In the chamara-seva itself — in the waving of the whisk — a rare sweetness is hidden. Radhika has been crowned Vrndavana Sri, the Empress of Vrndavana, and the white chamara and the parasol, the chatra, are the regalia of a sovereign, the insignia of imperial rank: no one else is permitted to hold them. So when the manjaris wave the chamara over Radhika, they do it with great pride: "My Radhika is Vrndavana Sri! Not Chandravali, not Bhadra, not Shaithya — she alone is the empress of this Vrndavana." And the chamara itself is spun from thousands upon thousands of white hairs — for it is a yak tail. And a mood arises in the manjaris: each single hair of this whisk is one of my pranas. Through the body the prana flows in seventy-two thousand nadis; so they think — let this chamara be my seventy-two thousand pranas, no, my millions of pranas, and with all of them I serve, I worship Radhika. To fan the mistress — and in every stroke to offer her life itself.