Srikrishna- the Lord of the Universe

by Shivaji Sawant

  My blood seemed to rush in a frenzy. I was filled with indomitable self-confidence. My breathing intensified. This was a unique experience! Deep down I felt that the one who spoke was not Krishna of the gopas at all. It was somebody else! The gopa assembly had never seen me like this before. They were all speechless. All kept staring at me in shock. So far only Balaramadada had developed the capacity to read my mind. He backed me determinedly saying, “I completely agree with Krishna. We as well as other gopas of Vraja will never be happy and satisfied if we live in the fear of somebody.”

  “I will discontinue the festival of Indra. I want to liberate the mountain from Indra’s clutches. Do I have your support?” I immediately asked them, barely giving them any time to ponder over it. I knew very well by now that given a chance to think too much, people would surely will split their hair over imaginary obstacles. Not only strangers but even our dear ones would be no exception to this.

  Nandababa also had developed an eye to discern my thoughts. He concluded the council meeting with determined declaration, “Everything will happen as and only as Krishna says. Not just today, but in the future too!”

  The day after the meeting, however, Vrindavana faced a disaster that will never be forgotten. The sun had barely set when the deep blue sky was flooded with huge elephant-sized black clouds rumbling loudly. Suddenly there was lightning and thunder. Torrential rain deluged Gokul, as if the sky had gone berserk. Huge trees started crashing loudly in the furious, windy storm. It rained violently throughout the night.

  As Vrindavana was flooding with water, covering themselves with cloaks and blankets everybody, including father, all gopas with their wives and children, Radha with her husband Rayana, left their houses, calling and reassuring each other. The lightning bolts still flashed with thunder. The torrential rain continued. The trees were turning and twisting in the turbulent winds. Some got uprooted and crashed with deafening sounds. The dreadful Tandava dance of wind and water continued for two whole days. Meanwhile Balaramadada said to me, “Krishna, only the melodious music of your flute will give us some comfort in this disastrous situation!” I smiled. I had forgotten my flute back in Vrindavana.

  Shivering in the cold and gritting their teeth, everybody upheld dada’s proposal, ‘‘Yes, yes, please play your flute, Kanhaiya.” But I was helpless. I had no flute with me!

  My beloved friend Radha had come into my life to support and love me the way no one could comprehend. Shivering in the cold she came forward. She had covered herself with my blanket. Holding my flute in front of me she said with authority, “Play your divine flute, Kanhaiya and give us hope!”

  Looking at her affectionately and glancing at dada and other gopas I smiled again. The lightning was still flashing; the wind was still roaring and it was still pouring. I played a completely unfamiliar tune on my flute. Soaking completely in the pouring rain, the melody disseminated in the atmosphere of Vrindavana and the Indraparvata. Wet, cold, shivering, frightened for their lives, terrified of the destructive storm, our family and all young and old gopas felt reassured and refreshed. Someone hollered loudly giving tremors to the pouring rain, “The Saviour of Vrindavana, The Maestro of the Flute, The Guardian of Gopas–Victory to Krishna!” All gopas responded in unison, “Victory to Krishna!” Listening to the victorious cries the rain eased off. The storm abated. Maybe Indra just got washed away in the storm of the night!

  The next day the gopas of Vrindavana gathered together to wrench off the protective fence around Indraparvata. While yanking out the first post of the fence I intuitively declared, “This mountain will be known as ‘Mount Govardhana’ from today onwards. Henceforth, the festival will be celebrated in honour of Mount Govardhana. The cattle of all people of Vraja will graze freely here. They will breed and procreate here.” All the gopas agreed and finalized the new name of the mountain–‘Govardhana! Mount Govardhana!’

  The heat of summer got exhausted while trying to smoulder the thick verdure of Vrindavana.The parching summer passed by. Gray, aqueous clouds started rumbling in the blue skies of Vrindavana, marking the onset of monsoon. Elated peacocks spread their plumage and danced rhythmically, giving out joyous cries.

  One day, in the forest of Madhuvana, my beloved friend Radha dragged me away from my friends, and took me under a tree. It was the Kadamba tree, our favourite tree, proudly displaying its branches loaded with clusters of scarlet-coloured blooms. Their intoxicating fragrance diffused in the air.

  Radha wanted to gift me something. She had taken extra efforts to conceal it in the fold of her dress. I sat down on a big rock. She stood by my side and said, “Manamohanaa, today I am going to offer you an exclusive gift. That is why I have brought you here, away from others. Mukundaa, you will like my gift, for sure.” She took out the gift carefully hidden in the fold of her dress, and held it in front of me. It was a crown made of tiny, lush green leaves of wild creepers. An iridescent peacock feather tucked in it was enriching its beauty. Awestruck, I kept staring at the beautiful crown bedecked with the peacock feather. Then with some thought, I wore the crown on my head smiling and glancing at her.

  Her eyes sparkled with tears. Lost in deep emotion she instantly closed her fish shaped eyes and stood still for quite some time. Mesmerized, I intently kept looking at her remarkably serene beauty. The evening had slowly crept over the forest of Madhuvana. We both returned to Vrindavana

  along with our friends, bearing the dusty twilight clouds on our backs.

  I had deliberately accepted and worn the peacock-feathered crown gifted by Radha today. The peacock feather was a delicate and befitting symbol of something healthy and perpetual. It was a symbol of the fertile Yoni – the supremely sacred virtue of womanhood. I had honoured it deliberately with a clean and clear mind at the beginning of my life’s journey.

  Radha was indeed my first female Guru. The one who introduced me to the different emotions and moods of a woman – sometimes loquaciously, other times silently. She had initiated me into a lust less, incomparable premayoga full of deep affection, pure love and complete devotion. Radhika was my soul mate, my first female Guru!

  Soon the silvery, full moon night of Kojagiri descended gently on Vrindavana. Shining brightly in the night sky the platter-sized moon began pouring its silver light on Vrindavana and Madhuvana. We gopas of the Chandravansha, had a sentimental tradition followed by generations, that of the Rasa dance! Under the bright light of the full moon of Kojagiri, men and women would indulge in the Rasa dance throughout the night. No other places in Aaryavarta followed such a tradition except for the eighteen Gokuls of Vrajabhumi.

  The entire Vrindavana gathered in Madhuvana today. Dressed fancifully, everyone assembled on the banks of Neel sarovar full of blue, orange and white-coloured lotuses. During the first part of the night all gopa children and elderly couples were going to play Rasa while merrily singing and dancing.

  Of course, as the eldest of the family, Chitrasena aajoba had the rightful privilege to commence the Rasa. Securing a big turban on his head, with a trembling neck he tossed a fistful of vermillion in the air hailing ‘Victory to Goddess Ida’. On that cue, all the instruments and the dancing feet of the gopas commenced the Rasa. They were not going to stop through the night.

  The típrya began clattering now. The first batch of children and the elderly got exhausted after dancing for quite some time. Madhuvana was getting exhilarated by the silvery moonlight. Innumerable tunes blossomed with the escalating rhythm under the starlit sky. A huge cauldron was placed on a fireplace near the lake. It was brimming with a nourishing blend of milk, saffron, honey and sugar. The saffron-coloured drink was dancing on the cool breeze of Yamuna putting the shining stars in the sky to shame!

  It was midnight now. Chitrasena aajoba raised his jingling staff high in the air and stomped it on the ground. On his cue, all the big and small gopas and gopis consumed the sweet milk from the huge cauldron hailing the Goddess Ida. Children devoured the creamy layer on top of the milk in no time. The
moon witnessed the gopas gulping down pots of milk. Finally, we - Balaramadada, myself, both mothers, grandfather, father, all kakas and kakus, and yes Radha too with her husband Rayana - relished the delicious milk. The full moon of Kojagiri had descended by a few degrees by now.

  The main team of Rasa dancers entered the dancing ring now. It seemed as if Radha was determined to keep the memory of our love alive forever. Today also she had brought me a precious gem, hiding it in the folds of her dress. As soon as Balaramadada, Radha, our friends and cousins, and I gathered in the dancing ring, holding my hands in her moist palms Radha gently pulled me in the centre of the circle.

  Fair, moon-faced, smiling Radha affectionately pressed my cupped hands tightly with her palms and said, “Kanhaiya, please accept the gift that I am going to give you today as a gift from my heart. Never separate it from yourself, even for a moment. It should be always with you in the same form that it is now. Will you fulfil this wish of this sentimental friend of yours? Please! Promise me!” She presented her right palm to me. Now I held her cupped hand in mine and pressed it lovingly for a moment. Putting my right palm on hers I said to her, “Certainly, I will fulfil your wish. I give you my word.”

  From the folds of her dress she pulled out a thick white garland of fresh flowers artistically intertwined with lush green leaves. Putting it around my neck she whispered, “This garland – my Vaijayanti garland – you should wear every day, woven with new, fresh flowers. Kanhaiya, remember its name, VAIJAYANTI !”

  The brilliance of the full moon of Kojagiri that shone in her eyes blended with the moonlight in my eyes. I lifted the garland so full of sentiments and inhaled deeply to fill my chest with its fragrance. I caressed the knee length garland with both hands. Just like grandfather had done, I tossed a fistful of vermillion in the sky.

  To commence the main Rasa, I pulled out my flute tied in the scarf around my waist, and played an indicative tune. The típrya clattered. The kettle-drums echoed. I tucked my flute back in the scarf. As the moon engrossed in Rasa started ascending in the sky the Rasa dance on the ground intensified.

  Dancing without a break, Radha got exhausted. Beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead. We all got lost in the rhythm of the dance. We had completely lost the sense of our bodies. Radha, the gopa-gopis, and I, we had totally lost consciousness in the rhythm of dancing. Radha was not a woman anymore and I, not a man! Radha-Krishna were not two separate entities. We had become one wick of the life-lamp flickering to the beat of Rasa; one entity, one existence!

  We had not realized that now all the elders and children sitting around us watching the Rasa were totally engrossed in it. Clapping their hands with closed eyes they were rhythmically chanting, ‘Radha-Krishna, Radha-Govinda, Radhe-Krishna, Radhe-Govinda! Radhe-Govinda, Radhe-Krishna’ Listening to their chanting I felt particularly satisfied about one thing, they had honoured a woman, my friend Radha, chanting her name before mine.

  The enchanted days in Vrindavana were soon over. Our original Gokul was lush green again. So,father announced our return to the original Gokul. It was time to say goodbye to Vrindavana, where every place carried sentimental memories of Radha and me. Apparently, I was used to saying goodbyes like this since my birth. It was my destiny. Various melodies of my flute had blossomed and resonated in the ambience of Vrindavana, Madhuvana, and Govardhana. The fresh natural beauty around had given me so much during my stay in Vrindavana. But my beloved friend Radha had given me much more than that.

  Whatever Radha taught me — sometimes by speaking continuously for hours together, sometimes through silence, sometimes just through the touch of her hand, and at times simply through her communicative eyes — was invaluable. She introduced a woman to me as the Creator’s most positive, virtuous work of art that is full of pure love.

  A farewell to Vrindavana was a farewell to the matchless and pure emotional love of Radha-Krishna. With heavy hearts, both of us bade farewell to Vrindavana. As we were departing I told Radha, “From today onwards you are the Queen of Vrindavana. Wherever men and women will have a Vrindavana of pure affection devoid of lust and lechery, Radha will always exist there for sure.” Radha, dada, and I returned to our original Gokul, along with all gopas. These were the days of approaching youth. Youth! The phase of life that steers the chariot of horses of Imagination aspiring for the sky; that harbours the ambition to explore the world to the best of its ability. Youth, that expels the word ‘impossible’ from the mind, just like the rising water of the ocean throws out the incoming water at first.

  From Gokul to Vrindavana and back to Gokul – the healthy, life-giving air in the land of Vraja had made us mentally fearless and physically powerful. Our bodies were well built and toned by the rigorous exercise under the meticulous supervision of Kelinandakaka and Prananandakaka. Our bodies became lustrous as a result of devouring pots of freshly drawn milk. Dada was already looking all grown up like a tough and hefty wrestler. A glistening mustache had just started growing above our lips indicating the arrival of youth.

  Nowadays my pestering questions to grandfather, father, both mothers, our kakas and kakus had considerably increased. I incessantly asked them questions like, “How come Maharaja Ugrasena of Mathura has been imprisoned by his own son Kansa? How come nobody has ever tried to liberate Devakimata and Maharaja Vasudeva from the clutches of Kansa? What were the various clans and hundreds and thousands of Yadavas belonging to them doing at that time? Why do I have the incessant urge to go and meet them? Why does my heart revolt to free them from the clutches of Kansa?” My incessant questions would leave all of them nonplussed. As dada was more experienced than me, sometimes I would tightly hold his muscular arms and ask “Balaramadada, dear Sankudada, at least you tell me why do I have this irresistible urge to go to Mathura? Why do I want to visit the imprisoned Maharaja Vasudeva and Maharani Devakidevi at least once? Don’t you ever feel the same urge? Why not?” Dada would just stare at me and reply, “If you can’t find an answer to these questions, how can I Dhakalya?”

  I couldn’t find a satisfying answer to a single question. The days and nights kept tagging each other like players of Aatyapatya and time kept moving on. Day by day the pressure on the mind of Krishna – an adolescent boy standing on the verge of adulthood – kept building.

  Finally, that day dawned on Gokul! As usual dada, our friends, and I returned in the evening along with our cattle. That day we saw an unusual sight — an embellished royal chariot yoked with five strong, shiny, pure black horses stood near the western entrance. Dada and I were startled when we saw the chariot, as it was vacant. Dada ran frantically towards Gokul. But some kind of fascination drew me to the chariot. I feasted my eyes on the beautiful horses, and started stroking the lustrous black creatures while discerning their vivacity. They responded with their neighing and snorting. I liked those animals very much. In a short while dada returned with father. Nandababa who was always cheerful irrespective of any number of calamities, looked dejected today. He looked worried. Hastily he said to me, “Krishna, come immediately. The royal minister has summoned you. He is resting at our house.”

  The three of us rushed to Gokul. I was ahead of dada, and father. Just as we entered our house I saw a tall, hefty, bearded man in royal attire, wearing a crown on his head. Upon seeing him, my pace increased unknowingly. Dada was behind me. For the first time in our lives we were meeting a Yadava warrior in person.

  I moved forward and bowed down to pay respects to him. He instantly pulled me up and embraced me. Father introduced him to me, “This is Akrura, Maharaja Kansa’s minister! He has arrived to invite you to the ‘Dhanuryaga’ – a Yajna along with an archery contest. Balarama is invited too.” Father stuttered while speaking. His words were broken and voice was shaky. But the royal minister Akrura kept observing me for quite a while. After some time, he gathered his thoughts and addressed us, “Maharaja Kansa desires to see your valour. He wants to see both of you to his heart’s content. He has dispatched me as his envoy to invite b
oth of you to the ‘Dhanuryaga’.”

  “First, tell me Akrurakaka, how did you bring this huge royal chariot from Mathura across river Yamuna?” I asked him a precise question.

  “Brilliant! You are so observant! I liked your question. One spacious boat carried our chariot and the charioteer. I disembarked in Gokul from another boat on the banks of Yamuna. Both the boats are still anchored in river Yamuna.” Akrura told us smiling gently. He put his hand on my shoulder and entered the inner chamber.

  Supper was done. Today even Akrura who was our guest sat with our family for the evening family prayer.

  His sudden arrival had left all the family members restless. Possessed with innumerable doubts they were tossing and turning in their beds. The torches in father’s bed chamber were burning for a long time too. Balaramadada and I were also wide awake lying next to each other with the thought of going to Mathura the next day. Thorali and Dhakali– both were sitting on their beds, whispering to each other and sobbing at times.

  We thought that Akrurakaka must be sound asleep as he was exhausted due to the long journey. Apparently, that wasn’t the case though. As the midnight toll rang, holding a lantern in his hand Akrurakaka came out of his chamber and stood in front of father, “Nandaraja, I need to speak to you about something very crucial, in private. So please come to my room alone. We will talk first and later I will summon both your sons. Come now, let’s go.”

  The unexpected invitation, the hearsay about Kansa’s tyranny…father was already disturbed. His words confused father even more, but he followed the royal minister to his chamber.

  Akrurakaka closed the door first. Then in a low, whispering voice he shared the evil plan of his vicious king Kansa under the pretext of the ‘Dhanuryaga’. He said, “Oh gopa king Nandadeva, the invitation for ‘Dhanuryaga’ is a deception, an utter lie. A diabolical scheme to slaughter both your sons has been cunningly cooked up in the royal palace of Mathura. Huge intoxicated elephants and wrestlers will attack your sons without any warning at all. They will be killed either under the feet of huge elephants or in the duel with the wrestlers. They need to be cautioned about this today. Go and fetch both of them.”