Madhumalati

  in a forest where no birds fly?

  As I wandered through this forest of fear,

  it seemed to rush in to devour me.

  How could a mortal ever be here?

  No mortal ever existed in such a form,

  so you are some ghastly creature in disguise.

  Tell me your name—who are you?

  Why do you live in this jungle?

  You have no friends or companions here,

  so how do you live in this dark wood alone?

  Your eyes are does, your voice the cuckoo’s, your face is the moon, your waist has a lion’s grace!

  You do not seem frightened alone, but live in this forest grove without fear.

  194. ‘To whom do you tell your joy or sorrow?

  Have you dedicated your life to someone,

  that you stay here night and day?

  I cannot see anyone around.

  You seem like a renunciant

  and your heart is very sad.

  I sense in you the fragrance of love.

  I do not know what secret you’ll disclose.

  My eyes cannot comprehend you at all,

  but your words speak to me of mysteries.

  Are you the wife of a celestial musician,

  or the darling daughter of a king?

  Tell me carefully, so I may be able to understand the mysteries of love through you.*

  Who is your dear beloved? O beautiful one, who is the king whose darling you are?’

  The Mango Grove

  195. Then the lovely maiden spoke,

  ‘I am a king’s daughter, his precious darling.

  My father is Citrasena and Pemā* is my name.

  My home is the city of Ease-of-Mind.*

  Fortune was fickle and evil days came,

  separating me from family and loved ones.

  I was young and innocent, and had not tasted love.

  In my father’s kingdom I knew only youth.

  I spent the days in frolic and play,

  and wasted the nights in sleep without care.

  I did not know the sorrow of separation, nor the pain and burning of love.

  Fun and games, happiness and clamour—these were my daily occupations.

  196. ‘Citbisarāun, Ease-of-Mind, was a beautiful city,

  and all around it was my father’s mango grove.

  Cool was its shade and dense the mango trees,

  as if Paradise itself had come down to earth.

  The trees were well cared for and bore luscious fruit,

  canals of cool water ran around their roots.

  Beautiful birds roosted on the trees,

  playing happily and cooing in sweet voices.

  In that mango grove it was eternal springtime,

  and the breeze blew its scents in all directions.

  Mangoes like sweet nectar hung always on the blossoming trees.

  Celestials, sages, and wise men came there to enjoy repose.

  197. ‘A pleasant pavilion stood there, full of pictures,

  and there we would go for fun and frolic.

  One day, all my girlfriends came to me, saying,

  “Let’s go to the mango grove and play!”

  I said, “If my mother agrees I’ll come

  and play with you in the mango grove.”

  Then I rose and went to my mother.

  She kissed me and made me sit on her lap.

  “Mother, if you would allow me,

  I’d go to the garden with my girlfriends.”

  She said, “My darling, play here at home today—do not go there!

  My heart is uneasy, and I am afraid to let you go out.”

  198. ‘When my mother said these words,

  a childish whim made me cry and fuss.

  She wiped my tears and consoled me gently,

  telling me I was grown up, no longer a child.

  Then she said, “You are a virgin girl,

  the prop and support of your parents’ life.

  I will not let you out of my sight,

  you must stop going daily to the mango grove.”

  But then she relented and told me,

  “Hurry up and go, and don’t be late,

  play for a little bit, then come straight home.”

  I heard this and my heart was joyful, all sorrow left me for happiness.

  All my girlfriends were thrilled, happy that I had permission to play.

  199. ‘Then my mother called all my friends to her.

  She adorned them first with beautiful flowers.

  Then she put fragrant sandal on their golden bodies,

  which appeared to be made of the nectar of the moon.

  All were clever and spontaneously lovely,

  with bodies formed from molten gold.

  Sometimes their youth would peep out shyly,

  sometimes they seemed like simple children.

  Their youth was perplexing. One did not know

  whether they were mature, or simply children.

  Youth and childhood debated over them, each staking its claim,

  blessed was our sweet youth and those days, blessed our innocent pleasure.

  200. ‘Let me think and describe their beauty:

  blessed God embodied them in this Kali age.

  They had not yet tasted the delights of love,

  nor yet had passion’s lord aroused their bodies.

  The fury of desire had not inflamed their limbs,

  nor yet had the golden bowls of their breasts risen.

  Youth’s bud had not yet opened in bloom,

  still steeped they were in innocent love.

  They had not yet embraced a lover in passion,

  nor had they known love’s sulks or sweet cajolings.

  Childhood had not yet left their beautiful bodies, and they had

  not yet sampled, even by mistake, the taste of the wine of love.

  201. ‘They had not yet learnt to put on the bodice,

  they were innocent of the savour of love.

  Nectar did not yet drip from their lips.

  Their eyes had not learnt the wiles of seduction.

  They had not yet slept in passion’s embrace.

  Love’s intoxication had not awakened in them.

  They had not yet voiced the joy of love,

  dressed in the garments of consummation.

  Not a suspicion of desire existed in their hearts.

  They had not yet rested on a lover’s arm.

  All of them were thrilled and happy, going to the mango grove.

  Why did I not use my intelligence? I lost my freedom by going there.

  202. ‘Fortune went against me that day.

  I set off happily, excited and childlike,

  with my doe-eyed friends, who walked

  swaying gracefully like hasa birds.*

  Their lips were filled with sweet nectar.

  They cooed like cuckoos, singing delightfully,

  lovely as creepers swinging on the bough.

  Their waists made one fear that at a touch,

  God had made them so fine they would snap.

  Their navels were like pools of nectar,

  with black braids on guard like vicious serpents.

  Clever and intelligent, all these girls were wise and skilled in the arts.

  Their eyebrow-bows and eyelash-arrows slaughtered all by looking at them.

  203. ‘Playing I came to that delightful grove,

  where the army of the love-god was in full array.

  The birds’ sweet singing delighted the sense.

  Partridges cooed wistfully for their mates.

  Here black bees clustered close to the flower,

  there cuckoos sang in the fifth note of the scale.*

  Here tender blossoms opened from the bud,

  there, peacocks and cuckoos made their home.

  Everywhere there were flowers, colourful and fragrant,

  and all through the garden, love’s tumultuous ec
stasy.

  Even bodies which had never known passion would have been swayed by the sight.

  That lovely garden with its army of love would have aroused desire in the dead.

  204. ‘My friends rejoiced when they saw the mango grove.

  They sported and played as young girls do.

  Some counted cuckoos and made them fly,

  others ran to see the peacocks dance.

  They all played, joy in their hearts.

  Some plucked blossoms, clasping them to their breasts,

  others adorned their hair with the flowers.

  Some made garlands and posies of buds.

  Whoever found a sweet-smelling, colourful blossom,

  ran to show it to me excitedly.

  Happily they explored the enchanting forest, plucking the fragrant flowers,

  with eyes like does and faces like lotuses, they were buds the bees would not leave.

  205. ‘The maidens played happily in the grove,

  lotus-faced, with sweet virginal bodies,

  and fragrant perfume on their limbs.

  The black bees clustered close around them,

  abandoning the scents of the flowers.

  They swarmed around a maiden’s head,

  or tried to settle on another’s breasts.

  Some caught the scent of unopened lotuses

  on their lips, and clustered to drink honey.

  The black bees wanted to sample by force

  the savours of love which were yet untasted.

  When the bees stung the lips of all of them, the girls grew very restless.

  The bees clung close in front, and attacked their serpent-like braids like peacocks.

  206. ‘The virginal girls were like lotuses in bloom,

  with black bees humming cruelly around them.

  They were so disturbed they could not speak.

  When they drew breath the bees rested on their lips.

  They were all very upset, their make-up ruined,

  their bodices were torn and necklaces broken.

  All were agitated, their partings were wiped clean,

  the marks on their brows destroyed.

  The sixteen adornments they had put on at home

  had now been ruined in the mango grove.

  The lovely maidens ran, hiding their faces in their hands.

  Entering the picture-pavilion,* they shut its doors behind them.

  207. ‘In this state of restless agitation,

  the lovely maidens ran into the pavilion.

  Many had broken the bangles on their hands,

  others had ruined their necklaces.

  Some felt their lips and breasts,

  some wept seeing the stings on their bosoms.

  Some were laughing, others crying,

  and many were afraid to face their parents.

  Some had tresses flowing in disarray,

  others had the collyrium in their eyes wiped out.

  All their adornments were quite destroyed, and some cried while others laughed.

  So frightened were they by the bees, they could not go homewards again.

  208. ‘Then they discussed the situation, saying,

  “Let’s go home and leave the pavilion.”

  Many said, “How can we go home?

  If our mothers question us, what shall we say?”

  Some were afraid of their mothers at home,

  but most feared the black bees at large.

  Four of them, who were sensible

  and less afraid, said, “Let us go.

  We will lead the way, you follow.”

  Then they opened the doors wide and went out, apprehensively, all in a group.

  They could not open their mouths out of fear, but spoke through gestures and signs.*

  209. ‘They all came out of the picture-pavilion.

  Their fear had not left them yet.

  Scared, they huddled together in one place.

  Suddenly, a horrible demon appeared.

  My girlfriends nearly died of fright.

  Seeing him, I was petrified,

  and ran to hide under the trees.

  But the demon came straight

  to where I was hiding and seized me.

  Out of sixty girls, he singled me out and snatched me up.

  Within the twinkling of an eye, he brought me to this wild forest.

  210. ‘It has been a long year in this place.

  Even in my dreams I don’t hear a human name.

  Seeing your human form today

  I have come alive for an instant.

  I am a body without life in this place,

  and how long can a lifeless body live?

  Parted from my family, I burn night and day,

  while my cruel life will not leave me.

  Grief has overwhelmed my heart

  and taken away all my joy.

  Still I am forced to keep on living.

  How long can I continue to live in this world suffering such pain?

  Like cracks appear in a drying-up pond, my body will crack and die in agony.

  211. ‘I left my soul there and came here.

  I cannot live any longer without it.

  One day I shall die from this sorrow,

  for how long can I remain alive like this?

  My body is numb and life flutters on my lips,

  I have left my body and the hope of life.

  O Prince, just look at this pitiable wretch,

  a lifeless woman speaks these words to you.

  The day the demon abducted me

  I abandoned joy, love, and happiness.

  Without life my body lives on, and I burn in the fire of separation.*

  How can one call it living when one’s days are spent in separation?

  212. ‘Twelve long months have I wept blood.

  Better to die than to suffer separation.

  My heart breaks when I remember past joys.

  The sorrow of parting, like a set of shears,

  has cut away all the flesh from my body.

  My heart breaks with agonizing pain

  when I see this lonely, dark forest.

  Grief is my companion and separation my friend.

  In a previous life, God assigned me this ill fate.

  The tree of my life bears sorrow as its fruit.

  Maybe I caused someone to suffer

  and now he takes his revenge on me.

  Quietly by night and day, separation drains my life’s blood away,

  one day it will finish with the blood, and eat the empty shell.

  213. ‘I have told you all my story.

  Grief is my only companion here.

  When I was in my mother’s lap,

  I never harmed even a bird.

  I cannot tell what sin I did

  that brought me to this horrible fate.

  In these woods and dark forests

  there is no one to share my sorrow.

  Apart from grief and burning,

  I do not feel anything at all.

  Nothing diverts me even for a moment.

  This woman wishes to leave her life,

  for the world is a heavy burden for her.

  There is pain and grief in my heart, and my body is consumed with fire.

  O God, how long can I live on in this agony of separation?

  214. ‘I have told you my joys and sorrows,

  all there is to know about me.

  Tell me now of your own grief.

  What has brought you here?

  I do not think sorrow was with you at your birth,

  for your face proclaims you to be a prince.

  Fortune has favoured you, for it seems

  that a jewel shines from your forehead,

  like the full moon with all its lustre.

  Apart from your own shadow, however,

  you have no friend, no brother, no loved one with you.

  I am astonished that all alone you crossed the ocean and came here.


  How was it that the fearsome ghouls and demons spared you?

  215. ‘The moon and sun in heaven

  do not shed their light here.

  How did you, a human, come here?

  I ask you, tell me about yourself.

  What city are you from,

  and what is your father’s name?

  Tell me from what land you come.

  Is your clan a high-born one, or base?

  Is your family royal or beggarly?

  Your body is emaciated, as though

  you were about to die.

  I see neither flesh nor blood on your frame.

  From beginning to end, I have told you my story.

  Sit by me for a moment and tell me of your own sorrows.’

  The Prince’s Fear

  216. Thus Pemā finished her entire story.

  The Prince listened to everything she said.

  When he heard about the demon,

  his mind was fearful, and he thought:

  ‘I must go away from this place.

  If the demon comes here now,

  he will slaughter me in an instant.

  Where can I go to escape from him?

  If I die now, I would regret it forever,

  because a great task lies ahead of me

  for which I left home and renounced my kingdom.’

  Holding this resolve firm in his mind, the Prince stood up to leave.

  But Pemā ran to fall at his feet, her eyes glistening with tears.

  217. The Prince raised the maiden up.

  When he saw her face, his heart

  felt pity over her pain. Affection

  was born in his mind, he was captured.

  The ocean of love billowed over.

  His heart burnt for Pemā’s sorrow,

  as if ghee* had been poured on the fire

  which already burnt within him.

  As he saw her the Prince’s heart

  was deeply moved, and compassion

  stirred. He was unable to go.

  As he saw her face, his heart was moved,

  and boiled over to flow as blood in his veins.

  Only those who have felt pain within can understand the pain of the afflicted.

  Without this grief, how can you know the pain, the burning sorrow of another?

  Pemā’s Sorrow*

  218. Pemā wept such tears of blood,

  that whoever heard her grieved deeply

  in his heart. She was overcome

  with emotion, her heart was convulsed.

  Waves of blood welled up in the ocean

  of her eyes. Grief overwhelmed her,

  she could not utter a word.

  She sighed, unable to speak at all.

  Tears brimmed over in her eyes

  like pearls pouring from their broken shells.

  She opened her heart to the waves of sorrow.

  Every pore of her being wept piteously.