Lamairesse E. - Kama Sutra

Which is that powerful divinity who, from the hedges and fields west of Agra, soars into the upper airs where reigns the purest light, while from all around the flowers drooping stems, brought back to life in the suns first rays, entwine themselves into cradles, sweet refuges of harmony, where gentle breezes playfully steal from them their most ravishing perfumes?

Hail, oh unknown power For at the merest gesture of your gracious head, the valleys and the woods hasten to adorn their sweet-smelling bosoms, and every blossoming flower, smiling, decks her tresses of musk with dazzling pearls of dew.

I can feel, yes, I feel your divine fire pierce my heart, I adore you and rapturously I kiss your altars.

And could you misknow me?

No, son of Maya, no, I know your flower-tipped arrows, the doughty rod of which your bow is made, your standard shining with pearly scales, the mysterious weapons you own. I have felt all your sufferings, I have savoured all your pleasures. All-powerful Kama, or, if you would have it so, dazzling Smara, majestic Ananya!

Wherever should lie the seat of your glory, by whatever name you are invoked, the seas, the earth and air proclaim your power; all pay homage to you, all recognise in you the King of the Universe.

Piercing Champaca, like perfumed gold;

Warm Amra, filled with celestial ambrosia;

Drying Kessara, with silvery foliage;

Burning Ketassa, which brings disorder to the senses;

Dazzling Bilva, which instils the veins with a voracious ardour.

What mortal, oh powerful God, could resist your power, when Krishna himself is your slave? Yes, Krishna, who, in constant raptures of delight in the blessed plains of Malhura, calls forth sound from beneath his divine fingers from the pastoral flute, and to the melodious chords of a celestial harmony, and with the choir of gopis, lovestruck by his charms, devises voluptuous dances by the sweet light of Lunus, the mysterious lantern of the night.

Oh God, beguiling God, born before creation, God eternally young! May the song of your Brahmins, captivated by your laws, resound forever on Ganges sacred banks! And at the hour when your favourite bird, spreading its emerald wings, carries you through space in its rapid flight; when, in the middle of the silent light, the trembling rays of Ma (the moon) peek into the mysterious retreats of lovers fortunate and unfortunate, may the sweetest influence be the sharing of your devoted bard, and may his heart be voluptuously warmed by your divine fire without being consumed!