The Second Butter-Stealing Lila

The Second Butter-Stealing Lila

The dark clouds have surged, gathered, and poured down their rain. A rainbow has appeared, as though the beautiful maiden of the rainy season had hung a festoon of jewels across the sky of Vrajapura! At the meeting of summer and the rains, that rain-maiden, driven mad by the sight of Shri Krishnachandra's lila at the jeweled pillar, his first lila of taking fresh butter, wanders through Vraja. Wherever she goes, through forests and groves, rivers and streams, pools and lakes, her heart overflows, she begins to dance, and the dark hem of her garment flies up. In the passion of her dance she rose into the distant sky, and the rays of the radiant sun placed a necklace of jewels around her neck. But she no longer longs to wear ornaments. Now she herself wishes to become an ornament of Vrajapura, marked by Shri Krishnachandra's footprints, and to dissolve every particle of her body into Vrajapura. Therefore she broke apart the necklace of jewels offered by the rays and, wishing to adorn the city of the king of Vraja with those jewels of seven colors, hung a festoon that touched the horizon.

Shri Krishnachandra is looking toward this very festoon, the rainbow risen in the sky. Half reclining on the tamala platform in Nanda's garden, with his head resting in the lap of his friend Varuthapa, he gazes at the beauty of that jeweled bow and describes the rainbow's loveliness to his companions. But he himself does not perceive how captivating the beauty of his own sacred limbs is. Oh, that dense mass of curls, the locks scattered over the moon of his face, those great eyes, that gentle speech, that pair of honey-flowing lips, the graceful lotus of his face, those playful movements! Only one who can behold them realizes how much intoxication fills this beauty, an intoxication that enchants mind, life-breath, and senses. Even when Shri Krishnachandra is visibly present, even when one's eyes are forever immersed in the nectar of his beauty, the heart cries out, "Alas! When shall I behold Shri Krishnachandra?"

When shall I experience his abundant curls, his rare brows, his gentle speech, and his expansive eyes; his sweet lips, his lovely face, and his playful deeds?

Be that as it may, just then a beautiful woman of Vraja came there. Approaching him, she said, "Nilamani! The queen of Vraja is calling you. Come home with me."

But where did Shri Krishnachandra have the leisure even to answer his mother's summons? He was analyzing the lovely bow's colors, crimson, orange, yellow, green, bright white, blue, and reddish blue, showing them to his friends and counting them. The woman of Vraja, too, became enchanted and began savoring the sweetness of Shri Krishnachandra's childhood. After a few moments Shri Krishnachandra looked toward her, and only then did she remember, "I have not come merely to watch; I have also come to call him." Remembering her purpose, she again asked Shri Krishnachandra to come. This time he answered, "I am playing now. I will not go."

This beautiful cowherd woman had come to Nanda's house. From the mouths of other women of the settlement she had heard the lila in which Shri Krishnachandra was bewildered by his own reflection in the jeweled pillar, as well as this verse:

Hari first stole butter. Fulfilling the cowherd woman's heartfelt wish, he himself ran into the lanes of Vraja.

She had heard its full account. Hearing it, she became immersed in love and at once went to the queen of Vraja. In a voice choked with emotion she asked, "Queen of Vraja! Where is Nilamani?" In reply Queen Yashoda pointed toward the garden and said, "Sister, if you go that way, tell him that Maiya is calling, and bring him back with you." Spellbound, she immediately ran toward the garden. The clamor of the cowherd children on the tamala platform revealed Shri Krishnachandra's whereabouts, and she reached the place.

When Shri Krishnachandra refused to return home, she sat down right there. Her eyes filled with tears. It was not because Shri Krishnachandra would not go home; the pain in her heart was quite different. She was thinking, "Alas! Why have I, unfortunate as I am, settled so far from Nanda's house? Shri Krishnachandra went to that cowherd woman's home and ate butter, but there is no possibility that he will come so far to my house and partake of my butter." These thoughts pierced the cowherd woman's very life, and so her eyes brimmed over. She wished to restrain her feelings but could not. The more she looked at Shri Krishnachandra's charming face, the stronger this longing became, until she felt, "If I remain here a few moments longer, the weight of this longing will make me lose consciousness. Then Shri Krishnachandra's free and blissful play will be disturbed." Gathering all her courage and composure, she therefore rose and returned toward Nanda's house. She could not see the path, for streams of tears ran from her eyes over both cheeks. Somehow steadying herself, and carrying Shri Krishnachandra's image in her eyes and heart, she walked on. When she reached the queen of Vraja she regained a little composure. She told the queen that Nilamani had declined to come, and then went home.

No one else knew the feelings hidden in the cowherd woman's mind, but the inconceivable supreme power of lila belonging to Vrajendra's son, Bhagavan Shri Krishnachandra himself, knew everything. It is she who, moving upon Yashoda's ocean of nectarean maternal love, governs Shri Krishnachandra's actions. Which river of maternal love has joined this ocean, where the confluence lies, which stream of such love is approaching, where it will join, and at which confluence, at which sacred ford of maternal love, the son of the king of Vraja is to bathe today: she alone possesses the complete register of all this. According to her own will and prescribed sequence, she carries him upon the waves to one confluence or another. Shri Krishnachandra bathes there, drinks the nectar of maternal love by filling his joined palms, and scatters one or two drops upon the bank. From these very drops, rasa forever flows into the stream of parental affection in the phenomenal world, and that stream never runs dry. Thus the supreme power of lila knows fully the stream within this woman of Vraja's heart. She knows that this stream too is coming to meet the same ocean. At every confluence she must have Shri Krishnachandra immerse himself and freely savor each one's sacred nectar. She therefore opens the doors for everyone in due succession, and now went to open the door for this woman as well.

Shri Krishnachandra remained seated just as before in Varuthapa's lap. They were discussing various games suited to the rainy season. Subala was now proposing a new game, and Shri Krishnachandra and the other companions were listening. Suddenly Shri Krishnachandra's eyes closed. At that very moment, receiving a sign from the power of lila, omniscience lightly touched his heart and softly said, "Enjoyer of childhood lila! Lord! My master! I have brought some portraits inscribed upon the hearts of the cowherd women endowed with maternal love. Look at this one. It is the portrait in the heart of the woman who just came to call you. Then, O Deva, look at the hearts of these countless women of Vraja and examine the longing of them all. O all-pervading Lord, see with how much affection each one has prepared fresh butter for you, and how with restless lives they await you at every moment, hoping that Shri Krishnachandra will come to our houses and secretly partake of our butter. Dweller in Goloka, your descent has taken place precisely to distribute the wholly unbounded rasa of supreme bliss that is your very nature, and to savor that rasa. These cowherd women filled with maternal love, worthy vessels for that rasa, sit ready to receive your gift and to give you rasa. Lord, in your lilas outside Vraja, your majesty keeps your associates covered, and nowhere do you obtain the taste of pure rasa free from reverential awe. But this is your own Vraja, and the people of Vraja are your very own. Here, for Yashoda, you are Nilamani born from her womb, and for the cowherd women too you are only Shri Krishnachandra, the son of Yashoda. Where else can such a setting be found? Wish-fulfilling tree of all desires, fulfill the aspirations of them all. By giving rasa and savoring rasa, immerse these maternally loving cowherd women in the ocean of maternal love, O Lord!" A gentle smile spread across Shri Krishnachandra's crimson lips. He had indeed approved the prayer of the power of lila.

Hari thought within his heart, "I shall visit every home in Vraja. I have taken birth in Gokula for the sake of joy, and I shall eat everyone's butter. Yashoda knows me in the form of a child, and I shall meet the cowherd women and enjoy happiness." Surdas says that the Lord lovingly declares, "These are my people of Vraja."

Nanda's son sat up. Laughing, he asked his companions, "Brothers, will you play a game of eating butter?" "A butter game!" several of them exclaimed together in amazement. Shri Krishnachandra then set out before his friends his detailed plan for the lila of taking fresh butter: how they would secretly enter each gopi's house, how he would bring out the butter pot, and how they would all eat together, feed other animals and birds, spill it, and make a great mess of the butter. Shri Krishnachandra explained all these ideas to his cowherd friends. The cowherd children could find no limit to their joy upon hearing them. Clapping, they began to dance on the tamala platform. Swearing by the lord of Vraja, everyone praised Shri Krishnachandra's cleverness:

Hari deliberates with the cowherd boys: "Let us all steal and eat butter together and enjoy the sports of childhood." Hearing this, all his friends rejoiced. "Kanhai has spoken well!" Laughing, they clapped with one another and swore by Nandaraya. "Where did you acquire such wisdom, O clever and discerning Shyama?" Surdas says that the Lord and the cowherd boys together ponder the plan.

The sun that illumines the world was now moving toward the mountain of sunset. The queen of Vraja came to fetch her Nilamani, so Shri Krishnachandra set out for Nanda's house. As he left, he reminded his friends of the plan through signals from his enchanting glance. Reaching home and being drenched in his mother's exquisitely tender affection, he soon fell asleep. When he awoke at dawn the next day, the circle of his companions stood around him.

Queen Yashoda duly adorned Shri Krishnachandra's sacred limbs with a cleansing paste, bath, ornaments, and all the rest. She seated his companions beside him and served them all breakfast with equal affection, gave them water to drink and betel to chew, and then permitted them to go play. Raising a tremendous cry of joy, Shri Krishnachandra and the cowherd children ran outside. Shri Krishnachandra went ahead and the boys followed behind. The cowherd children did not know where they were going; they simply followed Nanda's son. Nanda's son, without stopping, went straight to the home of the cowherd woman who had come to call him at the tamala platform the previous day. In no time they reached her house.

At that time the cowherd woman was churning curd. But she had no awareness of her body and was absorbed in an altogether different state, as was plainly evident from the way she churned. Shyamasundara had arrived with his companions at precisely the right moment to take fresh butter, to steal butter, and he watched the woman of Vraja churn through an opening in the window:

He went with his companions to steal butter. Through the window opening, Shyama saw an innocent woman churning curd.

From the pathways of the sky, devas, kinnaras, vidyadharas, gandharvas, and others behold this supremely captivating and enchanting lila and thereby find fulfillment. Who has come to take fresh butter, to steal butter? He has come in each of whose pores countless universes whirl together like tiny motes of dust driven by the wind in the sky, each universe enclosed by seven coverings that successively increase tenfold. Brahma, Indra, and the other rulers of the heavenly worlds do not and cannot know his limit. He is so infinite that he himself does not know his own end. The revealed scriptures cannot directly describe his essential nature, and as they negate everything other than that nature, they say:

It is neither gross nor minute, neither short nor long, neither red nor fluid; it is without shadow or darkness, without air or space, unattached, without taste or smell, without eyes or ears, without speech or mind, without radiance, breath, or mouth, without measure, and with neither an inside nor an outside.

It is not gross, not atomic, not small, not vast, not crimson, not fluid, not shadow, not darkness, not air, not space, not contact, not taste, not scent, not eye, not ear, not speech, not mind, not radiance, not breath, not mouth, and not measure; in it there is neither within nor without. Negating in this manner, the revealed scriptures reach their end in him and become fulfilled by dissolving their own separate existence:

Even the lords of heaven have not reached your end, for you are infinite. Indeed, even you do not reach it, since within you the hosts of universes with their coverings are driven onward by time like particles of dust in the sky. The revealed scriptures bear their fruit in you, for by negating what is other than you they finally dissolve into you.

He conceives this universe; abides at its beginning, middle, and end; is the Lord of prakriti and purusha; creates the universe and enters it together with the living being; fashions the multitude of bodies that serve as the living being's field of experience; and governs those bodies. Upon attaining him, the living being becomes free from the snare of maya, just as a person immersed in deep sleep ceases to attend to his body. He eternally abides in his infallible nature; maya cannot touch him in the slightest; he is wholly pure and is the state of fearlessness. To meditate upon him without cease is the living being's sole duty:

One should constantly meditate upon Hari, who wills this universe at its beginning, middle, and end; who is Lord of the unmanifest nature and the individual soul; who, having created this universe, entered it with the living being, made the bodies, and governs them; and upon attaining whom the embodied soul abandons unborn maya as a sleeping man leaves awareness of his body. He is the fearless Absolute, untouched by material origin.

That very Brahman in human form, that Purushottama who is Lord of prakriti and purusha, has today come to the cowherd woman's house to take fresh butter, to steal butter. Shri Krishnachandra, all glory to this lila of yours that astonishes the universe!

But can this action of Shri Krishnachandra truly be counted as theft? No. Theft means taking possession of another's property without that person's wish and in that person's absence. But what thing exists apart from Shri Krishnachandra that he might take into his possession? Who exists apart from him, without whose consent and in whose absence he might take some object? For:

Nothing whatever, whether of the nature of cause or effect, can be conceived as separate from Bhagavan.

When no thing, whether being or nonbeing, effect or cause, is distinct from Shri Krishna, then when, where, from whom, for what purpose, and what thing could he steal? What, then, is this? It is an excellent process for distributing the rasa of maternal love, a sacred method for savoring that rasa, a sweet, enchanting, beautiful plan for fulfilling a devotee's desire, and an incomparable vision of the childhood absorption of Shri Krishnachandra, the enjoyer of childhood lila. Glory to this vision! Glory! Glory!

Be that as it may, Shri Krishnachandra and his companions hid near the home of the cowherd woman who was churning curd. She too stopped churning, for only now did she notice that the fresh butter had risen to the surface. In fact it had risen long ago. She had begun churning when a full watch of the night still remained and had churned ever since, but only if one could say that her mind was present there. Within her mind she had gone to Nanda's house and was silently inviting Shri Krishnachandra to partake of the fresh butter. She may not have known it, but only when Shri Krishnachandra accepted her silent invitation and actually arrived at her home did she remember to remove the butter. But look, today someone had also carried away the small bowl from the house. The cowherd woman went outside to borrow one, and Shyamasundara obtained his opportunity. With his friends he instantly entered the inner room. They ate all the curd and butter there, left the empty pot in its place, and quickly emerged laughing.

Seeing that the butter had risen, she set the churning rod aside. She herself went to borrow a little bowl, and Hari found his chance. He entered the empty house with his companions, and they ate all the curd and butter. Leaving the curd pot empty, they all came outside laughing.

The cowherd woman approached from the other direction with the little bowl in her hand. She saw many cowherd children coming out of her house, with Yashoda's Nilamani behind them. Bright fresh butter clung to Nilamani's crimson lips, and his lotus hands were smeared with butter.

She arrived carrying the little bowl in her hand as the cowherd boys came out of the house. She stood gazing at Nandalala, butter on his hands and curd smeared upon his face.

The cowherd woman was overwhelmed by the immense joy of her heart's desire being fulfilled. It seemed to her that she was dreaming. But suddenly it was as if someone swept a brush across the canvas of her memory, and she completely forgot that she had ever wished for Nilamani to come to her home and partake of her butter. All the past memories of longing vanished entirely. She now knew only this much: Nilamani stood with his companions near the gateway of her home, his enchanting lotus face smeared with butter. In her simplicity she asked:

"Why have you come, bringing the children of Vraja with you, with butter smeared upon your face?"

Shyamasundara began to say something in reply, but although the cowherd woman heard him, she could not take in a word he said. Her awareness suddenly began to dissolve in the gentle smile upon his charming, butter-smeared face. Meanwhile Shyamasundara caught the arm of one cowherd child, his companion, and set off into a lane of Vraja. The cowherd woman watched him with unblinking eyes. Had it been dark, that would have been one thing. But in the bright light of day Hari, Shri Krishnachandra, stole the cowherd woman's mind, carried away her heart, and departed, while she remained standing as though she had been utterly beguiled:

Kanha took one boy by the arm and went out into a lane of Vraja. Surdas says that the cowherd woman remained utterly beguiled, for Hari stole her mind in broad daylight.

Standing at her doorway like a golden doll, she continued to gaze in the direction Shri Krishnachandra had gone. Only when midday approached did she finally enter the inner room. Seeing the empty butter pot, she thought she must have placed the vessel full of butter somewhere else, and wandered here and there searching for it. Then she noticed that all the vessels in the house, whether gold, silver, bronze, or earthen, lay scattered and disordered. She was certainly familiar with Shyamasundara's playful mischief, but now she no longer possessed a mind with which to judge. Who could decide the matter? In the place of her mind was the rasa of Shyamasundara:

She goes and sees the pot empty. "Where could I have put it?" The cowherd woman is astonished in her own mind and searches throughout the house again and again. Repeatedly she looks at the vessels in the house, but Gopala has taken her mind. Surdas says that the cowherd woman, filled with rasa, understands only Hari's play.