Fox Footprints/The Sacred Pastoral of Brindaban
The Sacred Pastoral of Brindaban
From a series of Rajput paintings giving incidents in the village life of Krishna, the Divine Herdsman, and Rādhā, his beloved among the herd-girls, in the mystic drama of God and the Soul.
Cow-dust
In the first dusk Krishna, the Divine Herdsman, drives the cows through the village gates:
Like a river they flow, white and dun and spotted, with strings of bells about their throats and their large-eyed calves at their sides;
The hands of the herd-boys are on their sleek flanks, they are singing as they follow.
The girls carrying pitchers of water turn to look, and from the windows in white walls
Veiled women lean down, smilingly stretching out hennatipped fingers
Towards Krishna who walks slowly, blue as the evening smoke,
Drawing all souls after him with the music of his flute.
Like a river they flow, white and dun and spotted, with strings of bells about their throats and their large-eyed calves at their sides;
The hands of the herd-boys are on their sleek flanks, they are singing as they follow.
The girls carrying pitchers of water turn to look, and from the windows in white walls
Veiled women lean down, smilingly stretching out hennatipped fingers
Towards Krishna who walks slowly, blue as the evening smoke,
Drawing all souls after him with the music of his flute.
Secret meeting
The cow stands quietly to be milked, turning her kind head over her shoulder:
The rest of the herd has passed into the barns:
It is evening.
At the door of her house stands Radha, gently holding the calf
And guessing perhaps that the woman's veil of the milker
Covers the face of her lover.
In a minute, in a minute, he will rise
And come towards her:
The dusk will be full of the sweetness of new milk,
And the sound of the cow breathing as she leans to her calf.
Then he will take her into his arms
And her heart at last will be as quiet as the evening itself.
The rest of the herd has passed into the barns:
It is evening.
At the door of her house stands Radha, gently holding the calf
And guessing perhaps that the woman's veil of the milker
Covers the face of her lover.
In a minute, in a minute, he will rise
And come towards her:
The dusk will be full of the sweetness of new milk,
And the sound of the cow breathing as she leans to her calf.
Then he will take her into his arms
And her heart at last will be as quiet as the evening itself.
Jealousy
The wood is filled with long streamers of flowers,
And birds that sing among the branches.
In a glade Krishna is standing towering above the milkmaids that surround him.
They sway, smiling, from the circle of his arms,
Their draperies swirl along the grass—
Only Rādhā, whom he does not see, stands straight among the bright-eyed flowers,
Like a cypress in her grief.
And birds that sing among the branches.
In a glade Krishna is standing towering above the milkmaids that surround him.
They sway, smiling, from the circle of his arms,
Their draperies swirl along the grass—
Only Rādhā, whom he does not see, stands straight among the bright-eyed flowers,
Like a cypress in her grief.
Longing
The storm is rising and the clouds call to one another in terrible voices,
The air is heavy with coming rain, the lighting runs across the sky
And the soul is nearly fainting with longing for love.
On the roof the peacock is dancing, singing shrill songs in honor of the tempest,
While Rādhā reaches up to it a bowl of meal,
An offering to quiet her heart torn by the absence of her lover.
The air is heavy with coming rain, the lighting runs across the sky
And the soul is nearly fainting with longing for love.
On the roof the peacock is dancing, singing shrill songs in honor of the tempest,
While Rādhā reaches up to it a bowl of meal,
An offering to quiet her heart torn by the absence of her lover.
Content
Rādhā, the beloved, kneels before her cooking, smiling and concentrated,
She has thrown back her long robe from her shoulders, showing the blossoms of her breast,
Her feet on the carpet are tipped with red like lotuses,
Behind her the maid bends over the baskets of vegetables
And from a balcony window the face of Krishna looks down,
And smiles, for the iris-throated pigeons are cooing upon the roofs
And Rādhā, among her pots, is lovely with the thought of love.
She has thrown back her long robe from her shoulders, showing the blossoms of her breast,
Her feet on the carpet are tipped with red like lotuses,
Behind her the maid bends over the baskets of vegetables
And from a balcony window the face of Krishna looks down,
And smiles, for the iris-throated pigeons are cooing upon the roofs
And Rādhā, among her pots, is lovely with the thought of love.