In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, to her mothers: He who destroyed Kaṃsa, whose brows are a great bow, has pierced my heart right through with the feathered arrow called his sidelong glance; I am scorched by it, my state is ruined, and I waste away. He who will not even say to me, 'Do not fear', is one of another kind. If he will give, without deceit, the forest garland he wears on his chest, bring it and roll it over my breast to cool me.