Verse 4

In plain words

37. The Slaying of the Rākṣasas Because remembering and recounting the Lord's childhood līlās was a source of boundless delight to Śuka too, the very moment he was asked, Śuka said: "Mahārāja! Is there anything greater than sanctifying this remaining span of time with deeds of service to the Lord? The Lord's līlās are all drops of amṛta! All of them are pure bliss. Tell me which of them you wish to hear. I shall relate to you the truth that there is about it, and the greatness I have beheld." When Śuka asked this, Mahārāja Parīkṣit replied, "Svāmī! If you narrate to me what further pastimes Gopāla kept up with the cowherd boys, I shall be carried across." The Unique Glory of Śrī Kṛṣṇa's Flute-Song "Mahārāja! Gopāla would wake in the Brahma-muhūrta itself, finish His morning duties, and go to the cattle-shed. Deciding which cattle were to be taken out to graze that day, He would give them water, throw fodder to those that were to stay behind, untie the tethers, drive the herd outside and keep them waiting there. Then He Himself would also go indoors, tie up His cold rice in a bundle with pickles tucked inside it, rouse His elder brother, go out into the street, and blow on horn-trumpets to let His fellow cowherd children know that He was ready.

The moment they heard that sound, the cowherd boys would start as if jolted, each finish his own chores, carry his bundle of cold rice on his shoulder, and gather, ready, in front of mother Yaśodā's house. All of them together, playing the flute and singing songs as they went — some of the boys, the instant a cuckoo called, would call back in answer; and as birds wheeled across the sky and their shadows fell upon the earth, they would run chasing those shadows. Some lay sprawled on the backs of the cattle, humming tunes, and every now and then looking round to see what Gopāla was doing and where He was, until they reached the forest. Kṛṣṇa would walk along with His muraḷī tucked into His waistband, His whip in His hand, a ball of cold rice held in His left hand, lifting His lovely voice in song. As though keeping tāḷa to Gopāla's singing, and as though listening quietly to those songs, the cows would prick up their ears, lift their necks high, and walk on until they reached the edge of the pond. By the time they got there it would be the proper hour to eat the cold rice, so they would all sit down by that pond, untie their bundles — each his own, of every kind, mixed with curd, cream and milk — and wait until the moment came to begin eating them. As soon as Gopāla put a morsel into His mouth, all would begin to eat. Sometimes Gopāla would shape His own curd-rice into ball after ball and share it out among them all; then He Himself would ask, again and again, for the food each of them had brought, and have one morsel from each placed in His mouth. "Gopāla! This is our yengili, isn't it! How can we give it to you? Isn't it an offence?" they would say, shrinking back and drawing away, further and further. At such a time

Gopāla would say, 'When He who dwells in all is only One, why any distinction? How can it be yengili?' — and He would take for Himself the nallikāya pickle that they had bitten and set down beside them, and relish it with a smack of His lips. The Lord who in that age ate the yengili of Śabarī — how, in this age, could the yengili of the cowherds be anything different to Him? Bālakṛṣṇa Slays Kaṃsa's Messengers In this way, one day, having eaten His cold rice sitting on a rock in the shade of a hill and washed His hands in the pond, Gopāla was seen running at great speed towards the cattle. As His fellow cowherds stared in astonishment, wondering 'What is it?', they saw among the herd a handsome young bull, one that was new. Gopāla went straight up to that bull, seized both its hind legs in His hands, whirled it round and round and dashed it against a rock — whereupon, making a strange sound in a hideous voice, it took on a rākṣasa's form, and vomiting blood from its mouth, gave up its life. Seeing this, the cowherds, overwhelmed with astonishment, came running up close and asked what this marvel was. Gopāla, His smile dancing, told them: 'A rākṣasa took on this form and came as Kaṃsa's messenger, joined our cows, and was playing out this drama — so I gave him the punishment he deserved.' At this the children all praised Gopāla, crying 'You did a good deed, Gopāla!' and leaping about; and wondering whether there were yet any other new animals in that herd, and whether anything had swallowed any of their own cattle, each of them would go along carefully searching through his own cattle and keeping watch over them. Going on in this way, by midday they reached a hill. As the heat of the sun there was fierce, they turned the cattle into the hill's shade, and they too lay down to rest in the hill's shade.

Meanwhile the day wore on. Saying 'Let us turn the cattle back,' one boy got up and went to look, and saw something in the shape of a huge stork, taking the cattle into its belly. The moment he shouted 'Kṛṣṇa! Gopāla!', Gopāla was there in an instant; He seized by the beak Bakāsura, who was in that stork's shape, tore him apart right down to the tail, flung him away, and rescued the cows that had gone into its belly. So, with a new marvel every day, the slaying of the rākṣasa messengers Kaṃsa sent became a game to the cowherd boys. They no longer showed any astonishment at all; the conviction that Gopāla's power and prowess were beyond all measure took root in their hearts. And so the cowherds, without any fear of any kind, would be ready to go with Gopāla wherever He said, whenever He said. Because on the previous day the rākṣasa called Bakāsura had come in the form of a stork and lost his life at Gopāla's hand, the rākṣasa who was Bakāsura's younger brother, hearing the news of his brother's death, flew into a rage, came as a python, and lay across the path, facing them as they approached, his mouth gaping wide to swallow the cows, the cowherds, and in the end even Rāma, Kṛṣṇa and the rest, sparing none. Gopāla, not knowing, drove the cows straight on, and the cows, the cowherds, all of them, entered its mouth, which was like a mountain cave, and went down into its belly. Seeing this, Gopāla discovered that this too was a rākṣasa; He seized the python's two jaws, tore it apart right down to the tail, rescued the cows and the cowherds who were in its belly, told them what had happened, and dispelled the cowherds' fears. From then on, whatever fears and delusions the cowherds still had, more or less, left them too. Knowing that in everything they had our Gopāla, who is all-powerful, they became fearless; heeding nothing, never glancing aside, they would walk only in Kṛṣṇa's direction —

— such were they. Mahārāja! These childhood līlās of Gopāla were, minute by minute, nothing but marvels, nothing but delights, nothing but wonders. What can I tell you of them? Are such superhuman marvels possible for ordinary beings? To See the Powers of the Lord and Still Forget Him Is Itself a Curse! "The births of those who see such things and still do not believe are nothing but burdens on the earth, nothing but empty būraga pods," said Śuka, his face gently smiling; and seeing him stand with his eyes open, his gaze fixed unwaveringly in one direction, as though beholding the form of the Cinmaya-mūrti, Mahārāja Parīkṣit said: "Svāmī! When even the dānavas believed in the Divine and carried on their worship of it, what fitting reason can there be for human beings, of all, to forget the Divine? They will not believe even the eyes that have seen, yet they trust the ears that have heard. My feeling is that this is simply the fruit of sin — or else it may even be a curse." Śuka said: "Mahārāja! Your words are the supreme truth. Kaṃsa, Jarāsandha, Śiśupāla, Sālva and the other rākṣasas beheld with their own eyes how many were Kṛṣṇa's powers and capabilities; yet because the notion 'He is a cowherd boy' kept moving in their ears, they disregarded what they had seen and kept dwelling on the words of the ākāśavāṇī — and was it not for this that they lost their lives? Though the superhuman deeds and the most wondrous powers of the Bhagavān who stood before them in person were being reported to them daily by the very messengers they themselves had sent, they paid them no heed and forgot their lakṣya, which is God — what is that, if not a curse? And that too is the fruit of sins committed! Gopāla is the Protector of the worlds, not a cowherd boy. In outward form He is a child of human shape, but He is the Auspicious One who, with His power and resourcefulness, holds Mukti in His hand and grants release from bondage. He is Nārāyaṇa Himself." At these words of Śuka the Mahārāja rejoiced: "Even an atom's worth of the good fortune my grandfathers had in playing and rejoicing together with that Gopāla — a good fortune such as to hear of it and rejoice — that fortune

— that this has come to me is itself my good fortune! It is only through the fruit of their puṇya that I have been able to hear, from the words of such a maharṣi, the līlās of Him whose very svarūpa is Mādhava. Otherwise, would this ever fall to the lot of ordinary people?" So saying, shedding tears of bliss, his palms joined, gazing at the blissful face of the maharṣi Śuka, he prayed: "Svāmī! I have heard that Gopāla accomplished the Kāḷiya-mardana. Tell me what its inner meaning is, what wonder arose in the people from His doing it in that way, and what the momentous truth within it is — and wipe away my doubt."