The Circle Where No One Danced Alone

The autumn moon that night was fuller than any of them could remember.

It hung low and gold over the Yamuna, and Krishna walked alone along the riverbank, lifted his flute, and played one unbroken note into the stillness.

Everyone heard it

Every gopi in Vrindavan, wherever she happened to be standing.

Mid-task. Mid-conversation. Mid-sleep.

Pots were set down unfinished. Meals left half-served. Husbands and mothers-in-law spoken to mid-sentence and then simply, helplessly, left.

Because the sound reaching them was not the kind of thing you weigh against anything else in a life.

They went out of their houses in whatever they had on. Jewellery half-fastened. And walked to the forest by the river.