Luxury to her is loathsome like sickness and ornaments a burden; the world is like the torments of hell. Without you, O lord of my soul, there is nothing in the world that would bring me joy.

As a body bereft of life, as a river without water, so, my lord, is a woman without her husband. In your company, my husband, all are delights, as long as I can behold your countenance that vies in brightness with the immaculate autumn moon.

The birds and the beasts will be my kindred, the forest my city, the bark of trees my glistening robes; with my lord a hut of leaves will be as comfortable as some divine abode.

The gods and goddesses of the forest will graciously protect me like my own lord’s parents; my lovely couch of grass and tender leaves will with my lord vie with Cupid’s own beauteous bed

Bulbs, roots and fruit will be my ambrosial repast; the mountains will be as good as hundreds of royal mansions of Ayodhya. Gazing on the lotus feet of my lord every moment, I shall be as cheerful as the chakavi by day.

You have told me, my lord, of the many hardships of the forest, its perils, woes and afflictions; but, O fountain of grace, all these put together will not be comparable to the pain of separation from a husband

Ponder this in your heart, O crest-jewel of wise men, and take me with you! Abandon me not. But why make this lengthy submission, my lord? You are all-merciful and have access to the hearts of all.