In plain words
A woman tells it: When Gōvinda played the flute, his left jaw tilted to his left shoulder, both hands coming together on it, his brows knitting and rising, his belly swelling like a pot and the corners of his lips drawn close, the young women, like gentle peahens and does, their flowered hair coming loose and their garments slipping, held their cloth with one hand and stood swaying, their red-streaked eyes darting toward him.