Where do I begin, to sing your praise,
Krishna of Vrindavan, in countless ways?
When trials fell upon your devotees,
You came, a savior, setting spirits free.
Krishna of Vrindavan.
In Chittor, once, a Mira bloomed,
An avatar of devotion, consumed.
Her husband's kin, they scorned her so,
Thinking family honor would go.
The daughter-in-law of Rana Sanga,
With anklets on, she danced and sang, a raga.
On one side, the world, a bitter foe,
On the other, Mira, letting her spirit glow.
Like the sun's rays, her devotion spread,
And Akbar Shah heard what was said.
He summoned Tansen, the maestro's art,
"Tell me of this Mira, who has stolen my heart.
Whose name the world cannot ignore?
Leaving the world's ways, she seeks the Lord,
The wife of Chittor's lord," Tansen did say,
"We shall go to see her," said Akbar that day.
Tansen trembled, fearing the king,
"Why have you called her here, and what will it bring?
Your enemy is the Rana,
What has come over your mind?"
Though warned, the Shah would not relent,
He went as a yogi, heaven-sent.
With a garland of jewels, a king's sweet lure,
Lost in devotion, pure.
"Where is your heart", Mira asked the disguised king,
"By the river," he answered, the lie did cling.
Akbar went back to Delhi then,
The world saw its chance, and once again,
They slandered Mira, the queen's name defiled,
And the Rana's heart was beguiled.
"Those jewels came from the Shah," they said,
"Her devotion is a fraud," they spread.
The world was not ashamed, not a bit,
To see her, in truth, they would not admit.
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