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krishna-sangini · 3 months ago

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That Midnight (Part 1)

“Garima! Where did you stash the puja thalis?” Samridhi’s voice rang out, laced with urgency, as she burst out of the kitchen, a temporary tent they had set up. “We’re so behind schedule, yaar! I need to set them up now!”

Arched over while carefully crafting an intricate rangoli, Garima didn’t even look up. “Bro, you kept them in that room yourself,” she shot back, her tone equally amused and exasperated.

Samridhi froze, her mind racing as the realisation hit her. She slapped her forehead in disbelief, then took off towards the temple complex’s only room with its roof still standing.

The once-forgotten, crumbling temple was alive with laughter and chatter as the ten girls filled the space with their vibrant energy. They had gathered to celebrate the birthday of their beloved Krishna, transforming the desolate place into a lively haven. The temple’s raised platform was framed by four broken pillars, each adorned with intricate carvings that told stories of nature in delicate detail.

At one end of the platform stood a life-sized idol of the Murlidhar, commanding awe with His serene presence. With a flute poised gracefully in His hands, He stood in the classic tribhanga posture—one leg elegantly crossed in front of the other, His upper body gently bent forward. His eyes were closed, lost in the divine music only He could hear, as if the ancient walls were waiting to resonate with His melody again.

The girls had stumbled upon the temple by pure chance. A month earlier, during a carefree picnic, their curiosity led them to wander into the dense forest. What they found was nothing short of a hidden gem—a forgotten temple, its artistic brilliance masked by years of neglect. The moment they laid eyes on the Krishna idol, something deep within them stirred. It was as if they had been here before, in another time, in another life. The idol seemed to beckon them, drawing them closer until they were seated before it, mesmerised. As they sat in its presence, they could almost hear the soft, enchanting notes of Banwari’s flute filling the air, wrapping them in a cocoon of pure bliss.

When Janmashtami approached, the girls knew no other place could capture the spirit of the occasion as perfectly as this temple. It wasn’t just a celebration—it was a homecoming.

In the present, the girls were a whirlwind of activity, transforming the dilapidated temple complex into a vibrant setting for their grand celebration. Dressed in elegant lehengas, they adorned themselves with the thought that their beloved Manmohan was watching. Every detail of their shringar was carefully chosen—each bangle, each jhumka, and each anklet was selected with love. The soft chimes of their bangles and the jingling of their anklets mingled with the gentle rustling of the night breeze, creating a symphony that breathed life into the stillness of the old temple.

They had lovingly prepared a brand-new outfit and intricate jewellery for their Keshav, crafting His favourite makhan the traditional way, just as He would have liked. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of reddish-orange, the girls began lighting small diyas, their ornamented hands moving with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The diyas, lined up along the platform’s edge, flickered to life, casting a warm, golden glow.

The sunset's orange hues slowly surrendered to a deep, serene bluish-black, and the dark sky stretched overhead, adorned with a waning moon. Yet the night seemed unusually bright as if the heavens had blessed their celebration with a luminous full moon, lighting up the temple and the hearts within it.

“Bro, someone give me a lift! I can’t reach this stupid pillar. If it’s this tall even after being broken, it must have been massive back in the day!” Baanhi huffed, holding up an exquisite garland of lotuses, frustration evident in her voice.

The tallest of the group, Manyataa, couldn’t help but giggle as she sauntered over, her pink lehenga swishing with every step, bangles chiming softly. “Short-arse,” she teased, rolling her eyes as she effortlessly bent down and hoisted Baanhi by the waist.

In one swift move, Baanhi hooked the garland onto the pillar, her expression triumphant as she was gently set back down. Without missing a beat, she playfully swatted Manyataa on the shoulder. “Shut it, beech!” she shot back with a grin.

“Ayo, not in the temple, Baanhi!” Kesar scolded, giving her a light tap on the shoulder, her tone half-serious, half-amused. Baanhi’s bravado vanished as she scratched her head sheepishly, her eyes darting to the Krishna idol. “Sorry,” she muttered, as if apologising directly to Him.

“Manyataa, light up those mashaals, will you?” Dhruvi called out, tossing her a matchbox with a grin.

“Why me?” Manyataa groaned, glancing down at her friend with mock annoyance.

“Blame your height,” Dhruvi chuckled, already turning to join Saanjh, who was meticulously arranging the prasad they had prepared on an ornate plate.

With an exaggerated sigh, Manyataa made her way to the four pillars, each adorned with a fire torch. Striking a match, she lit them one by one, watching the flames dance to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the temple’s worn stone walls. The once-shadowed corners of the temple were now bathed in flickering light, the mashaals bringing a vibrant warmth to the sacred space.

The fragrance of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the soft glow of the firelight, creating an atmosphere of tranquillity that enveloped the temple. Once abandoned and forgotten, the ancient structure now felt alive, each corner brimming with the girls’ joyful energy and the quiet reverence of their preparations.

In one corner of the temple, Saanjh and Dhruvi carefully ladled creamy makhan from a large pot into smaller silver containers. Saanjh, focused on filling the last one, was startled by a deep voice behind her. “Wow! All these for me?”

Without thinking, she replied, “Who else do you think they’re for?”

“What?” Dhruvi asked, frowning at her friend, puzzled by the random remark.

Saanjh blinked, finally looking up from the container in her hand. “What did you just say?” Dhruvi repeated, covering the large pot with a lid.

“I…” Saanjh’s voice trailed off as the realisation dawned on her. She glanced around, but there was no one nearby except her friends, all busy with their tasks. She shook her head and dismissed it as her mind playing tricks on her. She shrugged it off and began arranging the filled containers on a large silver tray while Dhruvi moved on to help Soni sweep the temple floor.

But before she could fully refocus, Saanjh felt a gentle tug on her braid. The same deep voice teased her, “I can braid your hair better than you, sakhi. Want to give me a shot?”

Her heart skipped a beat as she spun around, just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a teenage boy dressed in yellow garments disappearing behind one of the pillars, his playful giggle echoing through the temple. Saanjh’s pulse quickened, and she jumped to her feet, clutching her lehenga as she rushed to the pillar, hoping to catch another glimpse of him.

But when she rounded the corner, no one was there. The temple was silent, save for the distant chatter of her friends. The girl sighed, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over her. She shook her head and muttered, “What was I even thinking?”

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Dhruvi and Soni had just finished sweeping the temple floor and were now at the small pond nearby, washing their hands and resting before the grand puja. The pond’s surface mirrored the waning moon, which hung gracefully in the sky, accompanied by a scattering of stars that twinkled like jewels in the night. Lotuses floated serenely on the water, their soft petals creating a tranquil scene. The girls sighed in contentment, the peace of the moment sinking into their bones as they gazed down at their reflections. The gentle breeze stirred the water, causing their mirrored images to shimmer and dance.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Dhruvi noticed something—or rather, someone—beside her reflection. Her breath caught in her throat. There, in the rippling water, was the image of a man. Tall and majestic, he was clad in royal yellow attire, a peacock feather adorning his magnificent crown. Exquisite jewellery glimmered against his skin, but it was his face that held her captive—his celestial smile, so full of warmth and serenity, made her heart skip a beat. He looked like a vision of paradise come to life.

In a trance, Dhruvi reached out to touch the reflection as if she could connect with this divine presence by some miracle. But as her fingers grazed the water, the image dissolved into the ripples she had set off. She closed her eyes, letting a single tear escape. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she wiped away another stray tear, feeling both the loss and the inexplicable joy of the moment.

She turned to Soni, who was staring at her reflection in the pond, her face flushed with emotion, a streak of tears on her cheek. “I must be dreaming, sakhi…” Dhruvi began, her voice trailing off when she saw Soni’s expression mirroring her own—a mix of awe, joy, and disbelief.

“Bro, don’t tell me…” Dhruvi’s heart raced as she searched her friend’s eyes for confirmation. Soni nodded, a joyful laugh bubbling up as she said, “Looks like we’re both dreaming now.”

Dhruvi laughed with her, but curiosity got the better of her. “What did you see?”

Soni’s voice softened as she recounted her experience. While they were admiring the pond’s reflections, she had felt a gentle tug at her dupatta. Turning around, she had seen a boy, no older than seventeen, sitting cross-legged with his chin resting on his hand. His simple yet striking yellow garments, the peacock feather tucked into his headband, and the flute at his waist made him seem like a figure from a dream. But it was his gaze—those fond, adoring eyes that had made her heart melt and her cheeks burn with a mix of shyness and happiness. In a deep, soothing voice, he had said, “You are so beautiful, sakhi.”

Soni had closed her eyes, wanting to capture the moment forever. But when she opened them, he was gone, leaving her both elated and longing for more.

“Our minds are just playing tricks on us, aren’t they?” Soni whispered, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

“Mmhmm,” Dhruvi nodded, though her heart wasn’t fully convinced. She stood up, brushing away the last traces of her tears. “Shall we get going now? Midnight is almost here.”

“Oh, definitely,” Soni agreed, following Dhruvi’s lead as they made their way back, a sense of wonder still lingering in the air between them.

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Manyataa and Baanhi left the temple with two large, decorated earthen pots. Their mission was to collect water from the pond for bathing and preparing the Krishna idol for the upcoming puja. The path to the pond was filled with light-hearted banter and infectious giggles, the night air carrying their laughter. Manyataa was the first to fill her pot, but Agrata called her from a distance just as she finished. She signalled to Baanhi and, with the filled vessel balanced on her hip, made her way back to the temple.

Baanhi, now alone by the pond, went down on one knee, lifting the hem of her lehenga and tucking it securely at her waist. She reached for her pot, ready to dip it into the water, when she suddenly felt a forceful push. Her eyes widened in shock as she lost her balance, her heart leaping into her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the cold plunge into the water, and uttered a loud curse, expecting to be submerged any second.

But instead of the icy splash, she felt a strong hand gripping hers, halting her fall. Baanhi’s anger flared as she whipped around, ready to scold Manyataa for what she thought was a prank. “You think this is funny, Manyat—”

Her words froze on her lips. It wasn’t Manyataa standing behind her. Instead, a young man in his early twenties towered over her, his grip firm yet gentle. His skin was a deep, rich shade, glowing softly under the moonlight, and his deep brown eyes sparkled with a mischievous yet loving glint. A peacock feather adorned his headband, fluttering in the gentle breeze alongside his luscious curls. His divine yellow garments shimmered as if woven from the very light of the moon. Baanhi’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at his ethereal face, her anger melting away into awe.

With a playful wink, the man effortlessly pulled Baanhi to her feet. Her heart raced as she tried to process what was happening, but before she could speak, the man leaned in closer, his voice a soft murmur, “You curse a hell of a lot, huh, sakhi?”

Baanhi’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief as a wave of bliss washed over her. The man chuckled, a deep, melodic sound that sent shivers down her spine. He gently took her hand from her mouth and, with a graceful motion, twirled her around. As Baanhi spun, tears streamed down her face, her emotions overwhelming her as she clutched her dupatta to her chest. But when she completed the twirl and faced him again, he was gone.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her heart a tumultuous mix of grief and euphoria. The pond, the night, and the very air around her seemed to hold the echoes of what had just transpired, leaving Baanhi to wonder if she had truly seen the divine or if her heart had merely conjured a dream too beautiful to be real.

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Garima sat cross-legged before the Krishna idol, her fingers deftly working on the intricate rangoli. She was almost done, the delicate peacock feather design slowly coming to life under her hands. Just as she was adding the finishing touches, disaster struck. A sweeping rustle of fabric brushed across the floor, distorting the intricate pattern she had so carefully crafted. Her heart plummeted, and she froze, her hand suspended in mid-air. Angry tears welled in her eyes as she glared up, ready to lash out at the culprit.

But her fury dissolved the moment she saw him. Seated before her was a tall, dark-skinned young man, his luminous yellow garments shimmering in the soft light. His playful smile was as disarming as it was divine. “Oops! That’s on me,” he said, his voice teasing yet warm. “But don’t worry, sakhi. Use this as a reference, and you’ll complete it in no time.”

Before she could respond, he reached up and gently removed the delicate peacock feather from his headband. With a tender touch, he placed the feather in Garima’s hand. She stared at him, her breath catching in her throat, tears of disbelief and pure bliss filling her eyes. Her gaze shifted to the exquisite feather in her palm, so vibrant and real that it felt like a dream. But when she looked up again, he was gone.

The sudden emptiness hit her like a wave, and a soft sob escaped her lips. “What just happened…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to make sense of the ethereal encounter. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, her heart still racing, and resumed working on the rangoli. But the image of that divine face lingered in her mind, as vivid as the colours she used. “I must be going mad for real,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Need some help with the rangoli, sakhi?” The voice startled her out of her thoughts. Madanmohini stood in front of her with a plate of fragrant jasmines.

“No, I’m good,” Garima replied, quickly composing herself and ensuring her voice didn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

“Cool then,” Madanmohini said, flashing a smile before heading towards the Krishna idol, leaving Garima with her thoughts and the delicate peacock feather still clutched.

Madanmohini placed the plate of flowers on the idol's ornate dais. As she began to decorate the steps with delicate jasmine blossoms, the temple filled with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance that wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. The soft glow of the oil lamps cast a warm, golden hue upon her purple lehenga, making the fabric shimmer. Her dupatta, a cascade of silk, trailed behind her like a peacock's tail.

Suddenly, a gentle tug on her dupatta startled her. She turned to find Agrata, her friend, fumbling with her own dupatta. "Bro, cut it out," Madanmohini muttered, her voice low with irritation.

Agrata blinked, taken aback. "Huh? What did I do?"

"Don't test me right now," Madanmohini replied, her tone sharpening as she returned to her task.

Agrata, still puzzled, quickly retreated, mumbling under her breath, and busied herself elsewhere.

But peace was fleeting. As Madanmohini reached the final step of the dais, a shower of jasmine petals fell upon her as if from an unseen hand. She paused, a sigh escaping her lips. "Agrata, I told you not to bother me," she muttered, her voice tinged with warning. Yet another flurry of petals rained down on her before she could finish.

Her patience snapped. Madanmohini spun around, her eyes blazing with anger. But before she could confront the culprit, a gentle cascade of flowers hit her face. She let out an exasperated yell, ready to unleash her fury on Agrata.

But then she froze. Her eyes locked onto a figure she had only dreamt of—a figure draped in blue and yellow, a peacock feather swaying gently atop his head. His mischievous smile was playful and tender, and he held a small basket filled with lotuses in his hand.

He stepped closer, his presence as overwhelming as it was serene. He plucked a jasmine from her plate and, with a teasing smile, tucked it behind her right ear. "You're so easy to rile up," he chuckled, his voice a melodic lilt.

Madanmohini stood in stunned silence, her breath caught in her throat. He then extended a divinely delicate lotus towards her, his gaze shifting to the idol behind her. "Here," he said softly, "place this on my flute, hmm?"

Her hands trembled as she reached out. His warm touch, lingering a moment longer than necessary, sent a shiver through her. He blew gently on her face as she grasped the lotus, causing her to close her eyes.

When she opened them again, he was gone.

Madanmohini’s heart raced, her mind reeling. She glanced down at the lotus still resting in her palm, its petals impossibly real. With a disbelieving laugh, she approached the idol and carefully placed the flower on its flute, ensuring it would not fall.

"That couldn’t have been real..." she whispered, her heart pounding, her cheeks flushed with a mix of awe and disbelief.

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Manyataa and Agrata stood before the Krishna idol, each holding an earthen pot, their fingers deftly clearing away some of the flower petals scattered at their feet. “Who placed this lotus here? We haven’t even finished bathing Him yet,” Manyataa murmured as she gently removed the flower from the flute. She held it in her palms, her eyes widening in awe. “Dayum…”

Agrata glanced up, her hands busy dipping a clean fabric into the pot. “What is it?” she asked as she began wiping the idol’s feet with careful strokes.

“This… This flower’s…” Manyataa’s voice trailed off, her gaze locked onto the lotus as though it held some unspoken mystery.

“Girl, you can admire that later. Help me get Him ready! It’s almost midnight!” Agrata’s voice was firm, breaking Manyataa’s trance.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Manyataa placed the lotus aside, her fingers lingering on its petals before picking up another clean cloth. Together, they worked in quiet rhythm, Agrata pouring water over the idol’s gleaming form while Manyataa dabbed away the excess, careful not to disturb the delicate floral arrangements beneath.

“Ow! Cold, cold, cold!” A deep masculine voice rang out behind them, startling both girls. They spun around, eyes wide with shock, but the temple only housed their other friends like before.

Their gazes met, filled with bewilderment. “Did you hear that too?” Manyataa asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Agrata nodded though uncertainty clouded her features. “Apparently, we both hallucinated.”

“That’s the only plausible explanation…” Manyataa muttered as she resumed patting the idol dry, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

The girls moved on to dressing Him in garments of blue and yellow, colors that seemed to make the black stone of the idol come alive. Samridhi, rushing into their makeshift kitchen tent, froze at the sight. Her eyes gleamed with wonder. “He looks gorgeous…” she breathed, clutching her heart.

“Right?” Agrata echoed, stepping back to admire their work from a distance.

Samridhi shook herself from her reverie, her feet moving again as she called out, “Make Him more than gorgeous! The puja’s about to start!”

“Yeeees!” Manyataa called after her retreating figure, exchanging a grin with Agrata before they turned back to their task. They adorned the idol with dazzling ornaments, each piece carefully placed to enhance the divine form before them. Agrata finished by sticking a peacock feather into the fresh yellow headband, smoothing out the dark locks beneath it.

After a few minutes of final touches, the girls stepped back, their hearts swelling with emotion. The idol looked absolutely divine, every feature radiating a perfection that seemed beyond mortal comprehension. The blue and yellow garments, paired with the sparkling jewellery, cast a spell over them both, drawing tears to their eyes.

Just then, the same deep voice broke through the silence. “Damn, I look gorgeous!”

The girls whipped their heads to the right, and the sight that greeted them left them breathless. Standing beside them was a man, tall and dark-skinned, clad in the exact same attire as the idol. The ornaments that adorned his slender yet muscular frame gleamed in the soft light, but it was his presence—living, breathing, more real and bewitching than anything they had ever seen—that overwhelmed them. A smug smile curved his lips as he admired his outfit before turning his gaze to the two girls.

“Thank you for these, sakhis! You both look magnificent, just like me,” he said with a playful wink, his voice rich with mirth.

The girls were paralyzed, tears streaming down their faces as they struggled to comprehend what they were seeing. “This… this can’t be happening… It’s just a hallucination…” Agrata whispered, her knees trembling beneath her.

Manyataa took an involuntary step towards the man, her eyes wide with awe and disbelief. The man chuckled softly. “Well, we’ll see about that in a while. Gotta go get prettier!”

And with that, he vanished, dissolving into thin air. The two girls stared at each other in disbelief, one clutching her heart and the other covering her mouth. Their quiet sobs mingled with whispered reassurances that what they had just witnessed was nothing more than a figment of their wild imagination.

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“Sakhi! I can’t find the pedas! I’m going to throw up from panicking—please HELP!” Samridhi’s desperate voice rang out from inside the makeshift tent. Kesar, hunched over a dozen containers, shot back, “Sakhi if you panic, you’ll make me panic too! Take a deep breath; they have to be here somewhere! Just keep looking.”

The two girls frantically shuffled around the cramped tent, their anxiety thick in the air. Containers clattered, and lids were thrown aside, but the pedas remained elusive.

“Samridhi! Kesar! The rest of the offerings are set. We’re just waiting on the pedas. Hurry up! We’ve got ten minutes!” Dhruvi’s voice echoed urgently from the temple.

Samridhi’s panic escalated. “I know I packed them!” she wailed, lifting the lid of a handi only to find it empty. Kesar continued her search; her brows knit in distress. Just then, they heard a faint shuffling noise outside the back of the tent.

Their heads snapped up, and they exchanged a wary glance. “Who’s there?” they yelled in unison, their voices tinged with suspicion. But Baanhi’s voice sliced through the tension before they could investigate, “SAMRIDHI! KESAR! BRO, I SWEAR TO GOD!”

Flustered and frazzled, the girls resumed their frantic search, the earlier noise forgotten. But it wasn’t long before the same shuffling sound returned, followed by the clatter of an earthen utensil hitting the ground. Their heads shot up again; this time, they bolted out of the tent, circling around to the back.

To their utter bewilderment, they found a young lad hunched over the missing handi, his mouth stuffed with pedas, and two more clutched in his hands. The moment he noticed the girls, his dark face froze in mid-chew, his eyes wide with guilt, like a deer caught in headlights. The peacock feather in his headband fluttered in the breeze, and the golden flute beside him gleamed under the moonlight.

Samridhi and Kesar stood rooted in place, their eyes wide with shock, their hands covering their mouths as if to stifle their disbelief.

The boy slowly, almost sheepishly, placed the two pedas back into the handi, his movements careful and deliberate. “Don’t kill me, please, sakhis. I couldn’t resist. I just had two, I promise!” he said, his voice muffled by the pedas still in his mouth. He picked up his flute with the same slow movements, his eyes never leaving the two girls. “Uhh… See you in a while…? And, oh, I broke the lid,” he added before darting off towards the temple.

Samridhi and Kesar stared at each other in stunned silence. Then, without a word, Samridhi scooped up the handi, and the two of them broke into a sprint back towards the temple.

As they burst into the temple, their eyes scanned the area where their other sakhis sat waiting for them, searching wildly for the peda thief they had known all their lives yet never expected to see in the flesh. Dhruvi’s voice cut through their frantic search, “Took you guys long enough.”

Baanhi approached the duo, her brow furrowed as she carefully took the handi from Samridhi. “Who are you two looking for?” she questioned. But before they could respond, she turned and made her way to the idol, where an empty ornate plate awaited. She carefully plated the pedas and then clapped her hands in satisfaction. “Finally done! What’s the time?”

“11:55,” Garima replied, glancing at her watch.

“Dear GOD, I’m so excited!” squealed Soni, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“I know, right!” Saanjh added, as Samridhi and Kesar quietly joined the others on the floor, exchanging confused glances that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the group.

Agrata broke the momentary silence. “So, who’s taking the lead?” Her question hung in the air, charged with excitement. The girls exchanged eager looks before Madanmohini spoke up. “I think Manyataa should. She’s the oldest, after all.”

“And the giant-est!” Soni giggled, unable to resist teasing.

“Please don’t butcher English in my presence,” Baanhi interjected dramatically.

“Okay, Miss English Honours,” Soni shot back, grinning mischievously.

Manyataa stood up. “You guys! Enough with the banter,” she scolded gently, though a smile tugged at her lips. She approached the idol and knelt before it, pulling the beautifully decorated puja thali closer. With a steady hand, she lit the diya, the flame flickering to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the idol.

The air was filled with squeals and giggles as the other girls rose to their feet, their excitement almost palpable. The flickering light danced in their eyes as they waited for Garima’s watch to strike midnight.

“Uhhh… Sakhis?” Samridhi’s voice wavered as she called out to the group. The room fell quiet as all eyes turned to her. Fidgeting with her dupatta, she hesitated, her nerves getting the better of her. “Did… did you guys, by any chance, witness anything… unusual? Like… did you…”

She faltered, unable to finish her sentence, but Kesar quickly picked up the thread. “...see Him?” she completed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The room froze as the girls exchanged wide-eyed glances, each mirroring the other’s stunned expression.

“Don’t tell me—”

“Wait, you saw Him too?”

“No way!”

“But there’s no way we all hallucinated the same thing!”

The temple complex buzzed with the disbelieving exclamations of the young lasses, their minds racing to make sense of the impossible. The air was thick with the thrill of shared wonder and disbelief, their voices overlapping as they tried to piece together what they had all experienced.

Before they could delve deeper into the mystery, Garima’s watch chimed, breaking the spell.

“It’s time!” she squealed, her excitement overshadowing the previous tension.

@saanjh-ki-dulhan @krsnaradhika @chaliyaaa @saanjhghafa @krishnaaradhika @ramayantika @tumharisakhi @sumiyxx @harinishivaa @rantingabtmyman

Here's Part 1 of the Janmashtami fic. I hope y'all like it!!!

Pt.2

#gopiblr #krishnablr #janmashtami #kanha #kanhaiya

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