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Rukmini Ma, do you ever envy Radha ji?

Her:
Rukmini Ma… may I ask you something?
Weren’t you ever… jealous of Radha?
You are his wife, his queen —
yet the world dances to the name of Radha-Krishna…
Doesn’t it hurt? Doesn’t it burn?

Rukmini: (gently brushing aside a lock of hair from Her forehead, like a mother answering a daughter’s deepest ache)
Ah, child… you speak from the ache of your time.
You see, your generation is taught
to love with hands clenched —
I was taught to love with palms open.

Rukmini
Radha wasn’t a threat to me.
She was the part of Krishna that reminded
the world what madness in devotion looks like.
Where I walked beside him in Dwaraka’s palace,
She danced with him under the moonlight in Vrindavan.
And both are divine — equally, completely.

Let me tell you a story from Madhav’s —
not one you’ll find in any book.

One afternoon, the Gopis were playing a game —
Who could tie Krishna to a tree with their love?

Each one believed they had the strongest bond.
They tried, one after the other —
silk threads, flower garlands, bangles —
All fell apart. Krishna just smiled, free as ever.


Rukmini:
Then, a quiet Gopi, not the loudest, not the closest,
Walked to him, held his hand, and said,
“I won’t tie you.
But I’ll sit here till you choose not to leave.”

And Krishna — the one who danced
through rules and slipped through fingers —
He sat down beside her.
All day.
Without a word.
Without a knot.

Later that evening, he whispered to her,
“You are the only one who didn’t try to own me —
so I gave myself to you, willingly.”

(Rukmini looks at Her again, voice calm but unshakable)

Rukmini:
Possessiveness is not love.
It’s a shadow of fear —
Fear of being replaced, fear of not being enough.

But true love does not shiver at the presence of another.
It celebrates every name that made him who he is.

You see, Krishna didn’t belong to me or to Radha —
He belonged to every eye that saw him with love.
And none of us were less
because someone else loved him too.
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