brated sounding, who gave his kisses seizing the hair of the head,
And to whom in his passionate love my girdle sounded in eloquence
sweet.

As Radha sits longing for him in lonely sadness, Krishna suddenly
repents, is filled with remorse and abruptly goes in quest of her. He does
not know, however, where to find her and as he wanders, he expresses his
sorrow.

Radha so deeply wronged, troubled to see me surrounded by women,
She went, and I, in fear of my guilt, made no attempt to stop her,
Alas, alas, she is gone in anger, her love destroyed.

O my slender one, I imagine your heart is dejected,
I cannot console you kneeling in homage, I know not where to find
you.
If you pardon me now I shall never repeat this neglect of you ever--
O beautiful, give me your pleasure again. I burn with desire.

As Krishna searches unavailingly, Radha's friend lights upon him and
conveys news of her love-tormented state.

Armour she makes of tender lotus garlands to hide her bosom from
you,
Large garlands, as if to protect you from heavy showers of shafts from
the god of love.
She fears an attack of Love upon you, and lies away hidden;
She wastes away, Krishna, parted from you.

As he hears this, Krishna is torn with longing. He does not, however, go
immediately to Radha but instead asks the friend to bring Radha to him.
The girl departs, meets Radha and gives her Krishna's message. She then
describes Krishna's love-lorn state:

When he hears the noise of swarms of bees, he covers his ears from their
humming;
Pain he feels, night after night, of a heart in love that is parted.
He droops, separated from you, O friend, the wearer of garlands.

The girl assures Radha that Krishna is contrite and urges her to delay no
longer.

He has gone into the trysting place, full of all desired bliss, O you
with lovely hips delay no more
O go forth now and seek him out, him the master of your heart, him
endowed with passion's lovely form.

On fallen feathers of the birds, on leaves about the forest floor, he
lies excited making there his bed,
And he gazes out upon the path, looks about with trembling eyes, anxious,
looking out for your approach.

There on that bed of tender leaves, O lotus-eyed, embrace his hips, his
naked hips from whence the girdle drops,
Those hips from whence the garment falls, those loins which are a
treasure heap, the fountain a