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In the bower the air hangs heavy with bruised jasmine, and the river breathes somewhere past the leaves. Picture a small arbour cottage, a kuñja-kuṭīra, folded into the nikuñja, and a maidservant seated within it, threading flowers onto a slender string. Her hands move, but her whole being is turned toward one thing only: the lotus-feet of Śrī Rādhā. This is the form the tradition asks the heart to put on here, not the watcher but the watched-over servant herself, the kiṅkarī svarūpa, the little handmaid who knows no work but Her work and counts no day except by Rādhā's service.

And now He comes. Śyāmasundara steps into the grove, and the first thing that stirs in Him is not desire but wonder. He looks at these maidens lost in Rādhā's garland-work, and a marvelling rises in Him. "Ahā, how sweet is the mood of these maidservants," He thinks. "They know nothing else but Her service. The whole world of women covets My body, and these ones do not so much as turn their eyes that way, because they are spent entirely upon Rādhikā's lotus-feet." O Mohana, see how You are caught. The one who enchants all the worlds stands here enchanted, undone by a love that does not even reach for Him.

So He tests it, the way only the playful Nāgara, the King of lovers, would. He comes near the mañjarī and speaks softly, as though wounded: "Sakhi, how lonely this grove is. I am greatly afflicted by longing. Come, enjoy with Me here in this kuñja, and make Your life a success." Hear the trap folded inside the tenderness. And hear the answer the pure heart gives without a tremor. "O Nāgararāja, surely Your bodily company is the prayer of every woman alive. But we maidservants taste a sweeter ānanda than that: the joy of watching Your pastimes with Śrī Rādhikā, of serving You during and after Your meeting. Keep me always immersed in the nectar-ocean of Your service. Let me always witness the sweetness of Your union with our Svāminī." This is the servant's whole wealth, spoken plainly: not to be loved by Kṛṣṇa apart, but to serve the love of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa together.

He presses further, because He must see how deep it goes. "Sakhi, those desires will be filled in their time. But even one who knows great pleasure reaches for other pleasures too. No one will find us here. I too suffer, parted from Rādhā. And you, Her maidservant, are nondifferent from Her. Make Me happy with your body." O the cunning sweetness of the Enchanter, who hides a whole examination inside a complaint. And still the kiṅkarī does not bend. "Nāgararāja, this body of mine I have already offered at Śrī Rādhā's lotus-feet. My life I will give You, if my dying would please You. But my body I cannot give, for it is no longer mine to give. Come instead. I will soothe Your pain of separation by helping You meet Śrī Rādhā." See what she will surrender and what she will not. Her life, yes, in an instant; her loyalty, never.

And so she rises and leads Śyāmasundara by the way that only she knows, into Rādhā's own kuñja. Here the tenderest secret opens: prītaḥ svaṁ bhajato 'pi adhikam, that Śyāmasundara is more pleased with the sincere, unshaken devotion of Rādhā's maidservants than with the devotion offered to Himself. He who is self-satisfied and needs nothing still bends to reciprocate the love of His devotees, and so enjoys all His pastimes with them; the gopīs love Him most of all, and therefore with them in particular He plays His most intimate līlā; and the mañjarīs love with a purity the tradition names niṣkaitava, free of every cheating impulse, untouched, pure as molten gold poured fresh from the fire. There is no asking in this love. That is why He cannot stop watching it.

When the maidservant brings the two together, Śyāma turns to Rādhā with a child's delight in His voice. "Rādhe, I had lost My way coming to You, overwhelmed by the ache of separation from You, and this maidservant found Your kuñja for Me. What a wonderful service she has rendered Us. I want to reward her. Name the gift, whatever You think is fitting, and that I will give." And Śrīmatī, glad in Her servant and wishing to show Her girlfriends the greatness of these maidens, answers: "Mohana, all the beautiful girls of Vraja desire You. Today I want You Yourself to reward this maidservant. Kiss her. Embrace her."

Now watch what love does when it is offered the very thing the whole world dies for. He begins to embrace her with great love, and she cries out, "No, no," and slips away. He moves to kiss her, and she will not let it land. The Yugala Kiśora are delighted past words at the sight of her pure flight. Then Śrīmatī says, "Put some of Your chewed betel-leaves from Your own mouth into hers," and when Śyāma reaches to do it, even by play-force, the handmaid presses her lips shut and runs. She will accept no prasāda but Rādhā's; that is her niṣṭhā, her vow, and she will not spend it. Then Svāminī says, "Take off Your garland of forest flowers and hang it round her neck," and when He tries, the maidservant throws her hands up over her head to fend it off. She will wear only what has first touched Her Svāminī, the garland blessed by Rādhā, never Kṛṣṇa's alone.

And do you see, devotee, what has passed in this grove? The embrace she refused, the kiss she dodged, the betel she would not take, the garland she would not wear, every refusal was the right answer to a question the Divine Couple were asking together. The whole tender scene was an examination, set lovingly, watched lovingly; in this way the Yugala Kiśora complete Their testing of the kiṅkarī's pure attitude, and the fortunate maidservant has passed. The reward she would not grab for herself is exactly the reward she has won: to be known, by both of Them, as one whose love cannot be bought or turned or broken.

So it ends not in triumph but in longing, where all true love ends. Kadā mohanaḥ: when, O when. The handmaid of the bower does not say, "He treated me so." She says, "When will the Enchanter treat me so?" The Rādhāvallabha reading names Him here Śrīmohanlāl, the peerless lover and devotee of Śrī Priyājī, and the longing it voices is for the day He will come full of overflowing mahā-prema, embrace this servant, give the kiss, place His own chewed tāmbūla in her mouth, lay His vanamālā upon her neck, the seva of Rādhā remaining always the ground on which Kṛṣṇa's tenderness is received. The whole prize is held out at arm's length and prayed for, never seized. And that distance, that aching when, is itself the proof of the love. For the one who could be bought would have taken the kiss; the one who truly loves only longs to be found worthy of serving, and waits, threading flowers, for the day the Enchanter looks upon her steadiness and smiles.