The Birth Story of Shree Krishna
Clouds of pain loomed in the sky, overwhelming with the guarantee of torment. Large crystals were released from their silver cantonments to rain destruction upon anybody or anything in their path, and the cold breeze billowed and sucked out any warmth left in Vasudeva’s frail body. Mighty trees uprooted from their thrones. Tomorrow, people will leave their homes thanking and cursing god, hoping against hope that he had been merciful and saved their crops, possessions, and whatnot. However, Vasudeva, while alive will drown in his grief.
Cursing his destiny Vasudeva wearily places a heavy foot in the fast-flowing stream formed by the rain. The jolts of pain rushing through his body due to the cuts on his legs and bleeding feet didn't matter to him. He was about to give away his son. His heart was wounded from the aches of being persistently torn apart from his flesh and blood. The storm mercilessly lashing at Vasudeva was nothing compared to the one raging inside his mind. He recalled all the events that had commenced in the past decade. His marriage to Deviki, the infelicitous prophecy that ravaged their lives, the insanity that descended on his brother-in-law, and the heinous crimes he committed under the power of his coveted dream and rapacity.
One by one Kamsa killed his 6 innocent children with his own bare hands by smashing their skulls onto the wall. The horrors of such barbarity by the uncle of his kids haunted Vasudeva. Flashbacks of him begging on his knees to Kamsa to have compassion and his wife bawling her eyes and eventually lying unconscious on the cold marble floor flooded his brain. The blood-tainted walls, the screams, and the vile expression Kamsa’s remorseless face held were all imprinted in his mind. The only thought that kept him and his wife from toppling into the canyon of unbearable anguish was that at least their seventh and eighth child would live on to achieve unimaginable feats.
Suddenly the petrichor is pierced by a sharp pungent smell. A confounded Vasudeva witnesses a transcendent event take place. Through the coruscating waters of the majestic Yamuna runs a crack that gets wider and wider to eventually reveal fresh crusty Earth. Paying his gratitude to the river, Vasudeva takes it as a sign of divine intervention and steps ahead to walk on the path.
The callous rain continues its torment. Much to Vasudeva’s amazement, the colossal king of snakes Adishesha came to his aid. He unfurled the myriad hoods of his thousand heads and fortified Krishna and Vasudeva from the ferocious downpour. Though burning with agony Vasudeva smiled, the gods had their way he thought. Little did he know that he was carrying god himself.
The little straw woven basket on his head carried his eighth child. Lord Vishnu himself. Eyes in front of which the stars failed. A voice that can make anybody give in and sway with glee. Carmine lips which curve mischievously to form a smile that could light up the darkest corners of hell. The very child who would grow up to be an irresistible man, a kingmaker, a valorous warrior, an ardent lover, and the greatest diplomat the world would ever see. He would guide a million people to walk on the path of righteousness and fill every heart with love and joy.
With each step as Vasudeva approaches his friend Nand’s house, his will is shattered into countless more pieces. However, he stayed resolute. He paid his respects to Nagaraja and Yamuna and continued on his journey on land. Vasudeva looked around and the thought the reposeful and idyllic river-side town wouldn’t be able to conceal Krishna for long enough twisted his heart. Nevertheless, it would be cromulent for now.
After walking for a few more kilometers he approaches a familiar haveli. Convincing his desolate heart that this action was only for the best, he knocks on the sturdy, sculpted redwood doors. Baffled, Nand Baba staggers out. Taken aback by the tears in his best friend’s eyes, he invites him inside without further ado. However, Vasudeva promptly refuses. Next, he says something that breaks Nanda’s heart, he asks for his daughter. He knew that Vasudeva, a cerebral and judicious man, would have a valid reason but he could just not give his newborn daughter away just like that. Vasudeva conveyed the atrocities that he went through and implored his friend to comply. Finally, Nanda gave in. Weeping, both the men exchanged their children.
While tracing his bath back Vasudeva had conflicted thoughts about his decision. “Nanda and Yashoda would treat his child no lesser than their own son…right? Don’t they love and care for Balram too? Won’t he shower Krishna with love, adore, and provide him with everything he touches? However what if separation from their daughter would mix venom in their hearts against Krishna? But I know Nanda well enough. He is a kind, compassionate, and understanding man. We are kinsmen too after all. Krishna was his blood as much as he is mine. Yashoda too is a goddess and will never let Krishna feel the absence of motherly love. My dear son is in safe hands for sure.”
After a tiresome journey, Vasudeva returns to Mathura. It has seized to rain and the jet-black sky is occasionally graced by streaks of lightning dancing on the tunes of thunder. The prison door was open and the guards were still asleep. Furtively Vasudeva sneaks back into the prison and places the little girl child in the blanket Krishna is supposed to lie in. His eyes welled up with tears but when he saw the guards stir he quickly pat dry them and pretended to sleep next to his wife.
The guards were jostled out of their slumber when a raging Putana slammed the main door of the prison and stormed in uttering prayers to Lord Shiva in vain. They were unnerved and a wave of trepidation crashed all over them. What misfortune had befallen them that they had to sleep on the most important day of their lives, they questioned and cursed themselves. Before the guards could contemplate what happened, Kamsa walked in, quietus following right behind. Everyone bowed their heads accepting their doomed fate, however, Kamsa nonchalantly waved them away and barged right into the prison.
Startled, Deviki and Vasudeva woke up and despite their agitation greeted Kamsa in an attempt to appeal to his long-hidden humane side. However, it all went into vain as he unacknowledged them and strode to the right, where the blanket was. When he took the child, poised to slam it onto the wall he was contorted in disbelief, it was a girl child. Deviki who understood what happened tried to convince Kamsa to not kill the child, for how could a girl be the slayer of a king equal to his might? Nonetheless, Kamsa refused to show any clemency and threw the child against the wall, but rather than being splattered with blood the girl slipped from his hands, and the room filled with a golden light. The baby girl assumed the form of the goddess Yogamaya and spoke to Kamsa in her divine voice, proclaiming “The eighth child, who shall kill you, has been born. He is in Gokula!” Furious, Kamsa flounced out, while Devika and Vasudeva were relieved that their child and the girl child of Nanda were safe.
Several kilometers away, nestled in a wooden cradle adorned with ornate carvings, Govinda lay enveloped in a wooly blanket, giggling while Yashoda and Vasudeva crooned to him. Their melodious and affectionate tunes soothed and finally put an animated Kanhaiya to sleep. They couldn’t help but resist falling in love with his dainty mannerisms, like how his mouth was agape while he let out soft breaths or how he occasionally twisted and turned, bubbly even while asleep, or the mischievous smile that played on his lips while he was sleeping too. The ache caused by their disunion with their daughter dwindled and their hearts overflowed with pure love for Krishna.