I am Krishna. I am the man who knew the

  beginning and the end of every story ever

  told, and this is my story. The way I see it,

  there is no right or wrong, so I let the tales

  unfold like theatre, a drama played out with

  each minute detail arranged, plotted,

  planned, and preconceived. An orchestra of

  events that I will make happen. There

  remains, however, a one-in-a-million chance

  that it won't. How? Ever so often, the will of

  the other will find the power to surge

  through, rarely perhaps, but it can, it does,

  and it's in that one outcome that I feel the

  exhilaration of all I am.

  It happens so rarely, though, that I should be

  thankful for it, but I do not need to express

  gratitude. I understand all of it only too well.

  I know the importance and the need to be

  understood. I know what it is to feel extreme

  love and extreme pain. Both are the same. I

  feel it all, and I feel nothing at all. Every

  word that emanates from a being has an

  essence, a meaning which, if understood, is a

  powerful thing. I can create a tapestry of

  words to blanket the world as it goes through

  the ice age, and I can melt that ice with the

  warmth of my words. But for me, they are

  just words. To you, they must mean

  everything.

  But I will not talk of all that today. Too

  much has already been told. Today, I will lay

  bare the man in me. I will show you the child

  who was born, the boy who played on the

  farms, the courtyard, and the streets. I want

  to talk of the trivial, the ordinary, because

  that is where you must seek the deep.

  I want to talk about love. I loved falling in

  love—every time. With Radha, it was about

  the senses. She was my friend, and I wooed

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  her, but not with all the skill and range of

  artfulness I possessed like I did the others. I

  wooed Radha because I knew no other way

  to exist. Radha, who permeated every fibre

  of my being so completely, I felt she was me.

  And because Radha is synonymous with

  music, I want to talk about music and how I

  have always loved it. I find it easier to let the

  music flow, and I use my prodigious

  knowledge of it to be heard above the noise

  that echoes all around. Music opens people

  up. It moves the spirit; it heals. It was music

  that flowed through Radha and me, bringing

  us together till she was everything I would

  ever need or want, but music could not make

  her leave her world for me.

  I have so many women in my life. And they

  all give up every atom of their beings to me.

  I used to believe that was the nature of

  feminine love. A gradual surrender until the

  she in her ceases to be a separate entity. But

  Radha was not like that. Her will is not like

  the flicker I see in the deepest parts of the

  other people I meet. It isn't even just a flame.

  It's like a fire in the hearth that warms

  everything around it. It calls out to you, and

  you do not want to leave as you come near

  palms open in front. You want to lay there

  for a little while, be kissed by the heat of the

  flames and as your eyes get heavy, you

  remain captured in the comfort of the glow.

  She is like that. She is just like the hearth

  fire. And I cannot find it in me to not hold

  on. She is so much more than the others.

  But she couldn't come with me, and I

  desperately needed to move on. I can't just

  stay and play music all day; I must grow and

  be on that journey to build the kingdoms I

  am programmed to destroy. I must play my

  part, and she chooses not to accept her place

  in the script. Ever.

  So, I moved on, to acquire all that I must, I

  lived, I loved- some more, I killed - for a

  better world, I fibbed a bit and built myself a

  small empire in a little corner of my world

  until it submerged.