The Ballad of the Dark Princess

Hidden from mortals, a pair of eyes,
Rests an unwavering aim on their prize:
A hunter’s mark, pink as a lotus abloom,
That rare catch that’d end misfortune’s reign;
And as the rustling leaves whisper doom,
The stretched string shall bend the bow,
And the hunter shall pause and then let loose the rein
Thus freeing death’s slender steed—the poison tipped arrow.

***
The moon beam breaks itself on the groves of Vrindavana
And scatters into a thousand rays, revealing his Radha;
Beneath a banyan tree, transfixed by the beauty within his reach,
The prime mover checked his action, and reserved his speech.

Like morning dew hanging precariously at the tip of a lotus petal,
His heart tried remaining still, to not let out even a gasp of air;
Oh, to be forgotten by the one you love, is beyond despair!
But, his thoughts didn’t reach his tongue for he couldn’t overcome fear.

A cow mooed in distant grassland and as if on cue:
“Krishna, isn’t it time already to show yourself”, Radha sighed.

“Her sighs raise a tempest in my heart!
And when she bites her lip—softly, ever so softly!—
The earth pulls away from underneath me, and I fall in love!
What joy to know she remembers me and what more, she awaits me!

Gracefully erect, and munching a leaf of tulsi,
Her youth bursts forth with an unassuming modesty:
She is Goddess Spring midst a blossoming Vrindavana,
And there she waits for me, my beloved Radha!

Her hair twines and entwines like two mating snakes,
And falls to the earth in a glorious descent;
In front of that black cascade, her face
Shines like the full moon, resplendent and magnificent;
Between the lines on her neck the poet finds his muse,
And the dreamer, in her eyes, finds an honorable excuse.

I envy the wind when he flirts with you and when you are amused by it,
I envy the dress which gets to embrace you and hold beauty’s gift,
I envy when you let the brook kiss your ankles and I envy its delight,
I envy the flower that adorns your hair, and that leaf of Tulsi you bite;
I envy the thorn and the blade of grass that gets trampled beneath your feet,
I envy that theirs is a life worthy of the sacrifice—a death I can never greet:
Oh, would I forsake my ten lives for one of theirs within a heart’s beat!

“Radha, how long has it been?
I bid you a cold farewell, love,
I had my reasons then, you know;
But still, here you stand before me,
Age hasn’t caught up with you,
But, I feel old, and tired, and hollow.”

The wind howls the heart’s discontent,
But, love is not yet lost nor is the guilt of the repentant;
Time comes between the old and young,
Though, the silence between them holds the promise of forgiveness.


“The poison swills in my body,
And Maya casts her mischief over my eyes;
Though if thou art only a hallucination:
A mere product of an approaching death,
Then I bless the one who ushered in the dreaded visitor;
But, before I ask of thee of one last favor,
Tell me, my splendiferous specter,
Whether you love me still?
For I had once loved and then forgotten,
And for that I seek thy forgiveness, my love, my Radha!”

I am old, and my voice breaks,
My smile, embarrassed, hides behind the wrinkles,
My hands can no more grip my flute,
And my lungs cannot breathe music into it,
But, tell me my love, can you see me,
Do you hear me? I am still Krishna; Radha!”

“Lord, as thy bow shaped lips pronounce my name,
Sprightly and free, it sprouts wings and soars above,
Shooting straight through my heart and rendering it lame…”

“Amidst the voluble gossip of thought,
Through the chaos of the cosmos without,
Involuntarily, as the roar of the sea,
Your name, Radha, escapes from me.”

“Nay not so loud, love, but in a whisper,
Intimately, as a bee’s buzz to a flower.”

“Radha. Radhey. Radhika.”

“Oh, thou hast set ablaze this wooden heart:
A fire that can neither be snuffed by the river of time,
Nor by the tempestuous wind of fate;
Oh, Krishna! At every beat of my heart’s rhyme,
Thou exist: immortal and immaculate.”

“Lord, thy name burns in my heart:
Thou gives the day its light, and the night its fire,
The stars their twinkling and the sun its glory;
Thy name, to whose fame none can aspire,
Enlightens my soul, and warms my body.”

“You speak as only an angel in a dream would,
You do not reproach me, and you are not angry;
Perhaps, it is only in a dream that you would forgive me,
Then so be it, but let me hear it from you: do you forgive me?”

To her eternally betrothed, and her forgetful lover,
Whom she loved and refused to share with none,
What reply would she have given to his plea for one?