ā janmanaḥ pratimuhūrtaviçeṣaramyāṇy: āceṣṭitāni tava samprati tāni tāni cāṭūni cārumadhurāṇi ca saṁsmṛtāni: dehaṁ dahanti hṛdayaṁ ca vidārayanti. ‘My body is aflame and my heart torn in sunder by the memory of thy childish movements which grew more delightful every hour from thy birth, and of the beauty and sweetness of thy loving words.’ It is, therefore, the more to be regretted that Bhavabhūti was not content with simplicity, but is often too fond of elaborate and overloaded descriptions, which are fatally lacking in simplicity and intelligibility and can be fully comprehended only after careful study and examination. We must, however, it is clear, admit that Bhavabhūti definitely improved in taste as the years went on. The latest of his dramas, the Uttararāmacarita, is far less obnoxious to criticism for defects of judgement than the Mālatīmādhava, which may be set down as an adventure in a genre unsuited to the poet’s talent. There is an admirable touch in the scene in Act I of the play where Sītā, wearied, falls to rest on the pillow of Rāma’s arm, that arm which no other woman can claim and which has ever lulled her to sleep, and he gazes on her in fond admiration: [414] iyaṁ gehe lakṣmīr iyam amṛtavartir nayanayor asāv asyāḥ sparço vapuṣi bahulaç candanarasaḥ ayaṁ kaṇṭhe bāhuḥ çiçiramasṛṇo mauktikasaraḥ kim asyā na preyo yadi param asahyas tu virahaḥ. ‘She is Fortune herself in my home; she is a pencil of ambrosia for the eyes; her touch here on my body is as fragrant as sandal juice; her arm round my neck is cool and soft as a necklace of pearls; what in her is there that is not dear, save only the misery of separation from her?’ Scarcely are the words said than the attendant enters with the word, ‘It has come’, which on her lips is to announce the advent of the spy whose report is to lead to Sītā’s banishment, while the audience, following the words, applies it at once to the separation which Rāma was deploring, and which to him was the parting in the past when Rāvaṇa stole his bride. The spontaneous regard which springs up for each other in the hearts of the two princes Lava and Candraketu when they meet is admirably depicted: [415] yadṛcchāsampātaḥ kim u guṇagaṇānām atiçayaḥ purāṇo vā janmāntaranibiḍabandhaḥ paricayaḥ nijo vā sambandhaḥ kim u vidhivaçāt ko ’py avidito mamaitasmin dṛṣṭe hṛdayam avadhānaṁ racayati? ‘Is it this chance encounter, or his wealth of splendid qualities, or an ancient love, firm bound in a former birth, or a common tie of blood unknown through the might of fate, which draws close my heart to him even at first sight?’ The rebuke which Vāsantī addresses to Rāma for his treatment of Sītā, despite the loyalty of the queen, is effectively broken off by a faint: [416] tvaṁ jīvitaṁ tvam asi me hṛdayaṁ dvitīyam tvaṁ kaumudī nayanayor amṛtaṁ tvam an̄ge ity ādibhiḥ priyaçatair anurudhya mugdhām tām eva çāntam athavā kim ataḥ pareṇa.