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Plant crops in the north, begin journeys west, and buy land southward—auspicious directions hold specific success.
Even animals understand clear speech, while wise men infer the unsaid—true intelligence lies in intuitive grasp.
Victory always belongs to the army whose soldiers and vehicles are enthusiastic and mentally elevated.
Even when sweet words are spoken, Radha remains angry. I may be at fault—but not as guilty as she thinks, even in dreams.
One who plants eight fig trees or inspires others to do so rejoices in the moon world—trees are keys to heaven.
Time swallows galaxies like fig fruits—what are we, tiny beings, before its all-consuming pride-crushing power?
Clouds rise, peacocks dance, lightning flashes—surely Cupid has broken his bow, seeing his rival monsoon’s beauty.
First comes the flower, then fruit and milk—such is the natural order of cause and effect; may prosperity follow grace.
In the night where moonlight never rises, what auspicious tithi can there be? Even the cuckoo abandons sweet song.
The sun rises and sets in the same red hue; likewise, the great remain the same in both rise and fall.
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