The Most Beautiful One

CHAPTER : 4

The days flew by, and my birthday soon, there. The day was like any other day, cake, friends, laughter, but little did I suspect that something really magical was going to happen. Among the numerous gifts pouring in was one wrapped in simple yet delicate cloth that was dazzling with a quiet divinity and took my breath away. It was a small idol of baby Krishna sitting gracefully on a blue lotus.The moment I took him off, my heart almost stopped. He was very beautiful.Baby Krishna had been modeled with such tenderness that it seemed he would come alive. His skin was soft as moonlight, blushing pale bluish, standing out against the faintest of lights. His eyes-Oh, those eyes! Wide open and quite round, full of innocence and mischief as though he was holding back peals of laughter. His small lips slightly upturned seemed to whisper, "I am here; I have always been here." Little fingers encircled almost softly the edge of the lotus and his tiny crown had a single peacock feather, swaying there quite as if by a breeze felt only by me.A cloud under him, the blue lotus seemed to cradle him so softly as though he were a feather. Delicate petals-era one was carved so skillfully, resonating the warmth of the sky, as though they had just been picked out of the divine abodes.I was transfixed. I could feel that it was more than just a statue; it was a friend, a companion, a confidant. From that day on, I couldn't muster the courage to part from him. Krishna was with me always.

I started to take him everywhere with me. While walking in the garden, playing games with friends, and at times doing homework, Krishna was always at my side. I placed him beside my books while I attacked my math homework-and in my imagination, he was helping me or on a cushion beside me at lunch, and in my childish atmosphere of floating magic, he was eating with me. Night found him all tucked in beside me under the blanket, and in a way, it made me feel safe. I used to whisper to him about my day, my small troubles, and my ridiculous dreams; for this, I perceived the silent, playful assurance of Krishna that things would be alright.

To my heart, Krishna was not an idol but my friend, my confidant, and my ever-present companion. I began to treat him with the kind of love and care I thought that a good friend should expect. I bathed him with milk and rose water pouring the mixture over his tiny figure as I watched the drops trickle past his cheeks like the love-nestling of mother's fingers. After each bath, I used to garland him with flowers and leaves in order to make him appear most beautiful. 

Though I made an airplane of myself by sewing him these little outfits, I put my entire heart into them. The dresses I stitched on him would be far from perfect-crooked seams, uneven edges-but to me they were far more precious than anything else. For hours I would sit with bits of cloth, threading needles and trying to picture Krishna, the real one, dressed in my little creations. I even bought tiny peacock feathers from a nearby shop and stuck them into his crown, imagining it made him seem more princely. And each time I dressed him in those clothes, the smile on my face was a signal that a strange bond existed between us, something beyond the use of words.With Janmashtami around the corner, my excitement was building. I could not wait for my first Janmashtami with Krishna. I wanted to make this occasion really special. I had seen pictures of Krishna swinging on a swing, and that fills me with abounding joy! I decided that to make a swing for Krishna, after all, how hard could it be? I gathered some cardboard from an old box, some cloth, and a little bit of string. I just felt sure it would not take too long.But Krishna had other plans.It was a complete disaster on the first attempt. I had cut the cardboard too small, and it collapsed on the swing as soon as I made an effort to hang it up. I sighed but did not lose hope. I tried it again, using firmer thread this time to tie the corners. But as I went to lift it, one side slumped lower than the other, and poor little Krishna almost fell out!

Frustratingly determined, I spent hours tinker these. In vain I tried everything-glue, tape, ribbon-nothing seemed to work. My room was in a mess with bits of cardboard and fabric strewn in all directions as my hands started sticking with glue. At one moment, I even began to wonder if Krishna was sitting there, laughing at my futile efforts, and enjoying my clumsy attempts at making something for him.

Seven or eight endless hours after I started building the swing, I had finally fashioned something which held together. It wasn't perfect, but sturdy enough. I added some soft cloth over the swing and sprinkled tiny flowers along the edge, trying to make it as beautiful as possible.As soon as little Krishna sat in that swing, he went through a magical transformation. Once seated, he seemed perfect, more radiant than I had ever seen him. The swing was simple yet seemed to exude an unexpected glow of beauty. Sitting peacefully in that swing with the evening breeze reflecting in his elegant demeanor, my heart swelled with love.

At that moment, it really did not matter for me that the swing was not perfect or that the dresses I fashioned were not done well. What mattered was that every stitch, every knot, and every flower spoke loud and clear of the love and devotion behind them all. Sitting there on that swing-Mr. Krishna-joy filled my heart like the sun shinning on the earth, as if Krishna himself was pleased by the little things I offered.

Now he was not just an idol. He was a part of me, a dear friend, and my companion through every moment of my life. And by looking at him swing around amidst the flowers I had lovingly positioned around him, I came to feel that Krishna's love is as real as anything in this world.

This was my Krishna, my dearest friend, and with him, my heart had finally found its true home.