The secret blooming in the Nikunj (2)

In care of Ram das

Foreword

The verses of the book ›Mahāvāṇī‹ are hiding a pastime behind the lines. The practice of the rasik devotees is to meditate upon these lines and to pray to Radhey ju and Thakur ji to reveal the līlā behind these lines. Please note, that Radha-Krishna are playing infinite līlās, endlessly, unbound, unlimited. So, any līlā that may occur in your inner vision is a līlā that is performed by Radhey ju and Thakur ji. If not, they will be happy to perform it.

The following līlā is an expanded and richly detailed storytelling version of the scene told in Mahāvāṇī. It weaves in a sweet narrative leading up to the divine keli, while involving the sakhis as living, emotional participants. This pastime follows the vani, the words of the saintly book to connect to the stream of rasa flowing from the mahajan siddha-purush Śrī Harivyāsa Devācārya, the author of Mahāvāṇī.

Find here part 1. (Abre numa nova janela) (Chapter 1+2)

Podcast (part 2 / chapter 3 and 4)

Chapter 3: The Sweet Revenge of Shyām

A continuation where Kṛṣṇa, still reeling from his poetic defeat, plans a mischievous revenge on Rādhā. The sakhīs once again play their delightful roles as facilitators, commentators, and participants in this ever-deepening līlā.

The night lingered, heavy with rasa and fragrance. The nikunj, still echoing with the soft laughter of sakhis and the sighs of the Divine Couple, had quieted into a dreamlike stillness. The air was warm with jasmine, and the moonlight bathed everything in a silver glow, like love’s own light.

Krishna lay still beneath Radha, half-dazed from the sweetness of her victorious flirting. But while his limbs remained surrendered, a storm of ideas was stirring behind his lotus-petal eyelids.

»Radhe defeated me with her tongue… her words were arrows, dipped in honey and strung with stars,« he mused (grübelte). »But this Shyam is no ordinary lover. Let her enjoy her throne—for now.«

Suddenly, a flicker of mischief (Unfug) lit his face. Slowly, he opened one eye. Then the other. He smiled.

Radha noticed at once. »Oh?« she said, raising an eyebrow. »The vanquished awakens?«

Krishna groaned dramatically. »The vanquished may rise... but only to become the victor once again.«

Radha laughed, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. »Big words from someone who forgot how to breathe ten minutes ago.«

Just then, Rami Sakhi, always tuned to Krishna’s playful moods, leaned in from the shadows. »Thakur ji,« she whispered, »shall we help you regain your crown?«

Pyari Kripa Sakhi, hearing this, narrowed her eyes. »Rami! Don’t meddle (sich einmischen). Radha just won with dignity and sweetness.«

»Oh no,« Rami said with a wink (Zwinkern). »Now it’s Krishna’s turn to stir the nectar pot.«

Krishna sat up slowly, Radha still perched (saß) lightly on his lap like a queen inspecting her subject. His hands slipped to her waist with a practiced grace (mit geübter Anmut). »Tell me, Radhe,« he said sweetly, »do you remember your promise to always tell the truth?«

Radha tilted her head. »What truth?«

»The truth of how much you desire Me,« he said, leaning forward.

She chuckled (kichert). »That truth dances in my eyes, Shyam. But only those who can handle it may see.«

»Then let me open those eyes wider,« he said, and before she could protest, he flipped her gently, laying her back onto the bed of petals, her veil slipping just enough to reveal the glimmer of her golden shoulder.

Radha gasped (keuchte)—not in protest, but delight.

The sakhis gasped too, though they quickly hid behind vines, peeking with wide, sparkling eyes.

Krishna now hovered above her like a monsoon cloud, promising more than rain. With a devilish grin, he slowly leaned in and—without a word—began to softly circle the tips of her twin lotuses with the back of his fingers, tracing them like sacred yantras, as if unlocking a secret mantra only he could chant.

Radha shivered. Her breath caught in her throat.

»Still feel victorious?« he murmured, now switching to his lips—softly teasing, gently flicking, awakening every secret sweetness from the lotus tips.

»You’re… cheating,« she whispered, her voice trembling.

Krishna smiled. »All is fair in love and keli.«

Then, for a final blow, he whispered in her ear:

»Your tips are like… like two divine melons of glory. I mean—glories of melonity—no!—melony of glorness… oh Bhagavan!«

Radha blinked—and then broke into the most uncontrollable laughter. Her whole body shook with delight, and even the surrounding vines seemed to sway with joy.

From behind the tree, Pyari Kripa Sakhi nearly collapsed with laughter. »Did he just say glorness?! Oh Rami, your hero is back to inventing Sanskrit!«

Rami grinned (grinste). »He’s not wrong. He speaks the secret language of love intoxication.«

Krishna pouted (schmollt). »It’s unfair! Her laughter is more disarming than her praise.«

Still, he persisted. He kissed his way down the slope of her bosom, whispering apologies into the valley between her lotuses. »Forgive me, Radhe. My tongue forgets itself when it touches your sweetness.«

Radha, still smiling, pulled him close. »Then let it forget forever.«

And in a swift, passionate motion, she wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him down, her heart pressed to his, her breath like silk on his cheek.

Now they were entwined, neither victor nor vanquished—just two eternal lovers, lost in the forest of each other’s fragrance.

But still, the sakhis watched.

»Well,« whispered Pyari Kripa Sakhi, »Radha may have lost the throne, but she’s won the war.«

»No,« said Rami Sakhi, »they both lost… and that’s how they win.«

And as the grove sighed with their sighs, the moon climbed higher, casting its gentle blessing upon the battlefield of love—where every touch was sacred, every laugh divine, and every defeat a sweeter form of victory.

Chapter 4: The Game of Separation and Teasing

The sakhis take center stage and orchestrate a new playful lila to stir deeper rasa—this time turning the tables on Krishna, teasing him, and drawing out his longing through clever games.

The night slowly surrendered to the early blush of dawn. A golden-pink light crept through the forest canopy, touching the flowers and cooling the warmth left by the Divine Couple's embrace. Somewhere, a cuckoo sang a shy note. The forest was waking, but the rasa in the nikunj had only deepened.

In the secret clearing (geheime Lichtung), Radha lay with her head nestled against Krishna’s chest, her long dark braid curled like a vine across his shoulder. Krishna, half-asleep, wore the peaceful expression of one who had just bathed in the ocean of prem.

But not far away, the sakhis were already whispering among themselves, their eyes alight with mischief.

Lalita, always the master of schemes (Pläne), leaned close to Visakha, Pyari Kripa Sakhi, and Rami Sakhi. »Listen, sisters. Shyam thinks he’s reclaimed his throne. But what if we stir the nectar pot a little more?«

Pyari Kripa Sakhi clapped softly. »Aha! You read my heart. Let’s make the crowned king dance a little for his jewel.«

Rami Sakhi, not one to miss the fun, grinned. »Yes! Let him taste separation, then hunger, then a shower of teasing. Let’s see how long he lasts without Radha’s touch.«

The plan was set.

Soon, Radha was gently stirred from her dreamy state. The sakhis gathered around her, whispering their idea in delighted tones. At first, Radha hesitated—smiling shyly at the thought of denying Krishna even for play—but then, with a sparkle in her eyes, she agreed.

Krishna awoke to find no one beside him. The grove, just moments ago filled with breath and whispers, now stood silent. No laughter. No scent of Radha’s skin. Only the faint impression of her body in the grass and a single flower left behind—her favorite blue lotus, still warm.

»Radhe?« he called, his voice soft, still husky from the night.

Silence.

He sat up, a mild panic blooming in his chest. He searched the grove. No sakhis, no giggles behind the vines. Just emptiness—and the growing ache of longing.

Then, from somewhere above, a voice rang out:

»Why does Thakur ji look so lost? Has his moon vanished?«

It was Lalita, perched on a branch like a teasing parrot. She tossed (warf) down a flower that landed on Krishna’s chest.

He looked up. »Lalita, where is my life? Where is Radha?«

»Oh, she has gone to bathe,« Lalita answered sweetly. »Her skin still smells like your mischief. It must be washed in Yamuna's grace.«

Just then, Rami Sakhi approached, holding a small fan. »But if you are so desperate, Shyam, perhaps we can help… by reminding you of her in ways that torment and delight.«

Krishna narrowed his eyes. »What are you plotting?«

»Oh, just a game,« said Pyari Kripa Sakhi, stepping out from the trees, holding a long silk ribbon. »We’ll bind your hands, blindfold your eyes, and one of us will touch you—just slightly. You must guess: is it Radha… or not?«

Krishna raised an eyebrow, a slow smile growing on his lips. »A cruel game. But I accept.«

In moments, the playful trap was set. His hands were gently tied with lotus silk, a blindfold of Radha’s own veil wrapped over his eyes.

The sakhis giggled like river girls at festival time.

Then the game began.

First, Visakha crept (kroch) forward and placed a single fingertip against Krishna’s neck. He shivered.

»Radha,« he whispered.

A burst of laughter erupted. »Wrong!« Visakha cried.

Next, Lalita brushed a flower across his cheek.

»Radha,« he said more urgently.

»Wrong again!«

Then Rami Sakhi dared to press her nose against his throat, inhaling the sandal scent of his skin.

»Radha,« Krishna gasped.

»No, no, and no,« she sang. »You poor prince of passion.«

Each touch deepened his ache. Each breath without her presence was agony wrapped in sweetness. The sakhis continued, now brushing his lips, stroking his chest, letting him drown in anticipation.

Finally, a silence.

Then a touch—so soft, so electric, it froze his breath. Two fingertips ran across the tips of his own lotuses, the golden-brown nipples on his chest. He arched instinctively, whispering, »Radhe…«

This time, the sakhis said nothing.

But then—her voice, low and teasing, like thunder wrapped in moonlight.

»Your senses are loyal, Shyam.«

He gasped. The blindfold was pulled away.

Radha stood before him, radiant in her fresh garments, her hair still damp from the Yamuna, her cheeks glowing like dawn itself. She leaned in, placing her palm against his chest.

Krishna stared, wide-eyed and breathless.

»I have come not to surrender,« she said with a smirk (Grinsen), »but to claim another victory.«

And with that, she pushed him gently down into the soft grass, straddling him once more—like the moon settling back into its night sky.

The sakhis erupted in laughter and clapping, their plan a perfect success. Rasa had been stirred once more, like milk boiling over in a golden pot.

Krishna laughed, finally, gazing up at her. »You all conspired against me.«

Radha leaned down, her lips brushing his. »No. We conspired to remind you who truly rules this heart.«

Krishna closed his eyes, surrendering once again, not to defeat—but to the divine play of the only One who could ever conquer him.

And in the grove of the nikunj, as the first sunlight kissed the treetops, rasa rose once more—fragrant, teasing, eternal.

To be continued :)