Radha gently swayed from side to side, as if in a trance. Yet, she felt calm and composed. The dhun which had led her to this glade had long died down. Although the lotus eyed pitambar clad spectre had undoubtedly bewildered her, she patiently waited for the apparition to disappear as many had done before.
She marvelled at how perfectly she had preserved the image of her Shyam in her heart. Today, the form which her mind had conceived was too strikingly real to be discarded as a mere trick of the vision. Tears of love and longing welled up in her eyes as she beheld the spectre's bluish black complexion, resembling thunder clouds on a rainy day, it's yellow attire that complemented it's slender form, that same morpankh which used to be the sole source of all the colours in her life, those raven black curls cascading down it's shoulders, which, many a time , used to mingle with her own soft tresses as she rested her head on her Shyam's shoulder; those beautiful facial features, gentle yet bearing slight traces of natkhatpan- eyes which she alone had the right to lose herself in, lips- which she alone had the right to feel the caresses of.
An unknown sense of apprehension mingled with excitement crept into her heart as her eyes travelled down to the apparition's waist line. The bansuri, which used to adorn her Krishn's waist, and which constituted an essential and a must component of every phantasm her mind had ever conceived, was missing.
Instead, it was lying on the ground in front of the spectre's feet.
