Red and gold fading zari, still she holds it good
Her mistress gave it with loving eyes.
The scent of milk, it barely should
Reflect in the picture’s lies.
The sari pallu in her mouth, lest she let out a cry;
Thus thinks she, but the painter knows best
How a maid be depicted; lest the world sigh.
Her bindi’s red in the picture,
Her husband’s dead in the fixture;
In the king’s prison for treason,
But, in not being the king’s model, she finds no reason.
The milk in the urn is pure,
The milk in her bosom’s dear;
To her children who need her for sure.
The picture’s sale is near,
The milkmaid by Raja Ravi Varma
I was imagining a particular scenario running in the mind of the milkmaid who posed for this famous painting