O’ Holi Great Holi

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

I woke up lazy, languorous and tried to stand on legs which almost refused to hold me. After a failed attempt to stretch up and be myself again, I gave up and entered the bathroom unsteadily. I heard joyous clamour outside. Some three four loudspeakers blared Hindi film songs- Holi khilat Nandlal- overlapping a distant ‘ Mohe Rangde...O today is Holi! The festival of colours! A day to hug people, exchange sweets, sing and dance to the riotous music of love! A wry smile distorted my face. The bathroom mirror threw up a stranger who stared at me with a swollen right eye. I turned away to the hot shower. I came out and slipped into whatever I lay my hands on, an unpressed silk dress – pyjama and punjabi which was perhaps kept there on top of the table for the laundryman. I realized it after I wore it. Well, how does it matter! I was all alone in the house. My help was on leave for the day.

No morning cup of hot black tea, no breakfast. But I must have something to eat- to survive you know! I found in the refrigerator some apples and grapes. I bit into an apple and sat on the sofa switching on the TV. Noisy scenes of loud revelry, names of candidates for the General Elections and faces covered with thick coats of colours- Saffron, Green and Red. I turned it off.

I closed my eyes, only one face floated around, a face with a slight bump on the beautiful forehead, a shapely sharp nose, pearly teeth, lips unpainted, freshly washed head, perhaps bathed face, a scarf on the wash head and ‘Happy Holi’ in a lilting tone. Fine! My breakfast was over,my languid state got a facelift. I went to my library cum study. What shall I do here? The same face returned from my closed eyes minutes before, and sat on my books, walls, book shelves, pens and on my total being. Who are you? I almost shrieked tonelessly.

Radha! The face looked different now. Changed colours. The lips were now luscious pink, eyes dark deep like the Yamuna in a full moon night. Her eyebrows arched the sky and her cheek bones like two large rubies in an obelisk glowed at me. Her smile was scarlet, she grew a neck. The face assumed a coquettish look standing on a long neck. Then the broad shoulders shapely ivory arms, hands with dainty fingers and a pot bellied damsal standing on pillar legs appeared in no time. I am Radha! Your Radha, she said and vanished.

I laughed out. This time a pain stoked sound came out. Yes, you are my Radha. I know. But where are you? In Jayadev’s Gita Govinda ! Or on the banks of Yamuna waiting for Krishna! Or a figment of imagination of lovelorn sage poets who created you out of airy nothing to beguile their loneliness born out of segregated, sequestered life of contemplation? If you are of flesh and blood, born of a woman’s womb or discovered on the earth by the tip of a plough, or an imagined Energy to propel the wild potency of Krishna or Purusha to joyous creativity- Appear? Are you my Radha? If you are, what are you doing there, in a temple worshipping photo framed gods and goddesses?Yes, you are my Radha with a different name. I have been taken away from you to do what my destiny ordained. You never recognized me. When 29 years ago I played my Bansi you  were deaf you had plugged your ears with roses. When I sent missives you didn’t read them- you read but never understood my Latin. For you destiny had many things in store. But my destiny was stuck there in a moment of frenzy.

I have left Mathura- Vrindavan – Dwaraka. I came to Hastinapur. I played my Kurukshetra. I charioted, sang ditties for many Arjuns. I taught life to many just for you. Maybe you made me teach, write, speak and cry tearlessly in silence. Radha’s energy moved me to sedentary creativity. But...but...I still wait for you on pavements; hotels, home and my room; I cry for you. I could not carve out a home in the forest of houses...

O’ well. What though I failed in creating a home; I live in a house. Let me do what I do best-that is wait and wait and wait!

O’ let us celebrate holi- colourless, listless and yes, Radhaless.