The long pastimes have worn Radhika out — she is soft and tender, and now she is tired. Her braid has come loose, her hair scattered everywhere. And Krishna is an ocean of tenderness, forever looking for some way to serve her. He looks and thinks: let me plait it up again, — and reaches for the strands. But Radhika: "Oh Govinda, did I ask you to touch my hair? It is such a bother. I am happy as I am — loose like this, it gives me joy." Krishna will not give up. He picks small white jasmine flowers to set into the dark mass of her curls: there they will shine like stars in the night sky. And the moment he lifts them toward her hair — again she says: "No, no, don't dress my head with jasmine, it is heavy, it pains me." So whatever he offers, with a smile she turns his hand aside — she wants no hairstyle at all. And in this tiny quarrel, where both the curls and Radhika herself are unruly, she is nothing but joy.