"Now You decorate Me," says Radhika. And Krishna sets about decorating her — and stops still in adbhuta, in sheer astonishment: how madhur she is, how sweet. And how do you decorate sweetness itself? He takes kasturi, the dark musk paste, to trace upon her brow the patravali — a fine pattern of leaves and winding vines. He draws the first line — and suddenly his hand halts. What is the use of it? It is a flaw. The flaw of punaukti — repetition. For if a poet composes a poem, he may not repeat himself: every line must carry something new, something not yet heard. And she is already the finished poem, where not a single line can be rewritten. To add an ornament to her is to repeat a line already perfect. And Krishna, a poet with kasturi in hand, hovers over her brow: how do you decorate the very one who is herself the highest line?