Countless arrows of love descended softly upon her tender limbs, like fresh rain streaming over the leaves of a lotus. Stirred by this gentle onslaught, her bangles and hair swayed with her agitation, as if she were a cluster of blossoms trembling in a mild breeze. Madana, the Love-god, had awakened her—she of blue-black eyes and swan-like gait—just as a sudden flood unsettles the tranquil lotus pond. Witnessing her in this state, Shukra, the illustrious son of Bhrigu who had achieved his heart’s desire, conceived of darkness, much as the creator of beings envisions dissolution at the end of an age. At his will, that region of heaven became enveloped in deep gloom, darkness filling the space as the world’s edge is shrouded at twilight. Within that intimate circle of shadow, where shame and secrecy prevailed, the two stood together, overcome by love. When all the other beings had departed to their chosen realms, the pair left that place as well, descending to the earthly realm like birds returning to their nests at the end of day. She, her glances long and luminous, her passion grown fierce, approached the son of Bhrigu as a peahen seeks out the life-giving raincloud. Within a white chamber, upon a couch prepared for union, the descendant of Bhrigu entered, like Mādhava entering the ocean of milk. She, radiant and lovely of face, clung helplessly to his feet, shining like a lotus attached to the foot of the lord of the gods. Her voice, sweet and playful, adorned with affection and joy, rose in gentle words: “See, O moon-faced one! With his bow drawn, the Love-god pursues me—a helpless woman. What is this, O Ananga? Protect me, O Lord! I am destitute and have sought refuge at your feet. Know me to be devoted to true conduct, a poor soul seeking your comfort. “O wise one, only fools disregard the gaze of affection and intimacy; those who know its true essence cherish it. When love arises without suspicion between two mutually enamored, it brings forth a sweet flow, like the taste of the moon savored. Not even the sovereignty of the three worlds brings such happiness as the mutual joy of those first touched by love. “By the touch of your feet, O giver of honor, I am revived, just as the lotus at night is refreshed by the moon’s rays. By drinking the nectar of your touch, O beautiful one, I live—just as the restless chakorī bird lives by drinking the moon’s essence. Take me, who clings at your feet like a bee, and with your lotus-like hands, embrace me—your heart full of nectar and true purity.” Having spoken thus, she of flower-like limbs fell upon his chest, her eyes rolling like a cluster of bees, swaying as a blossom does in the breeze. The radiant couple, enchanted by delight, wandered together through the forest clearings, like two intoxicated bees amidst lotuses swaying in the pale wind. In groves thick with coral trees, intoxicated by the nectar of the gods, Shukra enjoyed the company of his beloved, who was as radiant as a second spotless moon. Together, they roamed among golden-lotused ponds filled with drunken swans, and along the banks of the celestial river, accompanied by the music of kinnaras and charanas. In bowers woven from parijata branches, they drank the nectar flowing from the moon, surrounded by playful gods and companions. In the charming swing-groves of Chaitraratha, they sported for a long time with the eager hosts of vidyadharas. The pleasure-gardens of Nandana, with Mandara mountain rising like an ocean, surged with excitement as Shiva’s attendants joined in their revelry. In caves tangled with young golden creepers, they wandered, mad with passion, like bees among the blooming lotuses of Meru. In the groves of Kailasa, Shukra passed a moon-white night with his beloved, surrounded by the songs of heavenly hosts. She, adorned from head to toe with golden lotuses, rested with him upon the summits of Mount Gandhamadana. Together, they played and laughed in the wondrous, astonishing regions at the edge of Lokāloka mountain. For sixty years, Shukra dwelled as if in a celestial palace among the valleys of Mandara mountain, together with gentle fawns. On the shores of the ocean of milk, accompanied by women, he spent half of the Krita age with the inhabitants of Shvetadvipa. Through the playful arrangements of gardens in the Gandharva cities, he imitated the endless creation of worlds, following the course of time itself. Once again, Shukra dwelled happily for eight cycles of four ages in the city of Purandara, together with his doe-eyed beloved. But as his merit became exhausted, he fell from those heights to the earthly realm, accompanied by that proud woman, his form now deprived of its radiance. His limbs shattered, bereft of his chariot and garden, he was overcome by anxiety and lay ruined, like a warrior struck down in battle. When he fell to the ground, tormented by long brooding, his body was shattered into a hundred pieces, like a waterfall dashed by a rock. With both their bodies destroyed and their minds veiled by lingering impressions, the two wandered in the sky like birds without a nest. There, in their subtle minds, they entered a moonlit lattice of rays; swiftly turning cold, they became rice plants. The best of the twice-born ate the ripe grains of rice in Daśārṇa, while in Mālava, the king consumed grains that had grown from the seed in a woman’s womb.