In plain words
Dēvakī, lamenting to Kaṇṇaṉ: Your small, tender, budding lotus hand that stirred all the butter in the pot and took it and ate it; your cowering stance when she took up a fine rope to beat you; your red mouth smeared with white curd; your crying; that glance of yours that looks in fear; the twisting of your lovely small red mouth; and your joined hands: Yaśōdā, who saw all these, has seen the very limit of a bliss that has no bounds.