Yellow and red rush through the air, water drenches my clothes, laughter echoes and the sound of your golden anklets dances across the courtyard. The jingling melody arrests my attention; your feet make a special sound that cuts through the noise. My hands lift up two fistfuls of powder, red and blue- their aim is certain, to rub the colour to your fair cheeks, upon your dark hair and to see you smile. Yet the heart trembles, the triumphant bells of your anklets have already defeated the most daring of men. A bevy of angels surround you and they will not let any man pass. No man dares, for your eyes are enough to hold him in a trance, making him forget his confidence and daring. My dear man, you cannot come close to such divinity, you are not worthy and you know it.
Though your eyes are gracious, yet the men understand that they cannot approach such a divine face, without becoming the mockery of sharp eyes. If the eyes do not suffice, then the words will surely follow. Hey you there, where are you going? Are you blind you clown? Where is the Swan with all its grace and where the Crow? The fools who have taken a step forward have been stopped in their tracks by the laughter of your guard. Look at this Hero they jeer and smother him with paint and water. What is this agony? That you should be within my reach and yet I am unable to move. Your dark smouldering eyes have reached out and captured my soul, more forcefully than this strong body of mine made of flesh and bone.
The evening breeze blows across the lawn, fragrant from touching the roses. The trees sway asking to take part and the branches lean down. When the colours splash across the leaves, the branches rise in grateful acceptance. Two friends throw one of your angels into the water tank, she screams in delight, the water soaking her clothes. Others move to defend her, leaving you alone under the tree.
It is now or never.
The guard has been cleared; others are chasing one another around the courtyard, near the tree, around the water tank. You are a little out of breath- red runs down your white dupatta and your black hair is tinted blue. A deep orange covers the sky and it appears that all of nature stands still for this moment. What is this maddening joy I feel in your presence? Where does it come from? No words are necessary, just to be near you is enough and yet...I move forward, my fists tight with colour. You see me approach. My feet do not falter. You are before me and no one will stop me. You lift your eyes and see my purpose. You run. The jingle of your anklets leads me down the slope towards the stream. I catch hold and lift you in both my arms, spinning you around; you are high above my head laughing in protest. We are alone. I put you down and colour your hair, forehead and cheeks. You are out of breath and when you look up, you ask.
-Aap mujhe es tara qu dekhte ho?
(Why do you look at me like that?)
-Meh tumhe humesha esi tara dekhta rahunga.
(I will always look at you this way.)