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As Krishna lovingly sprinkles water on one woman, the jealous one, though untouched, appears soaked with sweat — reflecting emotional impact.
Repeated bowing at Lord Varaha’s feet brings joy to the wise and suffering to the envious — a testament to the divine power of reverence.
The ideal householder’s life includes good children, a gentle wife, respectful servants, daily rituals — the poet describes a blissful domestic life.
The bee leaves the sweet lotus to come near mango blossoms, only to be ridiculed — a warning against leaving the true source of joy.
Those gopīs were truly fortunate — they embraced Krishna, the source of bliss and essence of all scriptures, in loving union.
The beloved’s beauty soothes the fever of love, imitates nectar, and spreads supreme delight — the poet is enchanted by her effect.
The poet reflects on his wandering heart, instructing it to behold the trembling eyes of his beloved — overwhelmed with love.
A paradox of a tear — born of both joy and sorrow — is as mysterious as waters born from icy mountains merging into hot rivers.
In Chidambaram, in a Tamil home, as if the cosmic dance of Shiva manifests in kitchen, the ladle dances like lightning over sacred food.
May my mind reside in that blissful, indivisible state of pure consciousness — which even the cowherd boys could experience with Krishna.
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