CHAPTER CXXIII
(SATYABHAMA'S RESENTMENT AND KESHAVA'S CONSOLATION TO HER)
Vaishampāyana said:—Finding the sage (Narada) seated with Rukshmini, the high-souled Keshava that knower of all things, set out under some pretext (for the mansion of Satyabhama) (1). He proceeded quickly towards the spacious mansion of Satyabhama that was built on the delightful Raivataka hills by Visvakarma himself (2). Slowly Vishnu entered (the palace) as he was aware that the daughter of Satrajit, his beloved queen—she dearer to him than this own vital breaths, had been under the influence of jealous resentment (3). Affectionately thinking of that beloved one who was then excited with jealousy, the slayer of Madhu proceeded with slow steps, and with greater fear (4). Engaging Pradyumna to entertain and attend upon Narada and telling his servant Daruka "Wait at the gate," he entered into the palace of Satyabhama (5). There he saw from a distance, his beloved wife then inside the apartment of anger[1] in the midst of her handmaids sighing hot and frequently in consequence jealous wrath (6). (He saw) her laughing a derisive laugh mixed with sighs at the lotus that she had brought near her own lotus-like face, and had been nipping with her nails (7). Sometimes he saw her describing figures on the ground with the tip of her toe slightly bent, and (sometimes) laughing gently with her face turned towards her back (8). Sometimes he saw his lotus-eyed queen of exquisite shape and form merged in deep thought, the while the lotus of her face resting on the lotus of her left palm (9). Sometimes he saw his unblameable wife take the delightful sandal from the hands of her maids, smear it on her breast and then again cruelly throw it aside (10). He saw her rise from her bed and fall into it again and again. There Hari saw these and many other actions of her dear wife (that indicated the pitch of her resentment) (11).
[1] This used to be a separate room in the palace of ancient queens, where they resorted in order to indicate their annoyance or anger at the conduct of their husbands.
Now as the daughter of Satrajit laid her head on her pillow, previously covering it with her veil, Janardanna thought "This is my opportunity (for effecting an entrance into her room)" (12). Then by (manual) signs commanding the handmaids not to announce his presence, he approached Satyabhama with faltering steps (13). Taking up the fan and standing by her side, he then began to fan slowly and laugh gently (14). That illustrious one (Hari), then perfumed in consequence of his contact with the Pārijāta flower, diffused there a divine, super-natural and rare fragrance (15). Smelling that wondrous fragrance, and taken with admiration, Satyā uncovered her face, and said "What is this?" (16) Then rising from her bed, she of pure and gentle smiles, without bestowing a glance on her godly husband, began to question her maids about the cause of the fragrance (17). But thus questioned, the maids could not say anything, and kneeling down on the ground they waited there with countenances cast down towards the earth and with palms joined together (in supplication) (18). Then (as if) not finding the source of that wonderful fragrance, Satyabhama bethought herself thus:—"The earth emits diverse kinds of smell; can this fragrance be one of her excellent emissions?" (19) Then when wondering as to what this could be due, she was looking on all sides, her glance suddenly lighted on Kesava that creator of the worlds (20). She said "Ah! right," and then suddenly her eyes became dimmed with tears, the intensity of love filling her all the more with jealous anger (21). With her delicate lips pouting and herself sighing, that beautiful lady of dark eyes then turned her down-cast countenance away in another direction, and remained thus for a while (22). Then contracting her brows in a disapproving frown and placing her face on her palms, she said to Hari with her eyes upraised, "Thou lookest beautiful" (23). Tears of jealous passion began to flow down from her eyes, like drops of dew falling from a pair of lotus-petals (24). The lotus-eyed Krishna then seeing tears flow down from the lotus-like countenance of her wife, approached her in haste and held them in her hands (25). Then wiping off with his hands those tears that were falling on her breast, that wearer of the mark of Srivatsa, the lotus-eyed Vishnu spoke to her as follows (26):—"O lotus-eyed one, O most beautiful and excellent lady,–for what reason is it that tears flow down from thine eyes likes drops of dew from a pair of lotuses (27)? O fascinating lady-why do thy countenance and thy body wear the shape of (appear like) the full moon in the morning sky, or the full-blown lotus at noon[2] (28) O thou of delicate waist, what is the reason that thou dost not wear to-day garments sprinkled with safflower and gold-dust, but choosest the white and plain ones (29)? Although the garments decorated with safflower and gold-dust thou likest most, why hast thou then worn the white garments which ladies do not like to wear except at the time of worshipping the gods (30)? O thou of beautiful limbs—say why are thy limbs unadorned with ornaments? Why, O most excellent lady, is thy seat for writing letters soiled with tears. (31)? Why, O thou of beautiful shape, do the fragrant white sandal (and not red) and the white silk cloth (not yellow or blue) veil thy beautiful forehead (32)? O dearest object of my heart, O thou of expanded eyes—thou hast thus so bedimmed the brightness of thy countenance as to cause, O dear one, great pain to my mind (33). The unctuous and refrigerent sandal paste that loves thy forehead most, does not look beautiful on that seat for writing letters[3] (34). Thy neck, deprived of ornaments, does not appear beautiful, just as the autumn sky does not look beautiful being devoid of the planets and stars and the silvery beams of the moon (35). Why dost thou not to-day greet me, with language flowing out from thy smiling face that breathes the perfume of the lotus and vies with the beauty of the full moon (36). Why dost thou not to-day cast even a partial glance on me? Why dost thou heave sighs and shed tears that mar the beauty of the collyrium of thine eyes (37)? O thou of complexion bright like the blue lotus, O intelligent lady! do thou not weep any more! Do not shed tears soiled with the collyrium of thine eyes only to prejudice the beauty of thy incomparable face (38). O thou of divine beauty—I am known in the world as thy servant; Why then, O most excellent lady, dost thou not command me as before? (39). What act, O beautiful queen, repulsive to thee, have I committed, for which, O dear one, thou gavest thyself so much pain (40)? I have never neglected thee, in thought, in actions or in words; this, O thou of exquisite limbs, I tell thee in all sooth (41). O beautiful lady, I entertain it is true, regard for my other wives—but save in thyself my regard and affection do not reach the consummation (42). O thou that may be compared with the daughter of the gods,—my love for thee will not wane even if my life were taken away from me; know this to be my firm belief (43). Just as endurance, &c., are the constant qualities of the earth, just as sound is the constant quality of space, so sure is my love for thee, O thou of brightness like the lotus-bud (44). Just as flame is in fire, divine brightness is in the sun, and unfading charms are in the moon, so my love resides in thee and thee only (45)."
[2] The moon wanes in the morning and the lotus withers down at noon. Krishna asks in circumlocution the cause of the lady's pale and placid appearance.[3] It appears that the lady had lain her head down on the seat in consequence of which it was besmeared with the sandal of her forehead.
When Janardana had thus spoken in his vindication, the blessed Satyabhāma, wiping off the tears of her eyes addressed him slowly in the following manner (46). "Hence-before, O lord, my firm belief was that thou wert mine own. But to-day I come to perceive that thy love for me is nothing more than ordinary and common-place (47). I did not know before that the course of time is uncertain. But I have come to know to-day that the course of the world is fickle (48). I entertained the fond hope that so long I live, thou only shalt be my second self and I thine. But what is the good of talking much; I know thy heart, O infallible one (49). I see that thou usest fascination in speech only and thy love for me is false; whereas it is true in regard to the other wives of thine (50). Knowing me to be simple and attached to thyself, thou, O foremost of men, dost neglect me with thy cruel, guileful conduct (51). This surely is more than enough! I have seen what is worth-seeing and have heard what is worth-hearing. I have perceived the fruition of thy love for me (52). Be that as it may, I have made up my mind to devote myself to the performance of severe penances, and if thou cherishest any love for me, thou ought to permit me to do so; for whatever vows or penances women may observe, must be with the permission of their husbands, in as much as those that are undertaken against the husband's consent, surely become fruitless" (53-54).
Having thus spoken that chaste and beautiful lady again wiped off the tears from her eyes; then that blessed one of pleasing smiles, catching the end of Hari's yellow garment covered her face with it (55).
Source: https://archive.org/details/AProseEnglishTranslationOfHarivamsh
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