Lord Krishna's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Lord Krishna sat beneath the willow with his flute in his lap and no idea what to play. He wanted one melody, the perfect one, the song that would make Radharani Devi confess her love the moment she heard it. But he did not know her heart's tune. Every note he tried felt wrong. A wrong note would leave her cold, and he could not risk that. So he set the flute down and turned to the only ones who knew her better than he did. Her favorite creatures gathered near him. First he faced the peacock, its plumage fanned wide in a bright half-circle. "Tell me," Krishna said. "When she visits you, what sound makes her stay?" The peacock stamped its feet and shook its tail. It liked bold, fast rhythms, drums and quick trills. Krishna lifted his flute and tried a lively run. The bird danced. But he shook his head. That song was for the peacock, not for her. Next he knelt beside the cream-colored cat with the dark points and blue eyes. It wound around his ankles. "And you," he said. "What does she hum when she strokes your fur?" The cat pressed its head to his hand and purred, low and slow. Krishna understood. The cat wanted something soft and steady, a lullaby. He played a gentle line. The cat closed its eyes. Still wrong. That soothed the cat, but it would not stir her heart. He stood, frustrated. Bold or soft, fast or slow, each animal loved a different song. None of them was her song. Then his gaze fell on the swing nearby, the wooden one hung with flowers. She had strung those blossoms herself. He remembered her there, pushing the seat with her toes, humming under her breath while she worked. Not for the peacock. Not for the cat. For no one but herself. The answer had been in front of him. He did not need to guess her favorite rhythm. He needed the tune she made when she thought no one listened. Krishna closed his eyes and reached for that memory. The melody came back in pieces, a rise, a pause, three falling notes. He lifted the flute and played it. The peacock went still. The cat opened its eyes. The willow branches swayed though there was no wind. Krishna knew, deep in his chest, that this was hers. He had found the tune at last. But as the last note faded, a new worry took its place. A melody meant nothing unspoken. He would have to play it for her, face to face, and wait for her answer. And he did not know if his hands would stay steady when she finally listened.