Chapter 3

Entry for the round --3 [ Second Milestone ] Together, We Are Timeless [IF-NC_Entry]

"I will do as you wish, Radha." She bowed her head with an intriguing expression of Radha's inexplicable love, sending the touch of a tear as a gift to the Divine Prince!

The clouds cleared the sky after a drizzle.

The chariot vanished from sight, leaving behind a cloud of dust! Radha was left stranded there in her thoughts, unable to move, trying hard to assimilate the shock.

Seasons fade in and out like soft lullabies; the transitions are slow but never faltering. Like Mother Earth herself, they turn only in one direction, always onward, never backward. As they wax and wane, the pace of life changes along with nature. Days had stretched into months, and months had stretched into years.

Epistle of a smile to the tear

Autumn arrived with regal ease and natural grace. The leaves tumbled like giant confetti onto the sidewalks and along the verges. The first leaves had already fallen onto the rain-rich soil, while others remained verdant, fluttering in the strengthening wind. Spring thought to herself.... Though I long for that garland of reds and golds, I must be as patient as Radha, who waits for her Krishna to adorn her life with colourful hues.

Radha now consoled herself with the thought that, no matter how much happiness Krishna's wives might have found in his presence, the pangs of separation were hers alone. She accepted the belief that his smile belonged to his wives, but his tears belonged only to her. This perception gave her the strength to endure. Her sacrifice had made her divine, perhaps even greater than God himself !!

Yet her mind was like the ocean—calm on the surface, but concealing deep undercurrents that stirred an assortment of emotions, tormenting her soul.

"How can I withstand this tempest of love, Krishna? How can I save myself from it? It is engulfing me like wildfire. Though I know, as an unbearable truth, that you will never return, why does my heart refuse to accept it? Whenever a gust of zephyr quivers through the twigs, whenever the soft and lilting susurration of the leaves reaches my ears, I imagine it is you.... It is you!

Your image is permanently etched in my eyes. I am trapped in that world of loneliness. Though my eyes are wide open, I am still wandering through a dream in which you remain imprinted as my past. All of a sudden, a great wave of love engulfs me from head to toe, only to recede, leaving my dreaming eyes damp with tears.

How will I search for you through these tear-filled eyes, Krishna?"

When the silence of the milieu, mingled with the whispers of the river's ripples, seemed to listen to Radha's anguished musings, the biting cold of the night added to the ache in her heart, intensifying her longing for Him. When one longs to possess what one cannot have, that longing takes deep root within the heart.

Suddenly, the chortle of the girls broke the stillness of the night. Radha knew they had come to listen to her words and console her for a while before returning to their homes. She looked around at the maidens and asked, "Can you guess who my Krishna is?"

Radha seemed lost in a trance. With her eyes half-closed, she asked the question and then answered it herself. "He is the vision of our eyes, the smile upon our lips, the beat of our hearts, and the God of our prayers—ultimately, the light of our lives!"

The maidens surrounding her watched her limpid eyes, which seemed bright enough to make even the stars pale. Her magical voice entranced their hearts as well. Once, they had been addicted to listening to Krishna's captivating flute; now they eagerly awaited Radha's enraptured reminiscences, her intimate revelations of the tantalising nights she had spent with Krishna on that very riverbank.

From time to time, they would ask her questions to remind her of their presence. As usual, sometimes Radha would speak to them animatedly, while at other times she would slip away into her thoughts of Him.

Radha continued, "Vandana... did you hear that call? My Krishna is calling me in this stillness of the night! Please listen to His intoxicating voice. That voice must have bathed in the honey of love, traversing the winter breeze, touching the threshold of my passion and stirring my quivering heart. Listen... listen once again to that musical tune, my friends! My Krishna is calling me. I have to go now. I have to hurry... but—but where should I go? Where can I search for Him in this vast Universe?"

Tears of despondency slowly cascaded down her cheeks.

She was surrounded by heaps of garlands sent to her by her Krishna. They were all fresh, filling the air with their sweet fragrance, as though trying to calm her troubled heart. The garlands added an ethereal beauty to the bucolic setting. She sat there like a queen, waiting patiently for the seasons to change before her eyes.

All of a sudden, she chortled gleefully.

Vaishnavi looked at her incredulously. "Are you mad, Radha? He is marrying one woman after another and sending you a garland every time...perhaps to tease you and deepen your desolation...and still you are laughing?"

Radha looked at her and smiled. "Try to understand His quest, Vaishnavi. He is searching for me in every woman who has loved and married Him. Every time He marries, He sends me a fresh garland, as though telling me that He is still searching for me in them. These garlands carry that message.

"Do you remember? He sent pink flowers when He married Rukmini. To me, they symbolised the purity and happiness He had found in her. Later, when He married Satyabhama, He sent a purple garland, symbolising her beauty, passion and courage. Every sentiment of His was expressed in one form or another through these tender buds and blossoms. It was a sort of romantic divertissement between us."

She paused, a fleeting smile playing upon her lips and a spark of love illuminating her yearning eyes.

"For me, love is an infinite stillness...a state of rootedness. For my Krishna, love is a never-ending quest. I can live within this stillness of love, but He will take the world with Him unto eternity in search of that love."

The maidens gazed at her in wonder, seeing admiration reflected in her lucid eyes.

The next moment, her eyes were heavy with unshed tears. It was painful to see her like this for all the maidens there. Neela embraced her to let the torrent of tears soak through her pallu, she could feel her clenched fists and was in a dilemma about whether to be mad at her or to give up hope altogether! She could hear her stifled scream, suffocated with each breath, trying hard to hold on to her pride. She caressed Radha's head in an attempt to calm the silent war within her mind!

Under the canopy of luminous stars, a faint wind swept through the stillness of the rippling river and shattered the reflection of the moon. Radha started walking towards her house, carrying all her memories in her heart, where her Krishna was waiting to woo her along with her longings! The dew drops under her feet were softly reiterating the past stories of their love on the heart of the earth to preserve those for future generations!

The rainy season brings renewal and rejuvenation to the lives of people after the scorching heat of summer. Normally, in Aryavarta, the Rain Festival was followed by many other festivities that brought people together to welcome and celebrate the changing seasons. As the rains began to recede, the sun started smiling feebly through the mild morning mist.

The previous day, Nand, the head of Brindavan, sent a word to his people, inviting them to assemble on the banks of the Yamuna to celebrate the Rain Festival. He had arranged grand festivities and a sumptuous feast in the vast gardens near the river. Since early morning, the maidens had been busy preparing food for the gathering. The children were pampered with sweetened milk, served with a mother's affection. The festivities offered the villagers a cornucopia of delectable delicacies.

The morning dew spread its charm everywhere, adorning the surroundings with an aromatic tenderness. All the villagers who had gathered for the celebrations had completed their pooja and other religious rituals early in the morning. By late morning, they assembled beneath a tree and settled on an elevated platform. Some began making garlands from the colourful flowers scattered around them. A few maidens adorned their hair with delicate chaplets, while others wrapped floral leis around their tender wrists.

Yashoda and the other elderly women were busy supervising the cooking. The nearby woods and paddy fields seemed to rejoice at the children's playful squeals. The grazing animals wandered across the undulating meadows on one side, while the sparkling waters of the Yamuna flowed gently on the other. The lush landscapes, rolling mountains and verdant surroundings together created the illusion of a heavenly paradise.

Amidst this idyllic setting, Radha began singing in her velvety voice, imagining Krishna beside her, accompanying her song with the melodious notes of His flute. Exuberance seemed to take root in the hearts of everyone around her, infusing the atmosphere with happiness and giving a new meaning to that mellifluous romance.

Radha sang:

"Whose manifestation is this love, Krishna? Wasn't it created by God with a promise and embraced by humans with a purpose? Why does the moonlight coyly lower her veil, as though trying to hide us from the prying eyes of the world? This enchanting love is like wildfire, Krishna...once it begins to burn, no one can control it.

How strange! We tried so hard to keep our meetings a secret, yet our love has been revealed to the world through the enchanting tunes of your flute and the tinkling music of my anklets!

God knows what happened that night! When I left my house, I hid my face behind a jasmine creeper in full bloom, using its delicate blossoms as a veil. I thought the moonlight would never be able to reveal my identity. But look what happened! Those arrogant honeybees came buzzing around and pulled aside my floral veil, eager to feast upon the honey hidden within the jasmine flowers.

And the moon? She too seemed to mock me, coyly leaning towards a cluster of stars as if sharing my secret with them.

On the banks of the Yamuna, surrounded by perfect solitude and untamed wilderness, we spent a few precious moments together in blissful joy. The world disappeared, the night became our witness, and your flute became the language of our hearts.

This song, Krishna, is nothing but the outpouring of that ineffable joy."

Nature itself seemed to listen to Radha’s words in rapturous delight. The intense attraction between two souls, the interplay of the human and the divine, and the profound mystery of love...its mysterious power to draw two human beings into a bond that transcends the mortal world...made the moment feel surreal.

A nearby brook babbled gently, as though careful not to disturb Radha’s expressions of longing, poured forth through her melodious voice in the form of a song.

Along the riverside precinct, peacocks danced in the gardens, their iridescent blue-green plumage fanning out to reveal the mysterious beauty of their feathers and countless eye-like patterns, adding to the blissful atmosphere. In the sprawling gardens, children danced while their parents watched them in the coolness of the morning. A group of young boys was engrossed in a game of role-playing. One of them had tied a golden-yellow scarf around his head and tucked a peacock feather into it. He was their make-believe Krishna, sitting atop a large rock that gave him the appearance of a young intellectual giant. The other boys stood around him, pretending to be his subjects.

The watching cowherd maidens reminisced about how their little Krishna had performed countless miracles to protect the people of Brindavan during his early years. Later, they watched the children enact Krishna’s Raas Leela, with every boy eager to play Krishna and lead the dance from the front. They remembered their divine prankster Kanha, and the memories brought affectionate smiles to the maidens’ faces.

On the other side, a group of young girls was presenting a dance drama, ‘Radha Madhav,’ written by a learned pandit.

First, a beautifully attired dancer entered the stage and scattered flowers from her hands towards the spectators. Then a group of girls entered, singing praises of their beloved Krishna:

“Our Krishna, the giver of salvation, the enemy of demons—victory to thee!

Ocean of compassion, Lord of Radha, wearer of the Mayur Pankh—victory to thee!

With curly locks and a charming smile, the enchanting player of the flute—victory to thee!

The little son of Yashoda, stealer of clothes, beloved of the Gopikas—victory to thee!”

The dance drama began with an introductory narration by the Sutradhar.

The chorus entered with the words:

“This is not a story of once upon a time! It is the story of the birth of a beautiful dream, a magnificent manifestation of spiritual love, and, at its end, the beginning of an eternal longing. Her birth, her youth, her association with Him, and her separation from the ordinary world...all are real to us. We were witnesses to it. Here is our Radha, searching for her Krishna!”

The performance began, accompanied by soft background music.

The women in the audience whispered among themselves, “The thought of Krishna seduces the hearts of even hermits and saints. We are simple cowherd maidens...how can we escape that seduction?” They recalled those magical nights of the Raas Leela as they watched the theatrical performance unfold before them.

The girls first enacted the song through expressive gestures and then transformed those movements into graceful dance. What began as a simple folk performance gradually developed into a dramatic spectacle. The play opened with Radha’s separation from her Krishna and moved towards their ultimate union, culminating in a joyous Raas dance.

The wondrous spectacle enchanted everyone. When the Gopikas complained to Yashoda in the dance drama about Krishna’s mischief at the bathing ghat, Yashoda argued that Krishna was still only a child. The young maidens watching the performance glanced at one another and laughed secretly.

“How can we describe the face of our Kanha when he hid the clothes of the Gopikas? And how can we describe the expressions of those demure women who pleaded with Krishna to return their clothes and bangles?”

The dancer playing Yashoda left the scene with mock anger, while Maa Yashoda herself watched the enactment with great amusement.

The girls moved on to the next scene. The girl playing Radha entered the arena as the celestial melody of Krishna’s flute seemed to lure her irresistibly. She acted as though she had left the milk boiling at home and had come running at the melody of his flute, her anklets jingling and her girdle bells tinkling with every step. Then, in a graceful soliloquy, she expressed her longing, gently rebuking herself:

“Why hasn’t my Krishna come to me?

I have decorated my garden with flowers,

waiting to welcome Shyam beneath the stars and moon.

I wish to make a floral path upon which I can spread

all my dreams, so that they may give a soft touch to his feet!”

“Ah, well sung and well danced! I would have participated too, but age has tired me,” an elderly lady said to the maiden sitting next to her.

The dance drama continued, carrying the audience deeper into the timeless world of Radha and Krishna…

[ 2516 words, later added a few more words & edited]

Viswasruti2019-02-16 07:39:51