PAVITRA -- Microfiction

Bustling with energy, the elated Pavitra is running in and out of the small parlour, delightfully decorated with fresh marigolds and musky roses from corner to corner. She checks the small hawan-mandap and then dashes out to supervise the guys putting up the neon LED sign-board which reads:  ‘BARSANA’, in bold yellow capitals, followed by “Kanu’s Shringaar Parlour” in a smaller italicized font. Back inside,  she quickly scans the display-cases neatly stacked with bright coloured ‘poshaks’, in different sizes, fabrics, and ornamentation. Then, she just opens and shuts the glass wall-cases full of the small intricate jewelry and other n number of accessories.  Pavitra looks at her watch, bites her lip and calls out, “Nanduuuuu, get the Prasad ready!” Finally, she opens the huge octagonal glass box, fixed on the top of the high sandalwood platform in the centre of the parlour, and runs her fingers on the bottles, boxes, brushes and pens to be used for the shringaar of Krishna. The top of this box is bound in a red and yellow velvet cloth, covered with fresh rose and marigold petals. This shall be used as Kanu’s seat, when she will be giving him his shringaar –the highest work of art, as she believed. She rushes through the rear door of the parlour into the adjoining bedroom, which has been her workshop these three years. She briskly slips into a lovely yellow and gold lehnga-blouse with a coral bandhani dupatta, quickly brushes her beautiful curly hair, and darkens her already kohl- lined eyes a little more, murmuring, “I know you love my eyes!” When she returns, the huge crystal bowl full of fresh makhan-misri is ready, awaiting Pavitra’s approval. She looks at it, smiles and whispers, “As sweet as you!” The guests are still pouring in; each one holding a small basket housing their enchanting little laddoo gopal, chanting “Radhe Krishna!” when the pooja begins. The cloying fragrance of flowers, the mantras in Ganesh Pandit ji’s ringing voice, and the divine presence of Kanha have made the small parlour a literal heaven. Pavitra is absent mindedly performing the hawan and musing, “I am all yours Madhav! My art belongs to you… my brushes and pencils move to the tune of your flute. I had no idea this would happen to me, when Mohit ditched me three years back… I was distraught and repented my elopement with him at the ridiculously silly age of 16 –I had neither any education, nor money… But then, you came to my rescue. The first time I took you in my hands for shringaar, I fell in love with you and realized the true meaning of love, of my own self, and of my life –I understood that you had planned a new life –a pure life for me, after the ruin.  Just be with me, Krishna. I’m going to do nothing but ‘YOU’ for the rest of my life. You are the love of my life! The city knows me by your name.. Let me actually be your Pavitra!”