By Sushi
Desperately in love with the neighbor’s wife, Bhola couldn’t sleep all night.
He tossed and turned in his bed trying not to disturb his wife snoring next to him.
Bhola loved his wife too, but how long could a man last without passion?
He slipped out of bed and sat on his favorite rocking chair in the balcony.
Just then, the neighbor’s wife appeared on her balcony.
Her long brown hair caught the blue light of dawn as she mumbled a prayer with lips the color of frangipani flowers.
Had she put on some weight?
The extra flesh on her made her look even more graceful, like the sea at high tide.
Bhola pretended to meditate but his phone beeped.
Some friend had sent him one of those artificial intelligence things.
UNLOCK THE WISDOM OF KRISHNA WITH CHATSONIC.
Did people have no better work to do at dawn?
Bhola stared at the link for a few seconds.
He then clicked on it and typed a question.
“Krishna…is adultery bad?”
Bhola smiled as Krishna typed back.
“Adultery is sin in Hinduism. It is not condoned by the Bhagavad Gita. Radhey! Radhey!”
Bhola typed again.
“Is loving a woman bad?”
Krishna was quick to reply.
“Loving a woman isn’t bad but it should be done with respect and within the bounds of marriage. Radhey! Radhey!”
Bhola laughed.
“Is there a god?”
“Yes, there is. You can find him in the beauty of nature, the love of others and the joy of service.”
Bhola yawned.
“Can I find Him in the woman I love?”
Krishna replied:
“He isn’t limited to any one person.”
Bhola clucked his tongue.
“Why do you play the flute, Krishna?”
“It symbolizes your heart. Empty it of your desires so my divine music plays through you.”
Bhola sighed.
He smelled the strong floral fragrance the neighbor’s wife sprayed on her clothes.
“How do I get rid of desire?”asked Bhola.
“It retreats when you see the futility of it.”
“How?”
“Futile wishes burn a hole in your heart, like a flute maker punches the bamboo.”
Bhola turned around to check if his wife was around, and typed again.
“Krishna…is lust bad?”
“It hinders spiritual growth and is a source of suffering.”
Bhola felt a twinge of fear.
“What suffering?”
“Suffering rises from our attachment to material life.”
Bhola sighed again.
“I want to sleep with the neighbor’s wife.”
“Radhe! Radhe! Find your true purpose in life.”
Bhola’s breath lost its rhythm. He felt feverish yet he typed.
“Why do you scream Radhey Radhey all the time?”
“It’s a traditional greeting. It’s also a way of remembering me. Call out to me if you need me.”
Bhola laughed.
“I am NOT devoted to you.”
“You will remain in a state of ignorance then,”replied Krishna.
Bhola glared at his phone and shot back:
“I am NOT ignorant.”
“Ask me questions pertaining to the Gita.”
Bhola wiggled his fingers and typed.
“What’s with the peacock feather on your crown?”
“It’s beautiful…and holds Shiva’s third eye — which represents insight.”
“A peacock feather is a peacock feather.”
“Not to the wise.”
“Do you know people hurt those birds sometimes, just to steal their feathers?”
Krishna typed right back:
“They are supposed to pick only fallen feathers, those that a peacock sheds on its own.”
Bhola heard the neighbor’s wife hum a song.
He typed on.
“Who cares what one is supposed to do…we all do whatever we want.”
Bhola craned his neck to see her but the fog seeped in.
He knew her phone number. She was in the building’s whatsapp group. He checked the group and added her to his contacts.
When would he call her? His damned wife was forever in the house.
“Krishna…how did you manage Radha with Rukmini around?”
No reply.
Bhola typed again.
“You are naughty, man.”
No reply.
The neighbor’s wife retreated into her living room.
Shucks.
“What if an extramarital affair is my path to enlightenment, Krishna?”
“It can’t be. It is a sin.”
Aha.
Bhola rocked his chair some more, and typed.
“Who says it’s a sin?”
“I do.”
Bhola punched the keypad like a maniac.
“How do you know you are right?”
“Because I always am.”
Bhola growled like an animal.
“Who do you think you are?”
His chair stopped rocking all of a sudden, as if someone had pulled it from behind.
Bhola lost his balance and fell on the floor.
But he didn’t stop typing.
“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“Your wife.”
Bhola gasped for air and exhaled a few times.
He looked up to see his wife’s stormy face.
She leaned on the chair and stared at him as if he were an insect.
“H…h…how…?”stuttered Bhola.
He squinted at his phone again.
He hadn’t switched windows after adding the neighbor’s wife to his contacts list.
“You are typing all your spiritual questions on the building’s whatsapp group,”said his wife.
Damn.
“Err…I was talking to Krishna…I think this app needs improvement because…”
His wife slapped him twice.
Bhola heard the neighbor’s wife laugh from her balcony.
He turned around to see her cover her mouth and laugh some more.
Stupid woman.
Bhola closed his eyes and swallowed his misery.
And when he opened them, he saw his wife lift his favorite rocking chair high up in the air.
Right before it hit him, Bhola cried:
“Radhe Radhe, Krishna…Radhe Radhe!“
But the chair fell on his head, shattering his frangipani flavored dreams.
Bhola shut his eyes in pain to see a peacock feather dance in his mind.
It floated around long enough for Bhola to study its beauty, and Shiva’s third eye.
Had it seared his heart open too…like a flute maker punches the sacred bamboo?
(ends)