Krishna in the Forests

How happy were the years that Krishna and His brother spent in the forests, for the herdboys and herd-girls of Gokool and Brindaban! To the herd-girls especially,—the Gopis, as they were called,—He was at once play-fellow and pet; and Indian poetry is full, to this day, of the memory of His pastimes with them, in those beautiful woods and meadows. There, when the trees were covered with blossoms, and the south wind blew, they would put up swings and play at swinging all day long. Or there would be a game at hide-and-seek amongst the cows and buffaloes feeding quietly; and those who were to be caught would draw attention to their hiding-places, by imitating the cries of peacocks or the quacking of ducks. Sometimes the lads would leap streams with the motions of a frog, or play the game of leap-frog on dry land. Or they would all make a ring about some great tree, and try to capture Krishna, as He darted in and out under their arched arms. Even the grazing animals had a special love for the Lord, and lowed happily, whenever He caressed them, or came near, gathering about Him in a ring, to listen, whenever,—standing with feet crossed beneath the beautiful kodumbha-tree—He played upon His flute. Some say, indeed, that at such moments the lotus-buds lying on the Jumna waters opened, and the river itself bent out of its straight course. And it is said that in Brindaban, owing to the presence of the Lord Krishna, the weather never grew too hot, nor did the grass grow thirsty. It was always cool and fragrant; the trees were always in blossom; and a gentle breeze played always upon the foreheads of the cowherds.

One game was played there regularly once a year. It was a game of triumph over Kansa. For the Tyrant of Mathura had not forgotten his old eagerness to slay the future Avenger of his People, and he continued now and again to despatch his malicious emissaries to Brindaban, there to work the death of the young Krishna. Once he sent Bak-Asur, the great Crane; and once it was Metrasur, the Demon-Sheep. It was the death of the latter of these which caused such great rejoicing throughout the whole country-side, that its anniversary has been kept every year, from then till now.

When the spring was at its loveliest, on the eve of the full moon of Phalgun—that most beautiful month of all the twelve—when the fragrance of mango-blossoms filled the air, and red flowers covered the asoka-tree, and the long delicate buds of the leaf-almond were about to burst into tender green, on this very day, a large ram that had seemed to be feeding quietly in the meadow, saw Krishna coming, and, lowering its head, ran forward to butt Him with its horns. So large was the animal, and so vicious and determined his onset, that the Lord must have been killed on the spot, had He succeeded in touching Him. But that Divine Intelligence was never baffled. Even in the height of a frolic, He could not be found off guard. The young Cowherd waited till the great sheep had almost reached Him. Then, seizing him easily by the neck, He swung him round and round, and finally dashed him against a tree. Possibly the garments of those standing near were stained with the blood of the demon, or it may be that the fury of the hunter came upon them, and they “blooded” one another. However this was, the night is yearly celebrated, by burning a rude image of the demon, put together with sticks and knots of grass. And water coloured with red powder is taken to represent the blood of Metrasur, and all the members of the family receive this, in blessing, on their heads; and next day in the streets, it is thrown by the boys on the garments of passers-by. Thus is commemorated the rejoicing of the Gopis over the escape of Krishna from the Demon-Sheep.

Many wonderful tales are told of this time in the life of the youth Krishna. One of these is His Victory over the Snake Kaliya. Another is the story of the Lifting of the Mountain. But most wonderful of all was the love that the Gopis had for Him, as they romped and frolicked and tended the herds in the beautiful forests of Brindaban. It was a love without any selfishness. When Krishna was near, they felt themselves lifted into a golden atmosphere, where all was gaiety and lightness of heart; nothing seemed serious or troublesome; and their happiness bubbled over in the form of gentleness and play. If one were eating some delicious fruit, and suddenly saw the luminous form of Krishna, she would unconsciously offer it, for the next bite, to His lips, instead of to her own.

Yet each was only kinder and more faithful to all others, by reason of this wonderful play. For it is written that the homes of the Gopis never suffered, their husbands and their children never cried on them in vain, they never fled from any duty, in order to indulge in the company of Krishna. And not those of the Gopis only, but also all the humble homes about Brindaban, were made happy by His presence. In truth, Krishna the Cowherd,—or Hari, as He was called,—was the Lord Himself, and this love of peasant-folk for Him was neither more nor less than the love of human souls for the Divine. None who had ever sported with Him, or listened to His playing of the flute beneath the trees, could bear thereafter to leave that Presence. The souls of all such were bathed in holy peacefulness and joy. But their hands were rendered only the more helpful, their hearts more tender, their feet more eager to run on swift errands of mercy to others, for the fact that in mind and spirit they knew themselves to be playing always with the Divine, in the beautiful form of the Cowherd of Brindaban.

Leader of all the Gopis was Radha, and to her specially was it given to realise this intensity of sweetness. Hers was the frank and instant recognition, the deep understanding, and the constant vision of His glory. And she it was who reached the unutterable depths of sorrow, when the simple joys of that peasant-world could hold Him no longer, and He left Brindaban for ever, to return to the life and responsibility of kings, freeing His people from the Tyrant of Mathura. Wherefore, because of this wondrous union between the human soul of Radha and the Divine in Krishna, all love has come to be summed up in Their love. And when the Infinite whispers Its secrets to the finite—as happens sometimes to all of us in loving—the moment is expressed, in Indian poetry, as the speech of Krishna the Cowherd with Radha, leader of the Gopis.