The dream of Yamuna.
In last night’s dream, I was walking with a man along the banks of Yamuna. It was almost evening, a cool breeze and no one in sight. He was older, and quiet. There wasn’t much to say. I could feel the tears on my face but I couldn’t touch them with my fingers. The breeze made ripples and we were walking towards Mathura – of course I haven’t been there.
He then led me by the hand to a fallen tree and we sat on the trunk. After a while, the tears flowed heavier. There was something about just that spot that he had brought me to. We knew it. “This is where he died,” the man whispered. Yes, the spot had no signs of violence – just the peace that I felt when I met this person we’re both referring to. There was no need for anything else. The sun was setting, the air was cooling further. The tree over the river joined us in the sorrowful moment. Something was lost, something found closure.
Somehow I knew he was talking about Krishna. Krishna who had left Mathura to walk to Gokul, to meet me.
The strangest dream I have had by a light year.