‘There are cows, hundreds and thousands and millions and billions of cows. They surround Krishna who is playing his flute. Beautiful young maidens surround Krishna too, they are mesmerized by his flute—’

‘Are there seventy-two virgins?’ Burjor interrupted.

‘Thirty-three. Sushila, Sashikala, Yamuna, Madhavi, Rati, Kadamba, Kunti, Jhanavi, Prabha, Chandramukhi, Padma, Savitri, Sudha, Parijata, Gauri, Sarvamangala, Kalika, Kamala, Padma, Durga, Bharati, Sarasvati, Gangambika, Madhumati, Champaparna, Sundari, Krishnapriya, Sati, Nandani, Padma, Damini and Nandana.’

All eyebrows rose after that impressive recitation of names, although no one counted.

‘He said “Padma” thrice,’ the secretary whispered to Mr Petit.

‘They are dancing in wild abandon in the moonlit forest. Some are bathing in the river. There are a thousand more gopis (milkmaids). Among them a thousand Krishnas. They are in a thousand ashrams that look like palaces. Beyond, there are a million gopis, a million Krishnas, and a million ashrams. Further away, a billion gopis who in beauty, virtue, attire, appearance, youth, spirit and fortune are like Radha.’

‘What a pity he is only one. What will he do with a million billion gopis?’ Burjor commented.

‘The ashrams have palatial windows and doors studded with rubies. The curtains are made of the finest white linen. The domes on the ashrams are encrusted with thousands of jewels. A stream passes by the ashram. Its bed is made of crystal. The streams swirl around small moats. On the banks are kalpa trees.’

‘That is a lot of inventory. I hope he won’t be an accountant there,’ Burjor interrupted again.

Undeterred, Dhansukhlal continued transcribing the visual across his starstruck eyes. ‘Surrounding the ashrams are lakes with swans on them. Red, pink and white lotuses bloom in the lakes. Beyond, there are gardens with flowers, fragrant as if Kama has shot an arrow in the air and it has rained sweet nectar for days. Beyond the flower beds are trees—coconut, sriphala, banana, pomegranate, banyan. The gopis dance in circles in the forests, their breasts heavy, thighs firm, hips broad, teeth like pomegranate seeds, movements graceful, eyes like deer, glistening with black kajal, suggestive, their braids decorated with blossom, their body fragrant with sandalwood paste. Their gaze is on Krishna. They swoon with love for him, then rise and join in the singing of rhythmic songs. They dance spontaneously. Their jewels tinkle melodiously. Their beholders lift them, their footsteps become uneven, caught in passion, they embrace again, more tightly, more firmly. Among the billion cows is Kamadhenu. She stands beside Krishna. Standing on her horns Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh offer jasmine flowers. Kamadhenu’s breasts overflow with milk. The milk covers the earth, the moon, the planets, the sun and the stars; they all rise and float in this cosmic milky ocean. The Gopastami festival has begun. Yashoda, Devaki, Rohini and Surabhi overflow with love. Now Krishna himself addresses me.’ Dhansukhlal’s eyes widened. In his trance, he appeared to have opened yet another door.