The Scrub-maid poured warm sudsy water over the red clay tile of the kitchen floor, she took a brush in one hand scrubbing first in circles then back and forth, rubbing hard at the dirty stains embedded in the clay. She poured more of the soapy solution out. It ran between the tiles in the grouted grooves. She scoured diligently pushing the bristles into tiny crevices trying to ease out the deeply encrusted buildup of grime. Putting all her strength into each stroke she already felt worn and tired. She sprinkled some abrasive powder on the floor. Its caustic properties burned her skin. She glanced at her red hands roughened and wrinkled from the harsh chemicals whose acrid fumes stung her nostrils bringing a tear to her eye. Perspiring she reached up and carefully with a wet fingertip pushed a stray strand of her kes back behind one ear where it had escaped from beneath her keski, then wiped her face with her sleeve. Her knee hurt where it pressed the hard uneven surface, her salvar picking up a dark stain from the wet clay. She eased in to a squatting position trailing her kameez on the damp floor.

She would need a good scrubbing too when she had completed her task. It loomed before her, so many tiles and so long neglected, she wondered if they would ever come clean. Each one seemed in itself a monumental task. Never mind she thought she really needed something absorbing to do. Something that would hide the presence of her own inner absorption from others and give her precious time alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that filled and overwhelmed her so that she could hardly hear what others had to say, so intent was she with her preoccupation. She felt a need to conceal her absent state from others. Her inability to respond and lack of interaction was certain to be noticed, if she wasn’t able to pull her concentration together and better direct her focus on the outside world and its cares. But all the bustle of external distractions could not induce her to leave her compelling inner sentiment. The indulgence of her emotional turmoil overshadowed everything else completely, so that she felt blinded to what was going on around her. Yes the kitchen floor was her salvation, a sanctuary where she could safely go unnoticed, unscrutinized, and unencountered, her innermost attention transfixed. Mercifully she was provided with an unsuspect refuge where she could immerse herself in remembrance of her Beloved.

She moved on to another tile. Carefully she sloshed out some more of the contents of her pail, a wave of longing washed over her flooding her completely, her heart swelled up with an unbearable ache. All of her empty tomorrow’s lay before her stretched endlessly ahead filled fully with her sorrows. Sorrow that stemmed from separation, as though she was a bloom that had been plucked from the vine and was now withering in the vase, after it’s one day of glory. Tears sprang to her eyes and threatened to course down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back. They hovered just behind her lids like heavy storm clouds, ready to break.

They had met in the garden. She had risen before the first light to bathe and spend a few sacred moments contemplation before the coming of dawn. On her way from isnaan she had passed by the gate and had been drawn in by an intoxicating fragrance.

A tear leaked trickling down and dropped unnoticed into the suds as she scrubbed. "O Sweetly Scented One" she mourned, "shall this one ever again be embraced in Thy perfume."

Crossing over the threshold she had stepped carefully not conscious that another was near, until she felt a guiding hand reach for hers. She had not known Him then, only He had existed as a tug in her heart for something as yet undiscovered. Now in her new found awareness there was room for nothing else.

She realized that she had sat for some moments motionless, when she felt a touch at her shoulder and a gentle voice inquired "Are you OK?"

She nodded without looking up not wanting to betray her tears. "Just giving my back a bit of a rest," she replied.

"Be careful, don’t over do it, someone else can do this if it is too heavy for you."

She shook her head wordlessly and bent to her task. It was so difficult to remember what she was about, when her whole being wanted only to dwell on that one precious moment. She thought of how His eyes had gazed deeply into hers until she had lowered them in shame for she was not lovely to look upon. How odd, she reflected, for in her memory His eyes were shimmering pools of warm light all one colour, with out any whites at all. Incandescent depths she could have lost herself in, and in fact it seemed that she had. She remembered then, when once before she had seen golden eyes suddenly staring back at her from behind her closed ones… How alike they were, for those ones of the piercing brightness had also been of just that ONE shade of light.

Theirs had been a silent affair, a wordless discourse that laid her heart bare. In profound silence only one word had been uttered "Waheguroo" whispered passionately. She had lost and found herself in His silence and something unnamed had welled within her and, like a dam whose capacity to withstand floodwaters was overcome, had burst. Tears had poured forth in torrents unchecked. Those same tears which now were threatening to spill again. She dare not sob aloud here, as she had that morning cloaked in the cover of darkness, and choked back a hard lump in her throat. She tried to still her mind for a few minutes and concentrated wordlessly just on waheguru waheguru waheguru until she heard her pounding heart answering in a rhythmic beat. She came to and found that she had been sitting once more vacantly motionless. Thankfully this time there was no one to see.

She moved on to the next tile. She was enslaved, of that there was no doubt, having once tasted such intoxicant how could she do with out? Encapturement...of deadly night shades morning glourious intoxicant. Tentative tendrils, creeping, curling, pervading scent. Clasping, probing, insistent. Prying open lotus hearts center secret. Teasing silken petals into revealing softest velvet. The thorn of clinging vine’s enrapturement, thrusting loves arrow deeply intent, in piercing silent sacrament. Filled full in being spent, this heart is rent... Lament…lament…lament…

waheguru waheguru waheguru waheguru waheguru WAHEGUROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo

Like a night bloom whose petals fold with the suns first display, he had slipped too soon away, leaving her confounded by his pleasure in utter ruin of coming day. Soundlessly now she wept in ablution. Her lamentation the cleansing solution, she rubbed her tears spilling shamelessly, into the dark puddles forming clear pools on the kitchen floor she scrubbed

Later that evening after bathing she wandered back into the garden hoping to catch the lingering of His scent. Somewhere among the leaves she felt Him to be present, but shyly could not lift her eyes to see. Then quite closely she felt her Beloved approach and move through her most tenderly, soothing her aching heart with a sort of deep content. A penetrating calm so comforting that rather than repent, she reveled in her glory, in absolute splendor of her consent.

The following day when she entered the kitchen she looked up and noticed the cobwebs hanging from the rafters. She smiled inwardly, another refuge. She found a footstool and a long handled broom. It didn’t quite reach and so she had go to search for a pole. She heard a kind voice behind her inquire, "Wahe are you so quiet today?"

She shrugged without turning around, a twinkle played in her eyes trying to tease her into revealing her inner exultation. Elation danced at the corners of her mouth threatening to betray her euphoria. Her heart fluttered in delight, for today her entire world seemed colored by soft rose petals of light

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