Verse 18

¹⁸Then in a grove of trees with many-coloured flowers and red new leaves he saw a woman of the finest kind, playing at ball, her bright silk and her girdle slipping about her hips, ¹⁹and at every step, with the stooping and the rising, her breasts shaking and her long necklace and their weight seeming to break her at the waist, and her feet like red shoots moving here and there as she went; ²⁰her long unquiet eyes with their pupils startled by the quickness of the ball as it flew off toward the quarters, her face made lovely by cheeks lit with the earrings shining at her ears, and by dark curls; ²¹with her left hand, a graceful hand, she was gathering up the silk that kept loosening and the braid that had come undone, and with the other she was striking the ball; and she was bewildering the world with a maya that was her own self.

²²The god, seeing her at that ball-play, was robbed by the sidelong glances she let fall with a faint smile broken out of her shyness. Looking at the woman and being looked at again, his self went helpless, and he knew neither himself, nor Uma at his side, nor his own companies. ²³And when the ball went far off from the tip of her hand and the woman ran after it, the wind carried away her light garment and the cord that held it, while the god Bhava, they say, looked on.