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.
