by Kalidasa
their good deeds had run low.
32
At dawn, a gentle breeze from the River Sipra,
fragrant from caressing
The yawning petals of lotus flowers, carries
the faint call of cranes,
Like the whispered words of a lover’s request,
to the women of Ujjayini
Whose tired bodies are refreshed after a night
of making love.
33
On display in the markets of Ujjayini you will see
Oyster shells, conch shells,
Chunks of pink coral, countless pearl necklaces set
with shining pendants
Made of precious gems, and radiant green emeralds,
like blades of fresh grass,
Making it seem as though the great oceans had been
robbed of all but water.
34
People there versed in local legends regale
their visiting relatives,
“Here, Prince Udayana, King of Vatsa, won
Pradyota’s beloved daughter,
And right there grew his golden palm groves,
and over there, our people say
The king’s elephant Nalagiri went mad and
smashed apart his tying post!”
35
Scented smoke for perfuming women’s hair filters
through lattice windows
And fortifies your weary body, as gentle peacocks
express their kindred friendship
With a gift of dance. Take in all the beauty hidden
in the city’s mansions,
Fragrant with flowers, where elegant women paint
their toes red with lac.
36
Travel to the holy temple of Lord Chandishwara,
Sovereign of the Three Worlds,
Served with reverence by Shiva’s hordes who see
their master’s throat in your darkness,
Where the gardens are fanned by a fragrant breeze
that carries the pollen of lilies
And the perfume of young ladies playing games
in the waters of the Gandhavati.
37
O great cloud, though you may arrive in Mahakala
ahead of the sacred hour,
You should wait there until the setting sun has passed
beyond the scope of sight,
And stay to serve as the ritual drum, beaten for Shiva
during the evening worship,
So that the softened roar of your powerful thunder
fulfils its most noble purpose.
38
Graceful temple dancers move their feet with skill,
jingling bells on their waistbands,
As they send out long, piercing glances like rays
of black bees in search of honey.
And as their hands tire from waving fans fitted with
shining handles of encrusted gems,
The first raindrops of your season will fall like balm
on last night’s nail-marks of love.
39
After that, encircle the Lord of Animals whose strong arms
spread out like a great forest,
And embrace him with your body as it reflects the redness
of soft rose petals at twilight.
Thus ending Shiva’s need for the bloody elephant hide
that he dons before he dances,
Bhavani’s fears will be calmed, and you will witness your
own devotion in her thankful eyes.
40
There at night, young women set out in secret for the homes
of their waiting lovers
On a high road hidden beneath a thick darkness that even
a needle could not pierce.
Illuminate their way with streaks of soft lightning that spark
like gold on touchstone,
But be sure to mute your thunder, and withhold your water
from these fearful women.
41
Join sleeping doves on the terrace of a city mansion
and pass the night
With your precious wife, the lightning, weak now
from striking so long.
But when you see the sun rising, you must carry on
with the journey ahead,
For one who is truly committed to helping a friend
must never delay.
42
This is the hour when men calm their jealous lovers
and wipe their tears away,
Just like the rising sun who carries away dewdrops
from the faces of lotuses.
Quickly swerve out of the path of the sun, leaving
his rays unobscured,
So you might escape his jealous anger, which you
ought not to take lightly.
43
Soon the soft shadow of your soul will fall
on the tranquil waters
Of the River Gambhira, like a doorway into
her waiting heart.
Though strong, you will be powerless against
her quick glances,
Darting through the water like shiny minnows,
pure as white lilies.
44
Her gentle waters spill over her sloping banks
into a bed of reeds,
As if her deep blue sari were slipping off, softly
through your hands.
My dear friend, I know it will be hard for you
to escape her pull,
For no man who’s tasted pleasure could resist
a woman’s body laid bare.
45
When the earth swells with your gentle rain, a cool wind
caresses the land,
Taking on the sweet fragrance of the earth before being
breathed in by elephants
Whose trunks trumpet with pleasure. Then the wind will
blow, forcing forest figs
To fruit below, while you are driven on by a desire to see
that mountain of Devagiri.
46
There, where Lord Skanda makes his eternal home,
shape yourself into a flower
And bathe him in a shower of petals, wet with water
from the Ganga in the sky,
For he is pure light, brighter than the sun, cast into
the mouth of the Sacred Fire
By the Bearer of the Crescent Moon to safeguard
the armies of Indra’s sons.
47
With your rolling thunder echoing through the valley deep,
rouse Pavaki’s peacock
And make him dance, so the corners of his eyes might catch
the light of Shiva’s moon,
And so his moulted peacock plume with its iridescent circles
and dazzling lines might find
Its way to Bhavani, who out of affection for her son, places it
by the blue lotus at her ear.
48
And so worshipping the God Born in a Bed of Reeds,
carry on with your journey,
Past a pair of Siddhas with their veenas who turn to
the path of salvation to dodge
Your raindrops. Drop down low and honour the glory
of King Rantideva, whose fame
Runs over the land in the form of a river born from the
blood of cows given in sacrifice.
49
Those who roam the sky will quickly turn their gaze
to the river below,
Whose current, once abundant, appears like a trickle
from so far above.
And with your deep colour stolen from the Dark Lord,
dive to drink her waters,
Like a sapphire pendant being set in a pearl necklace
that adorns the earth.
50
Cross that river, and carry on to Dashapura, where ladies
fond of flirting awa
it
To adore your likeness with their eyes full of excitement,
their arched brows,
And their raised lashes that send up flickers of darkness
and light, stealing
The beauty of black bees as they chase after strewn buds
of white jasmine.
51
Then enter the Republic of Brahmavarta, ranging over
the land as a shadow,
And pay your respects to the battlefield of the Kurus,
a memorial to that Great War
When Arjuna with his magical Gandiva bow let loose
upon enemy kings
A volley of a hundred well-honed arrows, like your rain
falling heavy on lotuses.
52
Gentle cloud, this is where Balarama the Plough Bearer,
refusing to enter the Great War
Out of love for his kinsmen, gave up his favourite wine
which he savoured for it served
As a mirror for Revati’s eyes. He then set out to honour
the River Saraswati, whose waters
You should take in, purifying your inner being so your
darkness is but a surface shade.
53
And from there fly to Jahnu’s daughter, the River Ganga,
flowing down from
The King of Mountains near sacred Mount Kankhala
like a stairway to heaven
For Sagara’s sons. And with her white waves, like hands
grasping Shiva’s matted locks,
She reaches for his moon while laughing at the frown
on Gauri’s jealous face.
54
When you decide to drink her winding waters,
clear as the purest crystal,
Your lower body will dip and hover in the sky
like a Guardian Elephant,
Casting a dark shadow on her swift-flowing
current, as if the Ganga
Were suddenly united with the Yamuna in a
pleasing new place.
55
When you approach Lord Himalaya, the very source
of the River Ganga,
Where the peaks are snowy white and the boulders
are scented with the musk
Of crouching bucks, rest there on one of his ridges
and ease the toil of travel,
As if you were a living allusion to Shiva’s White Bull
digging up the dark earth.
56
Should the wind pick up, rubbing together branches
of Himalayan cedar
And sparking off flames that scorch the bushy tails
of mountain yaks,
You must, with a thousand cloudbursts, douse that
raging forest fire.
Shouldn’t the fortunes of the wealthy alleviate
the pains of the poor?
57
And then, with a thunderous downpour of hailstones,
drive away the mythical
Eight-legged Sharabhas who have lost their way, for
they may leap up at you
At any moment, flying into a violent rage that might
crush their own bodies.
Don’t those who set out on futile ventures end up as
targets of others’ disdain?
58
Then descend with deep devotion to circle that sacred stone,
manifestly blessed
With the footprints of the Great God and forever worshipped
by ageing Siddha sages.
For should this holy place be seen by the faithful, their sins
would be shed, and then,
With the passing of their bodies, they would secure lasting
places as servants of Shiva.
59
There the wind fills bamboo hollows, creating the tones
of soothing flutes,
While Kinnara women sing in chorus of the victory won
over the Triple City.
And should your thunder echo through mountain caverns
like a pounding drum,
You would create in unison a full symphony of sounds
for the Lord of Animals.
60
After taking in the many wonders there, cross over
the distant ridges of the
Snowy Mountains and go north to the Crane Gate,
the famed Pass of Krauncha,
Where Parashurama found his way to glory. Stretch
across that mountain passage
With your body, like Vishnu’s dark foot raised
to crush the mighty King Bali.
61
Soar even higher and accept Mount Kailasa’s invitation
to fly through her chasms,
Cleaved sheer by the many arms of Ten-Headed Ravana,
but used now as mirrors
By the wives of the gods. There the high peaks, heaped
with snow, day after day,
Will pierce the sky like lotuses of white, as if revealing
the laughter of Lord Shiva.
62
Resting on a ridge, shining black as fine collyrium
against the white cliffs
Of Kailasa that rise like freshly carved ivory tusks,
I imagine your beauty
Captivating my eyes in an unflinching gaze, as if
mighty Balarama,
The Plough Bearer, were draping his black robes
across his shoulders.
63
And should you find Gauri strolling barefoot upon that
Mountain of Pleasure,
Along with Shiva who would shed his serpentine armlets
to offer her a helping hand,
Move ahead of them, focusing currents within yourself,
and transform your body
Into a great arc of water, like a flight of stairs to ascend
the jewelled slopes of Kailasa.
64
There the nymphs of heaven for whom it is still summer
are sure to pierce you
With their lightning-bolt bracelets, fashioning you into
their private bathhouse
Fitted with jets of spraying water. And should it be hard,
dear friend, to free yourself
From them, frighten them with your ear-piercing thunder
as they sway lost in play.
65
Now give Indra’s war elephant Airavata the fleeting
joy of a head cloth
By drinking up the waters of Lake Manasa, home
to the golden lotus.
Then shake the tender leaves of the Wishing Tree
like silk in the wind,
And delight in every pleasure, dear cloud, that the
Mountain provides.
66
Anxious cloud, you will know her as you see her,
that great city of Alaka,
Where the Ganga flows down like fine silk draped
across a lover’s lap,
And flying ships guide gathering clouds to release
their seasonal rains,
Like a string of silvery white pearls, braided into
a lover’s black hair.’
II
MESSAGE
1
‘Trait for trait, the high mansions of Alaka will match you,
for while you are endowed
With lightning and rainbows, they have vibrant women and
fine paintings full of colour.
Your rolling thunder will be joined by their drums, beaten
at evening soirees, and your
Drops of vapour will mirror their sapphire tiles, for though
you are lofty, they kiss the sky.
2
With lotus flowers twirling in their hands, the women
of Alaka adorn their bodies with flowers
Born of every season—their hair braided with buds of
autumn jasmine and spring amaranth,
>
Their ears decorated with summer sirisha, their cheeks
daubed with the yellow-white pollen
Of winter lodhra, and just there, at the part of their hair,
kadambas that open with your coming.
3
There in Alaka the trees are forever in bloom, buzzing
with the hum of drunken bees,
And the lotus ponds, forever filled with fresh lotuses,
are encircled by rings of swans.
The tails of peacocks are forever resplendent as they
lift their necks to the sky to cry,
And the night is forever bathed in a gentle moonlight,
washing away any cloak of darkness.
4
There the servants of the Lord of Wealth dwell, their eyes
filled with tears born of
No other cause but joy, for they have no pain, save for the
blow from Love’s arrow
Whose aim is union with whatever is desired. They never
feel loneliness, except as
Respite from lovers’ quarrels, and for all time, they have
no other age but youth.
5
With the finest women of Alaka by their side, young men
retire to their mansion grounds,
Where paths paved with white crystals reflect starlight like
constellations of flowers.
They escape there to drink a wine of passion, pressed from
the fruits of the Wishing Tree,
While drumheads are slowly struck, echoing the rumble