Verse 4

⁴Look, women, hear this wonder. The necklace laughs on his chest, a lightning that stays. He is Nanda's son, and he gives delight to people in pain whenever his flute has cried out. ⁵In their herds the bulls of Vraja, the deer and the cows, their wits carried off by the playing of the flute, stood off at a distance with the mouthful held in their teeth and their ears up, asleep, like figures painted on a wall. ⁶Peacock feathers, clusters of flowers, coloured earth and leaves: he is got up in a mockery of a wrestler's finery. Sometimes, friend, with Bala and the cowherds, where Mukunda calls the cows in — ⁷then the rivers break off their going. The wind carries the dust from his lotus feet, and they long for it as we do, we with our small store of merit, their arms shaking with love and their waters standing still.