“Whilst the devotees were lost in their passions, and absent from their homes, Sheevah entered their village with a musical instrument in his hand, playing and singing like some of those who solicit charity. At the sound of his voice the women immediately quitted their occupations; they ran to see from whom it came. He was beautiful as Krishen on the plains of Matra.[103] Some dropped their jewels without turning to look for them; others let fall their garments without perceiving that they discovered those abodes of pleasure which jealousy as well as decency has ordered to be concealed. All pressed forward with their offerings; all wished to speak; all wished to be taken notice of; and bringing flowers and scattering them before him, said, ‘Askest thou alms! thou who art made to govern hearts! Thou whose countenance is fresh as the morning! whose voice is the voice of pleasure; and thy breath like that of Vassant[104] in the opening rose! Stay with us and we will serve thee; nor will we trouble thy repose, but only be jealous how to please thee.’ “The Pandaram continued to play, and sung the loves of Kama,[105] of Krishen, and the Gopia, and smiling the gentle smiles of fond desire, he led them to a neighbouring grove that was consecrated to pleasure and retirement. Sour began to gild the western mountains, nor were they offended at the retiring day. “But the desire of repose succeeds the waste of pleasure. Sleep closed the eyes and lulled the senses. In the morning the Pandaram was gone. When they awoke they looked round with astonishment, and again cast their eyes on the ground. Some directed their looks to those who had been formerly remarked for their scrupulous manners, but their faces were covered with their veils. After sitting a while in silence, they arose, and went back to their houses with slow and troubled steps. The devotees returned about the same time from their wanderings after Prakeety. The days that followed were days of embarrassment and shame. If the women had failed in their modesty, the devotees had broken their vows. They were vexed at their weakness; they were sorry for what they had done; yet the tender sigh sometimes broke forth, and the eye often turned to where the men first saw the maid, the women the Pandaram.