[Footnote 4:  Wife of Krishna.]

A constant stream of guests was served in Nagendra’s Thakur bari, and every Sunday quantities of rice were distributed in the same place, but neither Boisnavis nor others were allowed to come to the women’s apartments to beg; accordingly, on hearing the cry “Jai Radha!” in these forbidden precincts, one of the inmates exclaimed:  “What, woman! do you venture to intrude here? go to the Thakur bari.”  But even as she spoke, turning to look at the Boisnavi, she could not finish her speech, but said instead:  “Oh, ma, what Boisnavi are you?”

Looking up, all saw with astonishment that the Boisnavi was young and of exceeding beauty; in that group of beautiful women there was none, excepting Kunda Nandini, so beautiful as she.  Her trembling lips, well-formed nose, large lotus-eyes, pencilled brows, smooth, well-shaped forehead, arms like the lotus-stalk, and complexion like the champak flower, were rare among women.  But had there been present any critic of loveliness, he would have said there was a want of sweetness in her beauty, while in her walk and in her movements there was a masculine character.

The sandal mark[5] on the Boisnavi’s nose was long and fine, her hair was braided, she wore a sari with a coloured border, and carried a small tambourine in her hand.  She wore brass bracelets, and over them others made of black glass.

[Footnote 5:  The caste mark, made with sandal-wood powder.]

One of the elder women addressed her saying, “Who are you?”

The Boisnavi replied, “My name is Haridasi.  Will the ladies like a song?”

The cry, “Yes, yes! sing!” sounded on all sides from old and young.  Raising her tambourine, the Boisnavi seated herself near the ladies, where Kunda was teaching the little boy.  Kunda was very fond of music; on hearing that the Boisnavi would sing she came nearer.  Her pupil seized the opportunity to snatch the sweetmeat from the other child’s hand, and eat it himself.

The Boisnavi asking what she should sing, the listeners gave a number of different orders.  One called for the strains of Govinda Adhikari, another Gopale Ure.  She who was reading Dasu Rai’s poem desired to have it sung.  Two or three asked for the old stories about Krishna; they were divided as to whether they would hear about the companions or about the separation.  Some wanted to hear of his herding the cows in his youth.  One shameless girl called out, “If you do not sing such and such a passage I will not listen.”  One mere child, by way of teaching the Boisnavi, sang some nonsensical syllables.  The Boisnavi, listening to the different demands, gave a momentary glance at Kunda, saying:  “Have you no commands to give?”

Kunda, ashamed, bent her head smiling, but did not speak aloud; she whispered in the ear of a companion, “Mention some hymn.”