"There were celebrations everywhere. It was Janmashtami - the birth celebration of Lord Krishna. The entire village was celebrating and painted the whiteness of the desert with riots of colours and smiles. But she was unmoved.
She was so different in that landscape that her face bore a scratch in my otherwise happy heart. I felt, as if, she must be feeling bad for trying to live a happy, full life, while her heart was buried in a dead man’s chest.
Is she in search for her Krishna or lamenting the loss of him? '
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