By the time she arrived at Madhumati’s house, the sun was high in the sky. The door was opened by Madhumati’s mother, a kind-faced woman with a warm smile.
"Oh, Bhanumati! Madhu is at the temple. She went early this morning. I'm sure she'll be back soon."
Temple? Madhumati, normally allergic to anything remotely spiritual, was at the temple? Something didn't add up.
Bhanumati waited on the porch, nervously picking at the embroidery on her kurti. Finally, she saw her – Madhumati.
But not the Madhumati she expected.
Madhumati emerged from behind a cluster of Bougainvillea, a vision conjured from a dream. The morning sun kissed her skin, lending it a honeyed glow that highlighted the delicate arch of her eyebrows and the gentle curve of her jawline. She moved with a grace that seemed almost effortless, her every step a whispered poem.
Her sari, a rich shade of deep yellow, flowed around her like liquid silk. The gold border, intricately embroidered with peacocks, shimmered in the sunlight. It was a classic drape, modest and elegant, perfectly accentuating her slender frame without revealing too much. The pallu was carefully arranged, falling softly over her shoulder and partially veiling her hair, which was the colour of polished ebony.
But it was Madhumati's face that truly captivated. Her eyes, large and dark like pools reflecting the night sky, held a quiet serenity, a depth of understanding that hinted at a wisdom beyond her years. The single, perfectly round red bindi adorning her forehead added a touch of vibrant beauty, a focal point that drew the eye and spoke of devotion and inner peace.
And then there was the gajra. Strands of fragrant jasmine, woven with delicate precision, encircled her thick braid. The intoxicating scent drifted on the breeze, mingling with the perfume of the surrounding flowers. The white of the jasmine was a stark contrast against her dark hair, highlighting the rich texture and the way it cascaded down her back.
Bhanumati watched, mesmerized, as Madhumati drew closer. She noticed the delicate silver anklets that chimed softly with each step, their subtle music adding to the enchantment of the moment. The way the sunlight caught the tiny gold earrings, shaped like lotus blossoms, that peeked from beneath her hair.
Madhumati's beauty wasn't just about physical perfection. It was the way she carried herself, with a quiet strength and an unwavering sense of self. It was the serenity in her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips, the way she seemed to radiate an inner light.
"Bhanu! What are you doing hidden amongst the flowers?" she asked, her voice as melodious as the temple bells.
Bhanumati laughed, her heart overflowing with affection. "Just admiring the prettiest flower in the garden," she replied, knowing that while the Gulmohar blooms were vibrant and beautiful, they could never hold a candle to the radiant beauty of her friend, Madhumati.
Madhumati smiled, a sweet, innocent smile that Bhanumati had never seen before.
"Bhanu! So glad you came! Come in, come in. I was just praying for Krishna.
Bhanumati stared, dumbfounded. "Krishna? Madhu... do you remember... last night?"
Madhumati tilted her head, a puzzled expression on her face. "Last night? What's there to remember? I just went to sleep and woke up feeling... different. Lighter, somehow. More connected to everything. But why all the questions? Let's get inside! I want to show you the garland I made for Krishna."