Before Radha Rani was ever the goddess of love, tenderness, compassion and devotion, who was she?
Before an eternal lover, who was she?
An endearing baby, left alone in the curling laps of the mighty Yamuna River?
A charming, mischievous child, who...
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I had found an old dusty bansi just lying elegantly on the porch of my house at midnight. The midnight stars were spread around the sky, while the moon shined its own grace.
My heart was craving for a quiet walk in the solitude of night air. I quietly made my way outside the house, trying not to draw anyone's attention.
I have always loved quiet. Whether it be when I was three, thirteen, or thirty. I enjoyed festivals and events with colours and life, but after all the charming chaos, my heart only desired the warmth of my own thoughts.
Intrigued, I held the bansi in my hand. It was dirty, covered with mud. The air around the bansi revolted because of its pungent smell. Who did it belong to? I didn't know.
I knew better than to simply take strange objects with me, fully aware that they might belong to someone else. Besides, I had to be mindful of the raging asuras, who were perpetually finding new ways to disrupt the village's tranquility.
I turned away from it, thinking that if I advert my eyes from it - my curiosity would die. But it did not. I turned around to face the bansi in indecision.
To keep what was expected of me aside, for a few moments of quenched longing - was it really as wrong as I had grown up believing?
I was too young to know. I took a step back, and the bansi fell right at my feet. I bent and picked the bansi up, and touched it to my forehead.
Why were flutes so recurrent in my life? Like a constant whisper in my head, that told me I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Like the corner of warmth in my heart, whenever my world turned frigid and cruel.
Like magic, filling my empty moments of disappointments with its enchanting notes.
Like a boy whose memory had been stuck in my head for too long.
Dark skin, dark as the night sky. Pure eyes, as pure as lotuses. Soft touch, as soft as that of water from the Jamuna.
Who was he? What were these incidents around the bansi? Oddly, this was not the last time I would encounter a bansi.
...
I was in my garden. The birds reveling around me were weaving songs too beautiful to decipher. The grass was beaded with dews of dawn beneath me. The rabbits around me flopped their ears, and the baby rabbits ran and fell down on their soft fluffy legs. One rabbit was resting in my lap; sound asleep.
There was something about nature that felt familiar, and comfortable. The rabbits still hopped around and towards me when I felt disappointed in myself, the birds still chirped when everything felt silenced to a point of deafness.
Beyond that, I felt a deep sense of belonging. My silky bed could never match the comfort of the shabby grass. My room never provided the same solace as the embrace of the trees. I could never quite understand my obsession.
