In plain words
A mother says to the women: I told her, The cowherd child comes like Indra, vermilion powder smeared on his hair, the sacred mark set on his brow with a single leaf, his thick locks adorned close with lovely peacock-feather eyes: do not stand there facing him and lose your rows of bangles! Yet she stood at the crossroads, and see for yourselves: my girl's garment is slipping, and her sliding bangles with it.