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Though fair and deeply bonded, why does she not approach you like a Vidarbha bride? Despite closeness, she remains distant and elusive.
This fair one never aligns with our attempts; as we strive to bond, fear of rivals and the wild overcomes us—what means remain for union?
She moves like a royal elephant, adored by women, seated on a throne, now devoted to people’s welfare—an empress guided by destiny.
This divine river (Ganga) may appear inert, but sanctifies even Shiva and destroys all sins—may she purify us daily.
This is divine sport—an old bull climbed a tree, ashes adorned the body, snakes wrapped the neck, fire marked the brow—Shiva’s play is wondrous.
Your mother, always attentive to your gaze, carries twin breasts full of the milk of love—devotion in maternal form.
This dark night, extending beyond a hundred nights, burns even with soft winds—when fate turns, even moonlight brings pain.
This world is upheld only by those of noble conduct, self-trained, rational, tolerant, and wise—not by the ignorant.
Even in sandal breeze or honeyed groves, this woman finds no joy—grief consumes her so deeply that even pleasures become torment.
This village is surrounded by uncultured tribes and cruel warriors—here, only facial expressions convey meaningful speech.
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