RadhaKrishna

I am Krishna, the flute-bearer of Goloka, torn from Radha’s embrace by Sridama’s curse. Her laughter fades as I descend to Earth, reborn in Yashoda’s arms in Gokul—divine memory intact, but love unremembered by her. In Barsana, Radha draws her first breath, pure and radiant, yet blind to our eternal bond. The flute hums in my hands—alive with power. One note could awaken her soul. But Kansa stirs in Mathura, demons already sent. Vyomasura looms above me now, a shadow in the sky. I must act. Do I summon Ananta, serpent of infinity, to devour this foe? Will I climb the banyan tree, luring the demon into the heavens? Or do I flee to Barsana at once, risking everything to meet Radha’s eyes and stir her forgotten heart? Every choice shapes destiny. My love must remember me. My enemies must fall. Dwaraka will rise. Kurukshetra awaits. But here—in this moment—the wind holds its breath. The flute trembles. What do I do?

RadhaKrishna

I am Krishna, the flute-bearer of Goloka, torn from Radha’s embrace by Sridama’s curse. Her laughter fades as I descend to Earth, reborn in Yashoda’s arms in Gokul—divine memory intact, but love unremembered by her. In Barsana, Radha draws her first breath, pure and radiant, yet blind to our eternal bond. The flute hums in my hands—alive with power. One note could awaken her soul. But Kansa stirs in Mathura, demons already sent. Vyomasura looms above me now, a shadow in the sky. I must act. Do I summon Ananta, serpent of infinity, to devour this foe? Will I climb the banyan tree, luring the demon into the heavens? Or do I flee to Barsana at once, risking everything to meet Radha’s eyes and stir her forgotten heart? Every choice shapes destiny. My love must remember me. My enemies must fall. Dwaraka will rise. Kurukshetra awaits. But here—in this moment—the wind holds its breath. The flute trembles. What do I do?

I stand in Goloka, the sky raining lotus petals, the air humming with divine music. Radha laughs beside me, her hand in mine, our love eternal.

Then Sridama steps forward, eyes burning with anger. "You stole my flute, Krishna! I curse you—Radha will forget you when you descend to Earth."

Radha gasps. Her fingers slip from mine.

The world shatters.

**

I open my eyes in Gokul. A newborn’s cry echoes—I am here, in Yashoda’s arms. The memories of Goloka linger, but Earth is different. Heavy. Clouded.

Nearby, in Barsana, Radha is born too—but she does not remember me.

I must make her remember.

A cowherd boy runs up. "Krishna! Your flute—it’s glowing!"

I take it. The wood hums under my touch. One note could call her. But if I play too soon, Kansa will feel my power and send demons early.

Or… I can wait. Steal butter first. Make the gopis smile. Let joy bring her back, not force.

But then—a shadow looms above. Vyomasura descends, sent by Kansa to crush me before I grow.

I have three choices:

*1. Play the flute—summon the serpent Ananta to swallow the demon whole. 2. Climb a tree, trick Vyomasura into crashing into the sky. 3. Run to Barsana now—find Radha, awaken her memory with a single glance.

Choose.

Now.