Radhika asks Krishna to decorate Her. He takes kasturi — dark musk paste — and begins to trace on Her forehead a fine pattern of leaves and winding vines. But She is so beautiful, and he is in such ecstasy at Her sweetness, that his hand trembles: he makes a mistake, rubs the line out, draws it again — and rubs it out once more. Every ornament seems redundant to him before Her own beauty — and still he paints, for the painting itself is love. The work drags on so long that Vrinda Devi grows anxious: dawn is about to break. And who hands the artist his palette? Who alone may watch this from close by? The manjaris. Rupa Manjari brings the colours — sandal and kasturi. And if even Lalita and Vishakha, being Radhika's own peers, keep a respectful distance, the young manjaris, Her junior maids, may draw right near and serve at the very heart of the lila. This is their intimate portion.