The Most Beautiful One

CHAPTER :2

I always loved rainy days. The soft patter of raindrops outside the window, the scent of wet earth, the rhythms of nature slowly slowing everything down, as if the world were taking a deep breath. One afternoon, curled up in a corner of our school library, absent-mindedly flipping through a textbook, watching the rain blur the view outside.

It was quiet, but something about it felt too heavy. Then my teacher, Mrs. Sharma, came by my side. She was as always warm and comforting and placed a small, worn-out book on the table in front of me without saying a word.

"Why don't you try this one?" she said, her eyes sparkling with a knowing smile.

I turned my gaze to the cover, for the title was simple: *Meera and Krishna*. I had never heard of Meera Bai. My teacher had chosen this book for me for some reason that now eludes my mind. Anyway, there was something kind of floating around in my head, as if this book held a secret that needed unraveling.

Curiosity had my fingers turning the pages open; I began to read. As the story unfolded, I found myself drawn to the world of Meera, princess of Kishkinda, whose heart belonged entirely to Krishna. She saw him in everything, spoke to him as if he were always by her side, and devoted her life to loving him.

The rain was falling steadily outside, but somehow within me, I felt this connection to Meera. She loved deep and pure. The way she spoke of Krishna as her friend, her companion, stirred some sentiment within me. The book was closed when a quiet determination had formed in my heart. I wanted to love Krishna the way Meera did.

The next morning I told myself that I would just be like Meera. Now my ideas of devotion were definitely quite more playfully attempted, perhaps even a trifle silly. I managed to pull one of my mom's old dupattas over my head and tied it at the back of my head, imagining that I was Meera Bai. The dupatta kept falling off my head and I was tripping over it but still I did not care. I was on a mission.

"Krishna! Krishna!" I chanted as I ran around the house, mimicking Meera in the tale, and my parents, standing in the kitchen, hid smiles, not wanting to laugh since I was searching for him behind the curtains, under the dining table, even opening the door to the fridge, as if maybe he was hiding inside.

I dressed up with little bells around my ankles and stomped around the house singing off-tune songs to Krishna, convinced that Meera must have done the same thing. I was twirling and dancing, feeling the bells jingle at every step, and I imagined that Krishna is laughing along with me. I knew I couldn't see him but was convinced that he was there, enjoying my foolishness.

At school, though, it was a story in itself. I had few friends at school. Most of the kids would hang out together in groups and be merry and talkative during lunch, while I'd sit alone staring out the window or reading a book. Sometime, I felt this feeling of sorrow, wishing to sit with someone. But after hearing Meera's story, I started believing that Krishna was always with me, as he was with her.

Whenever I felt lonely, I closed my eyes and imagined Krishna sitting beside me, smiling his mischievous smile. And as if the rain, the wind, and the soft sounds of nature carry him in to me, letting me know that I never really was.

It happened that one evening, after school was long done and dragging with a mixed feeling of stress, I came home especially down. I sat by the window watching the rain pour outside and whispered, "Krishna... are you there?

When a small petal floated by the open window and touched my lap gently, my heart skipped a beat. Like a sign, it was quiet, gentle, to inform him that Krishna was listening. I smiled, hugging the petal close to my chest, knowing that he had found his way to comfort me.

Ever since, whenever I felt lonely or sad Krishna was there to enliven me. At times it was a gentle breeze blowing, at other times just the simple beauty of a flower, at times the laughter I imagined hearing inside my head. He was my secret friend who could find some way to brighten my day however dark the day had been. Though I was no Meera Bai, my love for Krishna was all my own, involving sundry playful moments and quiet comfort. And though I might not have had many friends, Krishna made me feel whole. I wasn't lonely. I had him-the naughty, sweet companion who always found a smile to bring back to my lips.