KRISHNA CORIOLIS#4: Lord of Mathura (5 page)

She put one hand on her hip. ‘That plant doesn’t belong there! It’s just wrong.’

Krishna resisted the urge to sigh and roll his eyes too. ‘Well, I’m sure Bhoo Devi has a good reason to make it sprout up in that spot.’

Now it was Radha who rolled her eyes. ‘Bhoo Devi? The spirit of the planet couldn’t make that plant grow there. She wouldn’t make such a foolish mistake.’

She went on for a while about how the plant was poisonous and posed a danger to the cattle and how they would have to watch for more like it in case one of the calves happened to munch it innocently. Krishna listened with only half his attention. He was more involved in helping Balarama steer the herd through the woods. Radha chattered nonstop all the way, not helping one bit with the steering, rattling off the many different ways in which young calves’ lives could be endangered by consuming the wrong fodder. 

They emerged from the woods into a vista of such perfection that even she was momentarily silenced. The three of them stood at the top of a rise, staring out at rolling hills covered with lush kusa grass of emerald green, even Krishna didn’t know what to say at first. A gentle wind blew softly across the undulating slopes, the grass rippling like waves on the Yamuna in the wake of a ferry boat. 

‘It’s the perfect pasture,’ Radha said. ‘It really is! Look at that grass. I have never seen anything like it before. I must go tell my father.’ She bent down and pulled up a handful of the grass, taking care to uproot it with a little sod still clinging to the roots. ‘I’ll be back!’ she cried, racing back the way they had come, her feet making a swishing sound as they went through the grass. 

‘Don’t hurry,’ Balarama muttered. 

Krishna elbowed him affectionately. 

Balarama pushed him back. Krishna almost lost his balance. 

‘It is a great pasture,’ Balarama said. 

‘It’s perfect,’ Krishna admitted. 

The herd seemed to think so too. They were mooing and lowing to one another happily, munching away happily, tails flicking rapidly. The pastures closer to the village had been used up and it had been hard to find fresh feed for the herds of late. The cattle of Gokul-dham were used to roaming freely across the grass seas of Vraj-bhoomi, not being cooped into a bounded valley as they were now at Vrindavan. The village elders had been speaking of this more often at the meetings, wondering aloud how they would manage once the existing pastures were fully depleted. 

Now, it seemed, there was a solution. Krishna and Balarama had found new pastures, better than any other in Vrindavan. Perhaps even better than any in Vraj-bhoomi. 

3

RADHA
ran back the way they had come, through the woods. 

Passing the bed of marigolds she had spotted earlier, she slowed. She would break off a section of the plant she had seen earlier and take it back to show her mother; Maatr would know what the plant was called and might be able to understand why it was growing here, out of its natural environment. Despite her confident banter, all Radha knew for sure was that the plant was of a type that grew underground or in caves, never on open sunlit ground. Her mother would know much more about it. And both mother and father would be very pleased to hear about the discovery of the new pastures. To a cowherd, fodder was one of the most important things in life. Finding it, maintaining a constant supply, growing more…much of the art of herding had to do with ensuring one’s herds always had good fodder all year round. Especially when you cared for creatures that chewed constantly and needed to be fed every waking minute, that often proved to be a great challenge. They would be thrilled by the news, as would the rest of Vrindavan. 

She smiled as she waded through the marigold bed, careful not to stamp on even a single flower. Like anyone who loved plants, she treated them with respect and affection. She would never dream of plucking a flower unless it was needed and even when she did so, she always took care not to damage the plant itself. 

She stopped and looked around. This was the spot where they had stopped earlier. She could see the clumsy footprints left by heavy-footed Balarama and Krishna’s lighter-footed careful treads. The plant should have been right…here. But it wasn’t. 

The plant was gone. 

How was that possible? 

She looked around, puzzled. It was shady and cool here, the eaves of the overhanging branches providing considerable shade. Further away, the early morning sun streaming down through interwoven branches left dappled patterns on the trunks of fruit trees. She realized that there was very little birdsong audible, almost none in fact. And she could neither spot nor hear many squirrels or other little creatures. That was odd but nothing extraordinary in itself. There was also a stench coming from somewhere on the wind that she could not place, a fetid odor, as of raw carcass. Perhaps some predator had killed nearby and the remains were upwind of where she stood. She glanced that way: the shade was so dense there, it was almost dark. Dusky, twilight dark. 

She peered, wondering just how thick the trees could be to block out the sunlight that effectively, then shrugged. All that Bhoodevi did served a purpose. Perhaps the poisonous plant she had spotted here earlier was the natural diet of some creature that lived in such shadowy wooded areas. Perhaps one such creature had come by and eaten it already. It was quite dark there in the shade between those two enormous trees, almost dark enough to be a cave entrance. The plant usually grew underground or in dark caves, so it wasn’t completely unreasonable for it grow here in a relatively dark shady spot. 

She held up the handful of kusa grass she had uprooted and smiled. She would run back to the village and tell her father the good news. He would have the distinction of telling Nanda-Maharaja and the rest of the Vrishni. It would brighten everyone’s day. Finding new pastures was cause enough for a celebration. There would be a feast tonight, she guessed. And dancing. Ras-garbha. She would have a chance to dance with Krishna! His Lila was the best of all. Nobody else could play as well as he. 

Singing to herself, little Radha ran back towards the hamlet of Vrindavan with the good news. 

Behind her, the shadowy darkness that she had peered into only moments earlier stirred and began moving sluggishly, preparing to consume its next meal. 

4

Yashoda
heard the excited shouts and came out of her house, using her elbow to open the door because her hands were covered with curds. She had been making the lassi for the family for the day, a considerable chore in itself because of the quantity Balarama and Krishna consumed. She saw Vinayaka and Sudipta’s little girl Radha surrounded by a crowd of excited young gopas and gopis. Several older cowherds were gathered around as well, listening to the girl. Radha was describing something in great detail, spreading her arms wide and spinning around to indicate something vast and beautiful, as far as Yashoda could tell. Her pretty face was beaming with pleasure and from the reactions on the faces of those listening, it was apparent that they were enjoying listening to her ebullient description too. Yashoda smiled and brushed an errant hair off her forehead with the back of one hand, smearing a little curd on her face and not minding. She wondered what they were all talking about. Then she saw Rohini leave the group and come walking briskly to her. 

‘What is it?’ she asked even before Rohini reached her doorstep. 

‘New pastures!’ Rohini said, infected with the same enthusiasm that seemed to be spreading throughout the village. People were gathering around, converging from all over as the news spread. ‘Our two little rascals have discovered new pastures beyond the north-east woods!’

‘Really? That’s wonderful. Are they big enough to feed all our herds for a while?’

Rohini gestured towards the crowd gathered around little Radha. It had grown five fold already and was still expanding as the whole of Vrindavan’s population rapidly  converged on the bearer of good news. ‘If you believe Sudipta’s daughter, these pastures are big enough to feed all the herds in all the Yadava nation for all eternity!’

They laughed. ‘Little Radha always had a tendency to say more than was needed,’ Yashoda said. ‘Especially when it involves our little Krishna.’

‘Yes, she is quite besotted with him, isn’t she?’ Rohini said. ‘In any case, even if one takes her exaggerations with a big pinch of salt, that still suggests these new pastures must be quite bountiful. Perhaps even enough to feed our herds for two or three seasons.’

‘Which would give the present pastures time to replenish.’ Yashoda smiled. ‘That’s wonderful news! I must find Nanda and tell him.’

‘Oh, he already knows,’ Rohini said. ‘He’s gone to organize the gopas and get them to start moving the herds at once.’

‘I want to go too,’ Yashoda said, then remembered her half-stirred curds. ‘But I have to finish this batch first before it settles.’

‘I’ll help you,’ Rohini said, ‘four hands will make the churning go faster than two. Then we’ll go together to see the new pastures.’

Smiling happily, they went inside the house together. 

On the village street outside, Radha finished repeating the description of the new pastures for the umpteenth time, then, as the gopas and gopis in the crowd turned to one another to discuss the implications of this exciting news, she looked up at her own mother and father. 

Her father had already examined the sample of kusa grass and pronounced it eminently edible. He had even bitten off a bit and chewed it enthusiastically, drawing laughter and good-natured jesting. The mood in Vrindavan was happy today, happier than it had been in a long while. Now, her father had gone off with Nanda-Maharaja and the other elder gopas to organize the migration of the herds, while her mother remained here, speaking with several other gopis, many of whom were Radha’s aunts. 

‘Maa,’ she said, tugging at her mother’s garment. 

‘Yes, Radhey?’ Sudipta said, looking down at her daughter. 

‘Can I go back and show my friends the way to the new pastures? They want to take the rest of the calf herds there right away.’

Sudipta looked at her sisters, discussing the question with them. A few gopas were around too and they heard her query as well. Nobody had any objection to their children taking their calf herds to the new pastures. Everyone—man, woman, child, cow and calf—in the village was going there anyway.

‘Go ahead, but don’t get lost on the way,’ she said with habitual motherly affection. ‘Those north-east woods are quite dense, I’m told.’

‘Dense, maa?’ Radha repeated. ‘They’re dark as caves in places! But don’t worry, I could find the way back even in the dark with a cloth around my eyes!’

She ran off to tell the younger cowherds that she had permission. They let out a series of happy whoops and cheers, each running off to fetch his or her own little herd of calves and nursing mother cows. 

Shortly afterwards, as Rohini and Yashoda were finishing the last batch of buttermilk for the day, a long procession of young gopas and gopis passed through the center of the village, leading all the young calves and cows with them. Sounds of tongues clicking, bells dingling and excited young voices shouting to one another filled the air. 

The hustle and bustle was reminiscent of the way things had been back in Gokul-dham before the Vrishni had been forced to go into exile. A sense of hope and anticipation was in the air. Discovering new pastures was as big a miracle for cowherds as finding a new continent was to an explorer. Perhaps their luck had changed at last. Perhaps the good lord Vishnu had seen fit to grace them with happy days once more. The last few months had been dark, frightening times, with asuras assaulting children and with the discovery that the Slayer had been born in their midst, thereby blessing them as well as guaranteeing great hardship and struggle ahead. Today’s news was a much-needed boost to their flagging morale and everyone intended to make the most of it. 

The grown up gopas and gopis watched their children march happily down the pathway, smiling and commenting on their exuberance. Little did they know that they would not be seeing their young ones again that day and for many, many days to come. 

5

The
procession of young gopas and gopis wound their way from Vrindavan to the north-east woods, singing and dancing merrily. There was a festive spirit in the air. A boy in front, a good friend of Krishna and Balarama, named Sridhara, played the horn, its sound carrying across the entire hamlet. 

Many of the gopas and gopis played flutes, a musical instrument always favoured by Vrishni cowherds for its ability to carry long distances and remind herds of the presence of their watchers; the fact that they played (or attempted to play) melodies favoured by Krishna belied their musical ambitions. There was not a child in Vrindavan who did not look up to their youthful Savior and Deliverer and adore him as a Vaishnavite adores Vishnu. 

The less musically inclined ones carried slings and used them as they went, pausing to engage in contests of skill—‘I bet you couldn’t hit that brown leaf on the top of that tree!’—then sprinting to catch up with the rest, an easy task due to the slow bovine progress of the herds. The prize for the victor was that he would get to run up to Krishna and touch him first, shouting as they did, ‘I touched him first, I was first!’