Her beauty was such that even though her breasts were not extraordinary, her lips revealed the fire of passion—who could resist being moved by her presence? For those who served her, she bestowed tranquility; even her slightly crooked locks brought delight. In her, even flaws became virtues, resting upon her great loveliness. Her eyes, adorned and expressive, stretched toward her ears, enhancing her allure. Those wise in the ways of consciousness say it arises from causes; here, the eyes adorn the ears, and the ears in turn adorn the eyes. There was no need for earrings or collyrium; her sidelong glances could not be divided or diminished in the heart. Those connected to her could not bear sorrow, for every change in her form only heightened her natural beauty. In my old age, after countless moments, I beheld this treasure—a revelation of Kauśalya’s boundary, made manifest by the Creator in the form of beauty. She stirred the minds of men with affection and playful gestures, and as I reflected, her beauty seemed to eclipse even his brilliance. His body became covered in goosebumps, seeing her radiance like new gold, her eyes elongated like lotus petals. Among gods, yakṣas, gandharvas, serpents, and demons, I have seen many women, but none matched her perfection. Whatever is foremost in the three worlds, the Creator had gathered and established in her form. Indra, beholding her, asked gently, “Who are you? Whose daughter are you? From where have you come, beautiful-browed one? Why do you stand alone in the middle of the street?” He observed her ornaments and said, “These are not for your adornment; you are the adornment for these.” No goddess, nor gandharvi, nor asuri, nor serpent-woman, nor kinnari he had seen before possessed eyes as beautiful as hers. He asked her many times, but she did not answer. The maiden, trembling and modest, finally spoke to Śakra: “O hero, I am a cowherd girl, selling here cow’s milk, pure butter, curd, and whey. With curd, buttermilk, and milk, O scorcher of foes, tell me what you desire; take whatever you wish.” Thus addressed, Śakra took her firmly by the hand and led the wide-eyed girl to where Brahmā was present. As he led her, she cried out to her father, mother, and brother, “O father, O mother, O brother, this man is taking me away by force! If you have any business with me, ask my father; he will surely give me to you—this is the truth. What maiden would not desire a husband devoted to affection? My father, devoted to righteousness, would not refuse you anything. I will please him with my head bowed; if he is satisfied, he will give me. Without knowing my father’s mind, how can I give myself to you? Righteousness is vast and would perish; therefore, I do not seek to please you. I will be under your control if my father gives me.” Śakra then led her before Brahmā, placed her there, and spoke on her behalf. “You have been brought here, wide-eyed one; do not grieve, O splendidly beautiful woman.” Seeing this cowherd maiden, fair as a cow and radiant with great brilliance, Kamala herself regarded her as an equal. Her eyes resembled blue lotuses, her full breasts matched the purest gold walls. Her thighs were shaped like the trunks of intoxicated elephants, her nails shone crimson and bright; seeing her, Kamala thought herself surpassed and her mind was captivated. Both women considered themselves superior in the matter of giving, each with the thought of attaining the other. The cowherd maiden mused, “If he desires to take me because of my beauty, then there is no woman on earth more fortunate than I. I have been brought by him and have come within his sight; to be abandoned by him would be death, but to be accepted would be the joy of life. If I am rejected, I would become a disgrace, a bringer of sorrow by my form; yet any woman whom he looks upon with favor is truly blessed. She is indeed fortunate, without doubt; how much more so the one whom he embraces, for he, the form of the entire world, moves distinctly among all.” That concentrated beauty, revealed by the source of the universe, found comparison only with Smara’s virtuous wife and the radiance of Kāma himself. “This sorrow is not caused by father or mother, but by rejection; if he does not accept me, or even speak a little to me, then death, born of grief, will overpower me from remembering him; and though I am blameless as a wife, I would quickly perish in such a state.” The radiance of pure lotus equaled the splendor of the gems on his chest; as she gazed upon his face, her mind became absorbed in meditation. “If you do not value the touch and union with his limbs, then, though you touch and move with him, your body is truly wasted. Or perhaps there is no fault in you, for you act according to chance; surely you have been robbed by Love—protect your own dear delight. By whose form, surpassing even you, Love himself is seen; by him, my mind, my precious jewel, and all my being have been firmly stolen.” The beauty seen in his face—how could it be found in the moon, marked by a hare? No comparison is ever praised for one so flawless.