The secret blooming in the Nikunj (1/4)

In care of Ram das

Introduction

In this lila-katha you will listen to a wide range of sweet pastimes of Radha and Krishna.

In the sacred nikunj, Radha and Krishna engage in intimate divine lilas, their love unfolding like poetry in motion—hidden in metaphors, sweet and fragrant like the blossoms around them. Surrounded by their devoted sakhīs, the lovers express their longing through teasing, touch, and tender union, where Radha's golden pitchers and Krishna’s flute meet with divine harmony. The sakhīs, each embodying a unique shade of devotion, do more than watch—they serve, stir the rasa, and participate in the divine mood, sometimes even playfully debating who among the lovers holds greater charm.

The lovers’ lila reaches passionate heights, then softens into deep stillness, where Radha and Krishna rest in each other's arms, their union echoing eternal love. The sakhīs care for them with devotion—bathing, clothing, and singing praises.

Later, in the Rang Mahal, they recall the lila with poetic joy, and Krishna, overhearing them, is moved by their love. The boundaries between seer and seen dissolve: love flows in all directions—between Radha and Krishna, and between them and the sakhīs. Their divine intimacy becomes not just a secret, but a shared sacred celebration of eternal love and the bliss of seva-bhāva.

Podcast

Chapter 1: The Secret Blooming in the nikunj

It was the soft golden hour of the Vrindavan afternoon. The sun had begun to dip, painting the forest in hues of pink and amber. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wild jasmine and kadamba blossoms, stirring the leaves like whispers of hidden joy. In this enchanted atmosphere, the sakhis were busy preparing a secret grove deep within the heart of the nikunj—a secluded bower known only to the most intimate companions of Radha and Krishna.

»Today,«, whispered Lalita with a mischievous gleam in her eye, »let us prepare the nikunj for a most intimate meeting. The way Swamini smiled this morning… I know she longs to be with Shyam Sundar.«

Visakha giggled, placing petals carefully upon the soft earth. »And Krishna has been restless since dawn. He asked me three times if Radha would come. His flute has not rested.«

The sakhis, each devoted to the happiness of the divine couple, decorated the grove with tender hands and eager hearts. Vines were woven into garlands, lotus petals were spread like a royal carpet, and golden cushions were laid beneath the flowering canopy. The forest itself seemed to breathe with anticipation.

Soon, Radha, shy yet radiant, arrived—led gently by her sakhis. Her eyes, though downcast, glowed with expectation. Not far behind, Krishna emerged, veiled in playful mystery, his flute resting at his waist, his smile knowing.

The moment their eyes met, the world stilled. No words were needed. The sakhis quietly stepped back, hiding behind trees and leafy veils, though their hearts remained in the center of that sacred stage.

Krishna approached her slowly, like a bee drawn to the most fragrant lotus. »Priye,« he whispered, »have you brought your nectar again to drive me mad?«
Radha turned her face, half in jest, half in shyness. »It is you who stirs this nectar with your restless glance.«

They laughed together, their voices were like the play of flutes and ankle-bells. Then, in that divine secrecy, the keli began—full of sweetness, teasing, and deep love. Krishna, fascinated, admired the soft lotuses of Radha. He touched them gently, as if they were fragile blooms filled with hidden honey. Radha resisted playfully, pushing him away, but her laughter betrayed her delight.

»Shyam!« she scolded, breathless, »Your hands are more mischievous than your flute!« »And yet,« Krishna murmured, drawing closer, »both know how to please you.«

From the leafy shadows, the sakhis watched, captivated. One sakhi, Sri Hari Priya, clutched her chest with joy. »How beautiful,« she sighed. »How complete. Their love is beyond the dance of words.«

Lalita wiped a tear from her cheek, whispering, »To serve this keli… to see it unfold… is the highest treasure of our lives.«

As Krishna massaged Radha’s lotus gently, and the divine nectar flowed, the grove itself seemed to sigh. The breeze slowed, the birds quieted. The entire creation paused to witness their sacred union.

Sri Hari Priya Sakhi stepped forward slightly, her eyes shining with devotion. »I offer my life,« she said quietly, »to this keli. May you two be immersed in each other—day and night, moment to moment. Let every breath I take be for your pleasure.«

The other sakhis joined her, their voices soft but resolute. »We give up all our joy, our comforts, ourselves. What is happiness, if not your smile, Radhe? What is life, if not your touch, Kanha?«

Krishna turned for a moment, smiling at them. »Without you, my dear sakhis,« he said, »this keli would never bloom. You are the breeze that fans its fire, the flowers that sweeten its fragrance.«

Radha, her face glowing with love and softness, reached out a hand to them. »Come close, my beloved friends. Share in this rasa. For your devotion, your sweetness, your every effort… is the garland that binds me to Him.«

The grove lit with golden light, though no sun remained. The keli continued in a stillness beyond time, with laughter, with sighs, with tears of joy.

And the sakhis, surrounding them like petals around a divine blossom, knew they had witnessed something eternal.

Chapter 2 of the devotional-romantic narrative introduces Pyari Kripa Sakhi and Rami Sakhi, who playfully take sides and become participants in a sweet and poetic competition over who is the greater lover—Radha or Krishna.

Chapter 2: The Divine Duel of Love

The moon had fully risen, casting silvery light through the lattice of flowering vines in the nikunj. The breeze, now cooler, carried the scent of jasmine and the subtle perfume of sandalwood from Krishna’s limbs. In the soft glow of night, the divine keli of Radha and Krishna continued—each glance, each sigh a new verse in the poetry of eternal love.

Watching from a shaded arch of foliage were two sakhis—Pyari Kripa Sakhi, Radha’s ever-loyal servant with a tongue sharp as a jeweled dagger (Dolch) and a heart tender as milk-laden clouds, and Rami Sakhi, spirited and clever, always ready to defend Krishna with her wit and loyalty.

They sat nestled in the vines, heads leaned close, whispering with playful fire.

»Tell me, Rami,« Pyari Kripa Sakhi said with a sly smile, »how can your Thakur ji claim to be the best lover when he gets tangled in Radha’s veil every other moment like a confused calf?«

Rami raised her eyebrow. »Ha! And what about Swamini? She melts at the mere sound of Shyam’s flute—hardly the behavior of a champion in love!«

Pyari Kripa Sakhi smirked (grinste). »Melting is the true victory. He plays; she becomes the raga.«

They giggled, then leaned in closer, watching the scene unfold in the heart of the grove.

Krishna, ever the connoisseur of Radha’s beauty, was now seated beside her, gazing with adoration. His fingers, lithe (geschmeidig) and warm, wandered to the crest of her twin lotuses—so soft, so fragrant, so filled with hidden sweetness. With a mischievous glance, he began to circle the tips with feather-light fingers, coaxing (schmeichelnd) them into bloom, as one might gently tease open the morning petals of a dew-kissed flower.

Radha inhaled sharply, her cheeks flushing like the inside of a rosebud.

»Radhe,« he whispered, »your… your nectarous tips are so… deliciously petallated—no, I mean pulsanated—I mean… pulpy!«

Radha blinked, then burst into laughter. »Pulpy?! (breiig) Krishna! Are you praising me or describing a ripe mango?«

Even Pyari Kripa Sakhi couldn’t help herself. She clutched (umklammert) her stomach, laughing until tears brimmed in her eyes. »Oh Rami, your hero has been defeated by his own tongue!«

Rami groaned (stöhnte). »He was overwhelmed by divine rasa! He is not used to such lotuses. Give the poor boy a chance.«

»Ah, but the battlefield of love does not allow stammering generals,« Pyari Kripa Sakhi replied smugly (süffisant).

Then, as if to answer the unspoken challenge, Radha straightened, her eyes shimmering with playful dominance. She tilted Krishna’s chin up and brought her lips close—not to kiss, but to whisper devastating sweetness.

»Shyam,« she purred (schnurrte), »your skin holds the musk of midnight, your eyes are the blueprint of mischief, and your heart… your heart beats only because mine commands it.«

Krishna blinked once. Then again. He tried to speak—but his voice caught in his throat.

Radha leaned even closer, her fingers tracing the edge of his lower lip. »Even the moon blushes when it sees your smile,« she continued. »And your touch, though it trembles with desire, still remembers the rhythm of the stars.«

A sigh escaped Krishna’s lips—soft, unguarded, blissful. His head tilted (kippte) back, and his limbs slackened, as if the sweetness of her words had poured into his very bones.

»He’s gone,« whispered Rami Sakhi.

Krishna now lay on the soft moss of the grove, flat on his back, his peacock feather tilted sideways, his breath shallow, eyes half-lidded. He looked like a warrior struck not by arrows, but by compliments too potent for the mortal frame.

Radha, graceful and victorious, sat atop him, like Lakshmi upon the lotus throne, her silken veil flowing behind her, a regal smirk (königliches Grinsen) gracing (schmückend) her lips.

»Behold,« Pyari Kripa Sakhi whispered with reverence, »the Queen of Rasa, seated upon her conquered King.«

Rami sighed in mock defeat. (Rami seufzte in gespielter Niederlage.) »Even I must admit… today, Radha has won the love-battle.«

Krishna, barely able to lift his hand, murmured with a drowsy smile, »With such words, who needs nectar? Radhe… you are not just the best lover… you are the love itself.«

Radha leaned down, brushing her nose against his. »Then let your love rise again… for the night is still young.«

From the branches above, the flowers quivered with delight. The sakhis erupted in soft giggles and joyous whispers, their hearts full of devotion and delight.

Thus, in the moonlit nikunj, where divine passion met poetic play, Radha emerged as the sweet victor, her love not just returned—but gloriously surrendered to.

And the stars above, blinking with wonder, bore witness to a night where the goddess of love danced upon the chest of God himself.

To be continued 😊.

This lila is inspired by Mahavani, verse 55-56 (Opens in a new window)