nd the source of all delight.

Radha would willingly go but she is now so sick with love that she can no
longer move. The girl has, therefore, to go once more to Krishna and
describe Radha's state.

In secret on every side she sees you
Drinking the honied sweet of her lips.
Where Radha stays now she wilts away,
She may live no longer without your skill,
Again and again she keeps telling her friend,
'O why must Krishna delay to come?'

Of her jewels abundant her limbs she adorns and spreads out her bed--
Imagining you on her fluttering couch of leaves--
And so to indulge, in a hundred ways, in the sport of love
She is fully resolved, arranging her bed with every adornment;
Not another night may that beautiful girl endure without you.
Why so much apathy, Krishna, beside the fig tree?
O brother, why not go to the pasture of eyes, the abode of bliss?

Despite this message, however, Krishna still delays and Radha, who has
half expected him, endures still greater anguish.

My lover has failed to come to the trysting place,
It is perhaps that his mind is dazed, or perhaps that he went to another
woman
Or lured perhaps by festive folk, that he delays,
Or perhaps along the dark fringe of the forest he wanders lost.

She imagines him toying with another cowgirl.

A certain girl, excelling in her charms unrivalled, dallies with the
sportive Krishna
Her face, a moon, is fondled by the fluttering petals in her hair,
The exciting moisture of his lips induces langour in her limbs,
Her earrings bruise her cheeks while dancing with the motion of her
head,
Her girdle by the tremor of her moving hips is made to tinkle,
She utters senseless sounds, through fever of her love,
He decorates with crimson flowers her curly tresses, curls which are
upon her lively face a mass of clouds,
Flowers with crimson flashings lovely in the forest of her tresses, haunt
of that wild creature love's desire.

And thinking of her own hapless state, Radha contrasts it bitterly with
that of the fortunate girl.

She who with the wearer of the garland lies in dalliance.
With him whose lovely mouth is like a lotus that is opening,
With him whose words are nectar in their sweetness and their tenderness,
With him who wears a garment streaked with gold, all white and
beautiful
Not made to sigh is she, my friend, derided by her girls!

Next morning Radha is standing w