Krishna, Goverdhan and Yadavas
"Worship because you revere and revere because you love, not because you fear. Why must we perform this ritualistic Indra puja year after year? We are cowherds and farmers and our lives are taken care of by our cows, our forests and groves and the mountains that surround us. We are surrounded by divinity and yet we seek the blessings of a deity we fear, neglecting the bounty we have been endowed with!", said Krishna, standing tall, a boy of thirteen, in the center of a huddle of villagers and pandits, having mesmerized them with his passionate and persuasive speech. Yashoda looked reproachfully at Nanda, who shrugged back with an expression that acknowledged that their son's logic was unassailable. "Indra deva will get angry and punish the lot of us", she whispered angrily. "This boy of ours is getting out of hand". Nanda chuckled and said, "And I am sure Krishna will outwit Indra himself with his eloquence, if it comes to that"
The gathering began to disperse now, convinced that Nanda's lalla, darling boy, was absolutely right. After all, their karma was in rearing cattle and dairy farming and performing one's karma with diligence itself was penance. Yashoda was not the only one left grumpy, though.
"They will listen to anything you have to say, because they trust you, Kanha. What if Indra does get angry?", demanded Radha, the daughter of the elderly cowherd Vrishabhanu. She was a fair and beautiful young gopika, a few years older than Krishna. She had once been his favorite target for his pranks but with time, he had ceased to deliberately irritate her to gain her attention, their relationship maturing to something else. They would be with each other for hours, now talking about silly things and now just sitting and watching the flowers of spring. Krishna would play music on his flute and Radha would listen, transported to another world by the soulful music. Today, however, she was miffed and he had to answer her. With a glint of naughtiness in his eyes, Krishna still managed a smile that radiated reassurance. And only that was his response.
That evening, storm clouds converged in the skies over the Braj region. In contrast to the day, which had been warm and sunny, the evening was stormy and dark. Powerful gusts of winds raged about the village of Vrindavana, sounding like angry whispers of troubled ghosts, accompanied every now and then by crashing thunder. Lightning flashed as though the skies were brandishing swords. Then rain came down in such mighty torrents that trees were uprooted and roofs of huts were blown away. It was as though Pralaya, the fabled end of all creation, had decided to come early and sweep Vrindavana in its deluge. Cattle ran amok, their herders in a state of chaos themselves. Some of them knocked at Nanda's door in desperation, to ask Krishna for help.
"Worry not, villagers. Head for the mountain Govardhana. The mountain shall protect us", said Krishna. The cowherds would have accepted any counsel at that time and thus, though they did not understand how it would help, they battled the storms and slowly made their way to Govardhana, the hill near their village. In some time, all of Vrindavana assembled at the foot of the hill, with their cows and carts laden with provisions, trying their hardest to ignore the rain that seemed intent on inundating them and their surroundings.
Lo! The mountain began to rise! Nobody could believe their eyes but it was happening surely. Then the denizens of Vrindavana saw, to their utter dismay, that the mountain hadn't risen itself. Krishna had lifted it! Lifted! The thirteen year old boy stood there, smiling at them, only slightly drenched himself, holding the entire massive mountain aloft on his palm. As if this feat itself weren't miraculous enough, later reports would excitedly (and exaggeratedly) say that he held the mountain on his little finger! "It is dry here. Come, stand under this umbrella that I have got. Come to me, until Indra has spent his rage", he said. They went in herds to stand beneath the underbelly of the hill, where it was completely dry. Soon, all of Vrindavana, cattle et al, stood beneath Govardhana mountain, with Krishna in the center, holding it aloft. Water rolled down the slopes of the mountains and formed curtains on all sides around them. For seven nights and an equal number of days, they remained under the umbrella of Govardhana, resistant to the storms outside, before the rain finally stopped.
***
"Krishna has humbled Indra, my lord! The boy held Govardhana on his little finger! I saw it with my own eyes! Without anybody's help, all by himself"
"Enough said! Given your way, you would build a temple for that wretched cow herder and sit and sing praises of him all day long, would you not? Off with you now. And have word sent to Akrura that Kamsa has summoned the Yadava chieftains to an emergency convention."
"Yadava brothers! Over the years we have fought many battles together and won many victories. The seat of Mathura commands the respect of all the Arya nations and has the Emperor Jarasandha's blessing. I think this is the perfect time for some celebration. To reiterate to the world who we are. We should perform a bow yagna- display a mighty bow, the symbol of the might of Mathura- to all who come, organize some sporting events like wrestling, calling participants from far and wide. This is also time to remind the group of some of your kinsmen across the river, the dwellers of Braj, that their overlord is the mighty Kamsa, even though they seem to have found new idols in two striplings called Krishna and Balarama. The residents of Braj have seen rich bounty these past years. It is time we raised their taxes and asked them to pay tribute to Mathura. Nanda and his lad Krishna, as also Balarama, the son of his sister Rohini, must be invited for sure to our grand yagna."
"Akrura, you are wise and have ever been loyal to me. You alone of all the Yadavas I addressed earlier today have my best interests at heart. I trust no one but you to ride to Vrindavana to convey my message to the cowherd Nanda and extend my invitation to him and his son and nephew. You must also direct him to pay me greater tax this year. The Emperor's hand be on you! Leave, my friend"
***
Akrura was welcomed in the house of Nanda, to whom he was distantly related. They exchanged pleasantries and each briefed the other on the state of affairs in his land. Akrura then came to the purpose of his visit and told them about Kamsa's idea to invite Krishna, Balarama and him, Nanda, to Mathura to witness his magnificent yagna and also to offer the king a rich tribute. Nanda, uneasy when he started listening to Akrura's message and positively perturbed by the time he ended, said, "Kamsa is an unpredictable man. There is no telling what his intent behind calling us is. Why in the world must he see Krishna and Balarama? I am told that the tales of the boys' escapades have spread on the other side of the river too. Perhaps he sees their rising popularity among my people as a threat? And what of this tribute you speak of? Why must we suddenly pay him this unreasonable amount?"
Akrura took a while before answering his questions. He decided that it was time Nanda and Yashoda learnt the truth of Krishna's birth, which he had heard from Vasudeva himself. "Call Yashoda, Krishna and Balarama here. I have something to tell you", and he narrated the entire story to them- from the prophecy, the time Rohini had suddenly found herself expecting a child exactly when Devaki had apparently suffered a miscarriage, to the stormy night when Vasudeva had carried his newborn eighth son across the river to Nanda's house, how he had exchanged Krishna with the baby girl that Yashoda had given birth to and how Kamsa had tried to kill that girl before she had turned into a goddess and told him that his destined slayer was still alive.
"What is the meaning of this!", cried Yashoda. "Tell him none of this is true, Kanha! Tell him you are my son! Tell him!"
Krishna was silent. After a while, Nanda responded. "What Akrura says must be true. These boys are indeed divine. What else can explain the fact that they have tackled and slain mighty demons all by themselves? If it is indeed true that our Kanha is Kamsa's destined slayer, then we must accept this invitation to go. Krishna rightfully belongs to Mathura, where his parents are. His destiny, as that of Balarama, lies on the other side of the Yamuna."
Rohini and Yashoda were sobbing and Krishna and Balarama consoled them. Nanda continued, addressing Akrura, "Wise one, we shall leave tomorrow with first light. I shall have prepared cart loads of the cesses Kamsa demands of us and the boys too can say their final goodbyes to the villagers." Akrura nodded in understanding and agreement.
The news soon spread among the villagers that Krishna and Balarama would leave them forever and go to Mathura. The two boys visited all their playmates and friends and bid them farewell, an affair that turned teary very soon. Even the cattle seemed to mourn Krishna's imminent departure with their grieved eyes. Yashoda and Rohini, after their initial outburst, gained composure and set about helping Nanda make preparations. By dusk, when the last rays of the sun lent the sky a light orange hue, Balarama had gone off to the banks of the Yamuna with some of his friends and Krishna was left standing alone and musing. He had yet some unfinished business. Slowly, he walked to his favorite kadam tree, leaned against its ancient trunk, stood with his right foot crossed in front his left, tucked his bamboo flute out from his cummerbund and began playing it. His dusky complexion in soothing contrast to his bright, yellow garments, he played music such as he had never played before. The peacock feather pinned to his headcloth gently swayed as if in appreciation of his melody. His tune wrenched the hearts of all the gopikas of Vrindavana and, abandoning whatever task they were performing, they came out of their homes to see their darling Kanha, possibly for the last time. They all gathered by the kadam tree, where he was standing, playing his flute, his eyes closed, oblivious to the presence of anyone. The one he sought was yet to come. Suddenly, the gopikas beheld flowers blossoming all around them, intoxicating fragrances invading their senses and they saw not one, but many Krishnas! Each gopika saw one Krishna smiling at her and only her and beckoning her to come to him. They all went to their respective Krishnas and started dancing with him in gay abandon, only aware of Krishna, his music and the fragrance around. The groves of Vrindavana were lit that evening by the bright jewels and flashing adornments of the gopikas swirling about and dancing wildly, in a trance, to Krishna's music and magic. But Krishna was somewhere else.
By a secluded nook near the river he sat, playing a melancholy tune on his flute, with Radha beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. After a while, he stopped playing but the music lingered on, whether in space or in their minds, they knew not. Time seemed to slow down. They looked into each other's eyes, their unnamed relationship defining and blurring limits, and their eyes closed. After a minute, or an hour, or eternity itself, Krishna spoke. "Come with me."
Radha shook her head slowly. "Today you are a simple cowherd, a naughty young boy, a villager. The cows are your subjects, the bamboo shoot you use to herd them your scepter, the kadam tree your throne. Tomorrow, your life changes. You shall slay a king and redeem a kingdom for your people. Soon you will become king of the Yadavas. You would live in a big palace with people to serve you and look after your every need. Kings and princes would bow down to you and some may try to kill you. There will be wars and alliances and politics. You shall have a state to run and schemes- some of your own making- to weave in and out of. Princesses and queens shall seek your hand in marriage. I would never be able to adapt to such a life, Kanha. I belong here, where you belonged to me. I shall remain here and remember you as I knew you, the master of all of Vrindavana- the trees, the groves, Govardhana, the river and of me. Everywhere I look, I shall be reminded of my Kanha, my Yogeshwara."
The name she had just awarded him took some time to sink in. Lord of her Spirituality. "Yes, you are right. My life will change after I leave Vrindavana and if you come with me, so will yours. We shall no longer be able to share what we have now. It is probably best if you stay back, for Vrindavana shall come to be known as the shrine of Radha and Krishna."
Wiping Radha's tears gently, Krishna smiled upon her for the last time. Then, he tucked his flute out again and gave it to her. "This is my very soul Radha, and I give it to you. Without Radha, there is no Krishna. However big a king I become, however many alliances I enter into, I shall always be known after you. You shall be my very identity, my Radha."
And that was the last time Krishna's flute, the flute of Radha, was heard in Vrindavana. I shall be back soon with the concluding chapter of this series. The story of Krishna's return to Mathura to fulfill the prophecy and his destiny...
The gathering began to disperse now, convinced that Nanda's lalla, darling boy, was absolutely right. After all, their karma was in rearing cattle and dairy farming and performing one's karma with diligence itself was penance. Yashoda was not the only one left grumpy, though.
"They will listen to anything you have to say, because they trust you, Kanha. What if Indra does get angry?", demanded Radha, the daughter of the elderly cowherd Vrishabhanu. She was a fair and beautiful young gopika, a few years older than Krishna. She had once been his favorite target for his pranks but with time, he had ceased to deliberately irritate her to gain her attention, their relationship maturing to something else. They would be with each other for hours, now talking about silly things and now just sitting and watching the flowers of spring. Krishna would play music on his flute and Radha would listen, transported to another world by the soulful music. Today, however, she was miffed and he had to answer her. With a glint of naughtiness in his eyes, Krishna still managed a smile that radiated reassurance. And only that was his response.
"Worry not, villagers. Head for the mountain Govardhana. The mountain shall protect us", said Krishna. The cowherds would have accepted any counsel at that time and thus, though they did not understand how it would help, they battled the storms and slowly made their way to Govardhana, the hill near their village. In some time, all of Vrindavana assembled at the foot of the hill, with their cows and carts laden with provisions, trying their hardest to ignore the rain that seemed intent on inundating them and their surroundings.
Lo! The mountain began to rise! Nobody could believe their eyes but it was happening surely. Then the denizens of Vrindavana saw, to their utter dismay, that the mountain hadn't risen itself. Krishna had lifted it! Lifted! The thirteen year old boy stood there, smiling at them, only slightly drenched himself, holding the entire massive mountain aloft on his palm. As if this feat itself weren't miraculous enough, later reports would excitedly (and exaggeratedly) say that he held the mountain on his little finger! "It is dry here. Come, stand under this umbrella that I have got. Come to me, until Indra has spent his rage", he said. They went in herds to stand beneath the underbelly of the hill, where it was completely dry. Soon, all of Vrindavana, cattle et al, stood beneath Govardhana mountain, with Krishna in the center, holding it aloft. Water rolled down the slopes of the mountains and formed curtains on all sides around them. For seven nights and an equal number of days, they remained under the umbrella of Govardhana, resistant to the storms outside, before the rain finally stopped.
"Krishna has humbled Indra, my lord! The boy held Govardhana on his little finger! I saw it with my own eyes! Without anybody's help, all by himself"
"Enough said! Given your way, you would build a temple for that wretched cow herder and sit and sing praises of him all day long, would you not? Off with you now. And have word sent to Akrura that Kamsa has summoned the Yadava chieftains to an emergency convention."
"Yadava brothers! Over the years we have fought many battles together and won many victories. The seat of Mathura commands the respect of all the Arya nations and has the Emperor Jarasandha's blessing. I think this is the perfect time for some celebration. To reiterate to the world who we are. We should perform a bow yagna- display a mighty bow, the symbol of the might of Mathura- to all who come, organize some sporting events like wrestling, calling participants from far and wide. This is also time to remind the group of some of your kinsmen across the river, the dwellers of Braj, that their overlord is the mighty Kamsa, even though they seem to have found new idols in two striplings called Krishna and Balarama. The residents of Braj have seen rich bounty these past years. It is time we raised their taxes and asked them to pay tribute to Mathura. Nanda and his lad Krishna, as also Balarama, the son of his sister Rohini, must be invited for sure to our grand yagna."
"Akrura, you are wise and have ever been loyal to me. You alone of all the Yadavas I addressed earlier today have my best interests at heart. I trust no one but you to ride to Vrindavana to convey my message to the cowherd Nanda and extend my invitation to him and his son and nephew. You must also direct him to pay me greater tax this year. The Emperor's hand be on you! Leave, my friend"
***
Akrura was welcomed in the house of Nanda, to whom he was distantly related. They exchanged pleasantries and each briefed the other on the state of affairs in his land. Akrura then came to the purpose of his visit and told them about Kamsa's idea to invite Krishna, Balarama and him, Nanda, to Mathura to witness his magnificent yagna and also to offer the king a rich tribute. Nanda, uneasy when he started listening to Akrura's message and positively perturbed by the time he ended, said, "Kamsa is an unpredictable man. There is no telling what his intent behind calling us is. Why in the world must he see Krishna and Balarama? I am told that the tales of the boys' escapades have spread on the other side of the river too. Perhaps he sees their rising popularity among my people as a threat? And what of this tribute you speak of? Why must we suddenly pay him this unreasonable amount?"
Akrura took a while before answering his questions. He decided that it was time Nanda and Yashoda learnt the truth of Krishna's birth, which he had heard from Vasudeva himself. "Call Yashoda, Krishna and Balarama here. I have something to tell you", and he narrated the entire story to them- from the prophecy, the time Rohini had suddenly found herself expecting a child exactly when Devaki had apparently suffered a miscarriage, to the stormy night when Vasudeva had carried his newborn eighth son across the river to Nanda's house, how he had exchanged Krishna with the baby girl that Yashoda had given birth to and how Kamsa had tried to kill that girl before she had turned into a goddess and told him that his destined slayer was still alive.
"What is the meaning of this!", cried Yashoda. "Tell him none of this is true, Kanha! Tell him you are my son! Tell him!"
Krishna was silent. After a while, Nanda responded. "What Akrura says must be true. These boys are indeed divine. What else can explain the fact that they have tackled and slain mighty demons all by themselves? If it is indeed true that our Kanha is Kamsa's destined slayer, then we must accept this invitation to go. Krishna rightfully belongs to Mathura, where his parents are. His destiny, as that of Balarama, lies on the other side of the Yamuna."
Rohini and Yashoda were sobbing and Krishna and Balarama consoled them. Nanda continued, addressing Akrura, "Wise one, we shall leave tomorrow with first light. I shall have prepared cart loads of the cesses Kamsa demands of us and the boys too can say their final goodbyes to the villagers." Akrura nodded in understanding and agreement.
The news soon spread among the villagers that Krishna and Balarama would leave them forever and go to Mathura. The two boys visited all their playmates and friends and bid them farewell, an affair that turned teary very soon. Even the cattle seemed to mourn Krishna's imminent departure with their grieved eyes. Yashoda and Rohini, after their initial outburst, gained composure and set about helping Nanda make preparations. By dusk, when the last rays of the sun lent the sky a light orange hue, Balarama had gone off to the banks of the Yamuna with some of his friends and Krishna was left standing alone and musing. He had yet some unfinished business. Slowly, he walked to his favorite kadam tree, leaned against its ancient trunk, stood with his right foot crossed in front his left, tucked his bamboo flute out from his cummerbund and began playing it. His dusky complexion in soothing contrast to his bright, yellow garments, he played music such as he had never played before. The peacock feather pinned to his headcloth gently swayed as if in appreciation of his melody. His tune wrenched the hearts of all the gopikas of Vrindavana and, abandoning whatever task they were performing, they came out of their homes to see their darling Kanha, possibly for the last time. They all gathered by the kadam tree, where he was standing, playing his flute, his eyes closed, oblivious to the presence of anyone. The one he sought was yet to come. Suddenly, the gopikas beheld flowers blossoming all around them, intoxicating fragrances invading their senses and they saw not one, but many Krishnas! Each gopika saw one Krishna smiling at her and only her and beckoning her to come to him. They all went to their respective Krishnas and started dancing with him in gay abandon, only aware of Krishna, his music and the fragrance around. The groves of Vrindavana were lit that evening by the bright jewels and flashing adornments of the gopikas swirling about and dancing wildly, in a trance, to Krishna's music and magic. But Krishna was somewhere else.
By a secluded nook near the river he sat, playing a melancholy tune on his flute, with Radha beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. After a while, he stopped playing but the music lingered on, whether in space or in their minds, they knew not. Time seemed to slow down. They looked into each other's eyes, their unnamed relationship defining and blurring limits, and their eyes closed. After a minute, or an hour, or eternity itself, Krishna spoke. "Come with me."
Radha shook her head slowly. "Today you are a simple cowherd, a naughty young boy, a villager. The cows are your subjects, the bamboo shoot you use to herd them your scepter, the kadam tree your throne. Tomorrow, your life changes. You shall slay a king and redeem a kingdom for your people. Soon you will become king of the Yadavas. You would live in a big palace with people to serve you and look after your every need. Kings and princes would bow down to you and some may try to kill you. There will be wars and alliances and politics. You shall have a state to run and schemes- some of your own making- to weave in and out of. Princesses and queens shall seek your hand in marriage. I would never be able to adapt to such a life, Kanha. I belong here, where you belonged to me. I shall remain here and remember you as I knew you, the master of all of Vrindavana- the trees, the groves, Govardhana, the river and of me. Everywhere I look, I shall be reminded of my Kanha, my Yogeshwara."
The name she had just awarded him took some time to sink in. Lord of her Spirituality. "Yes, you are right. My life will change after I leave Vrindavana and if you come with me, so will yours. We shall no longer be able to share what we have now. It is probably best if you stay back, for Vrindavana shall come to be known as the shrine of Radha and Krishna."
Wiping Radha's tears gently, Krishna smiled upon her for the last time. Then, he tucked his flute out again and gave it to her. "This is my very soul Radha, and I give it to you. Without Radha, there is no Krishna. However big a king I become, however many alliances I enter into, I shall always be known after you. You shall be my very identity, my Radha."
And that was the last time Krishna's flute, the flute of Radha, was heard in Vrindavana. I shall be back soon with the concluding chapter of this series. The story of Krishna's return to Mathura to fulfill the prophecy and his destiny...
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