Radha is waiting. Her patience does not fail her. Her passion does not leave her. She is experiencing an exhilarating thrill.
Yamuna is flowing by silently. Night is holding out no stars. Tamal tree is standing lifeless.
Sky lies scattered around her in many shards of lightning as it is hit at by cardboard arrows. The rampaging village boys throw them.
Radha bends to pick up one.
Her finger bleeds as one piece pierces.
She looks down at her finger. Blood is streaming out. A hurried padding of cotton bandage produces wet dark-red patches over it.
Radha bursts into laughter. Her weak body convulses compellingly.
She checks herself. She cannot afford to disturb the passage of silent, sulky night. He may not come. Her wait will become meaningless.
A slight restlessness creeps into her mind. She looks around. Perhaps footsteps are heard.
Does He come, as He did earlier?
No, these are mere memories that are rushing onto her. She feels defenseless.
Now she closes her eyes tight enough. She feels a touch of Him on her skin. She can feel the rush of blood where He rubs her ecstatically.
His fingers run through her cascade of hair.
He pulls her close, plants a deep kiss on her lips.
The lips become swollen like Champa blossoms, bee-stung, of Vrindavana.
‘Radha, Radha,’ He whispers.
‘Why have you forgotten me?’ Radha asks.
He nudges her away; does not respond.
He rubs the fragrance of raat-champa into her wax-like smooth belly.
They make love on the riverbank.
Yamuna murmurs.
Tamal tree rustles.
Full moon wakes up night to its lusty lustre.
The stars appear and look down blessedly.
‘I am yours, only yours, Krishno,’ Radha says.
He smiles at her heavenly.
‘Why are you not saying anything, Krishno?’ Radha’s passionate eyes ask.
In response, Krishno takes out flute and plays out a tune that he never played earlier.
The night turns melancholic.
‘Say you are mine, Krishno,’ Radha’s heavy lips mumble.
There is no response.
Radha opens her eyes.
Yamuna flows away stealthily. Tamal tree stands erect. Night passes by sheepishly. Stars disappear into the skies. The moon wanes.
There is no Krishno.
Radha closes her eyes, tries to laugh out loud.
A night bird flies away in horror hearing the lone, long wail of a mad woman at the dead of night.
Krishno is now the king of Mathura. He is now loyal to royal duty. Having defeated the satanic Kangsha, he emerges an established power; a savior to Yadavs. How can He come all the way to Vrindavan to meet a milkmaid?
A Radha can compromise her character.
A Radha can defy the restrictions of society to deify her Krishno.
A Krishno cannot.
A Krishno cannot compromise his kingship for kinship.
Love can be slaughtered at the altar of tricks of politics in Mathura.
Yamuna still is aflow. Full moon still is aglow. Tamal tree still is verdant.
So is Radha in her timeless wait for her Krishno.