And so the tale continues...

This post is dedicated to my loving cousin, because she made a big deal.
I must confess, a reason i did not want to spread the word of this blog is because, like most other extracurricular activities, i was providing myself with a loophole that would allow me to stop writing and abandon my current dream at any point. I guess that won't be possible anymore :)
On that note, I respectfully ask you to keep me honest and faithful and never let me rest if i let a few days go by without updating the story of our very own heroine.

__________________________x_______________________



Our heroine was not the only one nurturing the seed that had sprouted deep within her heart. Her mother would tell her how the man of her dreams used to play when he was just a young’un. She would tell of spring curls that crowned an impish rascal and tinkling bells and a mischievous look that disarmed the hardest heart. Of a face covered in butter and a mouth full of sand. Of the little fingers that held such might. In particular, of the littlest finger, that had within it the power to hold up a mountain and lend succor to a trembling village. And most dear to her heart, of a glorious peacock feather, soft as down, with colors that melted from golden purple into a deep, dark red.
These stories that her mother told could not but encourage the crush – but still, not enough. Sometimes a mother is too close for her words to be taken seriously, after all. Sometimes her words of wisdom seem biased and unfounded. So, enter Jiva Goswami and his bardic band. The moment he indeed entered the palace, our heroine felt a thrumming in her heart and her feet, not even consciously, led her bounding down the stairway to the hall, where she saw…
Not the band of bards…
Not her parents the courtiers and the many people paying their respects to a great soul…
Not the beautiful wares the traders brought…
Her eyes were captured.
Everything around her seemed to swirl around and converge into a single small figure held reverently by the Goswami. The entire universe seemed to circle the figure. Faster and faster till it was all a blur. For a moment, nothing seemed to matter, life itself seemed to will itself to end so that she could be one with her love. To an onlooker, it would only have seemed like the little child had tripped and fallen as she was flying down the stairs. But no. She had fallen down in a faint; her spirit had left her body to join with the whole it had somehow parted from.
So she met her true love, one hand on his graceful hip and the other held high above his peacock-feather-adorned head, high above the cows he herded, the gopikas he enchanted and the villagers he protected. His arm, so delicate and small, tapering to a delicate wrist encircled by a golden bangle. His skin the color of the darkest night, a smile that would light up emotions within that could spark a supernova. His gentle, wise eyes, that would bring you back from bliss and make you realize your purpose was not to end, but to give.
And so his eyes told our heroine to come back to her senses, for she had so very much to give the world.

Stay tuned.