The Deliverance of Tṛṇāvarta

A female cakravāka bird was flying high in the sky, with her mate following behind. Directly beneath them, Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra sat in His mother's lap upon a jeweled platform and watched them with curious eyes. Pressing the tiny, supremely tender index finger of His right hand against His reddish lips, He fixed His gaze upon the pair of birds and wondered, “How are these birds flying so high? Can I fly like that too?”

It was as though someone whispered counsel into His ears: “O son of Yaśodā, intoxicated with the nectar of infant play! You ought to fly. You shall fly this very moment.” Thus encouraged, He suddenly moved every limb and stood upright in His mother's lap. She encircled Him with her arms, but Yaśodā's sapphire had something else in mind. He wanted to play in the sky. Touching His mother's chin, He declared in a lisping voice, “Mother! I too shall fly up there.”

The queen of Vraja imprinted a hundred kisses upon her son's smooth cheeks and said in a voice choked with joy, “My darling! Birds fly in the sky. You are the son of the king of Vraja, and Your treasury holds hundreds of thousands of jewel-studded chariots. Come, I shall seat You upon one of them.” But Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra had become insistent that day. He would fly in the sky itself, and He would do so that very day.

At that very moment, as though he had come expressly to fulfill this wondrous desire of Nanda's son, the demon Tṛṇāvarta, sent by Kaṁsa, arrived unseen in the sky above. From there he watched the child's supremely enchanting infant gesture. The lady of Nanda's house, intent upon distracting her sapphire, did not see him. The cowherd women, gathered in groups and immersed in joy, did not see him either. Tṛṇāvarta's delight knew no bounds.

But the foolish Tṛṇāvarta failed to see that Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra's inconceivable and mighty līlā-śakti, Yogamāyā, expert in making the impossible possible, was watching him. She had watched him not merely since that day, but since the day Sahasrākṣa, king of Pāṇḍya, entered a blazing fire pit on the bank of the Puṣpabhadrā and gave up his life, followed by his thousand beloved queens. Before entering the fire, Sahasrākṣa had burned in the flames of remorse and cried, “Alas! I was blinded by desire and failed to honor the sage Durvāsā. Therefore the sage cursed me:

“Most sinful one, become a demon! Fallen from yoga, go down to the earth. Lowest of men, you must remain in Bhārata for one hundred thousand years. Then, through the touch of Hari's feet, you shall surely go to Goloka.”

“Most sinful one, go and become a demon! You were once a foremost yogī, but now go, fallen from yoga, and leave Mount Gandhamādana for the surface of the earth. Lowest of men, you must dwell there in Bhārata for one hundred thousand years. Then you shall receive the touch of Śrī Hari's lotus feet and surely depart for Goloka-dhāma.”

The consequence of disregarding the sage stood before Sahasrākṣa, and he was overcome with anguish. Yet he also felt a supreme assurance in his heart: the sage's curse itself would become a blessing. That very demonic body of his would obtain contact with Śrī Kṛṣṇa's lotus feet, which are difficult even for the greatest yogīs and sages to attain. “Oh, my life will become fulfilled!” Filled with this thought, Sahasrākṣa remembered Hari's lotus feet and entered the blazing fire:

Remembering Hari's lotus feet, he entered the blazing fire.

The mighty līlā-śakti also watched that same Sahasrākṣa take birth after being transformed into the demon Tṛṇāvarta. One hundred thousand years had passed since then, yet even the subtlest movement Tṛṇāvarta made at every moment remained engraved exactly as it occurred upon the canvas of her heart. She had watched him continuously. How, then, could she fail to see him today? So be it.

When every attempt by the queen of Vraja to reason with her son had failed and Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra would not abandon His insistence on flying, His mother resorted to a new device. “Treasure of my heart,” she said, “very well, first learn how to fly.” Supporting her sapphire with both hands, she lifted Him toward the sky. But what was this? How had it happened so suddenly? From where had such weight entered His dark body? Oh! His mother's arms bent downward. Somehow she brought her son back to her breast, but even her chest was crushed by His weight. Mother could no longer remain standing and sank beneath the burden into a seated position.

Now, even while seated, the mother lacked the strength to hold her son in her lap. She gently set her sapphire upon the ground. No, Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra's body, dark as a fresh rain cloud, had become so unbearably heavy for the queen of Vraja's hands and knees that it slid by itself onto the jeweled floor. This sudden change made her fear that some new calamity was approaching. Terrified, she began to meditate upon Lord Nārāyaṇa, the indwelling witness of the universe:

She meditated upon the indwelling Person of all the worlds.

The mother could not know the secret of why Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra had suddenly become so truly heavy. How could she know? She knew neither that Tṛṇāvarta sat above nor of his vile design. At the very moment when she was bestowing pure maternal affection upon her son and lifting Him in her hands to teach Him to fly, Tṛṇāvarta thought from afar:

“I suspect this is that very child, dark as a rain cloud, sitting in the lap of His mother upon the broad courtyard of her expansive home. Why, then, should I delay? Shaking all of Vraja, I shall now carry this child together with His mother along the path of the gods.”

“Yes, it appears that this rain-cloud-complexioned infant is that very child. He sits in His mother's lap upon the broad courtyard of her home. Why, then, should I delay? I shall shake all of Vraja and carry this infant together with His mother into the sky.”

His mother neither saw nor knew any of this. Yet Tṛṇāvarta's thought of carrying her sapphire away together with her was instantly reflected within that sapphire. In Yaśodā's eyes, overflowing with maternal love, the infant sapphire might be a helpless child, but His infinite majesty also remained eternally awake, concealed within His dark body. That power roused Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra from His absorption in savoring maternal affection. The moment He awakened, this resolve arose: “Ah! Why should this Tṛṇāvarta cause distress to My mother?” At once His power of majesty received permission and manifested within the body of Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra, the enjoyer of infant play.

Not the slightest change occurred in any limb of the infant Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra, yet His body became as impossible to bear as a mountain peak, and His mother could no longer carry Him:

“Why should My mother suffer humiliation from this whirlwind because of Me?” Thinking thus, while still seated in her lap, He remained just as small as before but became exceedingly difficult to bear.

Where could knowledge of this secret find any place in the heart of Nanda's queen, eternally perfect and steeped in the mood of pure maternal love? Even if she had somehow learned of Tṛṇāvarta's arrival and his sinful intention, it could never occur to her that her own sapphire's will was the cause of His tremendous weight. The lady of the king of Vraja has never imagined, and never will imagine, that her sapphire is the Supreme Lord Himself, the abode of infinite majesty. So be it.

Only the auspicious invocation to the appointed scene had taken place thus far. The performance itself would now begin. For that to happen, the mother had to leave her son's side for a short time. The shadow of Yogamāyā's veil therefore began to fall upon the queen of Vraja as well. Her inner world suddenly changed, and her mind became covered by a new failure of discernment. She felt, “No, there is no cause for fear. My sapphire's body has become so heavy only through the stainless will of Lord Nārāyaṇa, through some auspicious arrangement of His.”

Thinking in this way, the mother moved toward the inner rooms as though controlled by a mechanism. She left her son there upon the jewel-inlaid platform, yet felt not the slightest concern. Ah! She did not know what a terrible moment had arrived. More than this, bewildered by the influence of the līlā-śakti, she felt that she had brought the sapphire, the treasure of her life, with her. In reality, that sapphire, the abode of infinite and immeasurable power, sat upon the platform, radiant with the manifestation of majesty. The mother, however, perceived that her sapphire remained beside her. Entirely reassured and free from worry, she entered the house and occupied herself with other duties:

Then, her mind enveloped by the shadow of the Lord's will, she failed to deliberate because of the profound absence of discernment. Though she had left Him behind, alas, she did not understand the moment that had been brought about and thought that He had come with her. Thus she entered the house, leaving the Lord of immeasurable power, and remained engaged in other tasks.

Bewildered by the power of Śrī Kṛṣṇa's māyā, the cowherd women who had watched the queen of Vraja fondle her son for so long all departed for their homes. Holding Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra upon its heart and experiencing supreme bliss, the jeweled courtyard itself seemed to fall silent and enter samādhi. A wondrous peace spread there. Tṛṇāvarta, seated above, grew still more restless.

He had arrived only moments earlier and, upon seeing Śrī Kṛṣṇa, had thought of destroying Him together with His mother. Yet the instant this intention arose, he saw that the queen of Vraja placed the child on the ground and entered the inner apartments without even a moment's delay. The countless beautiful cowherd women seemed to vanish as well. Afraid that the infant dark as a fresh rain cloud might also disappear, Tṛṇāvarta grew agitated. Without delaying another instant, he manifested in the form of a cyclone.

Suddenly the directions echoed and trembled beneath a supremely dreadful, ear-splitting roar harsher than the fall of hundreds of thousands of thunderbolts. A mountain of dust covered all of Vraja. Dust and darkness enveloped the settlement, forcing the residents' eyes shut. An utterly terrifying scene of cosmic dissolution appeared:

A strange, whirling windstorm appeared. In ever-rising vortices, masses of grass, dust, and abundant stones danced aloft and then came crashing down. Its summit licked the clouds, and contact with it exhausted the people's bodies. It blinded the inhabitants of the world like masses of smoke that, at the end of a cosmic age, rise after piercing the earth from the fires blazing in the multitude of mouths of the serpent king.

“High overhead, heaps of grass, clouds of dust, and abundant stones all seem to dance within the vortex of wind and then fall to the earth. Contact with them causes intense pain to the bodies of the townspeople. It appears that the end of a cosmic age has come, that blazing fire has issued from the thousand mouths of Lord Anantadeva, and that masses of smoke from that fire have pierced the earth and risen upward. Like such a curtain of smoke, this violent cyclone has appeared, obstructing the sight of all creatures in the world.”

Within the dreadful darkness of the windstorm, Tṛṇāvarta descended, swiftly seized Śrī Kṛṣṇa, and flew upward. At that same moment, it was as though Yogamāyā gathered up the covering she had cast over Śrī Yaśodā and flew away with Śrī Kṛṣṇa, leaving the mother's mind uncovered. Awareness flashed within her: “What! Where is my sapphire? Alas, alas! I left Him upon the platform.”

The mother pushed through the terrible darkness. Though she could see no path at all, she felt her way with her hands: here was a courtyard pillar, here a door, here the arched gateway, and here the veranda. In this way she reached the platform and extended her hand to that part, shrouded in dense darkness, where she had taken her sapphire from her lap and set Him down. But alas, where was He now? She fell unconscious like a felled tree. Yet the agony in the queen of Vraja's life airs was unbearable even for unconsciousness, so it abandoned her and stood aside. The queen of Vraja regained awareness.

Groaning from the torment of her very life, she searched every part of the platform once more, but her sapphire was nowhere to be found. Despairing, she rolled upon the ground like a cow whose calf has died. “Alas, my sapphire! Where have You gone? Helpless as I am, where shall I find You?” she cried. Dust and stones rained on every side, while in a plaintive voice capable of rending wood, rock, and thunderbolt, the mother wailed for her son:

Unable to find the path by which her son had gone amid the shower of dust raised by that fierce whirlwind, the helpless mother remembered Him and lamented most piteously, fallen upon the ground like a cow whose calf has died.

Before even one muhūrta had fully passed, the force of the whirlwind subsided. The moment it grew still, the cowherd women heard the queen of Vraja crying. Each ran to her exactly as she was. Arriving there, they saw to their horror that Nanda's son was gone, carried away by the cyclone. A thunderbolt struck the cowherd women anew, shattering their hearts. Some fainted, some lamented with agonized cries, and others, tears streaming from their eyes, searched here and there in the hope that they might somehow find Śrī Kṛṣṇa.

Meanwhile, Tṛṇāvarta's condition had become utterly pitiable. He had joyfully carried Nanda's son into the upper sky, but now, far from being able to fly with Him, he was wholly incapable even of bearing His weight. The wondrous child seemed as heavy as a mountain, making further movement impossible. More than this, Tṛṇāvarta now wanted to cast the infant far away from himself, but even that was impossible because Śrī Kṛṣṇa had gripped the demon's throat firmly with both hands.

He did not merely hold it. Gradually infusing immense strength into His arms, He crushed the demon's throat. It constricted ever tighter, his breath became obstructed, and his final moment arrived.

This time Śrī Kṛṣṇa's power of grace had moved Him to compassion beforehand. Nanda's son thought, “When Pūtanā died, her exceedingly dreadful roar terrified My beloved residents of Vraja. This time I shall not allow the wretch Tṛṇāvarta to utter a terrible scream.” That is exactly what happened. Before long the demon became motionless, both eyes bulged outward, and, making a silent cry of anguish as life left him, he slowly began to fall.

Seated upon the demon's chest with His arms encircling his throat, Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra also began to descend toward the land of Vraja. It appeared as though He were comfortably descending from heaven with the body of Tṛṇāvarta as His staircase.

A light emerged from Tṛṇāvarta's body:

That radiance merged into glorious Ghanaśyāma just as lightning merges into a dark rain cloud.

Just as lightning dissolves into a mass of dark clouds, that light merged into Śrī Kṛṣṇa, whose complexion resembled a fresh rain cloud. The lifeless body fell upon a stone-paved area very near Nanda's residence, where Nanda's queen personally milked certain cows to feed her sapphire.

Pūtanā had fallen in a distant woodland, while Tṛṇāvarta fell very near. This was so that the residents of Vraja, exceedingly dear to Śrī Kṛṣṇa, could quickly and easily find Him. This time they did not know in which direction He had gone. They had seen Pūtanā carry Him away and the beautiful cowherd women had run after her, abandoning all concern for their own lives. So be it.

When Tṛṇāvarta struck the stone, a tremendous sound arose and every limb of his body was smashed to pieces. Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra, of course, remained entirely unharmed. Hearing the crash, the beautiful cowherd women ran there and found Him smiling upon the demon's shattered limbs. The tumultuous waves of grief that only moments before had danced upon the breast of Vraja disappeared. No, from within those very waves a river of joy began to flow.

Oh, Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra's beauty at that moment was unlike anything else. He seemed like a fully opened aparājitā flower in a forest thick with enormous thorns, a blue lotus blooming upon an ancient pond overgrown with grasses while its stalk rose high, a sprout of a celestial wish-fulfilling tree in the desert, or a dense blossom of joy opening atop the tree of supreme sorrow. Such beauty shone from His glorious dark limbs.

The beautiful cowherd women pressed Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra to their hearts and immediately ran to Nanda's queen. She, however, had lost all external awareness. Whenever consciousness returned briefly, she would cry:

“May the same Creator who protected my son from drinking the demoness's poisoned milk and from the falling cart protect Him always, even now.

“If my son, protected by the Supreme Lord, is found and returned to me now, then never again shall I take Him from the center of my lap and leave Him upon the ground. Alas!

“Quickly, look all around! Where has the whirlwind carried my infant? Where has it dropped Him? Bring Him back to me before my life departs. Until then, do not let it leave my body.”

“Ah! May the same Creator who protected my son from drinking Pūtanā's poisoned milk and from the falling cart protect Him always now as well. Oh! If my son, protected by the Supreme Lord, is found and returned to me, I shall never again remove Him from my lap and leave Him upon the ground. Alas, sisters! Quickly look everywhere. Who knows where the whirlwind has carried Him or where He has fallen? Alas, alas! Hurry! There is time only while my life has not yet departed from my body. Bring Him to me before then. There is no longer any time to delay.”

Every attempt to rouse Śrī Kṛṣṇa's mother from unconsciousness had failed. Her life was now departing, but just then a cowherd woman came and said:

“The dark child is saved, O greatly blessed lady! From very far away He has come and fallen near the house. It appears that He has not been hurt anywhere.”

The moment she spoke, something like a wave of lightning coursed through the mother's life. Her eyes opened, and as soon as they did she beheld her sapphire in the cowherd woman's lap. Oh! Who has the power to compare that vision of the mother with anything? Goddess Sarasvatī can say only this:

Upon regaining the infant carried away by the demon, Yaśodā immediately recovered consciousness even though she had already sunk into death, just as the race of indragopa insects revives upon receiving the rainwater.

“Upon receiving the infant abducted by the demon, Yaśodā regained consciousness that very moment even though she had sunk into the great departure of death, just as the race of indragopa insects, the red velvet mite, comes alive upon receiving rainwater.”

After this, the king of Vraja arrived, with the entire cowherd community surging behind him. Hearing what had happened, he stood for several moments like an inert doll. When the first force of emotion subsided, he wished to take Śrī Kṛṣṇa into his lap, but his hands trembled as though afflicted by a disorder of the wind. When he tried to look at Him, an unchecked stream of tears began to flow. He could neither hold his son with his hands nor gaze upon Him to his heart's content.

The nurse knew the remedy for the king of Vraja's loving helplessness. When he sat down upon the ground, she lifted Śrī Kṛṣṇa from His mother's lap and placed Him in his. Clasping his darling to his heart, he lost all external awareness.

Indeed, seeing the violent windstorm from afar, Śrī Vṛṣabhānu arrived with his entire retinue. His eyes filled with tears upon hearing the account of the calamity, yet at the sight of Śrī Kṛṣṇa safe and unharmed, every pore of his body thrilled with joy. He and the leading cowherds now sat together and discussed what had happened:

“Oh, how exceedingly wonderful! Though this child was carried toward death by the demon, He has returned to us. The violent and wicked are destroyed by their own sins, while a saintly person, through his impartiality, becomes free from danger.

“What austerity have we performed? What worship of Adhokṣaja, what works of public benefit, sacrifices, gifts, or friendship toward all beings? By the good fortune born of these, this child, though as good as dead, has returned and now stands among His relatives, bringing them joy.”

“Oh, what a wonder! Though the demon carried this child toward the path of death, He has returned to us. It is true that violent and wicked creatures are destroyed by their own sins, while saintly persons, through the impartiality natural to goodness, are freed from every network of danger. Or, brothers, perhaps He has been protected by our good fortune. Oh, who knows how many austerities we have performed, how many gifts we have given, how many iṣṭa rites such as the five great sacrifices and fire offerings, how many pūrta works such as constructing reservoirs, wells, and ponds, or how many deeds for the welfare of all beings? Who knows how much we have worshiped Lord Adhokṣaja? As their fruit, through our good fortune, this child, though swallowed by death, has returned before us, restoring life to His relatives.”

The king of Vraja summoned the brāhmaṇas and duly had them perform rites for well-being. He presented them with one hundred thousand cows, one hundred thousand beautiful garments, one million gold coins, and one thousand sets of the nine precious gems. Once again Vraja resounded with joy.

The cowherd woman who had brought Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra from beside Tṛṇāvarta and placed Him in Mother Yaśodā's lap was still there. She had not left Nanda's house even for the blink of an eye. Her sapphire seemed weary and fell asleep before the dust-raising hour of dusk that day. The queen of Vraja wished to entrust His protection to that cowherd woman and leave for only a few moments to gather articles for the service of Nārāyaṇa. The instant the woman heard this, however, she became angry. She had already reproached the queen of Vraja once before, and now she grew even more exasperated:

“This habit of yours is not good, Yaśodā, leaving Him alone and going away. Are the tasks of the house dearer to you than He is? Have you no fear at all?

“It is fortunate that Hari has survived this time. From now on, keep your awareness fixed upon Him.” Sūrdās says: thus the cowherd woman speaks in vexation, regarding the lady inwardly as a simple village mother.