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You have fallen into the house of an artist turned farmer—learn how to win his heart with skill in domestic tasks.
In Kashi, where Shiva blesses the pious, even sinners become purified and attain liberation just by reaching this sacred land.
The king’s young queens gradually mature—their eyes full of desire, breasts swelling like playful fish in deepening water.
Waves rushing toward her bosom like elephants bearing pearls merge and dissolve—the ultimate union overwhelms even the strongest.
Her breasts shy to bloom under the moon’s gaze, but her eyes, attended by eyebrow-bees, are fully blossomed—creating heart's doubt.
Her heavy breasts sway, belly sinks, and navel dips—O mind-deer! What can be done when trapped in the net of her body’s curves?
Her fever of separation burns even when touched by cool hands—pearls of garlands crack, medicines fail, all stunned by her agony.
If even gods can’t describe Shiva’s glory, how can humans speak of beauty that defeats language itself?
Let others say her braid is a dark snake—what I see is a goddess carrying a moon-gem, desiring her nectarous face.
See Parvati playing huntress, striking Shiva with her bow—Shiva bears it smiling, decorating his arms with love’s battle scars.
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