I had been walking for a long time
A thorn had lodged itself in my foot
Each step I took embedded it further
Soon the flesh closed over it, it became part of my foot.
I walked. It was dry and hot, hot and dry.
I walked. My body, my gait had adapted to the thorn.
I no longer knew how to walk without it.
One day I came to the river.
As I looked at her tears began to run down my dry cracked cheeks, smarting, hurting.
The water poured out of my eyes and into the river.
I took off my clothes and entered her.
She swelled with my tears, rose, engulfed me.
I was submerged. Once, twice, three times.
The river was inside me, I was inside her.
Much later I came out, on to the sand where I had left my clothes.
They were gone! Krishna had stolen them.
I can only cover my body when he gives them back to me.
Subhadra, 1979, retold by Sheba Chhachhi