curing the sick. So successful are his cures that Radha also is tempted to
consult the new doctor and sends a maid to call him, Krishna comes but
before entering adopts a wild disguise--putting his clothes on inside out,
matting his hair with mud, and slinging a bag of roots and plants over his
shoulder. As he enters, he sits on Radha's bed, lifts her veil, gazes
intently at her face and declares that certainly she is very ill indeed.
He then takes her pulse and says, 'it is the water of love that is rotting
her heart like a poison.' Radha is elated at this diagnosis, rouses
herself and stretches her limbs. 'You have understood my trouble,' she
says. 'Now tell me what I am to do.' 'I feel somewhat diffident at
explaining my remedy,' replies the doctor, 'But if I had the time and
place, I could ease your fever and cure you utterly.' As he says this,
Radha knows that he is Krishna and this is only another of his reckless
wiles designed to bring him near her.

But it was less in the recording of new incidents than in lyrical
descriptions of Radha and Krishna, their physical charms and ecstatic
meetings, that the poets excelled.

i

Krishna is dancing in a medley of moods and poses.
His crown sways, his eye-brows move,
Displaying the arts of a clever dancer.
The swing of his waist makes his girdle sing
And the anklets jingle.
One fancies one is listening to the sweet voice of a pair of geese as
they touch each other in dalliance.
The bangles glitter and the rings and armlets shoot their rays.
When with passion he moves his arms, what grace the movements bless!