çāpād asi pratihatā smṛtirodharūkṣe: bhartary apetatamasi prabhutā tavaiva chāyā na mūrchati malopahataprasāde: çuddhe tu darpaṇatale sulabhāvakāçā. ‘Thou wert rejected by thy husband, cruel through the curse that robbed him of memory; now thy dominion is complete over him whose darkness is dispelled; on the tarnished mirror no image forms; let it be cleaned and it easily appears.’ There is pathos in Purūravas’s reproach to Urvaçī: [335] tvayi nibaddharateḥ priyavādinaḥ: praṇayabhan̄gaparān̄mukhacetasaḥ kam aparādhalavam mama paçyasi: tyajasi mānini dāsajanaṁ yataḥ? ‘My delight was ever in thee, my words ever of love; what suspicion of fault dost thou see in me that, O angry one, thou dost abandon thy slave?’ The metrical effect is here, as usual, extremely well planned. His vain efforts to attain his beloved are depicted forcibly: [336] samarthaye yat prathamam priyām prati: kṣaṇena tan me parivartate ‘nyathā ato vinidre sahasā vilocane: karomi na sparçavibhāvitapriyaḥ. ‘Whatever I deem to be my beloved in a moment assumes another aspect. I will force my eyes to be sleepless, since I have failed to touch her whom I adore.’ There are no limits to the strength of his love: [337] idaṁ tvayā rathakṣobhād an̄genān̄gaṁ nipīḍitam ekaṁ kṛti çarīre ’smiñ çeṣam an̄gam bhuvo bharaḥ. ‘In this body no member has value save that which, thanks to the movement of the chariot, she has touched; all else is a mere burden to the earth.’ Hyperbole [338] is permissible: sāmantamaulimaṇirañjitapādapīṭham: ekātapatram avaner na tathā prabhutvam asyāḥ sakhe caraṇayor aham adya kāntam: ājñākaratvam adhigamya yathā kṛtārthaḥ. ‘Despite the radiance shed on my footstool by the jewelled diadems of vassal princes, despite the subjection of the whole earth to my sway, not so much joy did I gain from attaining kingship as the satisfaction won from paying homage to the feet of that lady, O my friend.’ The recovery of the nymph from her faint caused by the savage onslaught upon her is described in a happy series of similes: [339] āvirbhūte çaçini tamasā ricyamāneva rātrir naiçasyārcir hutabhuja iva cchinnabhūyiṣṭhadhūmā mohenāntar varatanur iyaṁ lakṣyate mucyamānā gan̄gā rodhaḥpatanakaluṣā gacchatīva prasādam. ‘As the night, freed from the darkness when the moon has appeared, as the light of a fire in the evening when the smoke has nearly all gone, so appears this lady fair, recovering from her faint, and winning back her calmness, like the Ganges after her stream has been troubled by the falling of her banks.’