The poem begins with a preface of four lines describing how Krishna’s romance with Radha first began.  The sky, it says, was dark with clouds.  All around lay the vast forest.  Night was coming up and Nanda who had taken the youthful Krishna with him is alarmed lest in the gathering gloom the boy should get lost.  Radha, who is somewhat older, is with them, so Nanda desires her to take Krishna home.  Radha leads him away but as they wander by the river, passion mounts in their hearts.  They forget that Nanda has told them to hurry home.  Radha ignores the motherly character of her mission and loitering in the trees, the two commence their dalliance.[52] In this way the love of Radha and Krishna arises—­the love which is to dominate their hearts with ever-growing fervour.

The poem then leaps a period of time and when the drama opens, a crisis has occurred.  Radha, after long enjoying Krishna’s passionate embraces, finds herself abruptly neglected.  Charming but faithless, Krishna is now pursuing other girls and the jilted Radha wanders alone.  Meanwhile spring has come to the forest and the thought that others are enjoying Krishna’s love tortures her to the point of madness.  As she broods on her lost joys, a friend describes to her what is happening.[53]

  Sandal and garment of yellow and lotus garlands upon his body of
    blue,
  In his dance the jewels of his ears in movement dangling over his
    smiling cheeks,
  Krishna here disports himself with charming women given to love.

  He embraces one woman, he kisses another, and fondles another
    beautiful one. 
  He looks at another one lovely with smiles, and starts in pursuit of
    another woman. 
  Krishna here disports himself with charming women given to love.[54]

Suddenly Radha sees Krishna[55] and going into the midst of the cowgirls, she kisses him violently and clasps him to her; but Krishna is so inflamed by the other girls that he abandons her in a thicket.

As Radha broods on his behaviour, she is filled with bitter sadness.[56] Yet her love is still so strong that she cannot bring herself to blame him and instead calls to mind his charm.

  I remember Krishna, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the
    pastoral dance,
  The sweet of whose nectar of lips kept flowing with notes of his luring
    melodious flute,
  With the play of whose eyes and the toss of whose head the earrings
    kept dangling upon his cheeks.

  I remember Krishna, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the
    pastoral dance,
  Whose brow had a perfect sandal spot, as among dark clouds the disc
    of the moon,
  Whose door-like heart was without pity when crushing the bosoms of
    swelling breasts.

  Desire even now in my foolish mind for Krishna,
  For Krishna—­without me—­lusting still for the herd-girls. 
  Seeing only the good in his nature, what shall I do? 
  Agitated I feel no anger.  Pleased without cause, I acquit him.