Abhisaarika Naayika

Sharad In Vrindavan

The tyranny of a prolonged spell of summers had been long forgotten. The excesses of scorching months of Vyshaakh and Jyestha had been tempered and washed away by the gift that the month of Shraavan promises to bring along each year. Shraavan had never betrayed the people of Vrindavan since He was born. This year, too, it kept its word, and had been kind and generous.  

 It had been a month now since the rainy season set in. It was only intensifying with every passing day. Yamuna, flanked by lush and enlivened green lands on both sides, had swollen to almost twice its usual breadth, partly with water, partly with joy. The sounds of resonant bass of thunder accompanied by sounds of a cuckoo carolling here, a peacock yodelling there, leaves swaying in the mild and moist breeze, and the patter of the falling rain-drops permeated the air of Vrindavan. Each tree, each shrub, the lush grass, varnished and rain-rejuvenated, beamed as it looked up to the overcast sky. The thick clouds that tenanted the sky of Vrindavan seemed to convoke a wide variety of colourful and lissom birds out of their boughs and burrows. The fragrance of wet earth picked up and distributed generously by the blowing breeze heightened the sense of pleasure of the people of Vrindavan. Huddling around the Tamaal trees and swinging on them as the evening advanced, had become a part of the daily routine of the young damsels of Vrindavan. They would chatter, banter, and croon rain-songs under the shades of Tamaal trees as it drizzled. Such was the bliss that prevailed in land of Vraj during the rainy season!

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Shyama

 Alas! The month of Shraavan had left Shyama deeply grieved; for she had to spend it at her ailing maternal grandmother’s house in village of Raawal. But now Shraavan had come to an end, and so had the grandmother’s ailment. The month of Bhadrapad (the sixth month of Hindu calendar) had seen its new-moon; the grandmother had recuperated, which meant that Shyama was now free to return to her father’s place in Barsaana.

Her mirth was hard to conceal and contain, however hard she tried; it seeped and flashed on her glorious face rendering it flushed. More than a month had passed since She had seen Him. It seemed nothing less than an epoch to her. It was only the hope of seeing him at the end of this obligatory sojourn that kept her alive day after excruciating day.

Finally the much awaited day had come. She was now in Barsaana. Her joy was overflowing like the the tide of Yamuna, and was manifesting in every part of her body. Her girl friends had come to visit her and welcome her. They exchanged knowing smiles. Nothing was hidden from them after all. The day seemed too long to pass-- even the joshing could not keep Her mind from drifting to His thoughts. Her girl friends shook her pre-empting her pleasant train of reflections. She smiled a bashful smile, and waited eagerly for the night to descend.

Her prayers were answered. The sun had spent all of its daily stock of light, and had dipped behind the horizon. The sky had been sequestered by the scheming, rain-filled clouds which shared their hue with Him. Something only of a fine arc of the moon was visible. And soon a cluster of thick clouds which came wafting on the wind gobbled this celestial vestige. Entire Vraj was in the arrest of darkness—a perfect occasion for her to sneak out. It was as if the nature had colluded with her to grant her all that she had asked for.

The dark night sneaked in through the window of her bedroom and stood smiling in front of her.

“Sshhh...say not a word! Make haste. I won’t be here long. You cannot afford a second to waste. Dress up. He is waiting for you at Kusum Sarovar. Allow me to serve you. Allow me to be your alibi,” Yamini (the night) said.

She instantly knew what Yamini meant. She reached for her coffer and took out her black apparels.

“Will this work?” She asked.

“Perfectly,” said Yamini smiling.

She observed her black garments in the dim light of earthen lamp that graced the small niche carved on her bedroom wall. It seemed as though the garments had seized the darkness of the very night and soaked it. They would help her camouflage in this dark night of this wet and dark month of Bhadrapad.

Yamini assisted Her in slipping into the chosen apparels swiftly. She was clad in a black lehnga (long skirt) and her assets were held in a black choli (blouse). Her navel peeped through the gap between the upper edge of her lehnga and the lower edge of her black choli. Yamini stepped back and observed Shyama so dressed for a minute. The contrast between Shyama’s marmoreal complexion and the pitch black ensemble conjured beauty beyond expression. She realised how ineffectual all the poets hitherto have been in trying to describe Shyama’s beauty. She also pitied them, for no metaphor ever invented could even capture a sliver of Shyama’s beauty. How helpless the poets must feel. If only the nymphs could even come close to her resplendence. Each feature so perfectly aligned so as to evoke envy from beauty itself. The lock of hair carelessly swaying by her forehead was fit to be meditated upon for ages together. The thin and shapely waist could be the subject of many an epic. The doe-like restless eyes were meant to discompose the tranquillity of sages of highest order.

“You seem lost!” exclaimed Shyama.

“Your beauty knows no ruth, does it? “ asked Yamini upon being jolted out of her meditation.
Shyama smiled coyly. “Let us make haste, Yamini. I have yet to put on my ornaments. You do not want him to see me sans my ornaments, do you?”

The ornaments she chose were black, too.

She was now ready to venture out in this dark Bhadrapad-night. The clouds had started to thunder. The wind had begun to bluster. And her heart had begun to pound.

Yamini noticed the lines of anxiety crossing Shyama’s glorious visage. “What bothers you thus, Shyama?” she asked with a hint of concern in her voice.

“What if someone sees me, Yamini? Perhaps you do not know what kind of things people will say if they find about my nocturnal escapades,” replied Shyama.

“Since when did you start paying heed to the hearsay?” rejoined Yamini holding Shyama’s chin in her right hand.
“Hearsay and heresy are two things lovers are not meant to care about. “

It had begun to pelt outside.  Shyama peeped out through the window. It was pitch-dark save for flashes of lightning.

Anticipating Shayma’s apprehension, Yamini wrapped her in a black odhni.

“Now, you will be perfectly camouflaged. Do not unveil your face completely. Beware! “

“Why do you say so?” inquired Shyama.

“For the radiance of your face will give you away, O naive girl! Nothing in the world can conceal this luminous face which is more lambent than the moon itself. Pace your steps appropriately lest the tinkle of your anklets will awaken people,” returned Yamini.

“Should I do away with them altogether?”

“No, Shyama. They are much needed. It’s dark outside. There will be all kinds of beasts and snakes in the woods. The sound of the anklets will chase them away as you wade through the woods. Don’t take them out at any cost,” said Yamini authoritatively.

And just then their conversation was interrupted. Shyama suddenly looked startled

“What is wrong, Shyama?”

“Did not you hear that, Yamini? The sound of flute. His flute. Did not you hear that?”

Shyama returned a perplexed look, for the fact was that Yamini could not hear His flute. It was addressed only to
Shyama, and it was only she who could hear it.

The notes of Jaijaiwanti reached straight to her heart through her ears. The melody purloined her heart, and she had lost her control on herself. She was now a thrall to this divine sound emanating afar.  All the apprehensions and qualms were melting away. All her thoughts were only channelled in the direction from which this sound was coming.

“Shyama, is everything fine? I hear no sound!”

                                                         

Where was the time to reply. Shyama had already left. She ran through the dark and deserted alleys-- careful, not to awake anyone-- until she found herself in the forest. Now she breathed a sigh of relief. Yet she was restive, for she was still captivated by the sound of the flute. It was only the sound of his flute that was charting her path on that dark night, as nothing was visible beyond an arm’s length.  She was completely drenched from head to toe. Her clothes were dishevelled and ornaments disarrayed.  She did not care for once to stop and set them right. Her odhni had fallen where she did not even remember. The pace of her movements was so fierce that one of her anklets got dislodged. She remembered Yamini’s warning about deadly snakes and beasts, but the incantation of the flute was so powerful that Shyama was drawn  powerlessly to its origin; she could not have paused for a moment to reflect on the possible dangers.

She was driven by some sort of juggernaut crushing every fear, every misgiving which came along its way. Her heartbeat was racing with the flying time. The agony of separation was growing unbearable with every passing second.  The sound of heart thumping against her chest could be heard despite the unsuccessful attempts made by the roaring clouds hanging above her to overpower it. The night was certainly dark, but not as dark as the darkness of separation she had to bear from her beloved. And now it was to come to an end. A smile indicative of this anticipatory joy of her conjugal union illumined her face.

 At last the source of the sound was traced. He was now to be seen. The sight of her beloved revitalised her spirits. Every fibre of hers was throbbing with intense joy. Hearing the tinkling sound of her singular anklet, he opened his eyes. The sound of flute, which had unsettled and delighted her at once, finally ceased. Their eyes met. He smiled. Panting heavily, She stood there soaked both in water and his effulgence. It was one of those moments wherein words lose their meaning and purpose. She flung herself in his arms; and the moment was sealed with a torrid kiss.