Could it be any other way?
For isn’t there a saying—‘Beauty lies in the hair.’
V.9
Goda’s hair of round black curls
was like an arsenal of iron rings,
used by Love in his duel with Kṛṣṇa,
who fought with a single discus.
V.10
Goda’s brow outshone the mark of married women—
thick black curls against a fair white forehead
adorned with a tilaka made of powdered camphor,
as if Lotus-Born Brahma had penned a line
of round black letters across her brow.
V.11
When applying mascara to her sword-like lashes
her friends raised up her beautiful face
and in that moment, Goda happened to glance
the clear crescent moon of vināyaka’s night.
And now the world is left to think—
‘The Moon is a thief! He’s stolen
the lustre of her radiant face.’
V.12
Jealous of Goda’s beautiful eyes,
a spiteful deer provoked the Moon—
‘With my perfume, and your brilliance
we can compete with her fragrant brow.’
But in Śyāma’s defense, the deer was killed
to make a bŏṭṭu of blood, or was it to harvest
fresh raw musk to scent her beautiful forehead?
V.13
Her irises move, closer and closer to the corners of her eye
and then dart back out of innocence,
like Kāma’s quivering lotus arrow as he stands teeth clenched
with his bow drawn taut, ready to strike his target!
V.14
Drunk with the rum of budding youth
her kāṭuka-coloured eyes are trembling,
flashing behind her long black lashes
as if Brahma, the God of Four Faces,
worrying her eyes might fall into her ears
had locked them up in iron fetters.
V.15
The corners of her eyes were red and lovely,
her ears were like the letter śrī,
and affection could be seen across her face,
that was glowing like the Moon.
But as Goda tossed her ball around, an earring fell to the ground and when she stopped to pick it up, she leaned her head
towards her shoulder to hide her naked ear.
V.16
Her nose is fragrant like a campaka flower
but bees don’t swarm there to drink, they gather
near her open mouth, as she begins to speak—
But why? Could it be her scented breath?
Ah! For her teeth are white as jasmine
and the bees are enticed by their own reflection.
V.17
At her birth, the Lotus-Born Brahma
gave her a neck that only resembled a conch,
but as the she matured into a women
and daubed herself with sandalwood essence
her neck became a real conch shell.
V.18
O Lotus Petal Eyes!
The three lines across your neck voice your musical skills
as you span the three octaves—low, middle and high!
V.19
Her arms were soft and slender
as if she’d stolen every beauty from every lotus stalk.
And from the broken roots, she gathered fibrous threads
to string along her body, through the journey of her life.
V.20
Bands of diamonds adorn her arms, reflecting rays of light
that weave themselves like silver threads
through a fine pearl necklace
and a garland made of rainbow buds.
And there, above her breasts and below her neck
in that very little space there is a radiant beauty,
like Mind-Born Kāma’s wedding gift to Rati,
a golden bāsikam with hanging tassels.
V.21
She matured slowly, and day by day, her breasts filled out.
Innocently she tried to hide them, pushing them down with her shawl
but her budding womanhood could not be stopped.
As she tried to flatten her chest, her breasts were pressed to her sides
but slowly they rose and grew in beauty,
pushing aside her fading youth.
V.22
Like cakravāka birds who meet after parting
her tender young breasts came together
and slowly, slowly filled her entire chest.
Her soft dark nipples, the smallest remainder
of the black curse given by Rāma.
V.23
Somehow, someway
the two strands of her necklace
fall as one between her breasts
like people who approach their grand old elders
to hear the straightforward truth.
V.24
When Manmatha draws his unsheathed sword
and hurls it like the wind at lovesick women
the blade cuts the folds
of his cloth-covered scabbard
like the fine black line that adorns her waist.
V.25
The dark line of hair rising up from her waist
appears like a snake from her belly button,
slithering up to her full round breasts
to drink the fragrant breath
of She Who Walks Like a Swan.
V.26
When Goda stands tall, the world can’t distinguish
between her vine-like waist and her slender arms
except by seeing her golden belt, her arm-bands of gems,
and the fine line of hair that runs down her middle.
V.27
The three folds of skin above her waist
are joined together by a golden belt
as if Manmatha himself had soldered them all
with a thin tiny strip of metal.
V.28
Figuring that her heavy hips might break her fragile waist
Brahma bound her body together,
tying it with a knot and creating a navel
for the One Whose Breasts are Twin Koka Birds.
V.29
From among the many sand dunes that stretch along river beds,
one was scooped up to adorn the landscape of her body.
And in order to spot the sandbank left behind,
Lord Brahma had swans take steps in the sand.
V.30
The plantain tree is a thief, and there lies all the evidence—
a smooth layered trunk hides the beauty of her thighs
and tender flowers steal the redness of her feet,
while crowbar-like pistils pry at her ruby-like toenails.
V.31
Royal servants carry vases and umbrellas,
softening the sides of their hands
like the smooth wide thighs of the Goddess with Lotus Eyes.
For no one can escape their duties, no matter who they are
not even Viṣṇu who holds the wealth of the world.
V.32
Her emerald anklets reflect a green glow
up to her lovely dark calves, making them look
like ears of corn, fodder for the Love God’s family of parrots.
V.33
Hoping to be compared to her smooth soft calves, ears of corn
skillfully hide their thorns inside their husks,
but as the day gradually passes, their prickly thorns come out
and the stalks bend their heads in shame.
V.34
When Goda daubed her toes with water mixed with lac
her red feet smiled with shining white toenails, and thought—
‘O how innocent she is! Why would she add yet another colour
to her pink lotus feet that already colour the world?’
V.
35
The playful movements of her tortoise-shell ankles
surpass the elephant’s majestic stride!
Isn’t that why a battle still rages
between the turtle and the tusker?
V.36
Fresh turmeric pales before the colour of her body
and shamefully darkens with time—
that’s why it shares a name with the night, the darkness,
the black, pitch black and midnight.
* * *
GODA’S LOVE FOR THE LORD
V.37
The Moon Faced One was once the Earth Goddess
and due to her friendship with the snake maidens,
Marāḷi, Ekāvaḷi, Hariṇi, Manojña and Sragviṇi
were all reborn as her companions, daughters
in the houses of her devout Vaiṣṇava neighbours.
The girls passed the time, acting out the stories
of Viṣṇu’s forms, playing with dolls
reenacting the marriage of Lakṣmi and Nārāyaṇa
and singing wedding songs that described the Lord’s virtues.
And listening to these songs, over and over again
Goda fell into a trance—memories
of her past life came back to her
and she longed to be reunited with her beloved.
V.38
Even though the Lord of Wealth had given her father plenty of riches, Viṣṇucitta still tended his flowerbeds, and devotedly served his lord.
He passed the time reading the Vedas and Vaiṣṇava purāṇas,
reciting them along with their commentaries
as he humbly prepared garlands of fragrant red lilies.
Goda would comb her hair and wrap her curls
into a bun that leaned to one side
like a bull’s hump, or a peacock’s tail,
making a shield for the God of Love.
And below her hair, she would put on a garland
and spend a few minutes just gazing into a pond,
seeing her reflection and satisfying her desire
before turning away
and returning the worn garland to her flower basket.
V.39
After taking a bath, she would rub her body with turmeric,
put on a thin cīra and daub fresh kuṁkum around her breasts.
She would decorate her brow with a bŏṭṭu made of camphor
and ornament her hair with her father’s fresh flowers.
And with longing, she kept the garland on her heart
for just a little while.
But one day, as she saw her friends approaching
she shouted …
V.40
‘O Friends! Those songs you’ve sung of Viṣṇu’s deeds
I don’t think they’re fair. All the women
who truly loved him, were left without a care.
V.41
That Viṣṇu! Instead of becoming a god, a sage, or a king
and stirring the hearts of women,
it would’ve been better if he’d stayed, just as he was, ages ago
a fish, a turtle, a pig, or a lion!
V.42
And in all those animal forms, he never had a woman, did he?
And even if he did, an animal can’t experience
the same intense longing that a human endures.
Don’t you realize I know how it feels?
V.43
It’s as if he was lying when he said “To me, all creatures are equal.”
For women can ease the pains of love
with conversation and songs, and games and stories,
but the poor animals, who have no voice,
must suffer all the more.
V.44
In ages past, that man came to earth
because of the women who loved him.
Their tear-filled eyes gave rise to his aquatic births,
their hair standing on end became the stiff hairs of a pig,
and their heated passion turned into a ferocious lion.
All his descents were but cunning means
to hide his real intentions.
V.45
Born as a god, a sage, a ruler of men
he mercilessly tormented all who loved him.
Tell him about it, but he won’t listen!
Now let me explain
the meaning of those songs—
V.46
In the beginning, he became Upendra
and dealt a death blow to Bhṛgu’s wife.
Then the old sage cursed him to suffer,
separated apart from his wife.
But Viṣṇu justified it, thinking to himself,
“This forced separation is a divine act!”
He became a celibate, abandoned Lakṣmi
and filled her heart with sorrow.
V.47
The three kinds of kings, seven times in a row
were destroyed by his powerful arms.
His fame became a lute, plucked with a hatchet,
drawn from the fire of a raging sun.
And when the most perfect Goddess of the Earth
was filled with that melody of love, he pushed her away,
forcing her to suffer as Kāśyapa’s child.
V.48
She melted when she heard about that handsome Killer
and tender love rose as if she was struck by a lotus.
But when the Lady of the Lotus revealed her affections,
he rejected her, he abandoned her, he left her for dead.
Now consider and judge the actions of Rāma!
V.49
Rāvaṇa’s sister changed into a beautiful maiden
and approached that Rāma with genuine love,
but instead of handling her without a fight,
he had her mutilated for all to see.
Without any thought of Sīta, he got into a meaningless war
and she suffered all the pain of abandonment and longing.
V.50
Imitating his brother’s lion-like ferocity,
Lakṣmaṇa sliced Śūrpaṇakha’s nose to the bone!
The blood, fast flowing, fell to her trembling lips
and she cried out louder than monsoon thunder
while holding on tight to a sandalwood tree.
Her hands grabbed the trunk like a coiled black cobra
as Lakṣmaṇa’s arm, like an outstretched white branch
held fast his dagger like a dangling vine.
V.51
If he’d said, “Get out! I don’t want your love!”
she would’ve left, but instead he played with her heart.
It’s not her fault she was born a demon!
She loved him, and came to him alone,
a hard thing for a woman to do.
Did he really have to dishonour her so?
V.52
Even yogis longed for him,
wishing to be women just to touch him.
And though he could’ve transformed them all
with his dusty lotus feet, he made them wait for another life,
causing them to be reborn as innocent girls.
But even then, he wouldn’t allow their souls to join him!
Under the false pretense of Akrūra’s urging,
he quickly rushed to Bhojapura and abandoned them again.
V.53
Ayomukhi and Śūrpaṇakha were genuinely love-struck
but he disfigured them both!
If he claimed their deformities as reason for rejection,
then what about Balarāma who eagerly married Revati—
taller than him, like a giant palm tree, and much much older too?
Or Ugrasena’s dwarfish maid, who Kṛṣṇa saved and later loved?
V.54
In Vṛndāvana he was surrounded by all the village girls,
but he only loved one of them, he rejected the others
for Radha was Kṛṣṇa’s
sole lover.’
* * *
GODA AND HER FRIENDS
V.55
Over and over again, memories rushed back to her, and her friends could see that she truly loved that Killer of Kaiṭabha. Under the guise of taunting insults, her words revealed her inner heart. Her modesty, her submissiveness and her virgin love were bursting out, and her body took on the colour of molten gold.
But day after day, she was hurt by their laughing, and little by little she grew thinner and thinner. They teased her and said, ‘It’s harmful to deal with your troubles and fears by revealing the secrets of your heart.’
And joking with her they said—
V.56
‘No matter who they are, all husbands are alike.
Forget about him. Don’t worry about these little things.
When they’re far away you’re hurt, and when they’re with you
you’re submissive, praising them as if they were Indra or Candra!
Don’t you understand? We end up being your messenger girls.’
V.57
But as soon as they spoke, she had to control her anger.
She smiled a bit, and then bit her lip.
She continued to play with her friends, tossing the ball
here and there, her sidelong glances making sure
that no one was around. And then she said-
V.58
‘Leave him out of this! It’s not your job to make up lies!
There’s less harm in this kind of talk if you pretend to be singing,
so go ahead, continue with your pleasant songs.
Remember, a man who asks for rice pudding needn’t be poor.’
V.59
And her friends responded—
‘You’re right! We’ll keep quiet.
But soon enough, maybe even right now,
perhaps later, or maybe tomorrow
you’ll tell us about his beauty
you’ll tell us about his cruelty.
O friend, who are you trying to fool?
It’s clear you’re filled with thoughts of him.
V.60
O friend! Insulting women with all those old stories
reveals that you’re sick of love.
This meaningless anger reveals you.
That blank inward smile reveals you.
Your rough, choked voice reveals you.
And the long sleepless nights reveal you too.
When you turn on your side, and start to cry all alone
your whimpering sigh reveals you.
And when you hide your face, to flick away tears
the extinguished night lamp reveals you too.’
V.61
‘I know something amazing that the rest of you don’t!’ said Hariṇi.
‘Before she stepped into the bathing pond
Goda took off her necklace and hung it on my neck.
The Giver of the Worn Garland KRISHNADEVARAYA'S AMUKTAMALYADA Page 9