Verse 5

In plain words

36. Śrī Kṛṣṇa's Childhood Play "Svāmī! From the time He reached Vrepalle from His dwelling in the prison at Mathurā, what childhood līlās did Gopāla display, for eleven years, in the woods and groves of the Vraja country, together with the forest cowherds? I am eager to hear of them," Parīkṣit entreated Śuka. Śuka smiled. "Mahārāja! It is not possible to tell all the enchanting, heart-captivating līlās of Gopāla, that divine child. The cowherd boys of Vraja who experienced them are blessed indeed. God does not look at name, birth-group, caste, karma, bhāva, relationship and the like. In whatever bhāva one comes to Him, He welcomes one, takes one under His shelter, removes one's unrest and bestows bliss — that Gopāla, ever since Vasudeva left Him at Nanda's house, has forever been the giver of unfailing bliss; cries of "Jaya! Jaya!" rang out for Kṛṣṇa. Growing day by day, playing with His mother as her cherished darling, crawling, crossing the threshold, and at last holding onto His mother's and father's fingers, He began to take His first toddling steps. However many ways His parents hid Gopāla to save Him from the clutches of the messengers Kaṃsa sent, He would not stay hidden. With those who came

He Himself would go ahead and introduce Himself. Who could hide Gopāla, who is the very śrīkāra of the worlds themselves? Who could steal Him away? It is all a līlā! O King! Growing up in this way, growing and growing, however much His mother and father tried to hold Him back, He would not stop, but went off with the cowherd children to play on the holy sandbanks of the rippling Yamunā. He would go along herding the cows. The eyes that saw Him then, playing so enchantingly amid those spotless, radiant cows and calves — those were eyes indeed! Śrī Kṛṣṇa's Love for the Cows and the Cowherds The cows and calves were white! Gopāla was dark! Just imagine how beautiful that must have been! They would never leave Kṛṣṇa and go away, and He too loved them like brothers, like His own children. When Gopāla's hand fell on the calves, they would forget themselves, open their mouths, raise their tails, stretch out their tongues and lick Kṛṣṇa's face and hands. Sometimes Gopāla would hug those calves tightly around the neck, close His eyes, and with a soft smile seem to sway as if half-asleep. With the calves crowding round Him with Prema, with their tiny horns, He would roam, without regard for day or night, with the calves and the cowherds, over the sands of the Yamunā's banks in Bṛndāvana, the pleasure-ground of eternal spring. In the end Nanda and Yaśodā would send servants to bring Him home by force. In this way, forgetting home and self, growing up among the cowherd children, He grew bigger still. Even though His mother and father had not told Him to, He would untie the tethers of the cows and bull-calves, turn His own cattle onto the paths the village cattle took, and He too, together with the cowherd boys, a staff on His shoulder

and a cloth tied round His head, would walk in their midst looking like a royal lion cub. Playing merrily with the children, He would put His left hand to His ear, draw out rāgas in a high, full voice, and go on singing songs of Prema. At such times the cows, which had been grazing with such relish, would stop eating, stretch out their necks, stand as though transfixed and prick up their ears, looking as if they were waiting ready for His call, or as if they were in a state of dhyāna. Calves that had put their heads to their mothers' udders to drink would leave the milk undrunk, close their eyes, and seem to be taking in nothing but Kṛṣṇa's song, filling onlookers with great wonder. Śrī Kṛṣṇa's Līlās: Wondrous and Full of Bliss O King! How many of Gopāla's līlās, and which ones, shall I tell? Every one of them is a wonder! All of them are full of bliss! Sometimes, when He squabbled with the children and twirled a stick, anyone watching could not see the stick in His hand — He twirled it that fast. His companions would beg Him, "Teach us that stick-twirling too!" But what is a stick to Gopāla, who holds the very world in His hand and spins it like a ball? The poor cowherd boys did not know that this was not an art that comes by learning. Sometimes they would play in the trees. When the one playing 'thief' came to catch Him, He would go and perch on the very last, frail twig, which would sway even if a squirrel walked on it. There was no catching Him. Yes, of course — that is impossible for ordinary people; it is possible only for the pure of heart. In the forests He would be just like one of the cowherd children. Gopāla, who had been joking and playing with His arms on their shoulders, would in a moment

vanish from sight. Then He would come walking towards them in some disguise or other. The cowherd boys, taking Him for some stranger, would pass Him by without a greeting. Then He would burst out laughing and shout, "It's me, it's me! Couldn't you tell?" and the cowherd children would be astonished, and sometimes even seized by fear and bewilderment. Having spent the whole day like this, by evening He would come back to the hamlet with the cows and the children, like a boy who knew nothing at all. On some days His mother, making a fuss, would not let Him go to the forest and kept Him at home. At such times the cowherd children in the forest, and the cows, were very sad that day. With their flanks sunken in, the cows would rest their heads on one another and lie down in the shade of the trees, with no thought of food or water, looking as if they were waiting for blissful Kṛṣṇa to come, as if they were grieving. Some days His uncle Kaṃsa would dress up some rākṣasas in various disguises and send them to Vrepalle with toys and sweets. The village children would come and gather round those toys, asking their prices and begging to be given them. But while Kaṃsa's envoy in disguise watched with fixed gaze to see whether Kṛṣṇa might come, Kṛṣṇa would not so much as lift His eyes to look at those toys. At last, when the envoy had watched until evening and then lay in wait to carry Kṛṣṇa off, Kṛṣṇa would see through the wicked fellow, let Himself be caught in his hands as though really caught, then rip open his belly, beat on it like a drum, smash him to pieces and fling him away. To the people of Vrepalle this was strange and frightening, and at the same time a wonder and a joy. One day the whole village filled up with carts of mangoes. Seeing that this was the work of rākṣasas, He went ahead, took only the fruit, and sent the seller to Yama's city. All the things His uncle had sent — back …

to send them would be contrary to proper custom, He thought; so He accepted everything, but those who had brought the things He did not send back, so that no word of it could reach Kaṃsa. Mahārāja! From the time God came to dwell in Vraja, the whole Vraja country became Lakṣmī's playground. It was truly as if the Goddess Lakṣmī were playing openly throughout the land of Vraja. There were thousands upon thousands of cows, and no shortage of curd and milk. The cowherds worried what to do with so much milk, curd and butter, more than they could either store or eat. Seeing this, Gopāla, unwilling to let the essence of their beloved cows be thrown away, tried to gather it all into His own belly. That is the real basis for His name, "the milk-and-curd thief". Noticing these riches, and intending to make known to the world that Kṛṣṇa is the Paramātma, Indra devised a stratagem. He tried to contrive some reason for himself to become angry, and staged a drama: as if Kṛṣṇa had stopped the worship of Indra, as if Indra had then rained down a rain of stones, and as if Kṛṣṇa had lifted Govardhana Hill to protect everyone from its onslaught. In truth, Indra had no anger. Kṛṣṇa does not stop anyone's worship. Because it is hard for ordinary human beings to understand the divine tattva, He resolved upon these līlās so that, through such superhuman acts, they might recognize His divinity. These are some small proofs that there is no effect without a cause," Śuka explained. Then Mahārāja Parīkṣit, marvelling, said: "Ahā! How sweet Gopāla's līlās are! The more I hear, the more my ears are filled. Svāmī! Let me hear still more of His childhood līlās, and so be redeemed!" So he entreated.