The main fortified fence had two sturdy, towering wooden gates on the east and west ends. Made from the durable, solid wood of the Kikar tree, these gates were about eighteen feet tall. Both gates were very thick and quite broad. Our seasoned carpenters had engraved captivating emblems of the gopas on these gates. The images of two intoxicated, plump, young bulls with their tails erect, nostrils flared, copiously slobbering from their snouts, sprinting eagerly to head slam with their rival. Their plump, fleshy humps were tilted on their right side. Their rumpled, flabby dewlaps, drooping close to the ground clearly boasted their haughtiness. They looked as if any moment they were going to pull up their dewlaps and fill the surroundings with their thunderous bellows.
Positioned at the very top of the gate was a full moon image; one half of which was engraved on the left door and the other half on the right door. It was the emblem of the ‘Abhirbhanu’ family of the gopas, a symbol of the Chandravansha. Every evening when the gatekeepers shut both the doors the full moon image would form automatically. The two galloping young bulls would join their heads and get ready to protect the populace inside. Both gates had two huge, cylindrical lead bolts. A small wicket gate was used for nightly transit. Even now I can hear the squeaking of those huge gates that I have heard many times before. Many of my memories are especially associated with the squeak of the eastern gate!
Every day, hundreds of our cows would leave Gokul for grazing from the eastern gate, mooing happily. My beloved Gokul would blossom nonchalantly and come alive in the wake of their ebullient mooing, and begin the daily chores in the name of goddess ‘Ida’. The Western gate was closer to the bed of Yamuna. In the evening, the cows content after grazing would quench their thirst with Yamuna’s water and return hastily through the western gate, cantering and wagging their tails, eager to meet their calves. The dusky clouds of dust rising in the twilight would gently settle down on the western gate. Every fortnight, the gatekeepers would wash the gates with Yamuna’s clean water and scrape them using stone chips.
Adjacent to the main fortification wall, corrals with similar but smaller fences were erected. Between two of these corrals tall, square, wooden platforms were hung mid-air to guard them from termites; piles of hay for the cattle were stacked on them and these were covered by a roof of wild grass. Neat stone water pits stood in front of each corral. They were always filled
with Yamuna’s crystal clear, blue water. These corrals accommodated the cattle belonging to the eighteen clans of gopas and other castes. The bulls as well as the calves had separate corrals. Adjacent to the eastern gate was the largest, spacious corral containing hundreds of cows and cattle. It belonged to my father, Nanda. My father was the leader of all the gopas in Gokul. Everyone reverently called him ‘Nandababa’. Other Gokuls within Vraja would identify our Gokul as ‘Nandagram’, by my father’s name.
Located in the heart of Gokul was a well-planned colony, abound with alleys. These alleys were connected by small but clean footpaths laid out in a neat grid pattern. Drainage trenches ran on both sides of the footpaths. All gopas had simple, clean and tiled houses, made of mud. Their walls were smeared with red ochre mud. Using limestone, they were decorated with pictures of plump cows; calves wagging their tails and running around freely; plump bulls bellowing and snorting; herds of cows resting under a huge banyan tree and ruminating leisurely. The gopas belonged to the ‘Abhirbhanu’ family line. Being under the rule of the Yadavas the gopas adopted the family deity of the Yadavas, Goddess Ida as their own. Various manifestations of the goddess were also drawn. Portraits of Abhirbhanu – the founder of the gopa family and many other gopa kings were also drawn as accurately as possible.
It was customary for every house to have a minimum of seven-eight slings to store curds and butter. There also used to be tall, pointed churning sticks fastened with ropes next to the big earthen jars which were used for churning buttermilk. An array of storage bins full of grains like barley, vetch, rice, and wheat would be arranged in the veranda.
In the heart of the colony was my father’s huge, spacious house built in stone. A huge courtyard in front of it was known as the gopas’ assembly yard. If at all there arose a need to hold a gopa assembly, it was held here. A small, dome-shaped temple of Lord Shiva built in stone was located at some distance to the east. A Shivapindi made of Shaligrama stone from river Gandaki was placed in the inner sanctum. It would get drenched in the waters of Yamuna trickling over it day and night from the ceremonial vessel. In the front yard a statue of a seated Nandi– Lord Shiva’s mount – was placed with its back facing the entrance. Our founder Maharaja Abhirbhanu’s consort was like a mother to us. She was an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva. Due to her, we gopas also became devotees of Lord Shiva. To the west of the house, a wrestling ground was located a few yards
away. It contained a spacious gymnasium, fully equipped with wooden and iron clubs as well as the polished wooden ‘Mallakhamba’.
Such was Gokul – like a doting dimple on the cheek of the land of Vraja! Like a dream of Mother Nature witnessed at the crack of dawn! But my reverie was full of vibrant young and old people. All of them belonged to the initial period of the second stage of evolution. Hence, they were very natural and simply primitive in their expressions. All their emotions – anger, greed, passion, temptation, jealousy – were as raw and pure as their blood; simple and natural. And indeed, just as deep, and naturally beautiful was their pure, untainted love! No pretentions in their behaviour at all! They possessed only one natural instinct – ‘premayoga’ – Love for the sake of Love! Pure Love!
Each person here was like a luscious bulbous root, full of pure love; replete with emotions. That’s why it is impossible for me to forget these men and women even if I wanted to. So many people – with so many emotions, and so many dispositions!
My father, Nandababa was the leader of the gopas. He belonged to the mercantile class. Short of stature, he had a hefty body frame, wheatish complexion and round face. My mother, Yashodamata was healthy, a bit taller than my father, fair, with a face as round as the full moon faced and always smiling. I had eight kakas – Sunanda, Upnanda, Mahananda, Nandana, Kulnandana, Bandhunanda, Kelinanda, and PraNananda. All of them looked more or less like Nandababa and the age difference between them was not much. We used to recognize their wives – our kakus – by the names of their husbands and also used to address them as such – like Sunandakaku, Nandanakaku, Kelinandakaku and so on. Each one of my kakas possessed expertise in some skill or the other. One uncle could unerringly identify the seasonal disorders of the cows and treat them with effective medicinal herbs. Another could effectively handle my father’s job in his absence just as skilfully as him. Another possessed mastery of the seven musical notes and practised a variety of melodious ragas for hours. Yet another could give wonderful discourses based on the religious scriptures - Upanishadas. Kelinandakaka was especially proficient in sports like Hututu, Lagori, Kho-Kho, Aatyapatya, swimming, wrestling and many more. That’s why he was my most favourite kaka. I also had a step-mother, Rohinimata, mother of my elder brother, Balaramadada. She was a bit taller than Yashodamata, fair and slim.
Balaramadada! Chubby and ruddy fair complexioned. A little older than me. He had very thick hair. He was short-tempered, but would also calm down quickly. We were half-brothers. To show respect to our mothers, we both called Yashodamata ‘Thorali’– the elder mother. Naturally, Rohinimata had become ‘Dhakali’– the younger mother!
Both of us had a younger sister, Ekananga, born to Thorali, a few years after my birth. We affectionately nicknamed her Eka! She was the apple of our eyes.
At this moment, more than anyone else, I remember my dearest old grandfather, Chitrasena! Nandababa’s father! Chitrasena aajoba had a thick, white, mushroom-shaped mustache. Even his thick eyebrows were completely white. He used to keep a roll of betel leaves in his mouth, and would keep chewing it for hours.
He usually carried a small pouch decorated with tiny bells, to store the bete
l leaves. A man of robust physique, he always donned a twisted, brick-red-coloured turban. A prominent sandalwood mark adorned his forehead. He draped his coarse, woollen blanket loosely around both his shoulders, on top of the special Barabandi dress that he wore. His black-bordered dhoti dyed in red ochre was tightly tucked around his knees. A dazzling silver bracelet, the symbol of our family, hung loose in his hand. A beaded, golden earring dangled in his right ear. Hunchbacked due to old age, he always uttered the name of Goddess Ida, while getting up with the support of his sturdy cane adorned with tiny bells.
This grandfather in Gokul was the one who had explained to me my life’s Gita in numerous ways in the local language of gopas. I can never forget grandfather Chitrasena, just as a person cannot be separated from his shadow.
My childhood consisted of the emotional trio of myself, Balaramadada, and our sister Ekananga, who was born when we both were about five to six years old. Our beloved Eka! The three of us were very close to each other.
At home, our trio would always hang around grandfather. Father, Thorali, and Dhakali, all our kakas and kakus, our cousins – our family was full of bustle with plenty of relatives. It was indeed Gokul – a joyous place in and out.
As Thorali always mentioned, I was a very chubby baby; constantly giggling, energetic and naughty. I was so chubby and charming that Thorali, Dhakali, their female friends and all other gopis would never let me go from their hands, and be on my own. One day while churning buttermilk Thorali did something very funny. Not on purpose, it just happened inadvertently! Dhakali was also churning buttermilk with her while humming a tune. Both of us – myself and dada stood holding onto the sides of the jar, impatiently waiting for the butter to surface, so we could quickly gobble it up. Both of us were naked, with only a silk cord tied around our waist and silver anklets on our feet.
Thorali had this peculiar quirk of inadvertently closing her eyes while churning buttermilk and humming gopa songs, losing herself in the tune. That day, I was fed up of the wait for the blob of butter. Crawling and stumbling I went towards her and stood behind her. After some time while humming a tune Thorali dipped her hand in the pot and gently pulled out a fresh blob of butter, dripping in buttermilk. She was looking for me behind the jar. When she couldn’t find me there, she got confused. Muttering to herself, ‘Where did he go?’ she started looking for me in the whole chamber.
I was standing right behind her holding the edge of her dress for support. Momentarily, I moved along with her in a circle. Soon, she realized that I was right behind her holding the edge of her dress. Picking me up with her hands full of butter, she started kissing me hysterically, especially the dimple on my cheek. Stifled, I started wailing loudly. Immediately, she stuffed a pat of fresh butter in my wide open mouth. Obviously, it muffled my cries. All my tears froze. She pulled a fresh, iridescent peacock feather from a bunch kept in a niche. Oh, it glowed with such a medley of iridescent colours – blue, purple, greenish, and golden. She quickly stuck it in my thick, curly hair. Since then the peacock feather got stuck to me forever. Later, it became a significant symbol of my life. However, my elder brother Balarama was never bestowed with one in his life.
Watching everything from a distance, he was lingering near Dhakali alongside her jar of buttermilk. Suddenly he began approaching us. Slithering at first, then crawling and toddling, he clung to Thorali in a flash. Tugging at her dress aggressively he motioned her to put me down and pick him up. What a big ruckus he made to grab her attention! He started flailing his arms and legs hysterically. Engrossed in me, Thorali initially did not realize it. He went completely berserk at that. With a scowl on his face he moved to the centre of the room, and started kicking around wildly while wailing so hard that it could have blown the roof off. Thorali instantly put me down; Dhakali left her churning halfway and both scurried to him. They tried so hard to console him, but to no avail. When both of them tried to hold him, he kept screaming, kicking and grumbling. By this time, he was almost out of breath. Finally, he lay down in the centre of the room, motionless. I toddled towards him one step at a time. There he was, lying motionless with his eyes closed. I tousled his thick hair with brotherly love. He opened his eyes and saw me, but did not respond at all. Then I also got upset, turned my back to him and started moving away from him. Seeing me walk away he crawled and toddled towards me and grabbed me. He was laughing now, loudly and freely! I also put my arms around his neck and joined in his laughter. Both mothers saw our reconciliation and rushed towards us leaving their churning sticks behind. Both of them picked us in their arms, and kissed us irresistibly. I was in the arms of Dhakali, Rohinimata, and Balaramadada was in the arms of Thorali, Yashodamata!
One memory that Yashodamata shared with me, is always going to remain with me – just like the hairy calf-shaped birthmark on my chest.
When I was a little older, one evening I returned from the pasture after grazing the cows. Music was the love of my life! That day, herding the cattle on my way back, I was lost in a very unique tune of Raga Asavari that I was playing on my flute. In the clouds of dust rising along the hooves of the cattle, Stokakrishna, Sridama, Damana, Varuthapa, Rudrasena, Bhadrasena and Pendya, my friends and I were barely visible to each other. With the rays of the setting sun lingering on our backs, all of us entered Gokul along with our cattle from the western gate. The cows returned to their own corrals out of habit. With the help of our attendants dada and I tethered our cows, put fodder in front of them and went inside our home. Dada went to Dhakali’s room to meet her.
I washed my feet and entered Thorali’s room as usual. I hung the coarse blanket from my shoulder on the wall peg, put my belled staff carefully in a corner. I put my flute and lunch bag in the alcove. As usual I bent down to pay my obeisance, and put my head on Thorali’s feet, who was standing in front of me. She quickly held my shoulders and pulled me up. For a moment she gazed deep into my eyes. Her face had a very peculiar look today! The corners of her eyes were visibly moist. It shocked me to see her like this. Holding both her hands affectionately in mine I hastily asked her, “What is it Thorali aai? Why do you look so strange today? As if you are here, but your mind is wandering far away in the jungle somewhere.”
“Were you playing the flute just now?” she asked. I nodded in affirmation. “Oh, this peculiar tune of yours, has left my heart aching! I regret the apprehension about you that I harboured on the night you were born. The night of Abhijeet constellation, the eighth night of the dark fortnight in the month of Shravana! The whole world had blossomed with such vibrant energy on that thunderous, stormy night!”
“An apprehension? What was it?” I asked shaking her hands fiercely. “Come now, sit.” She made me sit next to her and said, “I had lost consciousness due to agonizing contractions on the night you were born. A thunderous, destructive storm had hit that night. Many giant, ancient trees of Gokul collapsed with a loud crashing noise. The cool, fragrant breeze of Shravana coming from river Yamuna awoke me sometime in the wee hours. You were right there – by my side; new-born, fresh, wailing ravenously. I gathered you in my arms to nurse you. But the moment I touched you, a dreadful suspicion engulfed my heart, ‘This baby is not mine’! I kept gaping at you in disbelief. You were still wailing and kicking. The moment you ravenously started suckling at my bare bosom a profound feeling of motherhood rushed all over me like a flash of lightning. I had never experienced such emotion before. The first touch of your lips completely transformed my awareness. As if you were silently reassuring me - ‘I am the apple of your eyes, your dear son, and you are indeed my mother’.
That memory lying deep down in the recesses of my mind resurfaced today after hearing the peculiar tune of your flute. Krishna, my dear son, please forgive me for the doubt that I harboured in the past.
I simply smiled at that time. Sometimes in the jungle I would hold the bushy tail of my favourite cow and stroke it over my face. Likewise, I held both her rosy palms and gently stroking them over my cheeks I said to her, “No
w now, don’t be so silly! Am I even worthy of forgiving you?”
As I turned to go inside, she held my hands and said anxiously, “ Kanhaiya, please don’t go to the Yamuna so frequently!” For some reason she was probably thinking that Yamuna was going to abduct me.
This memory she shared with me was of a much later period. She had often described my naming ceremony with complete engrossment. I still remember it as vividly as she told me.
For my naming ceremony, all gopas and gopis of Gokul had decorated the entire town on the previous day itself. The corral attendants had beautified the horns of all cows, bulls and calves with varied colours. Their necks were adorned with garlands of jingling bells. All animals had their foreheads smeared with vermilion. All the houses, streets, palaces, temples, gymnasiums, and gates in Gokul were festooned with garlands of assorted fragrant flowers woven with mango leaves. Since early morning men, women, girls and boys in festive outfits were joyously bustling around in their well-manicured front yards. On the central open-air proclamation platform, kettle drums and trumpets were reverberating since before dawn.
The inner sanctum of our house was festooned with garlands of Ananta, Champaka, Jaswanda and assorted wild flowers. At the centre of the hall a magnificent cradle made from rosewood; engraved with delicate tracery patterns was swaying on wooden crossbars. It was also bedecked with assorted garlands of flowers, pearls and beads. The hall resonated with the chatter of zealous gopis in festive attires. Wrapped in a rich, soft fabric with a tiny dot of Kajal on my forehead I was dressed up in a golden flowered cape. Thorali gently put me in the decorated cradle. At the auspicious moment recommended by the royal priest she gently whispered my name in my ears - ‘Krishna’. The people of Gokul were full of fervent enthusiasm that could not be contained in their hearts. They were joyously hugging and telling each other, “Our Nandababa’s precious son, an answer to his prayers, is named, ‘Kri…shna…! Ki…sh…an!’
Srikrishna- the Lord of the Universe Page 2