Narada Muni — greatest of sages, glorified in the Vedas, worshipped by Brahma and Shiva — walks through Vrindavan, aching to behold the sweet play of Krishna. His flute is already spilling over Govardhan. But at the very edge of the glade Narada stops and reasons with himself: if all-attractive Krishna were to catch sight of a rishi, a sage, here, he would have to turn reverential and formal — and all the sweetness would freeze. And the shy Braja-gopis, so bashful and tender — one glimpse of a hermit and they would scatter. So the one before whom the demigods bow quietly steps off the path and hides himself in the bushes — to steal one peek, yet disturb nothing. And in that very moment the flute rings out everywhere, and every tree of Govardhan bursts into bloom — not from the sound of the flute, but because Srimati Radhika is coming with her sakhis.