this slumbrous prison of green gloom, this dank, dense cover of
perfumed intoxication, choking breath.


Chitra

Arjuna, tell me true, if, now at once, by some magic I could
shake myself free from this voluptuous softness, this timid bloom
of beauty shrinking from the rude and healthy touch of the world,
and fling it from my body like borrowed clothes, would you be
able to bear it? If I stand up straight and strong with the
strength of a daring heart spurning the wiles and arts of twining
weakness, if I hold my head high like a tall young mountain fir,
no longer trailing in the dust like a liana, shall I then appeal
to man's eye? No, no, you could not endure it. It is better
that I should keep spread about me all the dainty playthings of
fugitive youth, and wait for you in patience. When it pleases
you to return, I will smilingly pour out for you the wine of
pleasure in the cup of this beauteous body. When you are tired
and satiated with this wine, you can go to work or play; and when
I grow old I will accept humbly and gratefully whatever corner is
left for me. Would it please your heroic soul if the playmate of
the night aspired to be the helpmeet of the day, if the left arm
learnt to share the burden of the proud right arm?


Arjuna

I never seem to know you aright. You seem to me like a goddess
hidden within a golden image. I cannot touch you, I cannot pay