Where at midnight the moonstones, hung on nets of thread and oozing clear drops of water, take away with the moon's rays — clear now that your blocking of them has passed — the ache in the limbs that love-making has left in the women, loosened in the embrace of their lovers' arms. **The whole stanza rests on one piece of lapidary lore**: a moonstone is supposed to soften and weep when moonlight touches it. Everything else is arranged so that it can happen — strings of the stones hung from the canopy over the bed, the hour set at midnight when the moon is straight overhead, the sky cleared, and women underneath who are too hot to be held. **And the cloud is in it only as something that has gone.** त्वत्संरोधापगम, 'the passing off of your blocking', is the one address in the stanza, buried in the middle of a four-member compound: two stanzas ago the clouds of Alakā looked like him, and here he is what had to move out of the way before the night could work. Mallinātha's best sentence is an alternative he offers and does not choose between. The women's arms have gone slack, and why: श्रान्त्या जलसेकाय वा — 'from tiredness, or so as to be sprinkled with water'. The first is what has happened to them; the second is something they are doing on purpose, letting go of each other so the drip can reach them. He glosses पाद, which is the ordinary word for a foot, as a ray, quoting Amara for the three senses; he fixes निशीथ as ardharātra, midnight, and this is the first hour the canto has named; and he answers स्फुटजललवस्यन्दिनः with a compound of four words for its four, उल्बणाम्बुकणस्राविणः, changing only one sense in the process — स्फुट, 'distinct', becomes उल्बण, 'abundant'. He names no figure.
uncheckedthe reader's reading, following Mallinātha's gloss; the two reasons for the slack embrace, the identification of निशीथ as midnight with its Amara citation, the sense of पाद as a ray with its Amara citation, and the four-for-four gloss of the last compound are his“śrāntyā jalasekāya vā śithilatāliṅganānām iti yāvat … niśīthe ’rdharātre || “ardharātraniśīthau dvau” ityamaraḥ … candrakāntāś candrakāntamaṇayaḥ”
Where at midnight the moonstones, hung on nets of thread and oozing clear drops of water, take away with the moon's rays — clear now that your blocking of them has passed — the ache in the limbs that love-making has left in the women, loosened in the embrace of their lovers' arms. A gem believed to weep in moonlight, a bed hung with strings of it, a midnight moon, and the guest just moved off so the light can fall: the stanza builds the whole apparatus of a superstition and then lets it work. Mallinātha names no figure, though the marvel is worked so carefully into fact that none is needed.
- Mallinātha, Sañjīvinī — 2.9, whole-verse gloss