The secret blooming in the Nikunj (4)

In care of Ram das

Here you may listen to part 1 (Abre numa nova janela), part 2 (Abre numa nova janela) and part 3 (Abre numa nova janela).

Let us enter Chapter 7, where the divine lovers lie in the soft hush after their union, their bodies adorned not only with sweat and breath but with the fragrance of eternal prem. The sakhis, ever-attentive and full of tender seva-bhāva, now take on their sacred role: to soothe, serve, and preserve the delicate sweetness that flows after the flood.

Podcast part 4 (chapter 7 and 8)

Podcast on Spotify (Abre numa nova janela)

Chapter 7: The Stillness After the Storm

The nikunj grove had gone silent once more.

The trees stood motionless, their leaves kissed still by a hush (Schweigen) that felt like prayer. The air no longer trembled with passion, but hummed with the echo of divine union—a silence so deep, it seemed the entire forest held its breath in awe.

Radha and Krishna lay entwined, their forms barely distinguishable in the dappled (scheckig) light. Their skin glowed with a golden sheen (Glanz), damp from the nectar of their divine play. Radha’s limbs draped over Krishna like soft vines over a flowering tree; Krishna’s arm circled her waist with the gentleness of moonlight resting on the Yamuna.

Neither spoke. No words were needed. They were now breath within breath, pulse within pulse.

The sakhis, seated nearby in quiet reverence, rose slowly—led by Lalita, with a gaze both firm and full of devotion.

She turned to the others and whispered,
»The rasa has reached its peak. Now let us serve the Beloveds in their softness. Let us cool the fire we helped to stir.«

Pyari Kripa Sakhi was the first to step forward, holding a silver vessel filled with sandalwood water. Gently, she knelt beside Radha and dipped a soft cloth into it. With utmost tenderness, she began to bathe Radha’s forehead, her cheeks, her shoulders—wiping away the heat of passion with strokes as gentle as flower petals falling.

Rami Sakhi took Krishna’s hand, bringing it to her heart for a moment before placing it softly upon his chest. She then dipped her fingers into rose oil and anointed his throat and arms, whispering:

»O Kunj Bihari, your limbs have danced the lila. Now rest. Let us serve what you have given so freely.«

Radha stirred faintly, opening her eyes. Her gaze met Pyari Kripa Sakhi’s, and with a faint smile she said:

»You all are not my friends… you are the branches of my heart. Without you, even his touch would feel incomplete.«

Pyari Kripa pressed her forehead to Radha’s palm. »And without your joy, Swamini, we have no life at all.«

Then Visakha brought scented silk garments and began to clothe Radha, wrapping her in soft peach and gold like dressing a murti after abhishek. Her hair, damp and tangled, was slowly combed out by Rupa Manjari, who adorned it with fresh jasmine strands.

Krishna was bathed as well, like a Shaligram stone tenderly offered back to the temple after divine darshan. The sakhis poured cool drops of rose water on his chest, his thighs, his sacred feet, murmuring mantras of adoration between each breath.

When they clothed him again in fresh yellow silk, the flute—the very symbol of surrender—was returned gently to his hand.

Lalita, ever watchful, now stepped closer with a bowl of sweetened milk and honey, warmed just slightly. She held it out to Radha.

»Swamini, your Yamuna has overflowed. Let your body drink now from this cooling nectar.«

Radha took a sip and then turned—offering it directly from her lips to Krishna’s mouth. He received it without hesitation, their breath mingling again in a kiss that now carried no urgency, only sacred stillness.

The sakhis all bowed their heads, tears falling.

They had witnessed not just pleasure, but union: not body to body, but soul to soul. The kind of love that scriptures speak of in riddles, and sages glimpse only in silent samādhi.

The lovers now rested, clothed in cool silk, adorned with flowers, wrapped in fragrance, breath slowed to the rhythm of the forest.

Around them, the sakhis seated themselves like guardians of a sacred flame. No one spoke. A garland of silence, fragrant with devotion, bound them all together.

And in that stillness, a single breeze moved through the trees—just enough to make the leaves whisper.

As if the forest itself exhaled:

»Rādhe-Shyām.«

Let us enter Chapter 8, where the sakhis, now filled with the sweetness of the love they’ve witnessed, begin to share their reflections through song and poetry in the Rang Mahal. Krishna, ever playful, cannot resist listening in—perhaps feeling the sweetness of his own actions reflected back to him in the devotion of his beloved companions.

In this chapter, we see that while Krishna and Radha’s love remains the central focus, it is not without the involvement of the sakhis, who are not mere witnesses, but essential participants in the divine play. The love they share is mutual and eternal, a sacred circle that includes them all, binding them to the divine in the most beautiful of ways.

Chapter 8: The Song of the Heart’s Secret

The sun had dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows over the nikunj. The air was still warm, filled with the fragrance of the flowers Krishna had given to Radha. It was now evening, the time when the deep, soft music of the world began to pour out from within, like a slow river of dreams.

The lovers were resting in the heart of the grove, still surrounded by the soft embrace of the sakhis. Their bodies—exquisite in their quietude—had merged into the deep stillness of their sacred union. But even in this peaceful moment, the very air seemed to vibrate with the echoes of the love they had shared.

In the Rang Mahal—the room of colors where Radha and Krishna often gathered with their closest friends—the sakhis had formed a circle. There, surrounded by the warm glow of lanterns, they began to speak in sweet, hushed tones, recounting the lila they had just witnessed.

Lalita, the most devoted of Radha's companions, stood in the center. Her face was radiant with the divine joy of the moment, and her voice, soft and melodic, carried a deep resonance.

»O, dearest friends,« she began, »today we have witnessed a love so pure, it cannot be named by words alone. The union of Radha and Krishna is the union of all souls with the Divine. No worldly longing, no earthly pain, can touch this love. It is beyond time, beyond space. It is the very essence of rasa, the nectar that sustains the universe.«

As she spoke, the others began to hum in unison—a soft, continuous melody that filled the room like a wave of sweetness. The sound was the voice of the heart, vibrating in perfect harmony with the divine love they had just observed.

Pyari Kripa Sakhi, her voice sweet and soft, added, »O Radha, you are the river of love. Krishna's flute has found its home in you. You are the secret nectar, the treasure that even the gods desire. Your embrace is the meeting place of heaven and earth, where longing and fulfillment become one. Today, we have seen this truth with our own eyes.«

As Kripa’s words hung in the air, Rami Sakhi, ever bold and radiant, joined in with a playful smile. »But let us not forget, dear friends,« she teased, »that Krishna, the Divine Lover, has won the hearts of the sakhis, too. His flute sings to us all, each note a declaration of his love for Radha, and yet, we are each touched by it in our own way. Who among us has not felt the pull of that sweet melody, drawing us closer to the Divine?«

The sakhis giggled softly at Rami's words, but it was a giggle born of love, born of recognition of the divine play at work. Krishna, in his infinite sweetness, had indeed awakened their hearts, but in doing so, had led them all back to Radha—the one true embodiment of love.

Radha, who had been resting with her head on Krishna’s chest, smiled softly as she listened to her sakhis speak. She raised her eyes to the group, her gaze warm and filled with affection.

»Krishna and I are but reflections of each other,« she said, her voice low and gentle. »Wherever He goes, He carries my love with Him. Wherever I go, I carry His love within me. Our union is not of this world—it is the very essence of the universe itself. Without Him, there is no me, and without me, there is no Him. We are one, inseparable, eternal.«

The sakhis were silent, their hearts trembling with the power of Radha’s words. And then, as if moved by some unseen force, they began to sing—an offering to the divine love they had witnessed, an offering to Radha and Krishna.

The song was sweet and soft, like the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. It spoke of the purity of Radha’s love, of Krishna’s divine play, and of the union that transcends all things. Every note was infused with devotion, every word a prayer.

Krishna, who had been listening in secret from the shadows, now stepped forward, his heart touched by the beauty of the song. His eyes were filled with emotion, and a smile—gentle and knowing—spread across his face.

»O sweet companions,« Krishna said, his voice low and tender, »your love for Radha and me fills my heart with such sweetness. I cannot resist the melody you weave with your devotion. But know this: though I am the flute, and though Radha is the river, it is the love you all give that makes this lila so complete.«

The sakhis turned to Krishna with bright smiles, their hearts overflowing with joy.

»O Thakur ji,« Lalita said with a playful wink, »you have played your flute beautifully, but today, it is not just your music that has stolen our hearts. It is the love you and Radha share, and the love you allow us to be a part of. This is the true melody—the one that binds us all in the sweet embrace of devotion.«

Krishna laughed softly, a deep, loving laugh that seemed to fill the room. »You are right, Lalita. It is love, above all else, that creates this divine symphony. And I, too, am but a humble instrument in the hands of love.«

And with that, the sakhis began to sing again—this time, a song that celebrated not only Radha and Krishna’s divine love but the love they had all come to know, together.

The end.