.
Some dip their heads in, others wash their limbs,
some wash only their hands and faces,
and some come to drink at this ocean shore.
Others look and just come back,
but all obtain the blessings of life.
Others remain bereft of this ocean’s waters,
only a few have earned enough merit.

As one resolves, so does one perfect oneself. In this age of Kali,

the Shaikh is a fathomless ocean, a hoard of knowledge and virtue.

19. The man who comes, desire in his heart,
and sees his face, attains his goal.
Ultimate knowledge enters his heart,
deep in meditation, he is shown the way.
The man who sleeps and loses the day,
loses his bag in the market-place.
Who knows what one’s fate will hold?
The harder you practise, the further you get.
And if your forehead has the line of fate,
you’ll see Shaikh Muḥammad in this life.

God makes some as seeing men; in their hearts, the trumpet blows.

Those He creates as sightless bats live in total darkness.

20. All the pandits in the age of Kali
shaved their heads to learn from him.*
As his disciples, they attained perfection.
Many too are the madmen born on earth,
but to all he gave the knowledge of salvation.
He does nothing but meditate, absorbed in knowledge,
and makes kings of seekers, whether clothed or naked.
The man who stays with him four days,
rejects both worlds and just stays on.
Those he looks at with compassion
turn aside from now and hereafter.

The Shaikh’s heart shines, more dazzling than a million suns,

for he has swallowed up pride and transcended the triple world.

21. Twelve years he stayed alone in a place
which sees neither sun nor moon.
A horrible, rugged, difficult place,
called Dhundha Dari in this age of Kali,
with impassable mountains on all four sides
where no human had gone before.
There he went to meditate on God.
He ate only leaves and berries in the forest.
In subduing his soul, he killed a mad elephant,
and imbibed the nectar of pleasure, enlightenment.*

Controlling his self with great austerities, he attained perfection.

Twelve years in mountain and wasteland he stayed absorbed in God.

In Praise of *

22. Now listen while I tell of the brave,
invincible in battle, intelligent and wise.
He is a man of knowledge, virtue and courage,
learned and wise, yet a hero in battle.
He is the King’s mighty right arm,
wherever he stands, retreat is impossible.
When he gives his word, he does not waver,
like the pole-star, he is firm and unmoving.
He is bounteous like the billowing ocean.
Never does an untruth cross his lips.

War incarnate, he is brave, yet knowledgeable and refined. By the grace of his sword

he is courageous and true, a treasury of the fourteen sciences.

23. ‘In the whole army, there’s only one man
who worships the sword,’ said Salīm Shāh in praise.
His blade is thirsty for red blood and booty,
and when his spear moves, everyone flees like mice.*
Enemies hear his pledges and tremble,
thunder and lightning strikes at their hearts.
When his army attacks, all the warriors praise him,
and rush into battle on his left flank.
He is the bravest in the world,
purest gold in all twelve parts.

No rival for his sword in the Kali age, no connoisseur to match him.

When he takes up sword in hand, enemies hear him and quake.

In Praise of the Word*

24. Word, O word, where is your home?
From where did your light shine forth?
Where were you born? My mind cannot fathom it.
My mind has puzzled over this,
and no one can say what it means:
if words arise from mortal mouths,
then how can the word be imperishable?
If man, the master of words, can die,
then how does the word remain immortal?

Reflect on my words, and you will see:

the word is alive in every heart, like Him.

25. If the Maker had not made the word,
how could anyone hear stories of pleasure?
Before the beginning, before first creation,
the word was incarnate in Hari’s mouth.*
First, word, one word, the sound of O,
good and bad, it pervaded the cosmos.
The Creator gave the word a high place in creation,
it distinguishes man from beast.
Everyone knows about the word,
God is incarnate within it.

No one has seen You, no one knows Your home,

Master of the triple world, You are manifest in the word.

26. Words came into the world as precious pearls,
through them the Guru taught enlightenment.
The Maker fashioned the four holy Vedas,
and the word became manifest on earth.
Words came down from heaven to earth,
sent down by the Lord Himself.
Had He found anything to equal the word,
He would have sent that in its place.
Through man, immortal word became flesh,
undying through all four ages.

The word is too precious to be described or sketched.

The word belongs to God, who has neither form nor line.

In Praise of Love

27. Love made an entrance at the beginning,
then the world came into existence.*
From love all creation sprang:
love filled each created form.
Only he enjoys life’s reward on earth
in whose heart is born love’s anguish.
The man whose soul does not know love,
does not know the simple mystery.*
Fate gives some the pain of separation,
gives them the crown of the triple world.

Do not think separation is pain; from it, joy comes into the world.

Blessed is the man whose sorrow is the sorrow of love-in-separation.

28. Love is the costliest jewel in existence.
The man whose soul knows love is blessed.
God made the world only for love.
Through love, God Himself is manifest.
Love’s radiance lights up all of creation.
No rival to love exists anywhere.
Rare are those who have the luck
to gain the good fortune of love.
The word rings out in all four ages:
‘He alone is the king,
who gives his head on the path of love!’

The market of love is open to all. O people, buy what you need.

Buyers, look at profit and loss; don’t lose a chance like this!

29. The root of creation, separation’s anguish,
brought into being the whole world.
A man needs previous merit to feel this pain.
Know this in your soul, that love
is the dearest thing in all the world.
Whatever I’ve seen and heard tells me:
for love’s sake, nothing is forbidden.
Hearts in which love’s lamp is lit,
see the beginning and end of all things.
Hearts which are tortured by separation,
remain immortal, never die.

No scripture, no wisdom, no magic power, can teach the lesson of separation.

This treasure goes only to those on whom God’s grace falls, compassionate.

30. The man whose soul is marked by love,
sees the Unseen One wherever he looks.
And then if insight is born in his heart,
he sees himself in all other selves.
If the tree of knowledge blooms and bears fruit,
he abandons everything, eats of nothing but this tree.
No duality remains in the world for him,
wherever he looks is eternal joy.
You are the lamp in the house of creation.
Never mistake the body for the soul.

All the joys and sorrows of the world happen exactly as God wishes.

When they touch you, know that it is God no one else.

To the Soul*

31. O soul, you are an ocean of treasures.
Why do you destroy yourself with pride?*
All of creation is the mirror of your face,
from it the triple world shines with light.
In heaven, earth and the nether world,
your radiance gives light to all.
You alone are manifest in all creation,
everything is You, there is no other.
Whoever loses his self can find himself.
What can he find who has not lost himself?

O light of the triple world, what place is there where you are not?

Look hard, you are everywhere, at play in all that comes to be.

Some Spiritual Advice*

32. Now listen, here’s some practical advice:
sit in meditation and focus on the Absolute form.
Seize the upward breath in your body,
blow at the fire within your heart.
When the flame rocks, it showers sparks,
and burns the blackness off your body!
Then sound* will vibrate through your body,
while you can barely hold yourself in!
That is the light of your inner heaven,*
live in that mystic sound!

Among millions of beings, a solitary man enjoys this heaven.

He dwells like fragrance in the circle of emptiness,* in the abode of bliss.

33. Abandon consciousness, wisdom and knowledge,
focus on meditation, not on your body.
When you reach the state of union,
there you will find your own true self.
In the place of the Absolute, the Pure,
the Void, will be your self without any selfhood.
Beyond all knowledge, unknowing rules,
where your self will lose all knowledge of itself.
There, in the mystical, self-born union of Sahaja,
your own true self will be revealed.

Stay in absorption in the deep cave, motionless as if in sleep,

in the union where there is no you, no other, and no action.

In Praise of Carnāḍhi*

34. The city of Carnāḍhi is a peerless fort,
built like invincible Laṅkā in this age of Kali.
A river runs around it to the east,
and the Gaṅgā is its moat to the north and west.
I cannot describe the Gaṅgā which flows
within its walls. It must be seen to be appreciated.*
A thousand kings with forces joined
and laying siege, would retreat in shame.
Above, its roofs are built in many shapes,
while down below the divine river surges and swells.

The city is matchless in beauty, the fort impregnable and strong,

Impossible to acquire, just like hard-earned merit.

35. The fort is beautiful, its king, godlike and wise,
its people are happy and intelligent.
Enlightened all and devotees of God,
themselves joyful, they feel the pain of others.
Generous and kind and dutiful are they,
deeply absorbed in the savour of love.
All are nobly born, and enjoy every good fortune.
Think of it as the shadow of paradise on earth,
for I cannot adequately sing its praises.

In every lane and every house, there is excitement and joy.

Heaven has come down to earth, and made its dwelling here.

A Warning

36. Kali, the age of degeneration, is black as a cobra.
A tricky old virgin, she charms the triple world.
Old and young, she deceives them all,
she devours everyone who is born on earth.
Many have fallen for this pretty girl, Kali.
She is engaged to many men, but marries none.
This wicked sinner cheats the whole world,
men who lust for her come to no good.
Don’t fall for her, she’s fickle and treacherous,
or you will lose both capital and interest.

O lustful parrot, leave the silk-cotton tree, for it has trapped many birds!*

Only those whose hearts are blind could possibly enjoy this evil sinner.

37. She’s tricky; no man who falls for her
ever profits from it, but loses his capital.
Like a palm tree’s useless shade,
she offers much but quickly slips away.
She’s a mean bitch, no good to anyone.
She sticks to you for just a few days,
never is she a faithful wife until death.
The man she nurtures she certainly kills,
whomever she picks up, she always abandons.
High or low, she visits everyone’s house,
but she never stays forever.

She’s an enchanting whore, and black-faced, a fraudulent ancient virgin.

She beguiles the whole world and then devours it, this restless little imp of a girl.

38. No spring has ever come to the world
that did not suffer a fall of leaf.
No moon has ever grown to fullness
that was not lost in the dark of the month.
O wise people! Do not forget this Kali:
she is like water in a pitcher of air.
Do not wilfully deceive yourselves,
or you will have much to repent of at leisure.
In this age of Kali, no one is born immortal.
Everyone is sorry in the end.

She never stays for anyone, so don’t go falling in love with her!

Do not be taken in by a world ten times trickier than you!

To the Reader

39. In the year nine hundred and fifty two,
the man of truth abandoned this Kali age.*
Then a desire arose within me
to weave a tale in language full of feeling,
using the sweetest, most powerful words
that ever I had heard or stored in my heart.
All who aspire to love should hear me,
for I will speak in words sweet and tender.
I offer you a delightful story in verse,
cease all arguments and enjoy the tale.

Listen to this sweet and moving story, full of feeling and love!

And if you hear a line with a flaw, I beg you spare the poet’s blushes.

40. God inspired this tale in my heart:
listen and I will tell it to you.
The connoisseur who relishes the savour of love
will expertly reckon every flaw and excellence.
For when a poet strings his words together,
poetic excellence hides defects of verse.
In just this way did God make humans deficient.
He made the human spirit pure,
but placed it in a body prone to sin.
Mankind, which was defective at creation,
will surely so remain until the end of time.

God alone is flawless and free from the taint of sin.

If we find faults in man’s imperfection, why should we be amazed?

41. Scholars, hear this plea of mine:
I fold my hands, bow down to your feet.
If you cannot admire the virtues of my poem,
I beg you not to be mean, spiteful critics.
If, when you read my poem, you like it,
then you can criticize it and destroy the flaws.
Where the words do not flow, improve them.
Be generous when you criticize, consider good and bad.
What is the good of writing bad poetry?
What can one do with such stuff?

If madmen find fault with my work, that does not worry me.

Blessed is the man who accepts my faults to grasp the deeper meaning.

42. I am sure no scholar will condemn me,
but one cannot expect anything from fools.
If the learned do not stand against me,
what harm is there in madmen’s rants?
From the day our forefathers left paradise,
our very nature has been home to fault.
O people, hear my words with understanding.
Unless you understand, you have no right to criticize!
Even if one word in ten is bad,
do not launch into an attack, let it go!

Only a fool hears exquisite verse with head bowed in silence;*

only if he finds a word out of place, does he run to catch it out.

43. A story sweet as nectar I will sing to you:
O experts in love, pay attention and listen!
Such juicy matters only connoisseurs know,*
tasteless stuff is tossed out by them.
Termites run away from wood without juice;
will camels eat cane without any sugar?
Whatever has rasa, is enjoyed as such,
and the man who does not have the taste
will find even the tasteful tasteless.

Many tastes are found in the world, O connoisseurs!

But listen: I shall describe love, the royal savour of savours.

The End of the Prologue.

THE STORY OF MANOHAR AND MADHUMĀLATĪ

The Birth of Manohar

44. A story first from the age of Dvāpar*
I now recount in words in the Kali age.
The fort of Kanaigiri, fair ‘city of gold’,
was the shadow of paradise on earth.
Its King was Sūrajbhānu, ‘light of the sun’,
famed through the nine regions and the seven continents.
Countless were his horses and elephants,
matchless his grain, his wealth, his pomp and splendour.
But now his life’s sunlight grew pale and weak,
no son of his rose to shed new light.

God’s grace had given him plenty: grain, treasures, horses, and elephants.

But day and night his heart and mind were filled with longing for a son.

45. In the age of Kali, a son is a man’s second life.
Without a son, life and birth are destroyed.
A mother and father can enjoy the world
only if a son carries on their name.
Without a son, who recalls them after death?
Without a son, who gives rice-balls for the ancestors?*
Worldly life is a waste without a son.
A son is a lamp to dispel the world’s darkness.
All this is true for a good son.
May God preserve families from bad sons!

A bad son is like a sixth finger growing on one’s hand:

keep it and it is infamous, cut it off and it pains.

46. To Kanaigiri came a great ascetic,
people went to pray at his feet.
After them, came the King himself,
washed his feet, raised the water to his head.
‘The Creator is kind to have let me meet you.
Whatever I have asked for, God has always granted.
All my prayers have now been answered.
I have only one wish in my heart
which you may well be able to fulfil.’

When the holy man was deep in meditation, all the people went back home.

Only the King stayed on in the forest, serving faithfully at his feet.

47. Day and night the King served him devotedly.
He stayed awake all night, did not sleep by day.
He forgot hunger, thirst, and the ease of sleep,
and stood always in the holy man’s service.
When fully twelve years had passed,
the ascetic opened his eyes and saw him.
‘Who are you, in the form of a human?
Why are you standing here?’
‘I am the King of this city.
I have served you all of twelve years.

Treasure, horses, and elephants I have, queens and riches and stores of arms.

But God did not grant me a son: I cannot cross to the farther shore.’

48. When he heard the King’s entreaty,
the holy man was happy and blessed him,
‘Listen, O protector of the earth!
The Lord has granted you a son.’
He cooked some food and with great joy,
gave to the King a chosen morsel.
‘Give this to your favourite rani,
the one you love the most.’
The King raised the morsel to his head,
touched the ascetic’s feet and went home.

The King went to his favourite Queen and told her, ‘Eat this,

bathe and purify yourself, then withdraw from here.’

49. In his old age, the King’s despair
became transformed into hope.
To the royal house the Lord gave new hope,
and the King rejoiced, expecting his heir.
In the Queen’s tenth month,
when the Twins had entered Aries,
the mighty birth took place.
The sun was in the seventh house
and the moon was in the fifth.
Venus was stationed in the tenth,
while Jupiter was in the ninth.
When, on the tenth night, he was born,
Saturn looked down at the baby’s face.

He was the image of the God of Love,* his parents’ support and born fortunate.

The Prince was the shining light of his clan, born at an auspicious conjunction.

The Astrologers’ Prediction

50. With the dawn, the pandits came,
to count the planets and cast his horoscope.
They thought hard and assessed his qualities,
predicted that he would be a great king,
‘Gods and sages will salaam at his door,
all the kings of the world will serve him.
He will be talented, intelligent, and generous,
a hero in battle, powerful and proven.
He will be kind, profound and merciful,
and will understand the suffering of others.

The auspicious line of Rudra is on his neck, head, and feet; his sign is Leo.

He will be the shining lamp of his line. Name him Manohar, ‘heart-enchanting’.

51. ‘In his fourteenth year, on the ninth day
of the bright half of the eleventh month,
when the sun is in his birth sign
and the moon is in the seventh house,
he will meet his beloved, the love of his life.
On the night between Wednesday and Thursday,
the pain of love will be born in his heart.
The lovers will be parted and the Prince,
suffering the pain of love-in-separation,
will wander as a yogi for one whole year.
After that he will be a king in all his births,
thus do the stars predict.

His horoscope has auspicious signs, but some of the planets are hostile.

At the age of fourteen, the Prince’s heart will be consumed with grief.’

The City Celebrates

52. On the sixth night after the Prince’s birth,*
trumpets sounded in celebration.
Every house in the city rejoiced.
Joy and enthusiasm filled every home,
in every alley, the drums of happiness rang out.
People heard the news and ran to the palace,
all thirty-six serving castes* congratulated the King.
Maidens sang songs in ecstasies of joy,
fair young women with musk on their brows,
bodies anointed with sandal and aloes,*
adorned with necklaces on their breasts,
lips stained with betel,* vermilion on their heads;*
everywhere there was tumult, celebration.

In every house and every lane, the city rang with happiness.

Everyone sang Dhrupada and Dhruva* verses, in voices sweet and fine.

53. Joy and festivity filled the royal house.
Every subject received a gift of clothes.
To all his kin the King sent horses and silken robes,
and all the farmers in the land
were freed of taxes for the year.
And all who were unhappy in city and country,
the King made happy again through his gifts.
All the different kinds of celebrations
defy description with the poet’s tongue.

Shops were hung with rare silks. Musk, incense, and camphor

perfumed the streets; young women adorned their heads with vermilion.

54. On the twelfth day, a great feast was held,
to which the whole city was invited.
The King himself seated and fed the poor,
and horses were sent as presents to his kin.
Many were the beggars who came to his door,
grew fat on the feast served on plaintain leaves.
To the citizens of the thirty-six castes,
the King gave out the birthing gifts.
Bards returned home with fine horses,
their wives with silken saris.

To celebrate the Prince’s birth, the King made gifts of gold and silver,

food, riches, horses, elephants, jewels and pearls, until his treasury was bare.

The Prince Grows Up

55. The King found five well-born nurses,
and seven maids to play with the baby.*
Five times a day they cooked ambrosial food,
and day by day the royal Prince grew tall.
Like a flowering branch in spring,
he blossomed on a diet of warm milk.
The King and Queen rejoiced over the baby,
a greater joy than either heart could bear.
Every second, the King hugged the baby.
He gave away endless wealth for his sake.

The King revelled happily over his son, the joy of his declining years.

The days were spent in fun and frolic, the nights in joyous celebration.

56. The Prince grew older, delighting
in pleasures both day and night.
When he was five, he began to walk.
The King appointed a pandit as his teacher
at whose feet he was to learn.
Putting much wealth before the pandit,
the King said: ‘This child is yours
as much as he is my son.
Give him knowledge, do not stint,
and if I feel you accomplish this,
I will serve you every day myself.’

The King fell at the pandit’s feet, entreating him, ‘Make no mistakes,

Nurture him with the love you and I have known since childhood.’

57. The pandit taught the Prince well
that each word had several meanings.*
He taught him yoga and the science of sex,
drew pictures and explained their meanings.
Soon the Prince became so clever
he could explain many levels of mystery in scripture.
He taught him the true meanings*
of the Yogasūtra* and the Amarakośa,*
poetics and prosody and the Kokaśāstra.*
Who could match the Prince
in grammar, astrology or the Gītā,*
in the arts of meaning, poetry or song?

The Prince studied many other books of knowledge and practice,

he became so skilled that no one could defeat him in debate.

58. The Prince was occupied with learning and the arts
until he reached the age of twelve.
Then he took up the science of war,
in all the forms the world had known.
He was adept at sword and shield,
dagger, spear, and the skill of wrestling.
At bow and arrow he had no equal.
He could shatter a pearl tied on one’s hair.
When he took up his bow of horn,
the celestial rainbow hid itself in shame.

A hero in battle, full of knowledge and virtue, adept in all the fourteen sciences,

he was great in fortune and wisdom, the image of the maddening God of Love.

Manohar Become King

59. Now do I sing of the events of his twelfth year.
Spontaneously this thought arose within the King:
‘I am old and cannot keep my health for long.
Let me take the Prince and crown him king.’
He summoned his subjects and close family,
as many relatives as lived within the city,
and took counsel with them all:
‘I am pale and yellow with age
like the rays of the setting sun.
If the council agrees today, I shall entrust
the running of this kingdom to the Prince.

A man’s begetting a son in old age, a woman’s fresh youth without a husband—

who can control them? They are like springtime in a barren land.

60. ‘What use have I for property now?
If you agree, I will make the Prince your king.
I would be free of the worries of the world.
My son can delight in the pleasures of kingship.
If you allow it, I will crown him King.
Then I can chant the name of Hari,
and seek to cross to the further shore.’
The populace, his relatives, his vassals and courtiers,
all were overjoyed to hear the Prince’s name.
Everyone was delighted by the King’s address,
and began to celebrate with great enthusiasm.

Festivities resounded in all directions, through the seven continents and the nine regions,

when the King announced that he would grant Prince Manohar the realm.

61. On Thursday, in the sign of the Twins,
in the bright half of the month of Caitra,*
when the moon was cool and clear,
the King called the Prince to him.
When the Prince arrived the King stood up,
and the Prince bowed and touched his feet.
The King embraced him, then seated him on the throne.
His father was first to pay him homage,
and then the entire kingdom bowed to him.

The King took off his crown and placed it on Manohar’s head.

The city erupted with joy and enthusiasm; the whole world blessed the new King.

62. All the nobles and vassals there assembled,
at royal command bent their heads to the Prince.
The news was heard in the seven continents
and the nine regions of the earth,
from sunrise to sunset his fame resounded.
The word rang out through the circle of the earth:
by throne and realm he was the ruler of the world.
The triple world followed his orders,
and acknowledged him as their Lord.
The Prince’s writ ran throughout
the length and breadth of the Creator’s universe.

From east to west, the entire earth—gods, men, sages and celestials—

obeyed all of the Prince’s commands and served him constantly.

The Prediction Fulfilled

63. The Prince lived happily for a long time,
all the days of happiness his horoscope foretold.
After fourteen years and eleven months
came the dawn that destroyed his pleasure and play.
Then the sad days ruled by hostile planets
came and engulfed the Prince.
The sun was bright in the sign of Leo.
The moon, decked out with the sixteen adornments,*
had entered the circle of the heavens.
on a night between Wednesday and Thursday
as the Creator had written in the book of fate,
the fatal blow fell on the Prince.

The lines of loss and gain and sorrow written on one’s forehead

cannot be erased by all three worlds, even acting all together.

64. Now listen to the origin of love’s savour,
and how the Prince became mad with the wine of love.
One day, dancers came from a foreign land,
who performed the amazing dances of the south.
The Prince had always loved dancing,
and had them dance at his court day and night.
When he saw their bewitching performance,
he sent silken robes and invited them to his assembly.
Sūrajbhānu came and took his seat,
together with all the nobles of the realm.

Midnight fell as they watched the dancing, and the old King grew sleepy.

The company rose, the beautiful dancers left, and the Prince retired to bed.

65. Who could describe the Prince’s bed or couch?
I must tell only the tale that’s to be told.
The moment the Prince was united with his bed,
drowsiness descended, sweet sleep overcame him.
Sleep seized his eyelids which had stayed apart.
Like yogis who practise sexual union,
or parted lovers, his lashes came together.
God created sleep to be the greatest comfort,
for eyes which are free from the grit of love.

How could the Maker in his wisdom call love happiness and ease?

How can I describe love, that lodges in the eye, except as painful grit?

66. The happy are intoxicated with happiness,
while the sad grieve in their sorrows,
but pleasure and pain both fly away
from eyes which are visited by sleep.
Sleep can be both good and bad:
he alone is awake who knows the difference.*
The world should not criticize sleep, my friend,
many have attained perfection through it.
Only the man who knows truly how to sleep,
can taste the joy of the wine of love.

The true sleeper behaves alike in sleep and when he is awake.

I do not praise that sleep, however, which kills a man as he lives.

67. O ignorant man, sleep not that sleep
that makes a man lifeless while yet he lives.
Sleep to the world is a lesser death,*
but excessive sleep is truly death itself.
Just as the delights and kingdoms of our sleep
amount to nothing when we wake,
just as the inspirations of our dreams
prove false on awaking,
both sleeping and waking within this world
should be regarded as unreal.

A raging fire is this world’s sleep, a flame which destroys all it touches.

Sleep not that sleep, you fool, which will destroy all your capital.

68. O God, where did I get to, where am I?
I was telling you one thing, but said another instead.
I was about to tell the story of the Prince,
but sleep intervened and carried me away.
I return now to the story, so listen to how
the Prince was overwhelmed by sweet sleep,*
and how some nymphs chanced to gather round
the Prince’s bed as he lay there sleeping.
The nymphs were amazed to see in him
the precious, beautiful form of a celestial.

‘We are heavenly nymphs, and he is a man, so he is no concern of ours,

but let us marry him to the loveliest bride between the east and the west.’

69. ‘From east to west, to the world’s edges,
what place is there that we have not seen?
We know the whole world well.
We must find a match worthy of this Prince.’
One praised Saurāra and Gujarāt,
while another told of the Isle of Singhala.*
They went through all three worlds,
but could not find a beauty to match him.
Then one nymph stood up and said:
‘There is a maiden worthy of this Prince.

Vikram Rāi, the valiant king of the city of Mahāras,* has a virgin daughter

named Madhumālatī, ‘night-flowering jasmine’, whose beauty eclipses the sun and moon.’

70. When they heard her, the nymphs were delighted,
but one said the Prince was more beautiful than she.
Thinking it over together, they announced
that the Prince and Princess should be compared.
One nymph said: ‘Let’s take the Prince there.’
Another said: ‘Let’s bring the Princess here.’
A third pointed out that these comings and goings
would take up the entire night.
So, they cast the Prince into a charmed sleep,
and lifted his bed up into the air.

They took him to her as she lay happily asleep, the light of the triple world.

His bed they placed next to hers, to see side by side their beautiful bodies.

71. Words cannot describe the sight before them:
shamed, the sun hid in the daytime,
and the moon hid herself by night.
In the face of such astonishing beauty
the nymphs were struck dumb, overcome by shame.
Looking at the one, they saw such loveliness!
But when they glanced at the other,
they found beauty beyond compare.
Both were perfect and complete in beauty.
Neither was less lovely than the other.
The Prince was fair without blemish,
while the face of that most alluring maiden
displayed all sixteen attributes of beauty.

The more the nymphs looked at them, the lovelier they appeared.

God had made them perfectly, matchless in the triple world.

72. The nymphs then declared that both
were perfect in beauty,* and neither
was more excellent than the other.
‘If God should let them come together,
the three worlds would echo with celebration.
To look upon them is to taste the joy
of yogis in the state of mystical union.*
Lord, life of the three worlds,
please grant that they come together in love.
We have searched creation’s three worlds,
and nowhere is the equal of these two.

He is the sun and she the moon. She is the sun and he the moon.*

If love were born between them, the last trump would sound through the triple world.*

73. ‘God Himself incarnated these two*
as darlings and true lovers in this world.
Since we have come at foot’s pace to this city,
let’s go and play in the marvellous mango-grove,
and visit the garden of a thousand trees
while these two remain here fast asleep.’
At this the nymphs set off for the garden.
The Prince awoke and stretched lazily.
He saw a bed placed beside his own
on which a beautiful princess lay.

The sun was not more brilliant, nor the moon her match in beauty.

Perfect in beauty’s sixteen qualities, youth herself slept, head resting on her arm.

The Prince’s Vision

74. In the palace, silken drapes were hung all around,
between golden pillars studded with gems.
The chamber was like the heavens:
the maiden’s face shone like the moon,
and the precious stones were stars.
Her band of handmaidens were the Pleiades,*
her couch a heavenly swinging cradle.
She slept naturally and peacefully,
as if her form were moulded to the bed.
To describe her bed is beyond my powers,
so I must continue this juicy tale of pleasure.

The maiden was adorned in all the sixteen ways, and lay in sweet and tranquil sleep.

When the Prince saw her, his senses fled, and the light of his intelligence left him.

75. When the Prince looked again at her,
lying asleep so naturally, peacefully,
he awoke and returned to consciousness.
Astonished, he looked all around in amazement:
‘O Lord, whose city is this? Whose this palace?
Who is this that sleeps here so tranquilly?
Blessed is the man for whom the Creator
cast this maiden in bodily form.’
The moment that he saw Madhumālatī
she possessed his heart completely.
His soul bowed down to her beauty.
Seeing her lying in sweet sleep,
the fire of love engulfed his body,
consuming him utterly, from top to toe.

Like a lotus opening towards the sun, he blossomed as he saw her face.

Primeval love, like a new green shoot, sprouted in the Prince’s heart.

76. As he beheld the loveliness of her form,
he fainted away every second,
only to collect himself the next.
He was astonished to see such beauty:
‘O God, who is she? Where am I?
Such a beautiful form, and so adorned!
A glimpse of this maiden’s face,
would confound the greatest sages.
How can I describe her form and features?
She has entered my heart in a thousand ways.
Her beauty has thrown my soul into confusion.
My life flies from me like a restless leaf from a tree.’

As the Prince observed her lovely form and adornments, he found fulfilment,

yet his thirsty eyes could not leave the contemplation of her beauty.

Madhumālatī Described

Her Parting

77. Let me first tell of the parting in her hair,
difficult of ascent as the path to heaven.
As he looked at her parting and her flowing locks
he kept straying from the path and returning to it.
Strikingly lovely was the parting on her head,
like the keen edge of a sword stained with blood.
Who could traverse the path of that parting?
At every step, ringlets and curls set snares for the traveller.
All who passed were killed outright,
and therefore the path appears red with blood.

Of all who saw the parting of this blessed girl, so like a sword’s keen edge,

who is left to describe it, since she cleaves all who look on in two?

78. A ray of sunlight was her beautiful parting.
When it had won all the world, it moved heavenwards.
It was not a parting, but the market-place of heaven,
the path of the sun’s and moon’s rising and setting.
Where did this stream of nectar flow from,
the source for her moon-face’s inexhaustible radiance?
The Prince lost his soul when he saw her lovely parting,
he was drawn to it like moths to the lamp-flame.
Did not the Creator himself place it on her head?
To what then shall I compare it?

In the dark night it shone like lightning against the blackest clouds,

as if fallen from the sky and come to rest on the maiden’s head.

Her Hair

79. Her scattered locks were poisonous serpents gliding
easily over the pillows in excitement,
gem-bearing snakes,* moving so quickly,
viciously, full of deadly venom.
Just as the night grew radiant
when she revealed her face,
the day darkened as she let down her locks.
They were not tresses but the sorrows of lovers
become the adornments of her head.
Whoever in this world saw her locks,
lost all awareness of his own condition.

When this blessed virgin let loose her hair, the world was shrouded in darkness,

the God of Love spread out his net to snare the souls of grieving lovers.

80. Did you know why the world
was filled with such sweet fragrance?
Did the musk deer open its pod?
Or did Madhumālatī let loose her hair?
Did you know why the breeze from the south
blew in the world with the scent of sandal?*
One day this lovely girl set free her hair,
and all the wind gods came to dance attendance.
From that day the southern breeze
has wandered sadly, longing for her,
yet even today his hope is unfulfilled.

Ever since he blew around Madhumalātī’s fragrant dark locks,

the southern breeze remains constantly sad, grieving day and night.

Her Forehead

81. Her forehead was spotless as the moon
on the second night of a month,
shining through nine regions and three worlds.
Beads of perspiration shone brilliantly on her face,
as if the Pleiades had engulfed the moon.
A black spot of musk adorned her brow,
as if the moon had fallen into the demon Rāhu’s power.*
So beautiful was her alluring brow,
the moon in shame retreated to the heavens.
Brilliant in a thousand aspects, her brow
shone splendidly, radiantly, above the world.

Her moon-face below, her dark locks above: what an image of passion!

Night locked in embrace with the moon, with the night surmounting.

Her Eyebrows

82. Love happily took in his hands his bow.*
Using his strength, he broke it into two halves.
Without any alchemy, he put them point to point,
arranging them as Madhumālatī’s eyebrows.
How beautifully her eyebrows graced her face,
as if Love’s bow had been embodied on earth.
Had this enchanting maiden arched her brows,
Indra would have unstrung his rainbow in shame.
Love conquered the triple world with his bow;
then he brought it as a gift to Madhumālatī.

Vanquishing the triple world, the bow came to rest when no warrior remained.

Who could have won against a glance which pierced the heart right through?

Her Eyes

83. Her intoxicating eyes, black, white and red,
pierced the heart when her glances struck.
Large lively eyes, keen, crookedly seductive,
with eyelids covering them like wagtail’s wings.*
Her eyes were hunters who took countless lives,
then lay at rest, their bows beneath their heads.
They were like fish playing face to face,*
or two wagtails fighting on the wing.
Her eyes were murderous, thirsty for life,
yet on seeing them one wished to die.

They were a wondrous paradox that could not be resolved:

her eyes were does that lay fearlessly, each one beneath a hunter’s bow.

Her Eyelashes

84. Her eyelashes were arrows steeped in poison.
When a glance struck, venom overcame the heart.
The man who confronted the arrows of her lashes,
reduced the pores of his body to a sieve.
When her glance and lashes pierced a heart,
it turned both blood and heart to water.
When another’s glance met hers,
two knives were sharpened blade on blade.
Who could win against the arrows of her lashes?
With every glance, she let off a hundred shafts.

Pierced by her charming glances, who could protect his life any more?

Seeing the lashes of this blessed girl, who could wish for anything but to die?

Her Nose

85. The beauty of her nose defies description.
I searched the three worlds, did not find its likeness.
A parrot’s beak, a sword’s keen edge,
a sesamum flower: these do not describe it.
Nor could it be Udayācala,* the eastern hill.
Her nose is the channel for the sun and moon.*
No one could approach her nose in loveliness.
Sweet scents sustained it day and night.
To what shall I compare her nose
which the sun and moon themselves fanned with air?

With what qualities shall I describe this blessed maiden’s nose?

Day and night it was fanned with cool air by sun and moon alike.

Her Cheeks

86. Two cheeks adorned her lovely face,
rich in colour, full of rare delight.
I am bereft of reason, words fail me.
How can I describe her cheeks?
Who could practise austerities harsh enough
to enjoy such priceless treasures?
Her beautiful cheeks were fashioned by God.
What simile could describe their loveliness?
What can we poor humans accomplish?
Even the gods bow down before her cheeks.

Gods, men, sages, and celestial of musicians—all lose their reason before her cheeks.

On seeing their loveliness, even Lord Śiva’s* concentration strays.

Her Lips

87. Her lovely lips dripped with nectar.
Inflamed by love, they thirsted for blood.
They were tender, juicy, red in colour,
bimba* fruits placed against the moon.
No, no, this simile does not suffice:
God squeezed the moon’s nectar to form them.
Her lips, full of nectar, were yet untasted.
When the Prince saw them, he felt
his life drain away, and cried aloud:
‘When will the Lord grant my life be restored?’

Her lips, flame-coloured, were known as a sea of nectar by the world.

Seeing nectar and flame together, marvellous, set fire to one’s life breath.

Her Teeth

88. Her brilliant teeth defied description,
their shining dazzled the glance.
When she smiled slightly in sleep,
lightning flashed from the heavens.
When her lips parted, her teeth shone:
the sages of the triple world were blinded
and lost all recollection of themselves.
Mars, Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn
were stunned by the radiance of her teeth.
They all disappeared, who knows where,
and hid themselves within the moon.

If someone describes this as God’s self-disclosure, then understand the nature of God:

the Lord is hidden in this world, and no one has ever seen Him.

Her Mole

89. The lovely mole upon her face
could not be described by any simile.
The Prince’s eyes were enamoured of its beauty.
They became transfixed, and would not leave it.
‘It is not a mole, but the reflection of my eye,
in which her face appears ever more lovely.
Her face is a clear, unblemished mirror,
in it my eye’s shadow appears as a beauty-spot.
The pupil of my eye is soft and dark.
On her pure and spotless face it has fallen as a mole.’

The maiden’s lovely face was a stainless, shining mirror

in which the reflection of the Prince’s eye appeared as a mole.

Her Tongue

90. Sweet as nectar was the tongue
within the maiden’s mouth.
It spoke in tones of pleasure and delight.
Even the dead would savour with joy
her words as sweet as nectar.
Whoever heard her priceless gems of words,
themselves spoke sweetly in the world.
Who has performed such severe austerities
to be able to touch his tongue with hers?
Her sweet tongue, so rich in all delight,
moved languidly within the maiden’s mouth,
as if it had passed between two hostile foes,
and reached the abode of pleasure.

Sweet as nectar, full of pleasure and delight, was the tongue within her alluring mouth.

Within her moon-like radiant face, her tongue was an intoxicating spring of nectar.

Her Ears

91. Her lovely ears were shells of limpid pearl,
the heavenly planets were her earring studs.
Her pendants were encrusted with diamonds and gems.
On one ear she had hung the sun,
on the other, the sphere of Jupiter.
With two luminous orbs on either side,
her face rose like the moon between two stars.
What man did God make fortunate enough
to hold the attention of those ears, to speak to her?
The demon planet Rāhu had been split in two,
and placed as ears to protect her moon-face.

Her orb-like pendants shone luminously, radiant with Viu’s* light.

If Rāliu had not been afraid of them, he would surely have devoured this moon.*

Her Neck

92. What simile best describes her neck?
It was surely turned on the All-Maker’s wheel.
Who bears the mark of high destiny,
to sacrifice his life on the saw at Prayāg?*
For whom did the Creator fashion her neck?
Blessed the man who knows the joy
of embracing Madhumālatī’s lovely neck.
How auspicious the life, how blessed the birth,
of the man for whom the Lord created her neck.
After looking at the triple crease of her neck,*
how could anyone’s body stay conscious?

The three lines looked exquisite on the blessed maiden’s neck—

for which great ascetic was her beautiful neck made by the Lord of the worlds?

Her Arms

93. Viśvakarman, the All-Maker,*
shaped her graceful arms himself.
For all my searching, I found no equal.
Her arms were lovely, strong, and powerful—
on seeing them mighty heroes sacrificed themselves
for this beautiful, powerless woman.
Her wrists were unique, matchless,
the God of Love formed them on his lathe.
Beneath them were her flawless palms,
pure as crystal filled with deep red vermilion.*
So many grieving lovers had she killed
that all ten fingernails shone red with blood.

Her lovely arms, so strong and graceful, vanquished all three worlds.

Blessed the man whose fortunate neck her beautiful arms embraced.

Her Breasts

94. So shapely were her precious breasts,
seeing them threw the triple world into confusion.
Her breasts were firm and hard to the touch
for the Lord had put them near her stony heart.
When another heart should touch her heart,
their nipples would rise up to honour him.
Youth herself plucked for her two wood-apples,*
new fruit, perfect, as yet unripe, from the tree.
When the lord of her life entered her heart,
her nipples rose up shyly and came out.

Her lovely firm breasts, with dark-tipped nipples, too proud to bow before anyone,

were like two kings sharing a boundary line who would never come together.

95. Pointed, sharp and unscrupulously seductive,
her breasts entered lovers’ hearts on sight.
Lovely they looked, with darkened arrows on their tips.
Famous as brave fighters through the three worlds,
they wanted to dispute the boundary line in war,
but then a necklace came between them.
Her breasts were mighty warriors in war.
When they heard of battle or slaughter,
at once they came to adorn the battlefield.
Their nature was to strike, crooked or straight.
In battle they always advanced, never retreated.

Her breasts’ perverse cruelty does not astonish the poet; they pained

not her on whom they grew, but those who looked on their loveliness.

Her Waist

96. The line of hair on her navel
was a venomous serpent released
from its lair, roaming dangerously.
When it fell into her navel’s pool,
it curled around, unable to climb out.
Her slender stomach was graceful, alluring,
the Lord created it without an inside.
Seeing the narrowness of her waist,
one feared the buttocks’ weight would make it snap.
So slender and fine was her waist,
that hands could not grasp it at all.
It was so delicate it would break at a touch.

Had not the three folds of her stomach supported it, her waist

would surely have snapped from the weight of her hips below.

Her Thighs and Legs

97. The triple fold on her waist suggested
the Maker held her there while shaping her.
For fear of immodesty before my elders,
I shall not describe her intoxicating treasury of love.
The sight of her hips aroused the mind,
excited passion in the body in an instant.
Seeing her thighs plunged one’s being
into utter confusion, struck one dumb.
Pink and white, softly blooming,
lotuses could not equal her legs.

Her legs were well-shaped like a plantain tree, golden, upside down,

or the trunk of an elephant, but truly I feel ashamed to offer a likeness.

Madhumālatī Awakes

98. Who could describe her sleeping on her couch,
without ornament, coquetry, or sidelong glances?
Matchless women the Lord has made in the past,
beautiful by nature and needing no adornment,
but here was creation’s auspicious symbol of womanhood.
Shyly, her body met Love’s mad promptings.
Seeing her sleeping so peacefully on her bed,
the pain of restless passion awoke in the Prince’s body.
Spontaneously his consciousness was freed of all attachments;
separation came and overwhelmed his soul.

Seeing Love’s bow in splendour on her brow, his senses left him instantly.

‘Blessed is that man’s life for whom love is born in this maiden’s heart.’

99. I am sorry to describe her as she sleeps.
Why don’t I wake her up to recount her beauty?
Let me awaken her and have her speak words of rasa
so I may take pleasure in hearing her sweet speech.
The maiden raised her arms above her head.
Lazily she yawned and stretched her limbs.
Her eyes awakened and became alert
like a hunter’s arrows raised in ambush.
When a natural frown appeared upon her brow,
it seemed the God of Love had drawn his bow.

Her eyebrows were arched like the drawn bow of Kāmadeva,

and the triple world trembled in anticipation of her arrows.

100. That darling Princess awoke and looked about, astonished.
She became alert and glanced around her,
a doe alarmed, sensing lions and tigers on the hunt.
Then the Princess, looking more carefully,
saw another bed spread out beside her.
She saw a mighty Prince lying upon it.
She was astounded when she saw his form
and, though confused, gathered up her courage.

Though that beautiful, excellent maiden was still extremely overcome,

she composed herself and, sitting up, took courage to address the Prince.

101. The lovely maiden opened her matchless lips
to speak words as sweet as nectar.
In pleasant and delightful tones she asked:
‘Who are you, O god-like Prince?
Tell me your name, my lord.
Through what power did you come here?
For where this maiden dwells
even the wind is not allowed to enter.
I adjure you speak the truth about yourself.

Are you a god from Indra’s heaven? Are you a serpent from Hell?

Or are you a human from this mortal world? Tell me and resolve my confusion.

102. ‘Are you a demon or some ghostly apparition?
Can this body of yours be human?
Did you get miraculous power through a guru’s words?
Or did you apply magic kohl to your eyes?
Is it a spell which has given you this power?
Did your guru make you drink some special herb?
How did you come so silently to my chamber,
were you borne on a vehicle by the winds of the mind?
On all four sides the doorways are impassable
and countless guards lie awake all around.

Seven circular paths lead to this chamber.* Many brave men stay awake to guard them.

How have you come to this place to which even the wind has no access?

103. ‘By God I adjure you speak the truth:
tell me how these things have come to pass.
Did someone bring you here by force,
and so confuse you that you cannot speak?
I see that you are human in every way.
On your forehead shines the jewel of fortune.
But why are you so silent? Will you not speak?
Seeing you here has quite bewildered me.
My soul is overcome with astonishment at seeing you.

Gather your courage and sit up; do not be afraid.

Tell me, I beseech you, the truth about yourself.’

104. When he heard these words sweet as nectar,
the Prince’s body became immortal.
When he saw her he was perplexed and astonished,
and lost all consciousness of himself.
His heart was struck by pointed arrows,
as though her glances had been sharpened on a stone.
As sugar instantly dissolves in water,
so did the Prince’s soul surrender its selfhood.
So lovely was her form he could not look on it directly,
and the doors of his two eyes would not stay open.

Seeing her beauty his eyes were confused, unable to look at her directly.

From his eyes flowed tears of blood, and his eyelids refused to open.*

Prince Manohar Explains

105. ‘Listen, best of maidens, and I will tell you
what you have so naturally asked.
The city of Kanaigiri is a wonderful place.
The whole world knows my father, King Sūrajbhānu.
My own name is Prince Manohar.
I am of the Rāghava line.* I belong to Kanaigiri.
I had scarcely closed my eyes in sleep,
and now I see I’ve woken up here.
I do not know who brought me here
for there to occur a meeting of glances.

My two eyes are captivated by your beauty, and I do not see any release for them.

For the more an elephant struggles in the mud, the deeper he sinks in the quagmire.

106. ‘Sleep has only just left and I’m awake.
The sight of your beauty has robbed me of my life.
It must be merits previously earned
that have brought me to see your face.
Maybe in a former birth I sacrificed my life,
and that merit has brought me here
to see this vision of your beauty.
Or else it was my good fortune to fulfil
my soul’s desire by pilgrimage to Prayāg,*
or even to give my head to the saw.
I have found you, a woman,
as the result of my good actions.
Blessed are those merits of my previous birth.

The arrows of love have entered my heart and my eyes have become enraptured.

Body and mind, my soul, my youth, all love you and will never leave you.

107. ‘I look at the full moon of your face today
as the effect of merits from a former life.
The arrows of love have struck my heart.
My soul is caught in the net of separation.
O maiden, only the man whose forehead has
the mark of fortune earned in a former life
will be rewarded with a sight of you.
Impelled by love, O Princess, I beseech you:
who is the King whose darling child you are?
Tell me your name. Who is your father?
Of what land is he the sovereign?

For my eyes, which see your dazzling beauty, I sacrifice myself.

For my ears, which hear your sweet wondrous words, I lay down my life.’

Madhumālatī Replies

108. Then that blessed maiden opened her mouth
to speak in her delightful nectar-like voice.
As she delivered words full of rasa,
her teeth shone with astounding brilliance.
In the three worlds, everyone was dazzled.
Hearing her words, the Prince fainted:
consciousness left him and intelligence fled.
The sight of her lips plundered his senses,
but her words revived the lover again.
I cannot describe the power of her mouth:
even if one were yearning to die,
her words would bring one back to life.

How can I describe her lips? No words come to my mouth.

They can kill the living if they wish, or restore the dead to life.

109. When the unconscious Prince revived,
one moment he was conscious,
the next he’d faint away again.
His soul could not be contained one moment,
the next it would return fully aware to his body.
After four hours his soul re-entered his body.
His limbs quickened to full consciousness.
Alive again, with heart aware,
to his ears came her words, sweet as nectar.
As he heard his darling’s words of pleasure,
joy spread through his body’s eight limbs.*

When that passionate maiden began to speak her words, full of rasa and delight,

all eight parts of the Prince’s body became ears to listen to them.

110. The Princess began her story, full of savour,
like a night lotus blossoming for love of the moon.
‘Mahāras,’ she said, ‘is a city without equal.
Vikram Rāi, my father, is its mighty king.
My name, Madhumālatī, is radiant
both in this world and the hereafter.
I, a maiden, am my father’s only child.
In this palace I am the darling of the King.’
But of all the words the maiden spoke,
not one remained within the Prince’s mind.

Although he tried to understand, her words robbed him of intelligence.

Like salt dissolving easily in water, he spontaneously lost his selfhood.

111. When awareness and intelligence returned,
the Prince sat up but found he’d lost his self.
The arrows of love entered his eyes.
He fell unconscious at the Princess’s feet.
Then that most lovely of maidens fanned him,
and sprinkled nectar water on his face.
As she looked at the Prince’s face,
compassion overcame her, and with her sari’s border,
she wiped the tears from the Prince’s eyes.
She felt pity and love was born in her heart.
From her feet she raised his head up high.

When the Prince again sat up and his consciousness steadied,

the blessed maiden in tones of nectar asked him how he was.

112. The King’s dear daughter gently asked the Prince:
‘Now that you’re restored, collect yourself and speak.
Without fear, tell me why your body shakes?
Say why your spirit is distressed,
and why your body trembles so?
Why do you keep on losing consciousness?
I beg you by your father, tell me the truth.
Be not afraid: do not fear anyone,
but tell me why you keep on fainting.

I ask you naturally, out of love: who has deprived you of intelligence?

I have revived you with nectar, why are you not conscious of yourself?’

Manohar Declares his Love

113. ‘Listen, dearest one!’ the Prince then said,
‘In a former life God created love between you and me.
Now that he has brought us into the world,
I have given you my soul in exchange for sorrow.
It is not just today that I grieve for you:
I have known this sorrow from the first creation.
The grief I feel separated from you was revealed
the day the Creator fashioned this body of mine.
Into my body’s clay, O most alluring of women,
God mixed the pure water of your love.*

From my former lives I have known the water of your love,

since, kneading it into my clay, the Creator formed this body.*

114. ‘I lost my all when I took on the pain of your love.
My soul is yours and yours is mine.
Before life even entered my body
God revealed this sorrow to me.*
If I do not speak the truth,
may God increase in me the pain of loving you.
I have given myself to this pain completely.
For this grief I would sacrifice a thousand pleasures.
How can my tongue call this suffering
when the forms of sorrow give so much joy?

The pleasures of four aeons cannot equal even a moment of this grief.

Who can tell what bliss I may enjoy through the blessing of sorrow?

115. ‘Suffering overwhelmed mankind
at the very beginning of creation.
The lotus of Brahma* was the home of grief.
The day that sorrow entered creation,
the soul learnt of its own existence.
The pain I feel for you was not born today,
but has been my companion from the beginning.
Now I carry the burden of this grief,
sacrificing all the pleasures of now and hereafter.
I have given myself to you and accepted this pain.
Through dying I have tasted immortality.

O Madhumālatī, the pain of love for you brings happiness to the world.

Blessed is the life of the man in whose heart is born the pain of love for you.

116. ‘I have heard that on the day the world was born,
the bird of love was released to fly.*
It searched all the three worlds
but could not find a fit resting place.
So it turned and entered the inmost heart,
favoured it and never flew elsewhere.
The three worlds asked it then:
“Why are you attached to the human heart?”
“Suffering”, it replied, “is the only hope for humans.
Where there is sorrow, there I dwell.”

Wherever there is grief in the world, love has its dwelling.

What can a poor man know of love whose heart does not know pain?’

117. ‘You and I have always been together.
Always we have been a single body.
You and I both are one body,
two lumps of clay mixed in the same water.
The same water flows in two streams,
one lamp alone lights two homes.
One soul enters two bodies,
one fire burns in two hearths.
We were one but were born as two:
one temple with two doors.

We were one radiant light, one beautiful form, one soul and one body:

how can there be any doubt in giving oneself to oneself?

118. ‘You are the ocean, I am your wave.
You are the sun, I the ray that lights the world.*
Do not think that you and I are separate:
I am the body, you are my dear life.
Who can part us, a single light in two forms?
I see everything through the eye of enlightenment.
Who knows how long we have known each other?
Today, O maiden, you do not recognize me.
Think back in your memory—
we knew each other on creation’s first day.

When two lives are entwined together in the snare of love,

they recognize each other instantly when they take on bodily form.

119. ‘Till now I have lived a soulless life,
but today, on seeing you, I have found my soul.
I knew you the moment that I saw you,
for this is the beauty that had held me in thrall.
This is the beauty that before was concealed.*
This is the beauty that now pervades creation.
This is the beauty that is Śiva and Śaktī.*
This is the beauty that is the soul of the three worlds.
This is the beauty that is manifest in many guises.
This is the beauty found alike in king and beggar.

This same beauty lives in all the three worlds: earth, heaven, and the world below.

This very same beauty I now see manifested, radiant upon your face.

120. ‘This is the beauty revealed in countless forms.
This is the beauty unique in its myriad modes.
This is the beauty that is the light of every eye.
This is the beauty that is the pearl in every ocean.
This is the beauty of the fragrance of flowers.
This is the beauty of the pollen the bees enjoy.
This is the beauty of the sun and the moon.
This is the beauty that pervades the entire universe.
This is the beauty of the beginning,
this is the beauty of the end and beyond.
Contemplation of this beauty is true meditation.*

This beauty is manifest in countless states: in water, land, and on the earth’s surface,

but only he can look on it who loses himself when he sees it.’

Madhumālatī’s Reaction

121. As she listened to his words,
full of love’s savour and feeling,
the maiden’s soul was at once intoxicated.
Her heart delighted in the tale of love she heard,
and the love of a previous life
was kindled again in her memory.
Just as fragrance mingles with the breeze,
so did the two merge and become one body.
So powerful was the love that engulfed them
that the two came together as one life’s breath.
Spontaneously, their souls united and could not be told apart.

When the image of that love from a former life entered into their inmost souls,

both sighed deeply from the heart, recalling their previous acquaintance.

122. Then, moved by love, the maiden smiled and said:
‘You have made me mad with this talk of love.
I was so overcome I could not speak.
Hearing your words I tasted love’s joys.
Certainly there is no difference between us:
we are one body, reflected twice.
My soul has found its place in your body,
and, through me, your name is manifest.
Mine is the beauty and your body is its mirror.*
I am the sun, you are its light in the world.

As lustre is to precious gems and jewels, so I am your essence and you are mine.

You and I are like brilliance and jewel, who can ever separate us?

123. ‘Now, O Prince, listen to my words.
With love you have captured my life’s light.
Your love, like the fragrance of the musk-deer,
permeates my heart and cannot be hidden.
Your words of love have confused me utterly.
Casting a spell upon my mind
you have robbed me of my soul.
There was only one soul in this body,
which you stole away from me.
Just as your soul is drunk with my love,
so is mine for you—only four times as much.

Do not think that men have greater claim to true love,

know that a maiden’s true feeling is four times that of a man!’

Manohar is Roused but Madhumālatī is Prudent

124. The Prince heard her words so full of feeling.
Kāmadeva awakened and permeated his being.
Desire spread throughout his body.
Lust for worldly pleasure aroused him.
Passion engulfed him and his body trembled.
The lord of passion revealed himself,
as the Prince heard her words full of rasa.
His eyes grew red and shameless
as Kāmadeva arranged his army on two fronts.
Who in this world can win against
the conqueror who humbled Śiva?

When youth is fresh and desire intoxicates, when beauty is new and matchless,

when the loved one is near, tell me, how then can virtue be preserved?

125. The Prince turned pale and rampant was his desire.
His pulse raced and from his body came a sigh.
Pierced by the arrows of the God of Love,
he could contain himself no longer.
His hands reached out to the maiden’s breasts.
Leaving his finely adorned bed,
the Prince sat on the lovely one’s couch.
That excellent maiden stopped his hands
and rose and moved to the Prince’s bed.
‘O Prince,’ she said, ‘why should we sin?
Why should we disgrace our parents?

Who would destroy everything for one fleeting moment of pleasure?

In this world the slightest indiscretion brings disgrace upon a woman.

126. ‘If a woman seeks to commit a sin,
in vain she destroys herself completely.
Womankind is the abode of sin.
But if a woman has a family,
then they will keep her from sinning.
Otherwise, who can contain her?
The clan is the only obstacle to sin.
Why become a sinner for a moment’s pleasure?
Why sin and lose everything forever?
By sinning, who would himself wipe out
the gathered merits of former lives?

By doing acts of virtue everywhere one keeps one’s good name clear.

Who would blacken his face pointlessly by entering the house of sin?

127. ‘Listen, O Prince! I have one thing to say.
The right path is radiant in both worlds.
How can one whose heart is righteous
fall into the raging fire of sin?
Family and righteousness are both custodians,
I cannot disgrace my mother or father.
He who succumbs to a moment’s temptation
has already reserved his place in hell.
But the man who stands by the truth,
even if he is on the path of sin,
will taste the heavenly fruit of immortality.*

Those who love truth above all else give up this world and its worldly life.

They abandon everything but never leave truth. Listen, Prince, to the essence of truth!*

128. ‘The Lord, who brought you to this place
and ordained that our glances should meet,*
will steer us through our lives.
God will free us of sin, and give us
the treasure of right action.
Why commit sin and destroy our virtue?
Truth abandoned will only cause us regret.
Improper conduct brings disgrace;
to one’s family, shame, to one’s parents, abuse.
You and I must swear a true oath,
calling on Rudra, Brahma, and Hari as witnesses.

Swear to me that you will be eternally true in love and I will swear the same.

Then will the Lord protect our love constantly, in every birth, in every life.’

An Oath is Sworn

129. ‘O royal Princess, hear my words.
I give you my word, I will be true.
Without you I have no life in this world,
for you are the body and I am its shadow.
You are the life and I am your body.
You are the moon and I am your radiance.
As life sustains the body, and as always
the moon sheds light, sustain me.
I lost myself the very day
my heart conceived its love for you.

If you are the ocean, I am your wave. If I am a tree, you are my root.

How can a promise come between us, when I am the scent and you the flower?’

130. The lotus bud then opened her mouth
and spoke in sweet and gentle tones.
‘The sin of giving pain to one’s parents,
the sin of causing a forest fire,
and all the other sins I cannot now recount,
of all these will I bear the consequences
if I do not keep faith with your love to its limit.’
They swore the oath before the Creator,
with Rudra, Brahma and Hari bearing witness.*

One should love with a love that will endure, from its beginning to its end;

that it will survive both now and hereafter, who can have any doubt?

Lovers’ Play*

131. When the oath was sworn their souls united.
They spoke together of passionate love,
the love in whose colour the universe is saturated.
They were steeped in love from a former birth
so readily did they reach love’s full intoxication.
As a sign the Prince gave the Princess
a ring, studded with jewels and diamonds.
He placed on his own finger, tender as a leaf,
the ring the Princess wore on her hand.

Their hearts were full of love as they enjoyed the delights and sports of passion.

Sometimes their souls exulted in their love, sometimes they lost all consciousness.

132. As one they followed the path of love;
fear of being two their hearts would not allow.
Sometimes she gave delight with an embrace,
then stole his heart with sidelong glances.
Now arrows from her eyes wounded his soul,
now she murmured words sweet as nectar.
Sometimes she laid her head upon his feet,
sometimes she gave herself completely in abandon.
When her eyes robbed him of his life,
she gave him precious nectar from her lips.

There was poison in the blessed maiden’s eyes, but fragrant nectar on her lips.

She’d slay him with her sidelong glance, then smile and bring him back to life.

133. Sometimes her flowing locks spread waves of poison,
sometimes her eyes cast spells to kill.
Now they would lose themselves in love’s essence,
now they embraced in each other’s arms.
Sometimes she loved with ever-growing passion,
at times her love was quite spontaneous.
Sometimes their glances met and rasa was born,
sometimes they raised love to ecstasy.
Sometimes the ocean of their love flowed over,
at other times each entreated the other.

At times, although drunk with love, she was too proud to look at him.

And sometimes so deeply did she feel her love she called herself her darling’s slave.

134. She made him fall and faint with love,
then sprinkled nectar to revive him.
Sometimes they exulted in love’s ecstasies,
sometimes they feared the pain of separation.
At times, their eyes became gardens of beauty,
and sometimes they gave up their youth, their lives.
Now they tasted the supreme bliss of love,
now they dedicated their souls to one another.
They felt ashamed when thinking of their families,
but turned again to pleasure and delight.

When she held back the love within her soul, the Prince could scarcely bear it,

but when they united without restraint, their lives left their bodies for love.

The Nymphs Return

135. As they exchanged tender words of love,
sleep came to their enraptured eyes.
The whole night they had been awake,
hungry for each other’s love,
but, as dawn broke, their eyes closed in sleep.
The celestial beings then returned
to where they had left the Prince asleep.
When they came in they were astonished to see
that both their brows shone with love’s radiance.
When they saw them, they knew the signs of love-making:
beds in disarray, flowers crushed and withered.

The Prince lay sleeping on the maiden’s couch and the maiden lay on his bed.

Exhausted they seemed from passion spent, sleeping with beds exchanged.

136. They had exchanged their rings
and wore each other’s on their hands.
Some of the maiden’s bangles lay broken on the bed.
Her bodice’s fastening was ripped open at the bosom.
Her clothes had been torn from her limbs.
On her breasts, nail-scratches showed clearly.
The necklace and garlands at her breast were broken,
her parting was gone, her plaits undone.
The bed was in total disarray,
the beauty spot on her forehead wiped off.

Marks of collyrium could be seen, manifest on the Prince’s lips,

and the red betel* juice looked lovely against the black in her kohl-lined eyes.

137. When the nymphs saw these signs
they thought the two had tasted passion’s delight.
‘Why should we part these two,’ they said,
‘and sin by causing them separation’s agony?
The pain of death lasts only for a moment,
but to be separated in love is to die
a hundred deaths in every moment.’
They thought some more, and then resolved
that this was against their rightful duty.
‘They’ve had their hour of sweet love here.

Without him, his father and mother, his retainers, his subjects and his family,

all would break their hearts and die; we would be responsible for their deaths.’

138. When they finally agreed amongst themselves,
they lifted the Prince up with her bed.
They carried him and set him down
in the place from where they had taken him.
Then they went off happily to play,
while grief was born in the lovers’ hearts.
The Princess, half-asleep, stretched out lazily
as if she had thrilled to a lover’s passion.
Her handmaidens saw she had been making love,
for all the signs of passion were visible.

They were terrified by what they saw. ‘What awful thing has happened?

If the king were to hear of this, he would burn us alive in a furnace!’

Madhumālatī is Awakened

139. The maidservants awakened the Princess and said:
‘Who has come here and destroyed you?
Wake up and look at the state you’re in!
You did not arise last night, and yet
you have set fire to your own head.
Why did you knowingly swallow poison?
For what did you squander your precious capital?
Why did you harm yourself, swayed by lust?
Why did you bind burning coals in your waist-band?
Why have you disgraced yourself,
why did you shame your family?

You have destroyed yourself, Princess, for the pleasures of a moment.

In piling sins upon your head you have exposed your family to abuse.’

140. The Princess was now wide awake and said:
‘My friends, why do you abuse me thus?
Only a fool could act this way,
one who had no regard for family or virtue.
Do not deprive me of my good name unjustly.
Think well—you can make me touch hot iron,
an ordeal to prove my chastity,
but first judge the gravity of the sin,
then give me whatever punishment you like.
Dear friends, you have accused me of many things.
It does not befit me to keep secrets from you.

There are no differences between us. Sit down, and I’ll tell you carefully about it.

I do not know if it was reality or a dream, nor do I know who dealt me this blow.

141. ‘In a dream I saw a Prince,
but, though a dream, he seemed real enough.
The Creator had fashioned him
to be the image of the God of Love.
He was not Yama,* yet he took my life.
When Yama deals death it hurts only for an instant,
but the pain of love-in-separation
is a death that is died at every moment.
Dear friend, how can I escape this pain?
Without my soul, how can I live in this world?
I cannot stay an hour away from him.
Without any warning, lightning has struck me.

I doubt, sweet friend, whether my body can survive an instant without my soul,

though doubtless this cruel and heartless soul can manage without my body.

142. ‘Everyone in this world loves life, O friend,
but for me it is better to die in separation.
Everyone has to die, but only once,
whereas I, dear friend, die every day.
He brought me love and then deserted me.
He cast a spell and stole my soul.
I had never in my life heard of sorrow
and suddenly I meet it face to face in battle.
Love’s burning pain and my family’s honour,
both have come to entangle my heart.

The pain of love is hard, dear friends, harder than I can ever describe.

Help me, if you can, by giving me poison so that I may die.’

143. Her handmaidens then replied:
‘Listen, O maiden, bear this sorrow
for a few days yet; this too will pass.
The fruits of joy grow from sorrow’s blossoms.
Without grief, no one can ever find happiness.
O best of maidens, only if the soul knows grief
can one enjoy the blessing of a lover.
Only by staying awake through darkest night
can one experience the radiant dawn.
In this world, no flower grows without a thorn.
Who has ever found nectar without a snake?’*

Manjhan says, in this Kali age, no one can find joy without suffering.

Trees must first shed their autumn leaves before new greenery can be born.

144. ‘Just as you are distraught away from him,
so must he worry and suffer for you.
Separation does not just wound one person,
dear friend, it is a double-edged sword!
The Creator who gave this pain to you
will grant its remedy; be patient in your heart.
That which the Lord has decreed for tomorrow
can never be won today, not even by force.
First cross the snake-infested thicket of thorns!
Then you can enjoy the fruits and flowers.’

Here the Princess suffered night and day the fierce flames of love-in-separation,

but now let me tell you what happened there when Prince Manohar awoke.

The Prince Awakes

145. When the Prince woke up and looked around,
from that instant his body burned,
consumed by the flames of separation.
That palace was no more, nor the night of love,
nor the passionate Princess who was steeped in love.
Feeling faint he looked around.
At every moment he wept, sighing deeply.
The more he remembered his darling,
the more he lost control of his senses.
As he recalled Madhumālatī’s words,
separation’s fire permeated all his limbs.

Sometimes his mind was conscious, and sometimes it could not be contained.

He beat his head against the ground, and cried as he recalled her beauty and virtues.

146. Sahajā* was the Prince’s nurse.
She ran to him, crying, ‘My son! My son!
Tell me, my boy, what’s the matter?
I am as much your mother as Kamalā.
My son, what grief has been born in you,
which makes the tears fall from your eyes?
Your face has withered away like a flower,
what sorrow has afflicted you thus?
Tell me what you suffer, my son,
so that I may find a remedy.’

He opened his eyes and looked at her face. Sighing deeply, he addressed her,

‘There is no hope of a remedy, nurse, for the pain that has been born in my heart.

147. ‘Nurse, the disease that afflicts my heart
has no medicine or cure.
My soul has gone away to dwell
in a place where intelligence is lame.
And my mind and my heart have gone,
to where the mind’s eye is afraid to enter.
What I have seen cannot be described,
for I went to a place where all awareness fled.
My soul was stolen away, O nurse,
for only an empty frame has returned!

My soul remained with my darling, and my body lies here lifeless.

Was it a dream or was it reality? I do not know who robbed me of my soul.

148. ‘Was it reality? Was it a dream?
I wish I could say, but I cannot.
How can I call it a dream,
when all that I found was so real?
I see before my eyes an ornamented bed,
and a maiden with a ring on her finger.
On her lips are marks of kohl,
and red betel stains on her eyes.
On her breast I see her necklace.
All these are clear before my eyes.

O nurse, the flames of separation have taken hold within my body.

Only death can extinguish them, or union with Madhumālatī!

149. ‘Listen, nurse, to the tale of my sorrow.
I’ll tell you everything, frankly and openly.
Life has departed, leaving this body,
and my soulless body is on the point of death.
I cannot speak further of my grief—
if my soul were here, I could talk again.
Since my life’s love has stolen my soul
my body has become lifeless, dead.
Madhumālatī holds my life in her hands.
Nurse, my body doesn’t contain a soul.

Listen, nurse, no one in this world should be parted from his love.

It is better to lose your life, far better than to lose your beloved.

150. ‘Why did my eyes ever look at that girl,
for whom I was flung into separation’s fire?
How can a man enjoy pleasure and happiness,
once love comes into his heart?
The soul in my body was a moth,
consumed utterly in the blaze of love.
Love’s trade has cunningly fooled the world,
for in it there’s no profit, only loss of capital.
The world knows the truth of the saying:
the man who’s mad for profit loses money.

Happiness, joy, pleasure, and self-respect—all have left me, dear nurse!

All that remains in my heart is the sorrow of parting from Madhumālatī.

151. ‘When the fire of love is kindled in the heart,
it consumes everything except the beloved.
Love’s agony is the hardest of all sorrows,
a thousand deaths every moment, every day.
My life’s breath is gone, leaving my body—
why did God make the grievous pain of love?
My royal pride, my precious youth have gone,
since my soul came under separation’s sway.
Now I climb the hard, dangerous path of love—
either I lose my life, or I find that maiden again!

Nurse, watch me run to plunge myself into the ocean of love!

I will either bring out the pearl, or give up my life in the attempt.

152. ‘No one knows how hard parting is,
only my body knows this pain, and God knows!
I renounce all royal pleasures as poison,
and cling to separation’s sorrow as nectar.
Now I have set my soul on this path,
may love take me to its very limit.
Either I shall lose my life on the path,
or God will unite me with my darling again!
Nurse, how little of my suffering you have heard,
for the tale is long, and life is short.

I cannot recount this matter of love, O nurse, with only my own mouth.

Even if I had a thousand tongues and all four aeons, still I could not reach its end.’

Manohar’s Illness

153. The sun rose and the world became radiant.
But the Prince woke up ablaze with separation.
His senses gone, his soul maddened—
separation took command of his body’s fort.
The drum of separation resounded everywhere.
His soul was a subject, and separation king.
He had climbed up on the path of love,
and could not turn his body from it.
He ripped up his clothes and tore out his hair.
The sorrow of separation was too hard to bear.
He stood up and knocked himself down again.

Hearing the uproar in the palace, his family and subjects all came running.

His mother Kamalāvatī ran to him, restless, tearing her sari in agitation.

154. Through town and country the rumour spread,
that a tumult raged in the royal palace.
Physicians, exorcists, wise men came,
mother and father and relatives ran to him.
The King said, ‘I gave up my life, my wealth for him.
May his life increase by my remaining years!
Spend whatever wealth you need,
but make the Prince live again somehow.
Help me, bring my son back to me.
Take my life if you need, but revive him!’

The physicians came and felt his pulse, began to search out his illness.

But the channels of sun and moon were clean, and his body perfectly sound.

155. Again and again they took his pulse.
But how could they diagnose his trouble, separation?
They used all the methods of medicine,
but could not find the Prince’s disease.
Then one of the doctors spoke,
‘This seems to be the pain of separation.
The Prince has been struck by the arrows of love.
This disease is none of our business,
for his body has no defect in it.
Let us go and inform the King.’

The pandits, exorcists, and doctors rose, very disappointed with their findings.

For the Prince was suffering from love’s agony, for which no cure is known.

A Mehtā with a Cure

156. In the kingdom there was a Mehtā,
a village headman renowned to be clever.
No one could match him in any way,
the world called him a treasury of wisdom.
His skill was famous in all quarters.
Justly was he called the Sahadeva* of the age,
for his virtues were known throughout the world.
He was very learned in the fourteen sciences,
and understood the problems of the heart.
He knew the uses of gems and incantations.
For one herb, he could quote a thousand applications.

Hearing that the Prince was stricken, he came to investigate his affliction.

He took the Prince’s pulse with his hand, and declared his body free from illness.

157. He examined the Prince in many ways,
and found his humours—wind, phlegm, and bile—
to be perfectly balanced and normal.
He said to himself, ‘His disease
is not hidden in his veins at all.
All eight limbs are healthy and sound.
At every moment, his eyes shut and open.
The channels of sun and moon are clear,
but why does he heave such deep sighs?
Why does he never close his eyes in sleep?
This is nothing but the pain of separation.

Tears drip down from both his eyes, his senses are beyond his control.

For the one who is wounded by the sword of love, there can be no cure at all.’

158. Then he addressed the Prince face to face:
‘O Prince, to whom have you pledged your heart?
Who has robbed you of intelligence?
Where did you taste the nectar of love?
If you tell me everything, I’ll see to it
that you meet the one you love.
Even if she is a heavenly nymph,
I’ll bring you together through a magic spell.
O Prince, do not let your soul lose hope,
for I will traverse the three worlds
to fulfil your heart’s desire.

Tell me truly, privately, just where and to whom did you lose your soul?

For with my skills and magic, I can unite the cakora bird with the moon.*

159. ‘If she exists in heaven, earth, or hell,
I will bring her here to meet you.
I can climb up to heaven and draw
nectar from the moon, and bring down
a heavenly nymph with my magic spells.
Ask me the mysteries of the worlds
of gods, men, or serpents, and I’ll tell all.
I can bring back the ones who have gone,
and raise the dead with my incantations.
Through magic I can invoke Śea* or Indra.
If you want, I can move the mountain, Sumeru.*

Tell me then, do not hide anything, the person for whom your heart is in pain.

Did this agony arise spontaneously, or did someone give you this pain?’

160. The Mehtā’s words were full of rasa,
and the Prince was deeply moved.
Since he found him sympathetic to his grief,
he told him all about his dream.
‘O Prince,’ said the headman,
‘Life is most precious in this world.
Do not throw it away for a woman.
A woman is never faithful to anyone,
nor does anyone benefit from loving her.
The man who loves a woman in his heart
is disappointed like the parrot on the silk-cotton tree.*

No one who makes a woman his own knows anything in this world.

Can you make the bitter nīm tree* sweet by sprinkling it with nectar?

161. ‘If woman’s behaviour had been good,
would she be called “snake” in the Turkish tongue?*
No one can control a woman in this world.
Woman is only medicine for those sick for beauty.
She is a demon incarnate in the world.
No one should fall for her outer adornments.
If she loves you she’ll burn you with separation.
If she’s weary of you she’ll kill you instantly.
She appears as pure as the full moon,
but within she is black as the darkest night.

Woman is the thorn on the ketakī blossom*—O wandering bee, keep well away!

As you look at her beautiful form, never forget that it brings grief in the end.

162. ‘The moment you see her, she robs your senses.
When she touches you, she destroys all wisdom.
It’s well known: when you make love to a woman,
she devours the vital spirit in your body.
Don’t think that woman is a blessing to the world.
Man is a bee, woman the ketakī bud.
As long as she slakes her own desire,
she will love more passionately than a man.
She will love a man warmly, forcibly,
but only for satisfying her own purpose.

Understand well in your mind that women have never been faithful in all four ages.

Do not lose your self in vain, O Prince, for the sake of this love for a woman.

163. ‘O Prince, do not take on sorrow
by giving away your soul in vain.
In this world it is futile to love a woman.
If a man associates with a woman,
both are struck by a thousand thunderbolts.
Give up entanglement with women, O Prince!
Has a woman ever kept faith in this world?
Woman was born from the left side,
always know her to be inauspicious, O Prince.
Even the scriptures call her “Vāmā”,* of the left.
Only a madman would consider her right, auspicious.

In woman are concentrated all signs of ill omen, excepting one auspicious virtue:

from women—that’s all they’re good for—are born all the great men of the world.’

The Prince Rejects the Mehtā’s Approach

164. The Prince, when he heard these unpleasant words,
was astonished and couldn’t contain himself.
‘Headman,’ he retorted, ‘You are the Sahadeva
of the Kali age, but if someone else had just said that,
I would have told him off. Only a man
whose heart has never known love’s agony
could say such foolish, mad things.
How can such talk come out of your mouth,
when you know the nature of the three worlds?
I have lost my selfhood, but if my soul
were in my body I might heed your advice.

Listen, O Mehtā, I have lost my soul and embarked on the road of love.

Were my soul still in this bodily frame, I might have heard your preaching.

165. ‘Love has never blossomed in your heart,
so how could you know another’s pain?
You’re skilful and clever, certainly no fool,
so why do you knowingly give such advice?
Borax transforms gold in separation’s fire,*
but neither fire nor smoke touches your body.
My body has become ashes and flown away,
who can listen to your tales and teachings?
The snake has gone, why beat at its hole?
Why do you knowingly make a fool of me?

Rise, O Mehtā! I touch your feet, for I had hopes of you both now and in the hereafter.

But why do you, a man of understanding, try uselessly to tie up the wind in a net?

166. ‘Separation’s anguish is difficult to bear.
No one knows the agony of the sufferer.
People come and speak pleasant words,
but fire blazes up in his breast as he listens.
Once love has entered one’s heart,
it only leaves with the life’s breath departing.
How can intelligence overcome love?
Separation’s wind blows out the lamp of reason.
Only madmen do not know this:
where there is love, no reason prevails.’

The Prince’s ailment was incurable. No herb, no mantra* in this world could heal him.

Those who try to obscure the sun of love in clouds of dust are fools.

The Prince and his Parents

167. Then the Mehtā came to the conclusion
that this illness was beyond his powers.
He tried everything—words, medicines,
all his skills as a healer—but all proved useless.
When his heart lost all hope of a cure,
he became dejected and left the Prince.
He went to the King and cried out,
‘Go quickly to the royal apartments!
Go now and protect your son!’
The King heard these words and panicked.
Too shocked to utter a word, he ran.

The King cried out loud in his grief, and the whole palace was in an uproar.

Hearing the tumult in the royal house, the city was overwhelmed with sorrow.

168. The King flung his turban on the ground,
and all the ladies of the palace wept.
Kamalā came and fell at her son’s feet:
‘Son, what disaster has happened to you?
Don’t make me lose hope, my son!
You are my hope in this world and the next.
Tell us your pain, your mother implores you.
What defect has made you a beggar?
What is this fire, that burns the triple world?
What power has taken away my life?’

When he saw his dear parents’ faces, compassion was born in the Prince’s heart.

Opening his eyes, he told them of the sorrow given to him by Madhumālatī.