The sakhīs’ joy in seeing Śrī Rādhā and the pleasure bed

The middle of the pleasure bed had kuṅkuma stains from Kṛṣṇa’s body. The edges of the bed were smeared with red lac from Rādhā’s lotus feet. Here and there were sprinkles of sindhūra, sandalwood and kajjala. The sakhīs understood from the marks on the bed that some very special love sports occurred the night before. They saw the pleasure bed, ornamented with wilted flowers,
red stains of betel, eyeliner and patterns of unguents. It was also marked with signs of tight embraces and looked just like their dear sakhī Rādhā, who was adorned with similar signs of Her love play.
Govinda-līlāmṛta 1.64-65

Rādhā-Mādhava’s love bed was marked in various places with reddish spots of kuṅkuma and sindhūra, making it appear that drops of blood had fallen from the wounded enemy named separation. In another place a flower garland and a crushed necklace lay like a broken bow and a severed bowstring. The bed was marked here and there with spots of musk and kajjala, scattered about by that mad elephant, the king of amorous pleasures. The battlefield of love became an object of great curiosity to the assembled sakhīs. Kṛṣṇāhnika-kaumudi 1.38-39

Kṛṣṇa, hoping to see a sweet variety of emotions (bhāva-śābalya) on Rādhā’s face, winked at the gopīs to draw their attention to His chest. Kṛṣṇa said, “O sakhīs, look here! The star named Rādhā, seeing her lover, the moon, about to depart at dawn, became pained by separation and drew hundreds of moonbeams on the canvas of the sky.” (second translation): “Rādhā, feeling distressed over our impending separation, made hundreds of nail-marks on My broad, dark blue chest.”
The sakhīs laughed at Kṛṣṇa’s play on words. Rādhā’s eyes lowered in embarrassment and Her cheeks quivered slightly. Rādhā cast a crooked glance at Her lover as if to pierce Him. Rādhā’s slightly closed eyes, glistening with erotic bliss, were brimming with tears and reddish with anger. They moved restlessly due to shyness. Rādhā’s eyes blossomed fully when She glimpsed at the lotus face of Her beloved Śyāma. Kṛṣṇa’s eyes also widened in delight.
Rādhā-Mādhava plunged in the ocean of ecstatic love. The joyous sakhīs, intoxicated from drinking the sweetness of the early morning pastimes, had completely forgotten their assigned tasks. Vṛndā found Rādhā-Govinda submerged in the ocean of sweet pastimes. Their sakhīs were blinded by the madness of prema. Apprehensive of the coming sunrise, Vṛndā hinted a command to one of her sārikās (female parrots).
The female parrot named Śubhā spoke in a clever way in order to stir Rādhā to wakefulness. She wanted to protect Rādhā from the fear of Her husband and to prevent Her from being ridiculed by the villagers and embarrassed before Her elders. The parrot said, “O lotus-eyed friend! Your mother-in- law will soon rise from bed and call into Your bedroom: ‘Rādhe! Your husband and the servants are coming from the cowsheds carrying lots of milk. Quickly rise and perform vastu worship in the house.’ O sakhī! Before Jaṭilā says this, please leave the kuñja and secretly return to Your bedroom.”
The sārikā addressed Kṛṣṇa, “O Kṛṣṇa! The heart of Rādhā’s mother-in-law is filled with doubts and suspicion about Rādhā’s character. Her husband Abhimanyu lives up to his name, which means “always angry,” by speaking roughly and always finding fault. Rādhā’s dull sister-in-law is always grouchy and uselessly defames Her. The night has ended, so why are You not leaving this virtuous girl?”
The parrot’s words acted like the Mandara Mountain to churn the milk ocean of Rādhā’s heart. Rādhā felt disturbed, so Her eyes moved like restless fish. Rādhā, saddened by the thought of leaving Kṛṣṇa, finally rose from bed. Kṛṣṇa relished the sight of Rādhā’s frightened, restless eyes and gorgeous face. Śyāma inadvertently picked up Rādhā’s fine blue scarf and quickly rose from the bed. Rādhā- Govinda, their hearts palpitating in fear, held hands and wore each other ’s clothing as they left the kuñja. Kṛṣṇa held Kiśorī’s right hand in His left hand and His flute in His right. A dark monsoon cloud appeared to be embracing a flash of lightning.

The jubilant sakhīs left the forest cottage carrying various articles, including a golden pitcher, a polished mirror and a fan with a golden handle. One sakhī held a multicolored bowl filled with kuṅkuma and sandalwood. Another grasped a jeweled case filled with betel nuts and someone else clutched a caged parrot. One sakhī smiled slightly as she emerged from the kuñja holding a small, gold inlay ivory sindhūr (vermilion) casket that was shaped like two budding breasts and studded with sapphires.
One sakhī collected all the pearls that had fallen from the necklaces broken by Rādhā-Mādhava’s firm embraces, and happily tied them in the edge of her veil. Rati-mañjarī found an earring that had fallen on the bed during Rādhā-Mādhava’s conjugal skirmishes. She left the kuñja and immediately fixed it on Rādhā’s ear. The sakhī named Rūpa-mañjarī snatched up Rādhā’s bodice from the edge of the bed and privately returned it to Her. Guṇa-mañjarī took the spittoon with Rādhā-Mādhava’s chewed betel nuts and distributed the prasādam to the sakhīs outside the cottage.
Mañjulālī-mañjarī gathered the garlands and sandalwood pulp that had fallen from Rādhā-Mādhava’s bodies and divided it amongst the sakhīs. The sakhīs, seeing Kṛṣṇa wearing Rādhā’s blue cloth and Rādhā wearing His yellow cloth, covered their mouths with their delicate hands to conceal their laughter. They shared the bliss swelling in their hearts by passing subtle glances to each other to indicate the exchange of clothing.
The mirth of the sakhīs brought the Divine Couple out of Their ever-expanding ocean of ecstasy. Rādhā-Mādhava gazed at each other ’s faces with widened eyes and stood motionless like figures drawn in a painting. As one cannot immediately detect milk within a white conchshell, it was almost impossible to see Rādhā’s fine blue cloth on Kṛṣṇa’s dark body, or Kṛṣṇa’s yellow cloth against the effulgent golden body of Rādhā.
Lalitā angrily criticized the rising sun for interrupting her drinking of the nectar of Rādhā-Kṛṣṇa’s sweet pastimes: “O Rādhe! Just see. Even though the sun was stricken with leprosy and lost his legs for disturbing romantic couples, he continues the heinous act. The sages have correctly said that it is very difficult for a person to give up His nature.”
Vṛṣabhānunandini nodded in approval of Lalitā’s riddle. Rādhā, Her eyes reddened with anger over the interruption of Her amorous affairs, glanced at the crimson morning sky and said in a sweet, gentle voice: “Even though the sun lost his legs, he returns in a moment to repeat his sinful deed. If Brahmā had given him legs, there would be no night at all.”
Śyāma, inspired by the charm of early morning and elated by the ambrosial words of Rādhikā, forgot about returning home. He spoke to the queen of His heart: “Look, My dearest! A mistress has turned red with jealousy on seeing Her lover return at dawn bearing signs of conjugal bliss. Similarly, the eastern sky reddens with envy upon seeing her husband, the sun, arrive at dawn with red marks all over his body from touching other women (the directions).
“Look! The lotus is speaking to the white lily: ‘O white lily, look! Even though your lover, the moon, the best of brāhmaṇas, is peaceful by nature and destroys the darkness of sins, by contacting Vāruṇī (western sky or wine) he has fallen from his exalted position.’ The white lily has covered her face in shame within her wilted petals upon hearing the playful talk of the lotus, now joyful in the association of her lover, the sun.
“The black cuckoos watch the moon destroy the darkness and think, ‘Since we are black, perhaps the  moon will also destroy us!’ In anxiety, they call out to the new moon, ‘kuhū, kuhū.’ The cuckoos think that when the moonless night comes, Rāhu will cover the moon and protect them.
“As a woman sighs in ecstasy when enjoying her lover, the forest, crazed with joy on meeting its lover the spring season, emits the same sound as the cooing of doves. O Śaśimukhi (moon face)! A restless bee, covered with pollen from playing in the lilies, now madly pursues his mate, who is just crawling out of the lotus in which she spent the night.
“The female heron, yearning to meet her lover at daybreak, blissfully kisses a red lotus, which has become doubly red in the rays of dawn. O Kalakaṇṭḥī (sweet-voiced)! Seeing Us, the swan named Kalasvana has left his mate, who is eager for pleasure, and come to the bank of the Yamunā spreading his wings in joy.
“Look, Padma-mukhi! (lotus-face) The goose named Tuṇḍikerī clutches in her beak the half-eaten lotus stalks given by her husband. While constantly gazing upon Your lotus face, she now comes with her mate, uttering soft, indistinct sounds. The cool breeze from the peaks of the Malaya hills carries the sweet aroma of lotuses as he gently plays over the waters of the Yamunā. He teaches the creepers how to dance, relieves everyone’s fatigue and dries the perspiration from the bodies of lovers.”
Govinda-līlāmṛta 1.67-105