O Lord, the fire that You kindled in the grove of red flowering pala’sh, during the
spring period, that touch You left within the minds of devotees, gopika’s, colour of
festivity. Today, those devotees, gipika’s, want You inside their minds during
isolation, in the garden of niip and tama’l, and living stones of the Govardhan
mountain. O Merciless, Hari, do not You know that I remember You day and night. The river
Yamuna’ made of my tears due to crying and smiling, rushes overwhelmingly.