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 was sitting in my garden, when I heard small squeaks. Baba, Grandmother, Sridama and Manjari – all of them were asleep under the afternoon's blanket. Instead of sleeping too, I wanted to relish the Sun and bask in its essence. I did not feel tired anymore, despite how clouded my brain remained. Keeping in mind the prophecy, Grandmother's health, the Holi fair, made my head go crazy. But my peace was always restored by only a single thought of my Kanha. Mornings dulled to nights, nights brightened into dawns and wove into a string of days which seemed hazy.
I followed the direction from where the whimpering came from, and sudden flashes of a forgotten dream barged in. The dream, where in I had heard and saw a dazzling deer get injured and weep in pain. The flashes hurt, bright and astonishing. For a few hectic moments, I saw myself wearing the silk sari again, I felt myself rage for the hunter who had hurt the poor deer.
The turmoil calmed down, as I halted on seeing a little rabbit. I saw one of the legs of the rabbit ooze out blood, as if it was scratched by thorns. Feeble sounds escaped its mouth, drenched in agony and pain. I fell on the ground, trying to examine its wound. I used my hand and tried to caress it, drawing my hand up and down its shaking body. It seemed to calm it down, but its wound did not look better.
I looked around, trying to find some herbs which could help, but in vain. I looked at the aching rabbit helplessly, not knowing what to do. I closed my eyes, trying to think of something while stroking the poor rabbit's head. It had closed its eyes, as if my touch soothed it.
Suddenly, Krishn's words echoed in my brain. "Yes, Radha! Love and courage are enough to make a miracle happen." I closed my eyes tightly, and pictured us, sitting by the Jamuna. I imagined him teasing me, and I helplessly adoring him. In a whisper, I said, 'Krishn...'. But my effort was to no avail. I opened my eyes and looked around me, begging the ground or the trees, the buds and the flowers to help me.
Just then, as if a wind blew past me, I heard, 'Radha-Krishn.'
'Radha-Krishn...' I whispered again, with eyes closed due to pure desperateness, or perhaps to muster all the love I could. When I opened my eyes, a wave of astonishment, a wave of relief, a flood of love, passed over me – as I saw the wound slowly disappearing. Contentment and a foreign sense of divinity washed away all my fear and pain on seeing the rabbit trapped in the vines of ache.
I lifted the little rabbit and placed it on my lap, it cuddled against my stomach. I stroked its head, hoping to make it fall asleep. The poor soul had had a rough day.
Krishn was partially right and partially wrong, when he told me what he had the day before. He was a unique person whose purpose outweighed all of ours, but, perhaps love was enough to cause miracles. There was no doubt in my head regarding the latter. Was it him, or our love, which made us see each other's reflections in the river instead of our own? Was it him, or our love, that made our name bring relief and end to suffering?
In my own daze, I heard myself whisper, 'Radha-Krishn...'.
Magic - is what many would call it. Miracle - is what many would sing it.
