Baishakh is the month of weddings. On the first day of Baishakh, sitting in the flower garden of the riverbank, I witnessed a wedding. I am writing it down as a lesson for future bridegrooms.
It was a wedding among flowers. In late afternoon, a bud-maiden had reached marriageable age. The bride's father was not a tall tree, but a small shrub; yet he had many daughters. There were many talks of proposals, but nothing was settled. The king of the garden, the Palash tree, was chosen as groom; but his home was far away, and the father was unwilling to send his daughter so far. The hibiscus did not object, but he was too fiery, and the bride's side hesitated. The oleander was handsome, but proud; such grooms are rarely available.
At this uncertain moment, the matchmaker Breeze arrived at the Malika grove and called out, "Well? Well? Is there a girl?"
The Malika tree nodded her leaves and replied, "Yes."
The Breeze, delighted, exclaimed, "Good! Good! Let me see the girl!"
The shy maiden stood with her head bowed, branches lowered. The Breeze circled the tree and said, "Come now! I want to see!" But the bashful girl did not open her veil. The tree said gently, "My daughter is very modest. Wait a little; I shall show her face."
Soon evening fell. The fragrance spread everywhere. Groups of bees arrived humming; they had no relation to the bride, yet they hovered about eagerly. Some drunken butterflies fluttered in. The matchmaker introduced them all.
I too was invited and went. I saw the bridegroom's party in some confusion. The wind had earlier made grand promises, but at the crucial moment he seemed absent. Everyone stood waiting in silence. At last, with much rustling of leaves and murmuring of branches, the bride was brought forth.
Her face bloomed open. Fragrance scattered everywhere. The buds and blossoms trembled with joy. Jasmine, beli, bakul, rajanigandha—all gathered for the ceremony. Even the riverbank's young creepers came adorned in fresh beauty. The priest tied the sacred knot of union between the two.
Then the groom was led to the bridal chamber. What a beautiful and sweet bride she was! The old flowers tried to tease and joke, but laughter would not stop. The groom whispered softly to the bride; the rajanigandha teased him; the bakul shyly sat aside; and the blue aparajita spread her deep blue sari like the sky itself.
Suddenly someone called out, "Is the wedding over? Will it fade away?" I looked around—nothing remained. Where was that splendid bridal chamber? Everything seemed to vanish into the air. Such is this world—today it is, tomorrow it is not. Like kings and mountains and seas and stars, all pass away. So too this wedding dissolved into emptiness.
The breeze laughed and said, "Wasn't it just a game?"
I replied, "Silly one, I was writing a wedding."