with her: “pray show to us thy lovely consort”
“Is he? “; “No”, “Is he?”; “No”, until they reached the One,
Her head hung, no words rose, only her abashed face shone.
Thus from one joy to another, from one victory to next,
Through sights and scenes who each claim to be best,
When they drop away disarmed, without even a drone,
He knew that to be happiness, so unalloyed, so alone.
When Sita was asked by her friends to show to them who her consort, Rama was among an assembly of sages, she denied everyone whom that was pointed to. But when they pointed out to Rama himself, she just hung her down in bashfulness and didn’t say a word.
Similarly, when that pure happiness happens, there wouldn’t be any expression, no testimonials, no debates. We would be left with only that pure experience.
