Dearest Bhuvan Sundaram,
I call you that because you are that indeed, the most handsome man in the world, with your shyam (dark) complexion, tall stature, mor pankh (peacock feather) and eternal bansuri (flute). To the world you are God, to poets you are the eternal muse, but to me you are simply the boy with the smile that knows all my secrets and the music that calls me home.
Your childhood escapades bring a smile to my face – my makhan chor (butter thief) sharing the stolen butter with the monkeys, hiding clothes while the gopis (milkmaids) bathed, and grinning innocently as you ran away. Invariably a rule breaker, you did it with the ease and panache of someone who knew that love was the only law worth following. Every prank of yours was a promise that life was an act of playfulness, love could tickle, and that there could be sweetness inherent in chaos.
Time slipped like the sand between our fingers and then came the rebellions of your youth – when you lifted the Govardhan Hill on your little finger to shelter your people, defying even Indra himself. You danced with danger, slaying demons like Kaliya and Keshi as if they were nothing more than shadows in your path. And finally, you faced your tyrant uncle Kansa, ending his reign with the quiet certainty of someone born to protect. Your defiance was never for pride — it was always for love.
The way you swept Rukmini off her feet was nothing less than a miracle. Without even seeing you, she swooned in love, just like I do. You dared to abduct her and elope with her from right under the nose of her brother, Rukmi, who wanted her to marry Jarasandha, his ally. The way you transformed Arjuna into Brihadala for this purpose was mischievous, but it also served another greater purpose – to prepare him for the role of a transgender in King Virat’s court during his agyat vaas (incognito exile).
You stepped in to save your sakhi (female friend), Draupadi’s honour during cheer haran (disrobement). I wish you would save the honour of every woman, not by providing her a piece of cloth but by empowering her to fight her own battles. Grant me that power, oh love!
You were always in favour of peace, the shanti doot (messenger of peace) whom the Pandavas sent to Duryodhana to negotiate for five villages. What did Duryodhana do? He thundered that he would not give even land to the tune of a needle’s tip. He put you in chains, disregarding the principles of hospitality and put you behind bars. And you? How did you reciprocate? By replacing Dushashana in the prison in your place. You showed Duryodhana yourself in every person present in the courtroom, thus, displaying your maya (magic).You showed the devil his fate hovering before his eyes.
You perhaps inspired Chanakya, the great strategist who helped Chandragupta Maurya found the Mauryan dynasty. You were the contriver who helped the Pandavas every time they were in a quagmire. You were the one who brought about the great war of Dharma at Kurukshetra. You were just Arjuna’s charioteer in the war, vowing not to participate in the war, but you were the one around whose fingertips the entire battle scheme revolved.
You had warned Shakuni Mama that in this war every chhal (trickery) would be equally answered by kapat (fraud), and you kept your word till the end. Your Geeta Saar forms the foundation of many of your followers today. Yet you remain one in whom a lover can lose herself without losing her identity.
You had profoundly told a distraught Mata Gandhari, “Jeevan bhar maine mataon ke adhirvaad ko sweekar kiya hai, aaj main is mata ke shrap ko bhi sweekar karta hun” (the whole life I have accepted the blessings of mothers. Today I accept this mother’s curse, too). You welcomed her curse for being the reason behind the slaughter of all her hundred sons. You knew it would spell doom for your dynasty, and that your kingdom, Dwarka, would be submerged in the sea. Yet you accepted the condemnation with alacrity. That was the generosity and largeness of your heart. That is the kindness and magnanimity that I admire.
In doing this, you showed to the world that even the immortals are not beyond the consequences of their karma (actions). When gods have to suffer for their doings, what chance of escape do we mortals have? Just like you, I have accepted all the sufferings, tests and testimonials you have sent my way.
My only wish is to find you in the afterlife, if indeed there is something called life after death.
Till then, I continue to love and admire you like one drunk on madira (alcohol).
One of your sakhis, hoping to remain yours forever.
By Richa Verma
Richa is an online English teacher, independent blogger, voracious reader, movie buff who is smitten with wanderlust, and a homemaker. She can be contacted through her email address richavermamh@gmail.com
