The Divine Epistle

The Divine Epistle

By Shristee Singh

Madhva, Madhusudana, Yadava, Yaduranjama.... hummed Radhika as she

dipped the peacock feather in the inkpot. The thin hair on the feather shimmered

with infinite colours as though it resonated with her thoughts. For her,

Madhusudana was the name sweeter than honey. The name that gave her

contentment and filled her with ecstasy.

Sitting peacefully on her verandah overlooking the vast meadows where cows

grazed, her heart was filled with the thoughts of her Kanha. The soft tinkle of

the bells around the neck of the cows created a euphonious melody that was

heard all over Brindavan. Radhika looked at the bhūrja patra where she was

going to pour her heart out. A dry grass flew and got stuck in her long hair that

fluttered with her odhani laced with gota patti. The mild and gentle afternoon

breeze was slowly turning into a flurry. The serene waves lapping on the

Yamuna made the ducks swim quickly to the shore.  

Dipping the quill in the inkpot Radhika started writing yet another letter to the

one and only, not knowing when he would get to read it.

Dear Madhva...

The birch glowed as the words formed like a beautiful painting with clandestine

lines and curls. 

Did you hear that?

The clouds dark as night, bellowing yet again.

Oh, they remind me so much of your beautiful dark colour

 O Meghvarna!

These clouds, from the eastern sky 

hovering over Brindavan,

flying so low, touching every blade of grass 

remind me of your presence, 

making my heart swell.

Bansidhar, was it you?

Was it you who just whistled through the winds

that move so gently even in this harsh weather!

The winds whoosh...

but all I hear is your mellifluous flute.

Ah, the peacock opens up its feather like a majestic fan,

screaming out the glory of the petrichor that rises

like the subtle love you raise in every heart.

Little drops of water are absorbed by the parched land.

The petrichor will subside

but your presence will be felt forever and ever.

The dark clouds swell in the sky,

so does tears in my eye.

I try to hold them back but incessantly they flow...

They flow coming from where I do not know!

Unlike the burble of Yamuna

carrying the sweet waters from the mountains,

silent tears of longing trickle from my eyes.

Tell me O Madusudana, where do they come from?

These sweet tears...

The clouds thunder, O Ghanshayam...

Drop by drop, the water falls on Brindavan's firmament.

O the land is ready to absorb the love showered by the sky.

Resting the quill in the inkpot, Radhika fixed her gaze on the bubbles that were

being formed by the lashing rain in the muddy puddle. Each bubble looked so

beautiful when formed. Some floated for a while before bursting silently. When

it came, when it got erased, no one noticed. One of the bubbles floated for a

very long time. Radhika knew it was the work of Makhanchor, who broke

the matkis for butter as silently as the bubbles broke. 

 

I see you in the dusk and the dawn.

When the cows and oxen graze on Govardhan.

I see your twinkle in the smile of the little ‘gwala’.

Every day, O Padmahasta...

I make the garland of victory, the Vaijayantimala,

Tulsi, Mandar, Kunda, Parijata and Kamal

They wait to be garlanded around thy seraphic self.

My little garden stays in full bloom

Each flower desiring to be just with you.

No words can fill my epistle

That can express the deep longing in my heart.

Filled with vacuum, O Gopal,

My heart is filled only with you.

I feel your presence

In the quiet and the clamorous corners

In every breath, I feel you passing through the trachea

Making way to my heart.

I know it is not me but you breathing in me.

Making my cells hollow and empty

Devouring all my negativity.

Filling with only love.

My lone eyes are no longer full of sorrow 

for I see thee in what can be seen,

also in that which cannot be seen…

O Kamalnayana

Like the rays of the moon that shines bright

and fills the caliginous night with its soothing light

smiling upon us singing lullabies to our aching hearts.

The day you left from Bijvari...

The air was still,

the clouds didn't move.

The calm waves on the Yamuna leapt,

wanting to hold you back.

We looked at the path you took,

Waiting for the dust to rise 

under the rumbling wheels of Akrura’s chariot.

Hoping that you come back.

O Yadava,

 this is not the first lifetime

 that our paths have crossed.

We have met before,

and we will meet again...

and till we meet...

I shall see thee in the eyes of every human that passes by,

I shall hear thy ditty in the song of every bird in the sky.

I shall feel thy presence around like the air that surrounds.

What praise shall I sing for thee 

O Manmohana...

We still dance together 

to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

Whatever work I do O Gopalpriya

You are there in my every front seat.

Today is yet another day, O Madana

when my heart thumbs so hard

with an invisible rhythm that only you can hear...

For you are in me, I am in you!

The hair rises in my body

like goosebumps;

 I know you have thought of me,

Somewhere…

wherever you are there in this cosmos...

A sudden gust of wind came, making Radhika's odhani flutter with force. Her

silky strands came down caressing her face. As Radhika lifted her hands to

settle her hair, the letter and the quill flew in the air. She looked in awe as it

flew high in the sky along with the gale. The epistle and the peacock feather

twisted and twirled in the sky, pirouetting with the ecstasy that Radhika had

filled them with. 

 

"Maybe it will land near his lotus feet somewhere, for I am bound to Brindaban

but my Jagannath is everywhere"; Radhika said with a smile wiping a little tear

that slowly welled up in her eyes. 

  

 

Glossary

Verandah: Portico

Bhūrja patra: Birch bark used for writing in ancient times

Odhani: Veil

Gota patti: Golden lace

Matki: Earthen pot

Gwala: Cowboys

 

A believer of Vasudhaiv Kutumbakam, Shristee Singh is a volunteer for the Art Of Living

family. She infuses the wisdom and learnings from Gurudev Sri Sri Ravishankar into her

writings which makes her work very enriching.

A post-graduate in Economics, she nurtured love for writing for long. Besides writing for her

blog Shristeesphere, she contributes to several online literary platforms winning accolades

and the hearts of many.

Shristee has contributed to a plethora of literary journals and anthologies. She has authored

Savy’s Dream and Beautiful Butterflies published on Storyweaver for level 2 readers. Cosmic

Vibes from chaos to quietude is her debut book on poetry where she has penned the rhythm

of the Big Mind.

She has assisted Yoga Venkatesh in writing three books that have been inspired by Yoga

Sutra of Maharishi Patanjali out of which Mental Health Pandemic is released and others are

in the queue.

Hailing from St.Mary’s Convent, Ramnee, Nainital she had been a constant contributor to

her school magazine. While at Isabella Thoburn College in Lucknow, she was recognized for

her contribution to English Poetry at the Youth Festival of Lucknow Mahotsav. She was a

nominee for the Author of the Year in 2019 and 2022 at StoryMirror. Her story ‘The Golden

Bird’ from the anthology Arising From The Dust has been featured on East London Radio.

Currently, she is an Associate Editor with Chrysanthemum Chronicles. When not writing you

can either find her reading or running, either behind her kids or in some marathon!