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BOOK XVI.
CHAPTER CXI.
May Ganeśa protect you, the ornamental streaks of vermilion on whose cheeks fly up in the dance, and look like the fiery might of obstacles swal- lowed and disgorged by him.
While Naraváhanadatta was thus living on that Rishabha mountain with his wives and his ministers, and was enjoying the splendid fortune of emperor over the kings of the Vidyádharas, which he had obtained, once on a time spring came to increase his happiness. After long intermission the light of the moon was beautifully clear, and the earth, enfolded by the young fresh grass, shewed its joy by sweating dewy drops, and the forest trees, closely embraced again and again by the winds of the Malaya mountain, were all trembling, bristling with thorns, and full of sap.*[1] The warder of Cupid, the cuckoo, beholding the stalk of the mango-tree, with his note seemed to forbid the pride of coy damsels ; and rows of bees fell with a loud hum from the flowery creepers, like showers of arrows shot from the bow of the great warrior Eros. And Naraváhanadatta's ministers, Gomukha and the others, beholding at that time this activity of Spring, said to Naraváhanadatta; " See, king, this mountain of Rishabha is altogether changed, and is now a mountain of flowers, since the dense lines of forest with which it is covered, have their blossoms full-blown with spring. Behold, king, the creepers, which, with their flowers striking against one another, seem to be playing the castanets; and with the humming of their bees, to be singing, as they are swayed to and fro by the wind; while the pollen, that covers them, makes them appear to be crowned with garlands; and the garden made ready by spring, in which they are, is like the Court of Cupid. Look at this mango shoot with its garland of bees; it looks like the bow of the god of love with loosened string, as he reposes after conquering the world. So come, let us go and enjoy this festival of spring on the bank of the river Mandákiní where the gardens are so splendid."
- ↑ * There is a play on words hero.Sanskrit poets suppose that joy produces in human beings, trembling, horripilation, and perspiration.
