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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428281" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Cloud Messenger - Part 04</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The slender young woman who is there would be the premier creation by the<br>Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a<br>slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelle’s, a deep navel, a gait slow on account<br>of the weight of her hips, and who is somewhat bowed down by her breasts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You should know that she whose words are few, my second life, is like a<br>solitary female cakravaka duck when I, her mate, am far away. While these<br>weary days are passing, I think the girl whose longing is deep has taken on an<br>altered appearance, like a lotus blighted by frost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Surely the face of my beloved, her eyes swollen from violent weeping, the<br>colour of her lower lip changed by the heat of her sighs, resting upon her<br>hand, partially hidden by the hanging locks of her hair, bears the miserable<br>appearance of the moon with its brightness obscured when pursued by you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She will come at once into your sight, either engaged in pouring oblations, or<br>drawing from memory my portrait, but grown thin on account of separation,<br>or asking the sweet-voiced sarika bird in its cage, ‘I hope you remember the<br>master, O elegant one, for you are his favourite’;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or having placed a lute on a dirty cloth on her lap, friend, wanting to sing a<br>song whose words are contrived to contain my name, and somehow plucking<br>the strings wet with tears, again and again she forgets the melody, even<br>though she composed it herself;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or engaged in counting the remaining months set from the day of our<br>separation until the end by placing flowers on the ground at the threshold, or<br>enjoying acts of union that are preserved in her mind. These generally are the<br>diversions of women when separated from their husbands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">During the day, when she has distractions, separation will not torment her so<br>much. I fear that your friend will have greater suffering at night without<br>distraction. You who carry my message, positioned above the palace roof-top,<br>see the good woman at midnight, lying on the ground, sleepless, and cheer her<br>thoroughly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Grown thin with anxiety, lying on one side on a bed of separation, resembling<br>the body of the moon on the eastern horizon when only one sixteenth part<br>remains, shedding hot tears, passing that night, lengthened by separation,<br>which spent in desired enjoyments in company with me would have passed in<br>an instant.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Covering with eyelashes heavy with tears on account of her sorrow, her eyes<br>which were raised to face the rays of the moon, which were cool with nectar<br>and which entered by way of the lattice, fall again on account of her previous<br>love, like a bed of land-lotuses on an overcast day, neither open nor closed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She whose sighs that trouble her bud-like lower lip will surely be scattering<br>the locks of her hair hanging at her cheek, dishevelled after a simple bath,<br>thinking how enjoyment with me might arise even if only in a dream, yearning<br>for sleep, the opportunity for which is prevented by the affliction of tears;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She who is repeatedly pushing from the curve of her cheek with her hand<br>whose nails are unkempt, the single braid, plaited by me, stripped of its<br>garland, on the first day of our separation, which will be loosened by me when<br>I am free from sorrow at the expiry of the curse, and which is rough to the<br>touch, stiff, and hard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That frail woman, supporting her tender body which he has laid repeatedly in<br>great suffering on a couch, will certainly cause even you to shed tears in the<br>form of fresh rain. Generally all tender-hearted beaing have a compassionate<br>disposition.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know that the mind of your friend is filled with accumulated love for me. On<br>account of that I imagine her condition thus at our first separation. Even the<br>thought of my good fortune does not make me feel like talking. All that I have<br>said, brother, will be before your eyes before long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think of the eyes of that deer-eyed one, the sideways movements of which<br>are concealed by her hair, which are devoid of the glistening of collyrium,<br>which have forgotten the play of their eyebrows on account of abstinence<br>from sweet liqour, and whose upper eyelids tremble when you are near: these<br>eyes take on the semblance of the beauty of a blue lotus that is trembling with<br>the movement of a fish.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And her lovely thigh will tremble, being without the impressions of my<br>fingernails, caused to abandon it long-accustomed string of pearls by the<br>course of fate, used to the caresses of my hand at the end of our enjoyment,<br>and as pale as the stem of a beautiful plantain palm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At that time, O cloud, if she is enjoying the sleep she has found, remaining<br>behind her, your thunder restrained, wait during the night-watch. Let not the<br>knot of her creeper-like arms in close embrace with me her beloved, somehow<br>found in a dream, fall from my neck at once.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Having woken her with a breeze cooled by your own water droplets, she will<br>be refreshed like the fresh clusters of buds of the malati. Your lightning held<br>within, being firm, begin to address her with words of thunder; she, the proud<br>on whose eyes are fixed on the window occupied by you:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘O you who are not a widow, know me to be a cloud who is a dear friend of<br>your husband. With messages stored in my heart I have arrived at your side,<br>and with slow and friendly rumblings I urge along the road a multitude of<br>weary travellers who are eager to loosen the braids of their womenfolk.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When this has been said, like Sita looking up at Hanuman, having beheld you<br>with her heart swollen with longing and having honoured you, she will listen<br>attentively to you further, O friend. For women, news of their beloved that<br>brought by a friend is little short of union.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O long-lived one, following my instructions and to bring credit to yourself,<br>address her thus: ‘Your partner who resides at the ashram on Ramagiri, who is<br>still alive though separated from you, inquires after your news, madam. This<br>is the very thing that is first asked by beings who may easily fall into<br>misfortune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He whose path is blocked by an invidious command and is at a distance, by<br>means of these intentions, unites his body with yours, the emaciated with the<br>emaciated, the afflicted with the deeply afflicted, that which is wet with tears<br>with that which is tearful, that whose longing is ceaseless with that which is<br>longed for, that whose sighs are hot with that whose sighs are even more<br>numerous.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He who has become eager to say what is to be said in words in your ear, in the<br>presence of your female friends, with a desire to touch your face, he who is<br>beyond the range of your ears, unseen by your eyes, addresses these words<br>composed on account of his desire, through the agency of my mouth:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“I perceive your body in the priyangu vines, your glances in the eyes of the<br>startled deer, the beauty of your face in the moon, your hair in the peacock’s<br>feathers and the play of your eyebrows in the delicate ripples on the river, but<br>alas, your whole likeness is not to be found in a single thing, O passionate<br>one.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Having painted your likeness, with mineral colours on a rock, appearing angry<br>because of love, as soon as I wish to paint myself fallen at your feet, my<br>vision is clouded again and again with copious tears. Cruel fate does not<br>permit our union, even in this picture.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Watching me with my arms stretched up into the air for an ardent embrace<br>when you have somhow been found by me in a vision or in a dream, the local<br>deities repeatedly shed teardrops as big as pearls on the buds of the trees.<br>Those winds from the snowy mountains which having broken open the sepals<br>of the buds of the devadaru trees become fragrant with their milky sap and<br>which blow southwards—they are embraced by me, O virtuous one, with the<br>thought that your body might previously have been touched by them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How can the night with its long watches by compressed into a moment? How<br>may a day become cooler in every season? Thus my mind, whose desires are<br>difficult to satisfy, is rendered without refuge by the deep and burning pangs<br>of separation from you, O one of trembling eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Indeed, ever brooding, I maintain myself by means of myself alone.<br>Therefore, O beautiful one, you also should not fear. Whose happiness is<br>endless or whose suffering is complete? The condition of life rises and falls<br>like the felly of a wheel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The the holder of the bow called Sharnga rises from his serpent bed, the<br>curse will end for me. Having closed your eyes, endure the remaining four<br>months. After that, we two will indulge our own various desires, increased by<br>separation, on nights lit by the full autumn moon.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he said further, “In the past you embraced my neck as we lay on our bed,<br>you called out something in your sleep and woke up. When I asked over and<br>over, you said to me with an inward smile, ‘I saw you in my dream enjoying<br>another girl, you cheat!’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Having ascertained from the telling of this account that I am well, do not be<br>suspicious of me on account of any rumour, O dark-eyed one. They say that<br>love somehow perishes during separation, but because there is no fulfilment,<br>the love for that which is desired with increasing desire, becomes a even more<br>ardent.”’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Having comforted her thus, your friens whose sorrow is great in her first<br>separation, return at once from the mountain whose peaks were cast up by the<br>bull of three-eyed one. Then you should prop up my life which flags like<br>kunda flowers in the morning with her words about her welfare, and an<br>account of her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hope, friend, that you are firmly resolved upon this friendly service for me. I<br>certainly do not regard your silences as indicating refusal. When requested<br>you also apportion rain to the cataka cuckoos in silence, for the response of<br>the virtuous to those who make a request is the performance of that which is<br>desired.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Having undertaken this favour for me who bears this request that is unworthy<br>of you, with thoughts of compassion for me, either out of friendship or<br>because you think that I am alone, proceed to your desired destination, O<br>cloud, your splendour enhanced by rainy season, and may you never be<br>separated like this even for a moment from your spouse, the lightning.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Kalidasa">Kalidasa</a><div class=q>
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Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a
slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelle’s, a deep navel, a gait slow on account
of the we..."></div>
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