In the lush, sun-drenched groves of Madhuban, there is a melody that does not come from a flute. It is the morning chorus of the forest, where every living creature seeks the attention of the Divine Cowherd.

Lord Krishna, draped in vibrant saffron and earth-toned silks, pauses in his walk. He has tucked his golden flute away, for today, he is the listener. A small, golden-yellow songbird has fluttered down from the kadamba trees, landing fearlessly upon his finger. In this quiet exchange, the bird shares the secrets of the forest—the coming of the rains and the blooming of the hidden lotuses.