Yashoda Churns the Curd Herself, and Shri Krishna Stops His Mother to Drink Her Milk

Yashoda Churns the Curd Herself, and Shri Krishna Stops His Mother to Drink Her Milk

Through the openings of the bedchamber windows, the rows of stars seemed to be advising, "Queen of Vraja, it is still night. Even dawn has not arrived. Rest a little longer." But the queen of Vraja was absorbed in another purpose. She had to rise now, churn curd for her Nilamani, prepare fresh butter, and reduce the milk of the lotus-fragrant cows until it became supremely delicious. When Nilamani awoke, he would eat the freshly churned butter, drink the milk, and become satisfied. By seeing him satisfied, one of Queen Yashoda's long-cherished desires would be fulfilled.

Until now not a single day had come when Queen Yashoda could perform every task with her own hands from beginning to end, from milking the cows through churning. Before the loving insistence of countless male and female servants, the queen of Vraja could never have her way, and her desire remained unfulfilled: "I shall milk the cows myself, reduce the milk myself, add the culture to the curd myself, churn and extract the butter myself, and then Nilamani will partake to his heart's content and be satisfied." To accomplish this, Mother devised many stratagems, coaxed the attendants, and assigned them other work. In this way she sometimes obtained the precious opportunity to churn curd, but even that could never be completed. Either Shri Krishnachandra grew demanding, or an attendant, seeing Mother labor at churning, grasped her feet and compelled her to entrust the service to her. If nothing else, Queen Yashoda was inevitably overcome by Shri Rohini's love. Thus even when the queen of Vraja obtained an opportunity to churn, she had to accept someone's help. But today such a fortunate occasion had arisen that only Shri Krishnachandra and the queen of Vraja were in Nanda's house. There was no one else.

Five watches earlier, the king of Vraja had gone with hundreds of thousands of cowherds to the valley of Govardhana. The date had arrived for Indra-yaga, the principal annual festival observed since the time of Shri Parjanya Gopa, the king of Vraja's father, and he had gone to make extensive arrangements for it. Before the previous evening, all the attendants of Nanda's house had also gone there to cook for the sacrifice. A few remained to serve the queen of Vraja, but she gave each one a different instruction and sent them there as well. Inspired by the inconceivable supreme power of lila, each attendant felt that Yashoda was sending only four or five of them and had kept the others with her. Had they thought the queen of Vraja would be left alone, they would never have gone. A few moments before their departure, Shri Rohini had taken Balarama to Upananda's house. Upananda's wife had insisted intensely that Shri Rohini must visit her home for at least one night. Although separation from Queen Yashoda for four watches was extremely difficult for Rohini, the loving insistence of Upananda's wife was so pure and powerful that Balarama's mother had to yield. After carefully explaining the household arrangements to the servants, she left for the night, keeping her mind with Yashoda and Yashoda's son.

Thus the fortunate occasion arose for fulfilling Mother's long-nurtured desire to prepare everything with her own hands and satisfy Shri Krishnachandra. After everyone left, with what delight the solitary queen of Vraja milked the lotus-fragrant cows, collected their milk in an entirely new vessel and reduced it, then added the culture and set the curd. Having done this, she held Nilamani upon her breast and waited with intense longing for the night to pass. Who could imagine the ocean of happiness in which she moved throughout the night, covered by the veil of sleep made of conscious bliss?

In the lila of his eighth year, Shri Krishnachandra will transform this very Indra-yaga into the worship of Govardhana.

Only one in whose deepest heart, through indescribable good fortune, an irresistible longing awakens to render direct service to Bhagavan Shri Krishnachandra himself, and who after waiting for endless years obtains through that longing the precious chance to offer service at Shri Krishna's lotus feet for even a moment in a dream, can faintly imagine Queen Yashoda's joy and longing. Be that as it may, although much time remained before the night would end, the queen of Vraja prepared to leave the bed, feeling that it must not grow too late. At the same time she feared awakening Nilamani, who slept upon her breast. If his sleep broke, this golden opportunity would slip from her hands. She therefore began slowly withdrawing her limbs with great care. Gradually separating Shri Krishnachandra's dark limbs, languid with sleep, from her own body, she placed him upon the softest camphor-white bed and gently patted him. When Nilamani was once again immersed in sleep as before, she slowly descended from the bed.

The queen of Vraja's gaze fell upon the lamp in the bedchamber. Its flame trembled slightly, as though it had remained motionless all night gazing at the beauty of Nilamani, the necklace upon Mother's heart, but became distressed when Mother took him from her breast and laid him on the bed. Shaking its head, it seemed to protest, "No, no, mistress of Nanda's house! Do not place such tender limbs upon a bed. Their proper place is your heart alone." Queen Yashoda approached the lamp and raised its flame slightly with a golden rod lying nearby. The flame began scattering a far brighter, lovelier radiance than before. Mother lifted the lamp upon her hand and brought it near the sleeping Nilamani. In its pure light she first gazed at her son from forehead to feet. Then, setting the lamp upon her joined palms, she circled it three times before the lotus of Shri Krishna's face. With her left forefinger and thumb she took a little soot gathered at the flame's tip and marked a dark tilaka between Nilamani's brows. As Mother beheld the beauty of that dark dot upon the forehead of Shri Krishnachandra, abode of Shri, every hair of her body thrilled. The beauty of the dark point was extraordinary. It was as though an intoxicated bee had slipped from Yashoda's lotus hand and fallen upon a blue lotus petal, then immediately lost consciousness there upon tasting pollen sweeter than ever before.

Mother became absorbed in beholding Nilamani's beauty, but after a few moments, as though someone had reminded her, she remembered her duty. Maiya slowly opened the main door of the room and came out onto the veranda. She washed her hands and feet very quickly and then changed her clothes. Removing everything worn during the night, she put on a new yellow silk garment, a beautifully patterned skirt, and a bodice, and covered her head with a veil adorned with many designs. So that her clothing would not slip from her waist while churning, she fastened a girdle and secured the skirt more firmly. She then set the churn in a place from which she could continuously see Nilamani resting in the room. A short distance away, in an adjoining chamber, she lit a fire in a stove and placed a pot of milk over it so the milk would reduce and become sweet by the time Shri Krishna awoke. The stove too stood where Mother could watch it continuously while churning. Having arranged everything in this way, Queen Yashoda prepared to churn the curd. Today there was no maid to come and claim a share in Maiya's good fortune. Long before, she had assigned them many tasks and sent them far away. Today there was no obstacle. Plunging and rising in supreme bliss, Mother began to churn:

Once, when the household maids had been assigned other duties, Yashoda, mistress of Nanda's house, churned the curd herself.

As soon as the churning began, an absorption of love arose in Shri Krishna's mother. Every lila Yashoda's son had performed until today was inscribed in the temple of the queen of Vraja's heart. Their doors began opening one after another, and the lilas arose along the path of Mother's memory. An ocean of rasa surged in her heart, but how could that smooth region contain so much? Overflowing, the current of rasa therefore emerged from the queen of Vraja's mouth in the form of song. With her voice mingling with the sound of the churning, she began sweetly singing Nilamani's many deeds:

While churning the curd, she remembered and sang all the songs composed here about his childhood deeds.

With her hands the queen of Vraja prepared fresh butter for Nilamani, delight of her life; with her mouth she sang his rasa-filled childhood lilas; and upon the field of her mind Nilamani danced, adorned at every moment in ever-new attire suited to those various lilas. Thus she became absorbed in Shri Krishnachandra with body, mind, and speech. This absorption gradually almost stole even Mother's memory that Nilamani was still sleeping upon the bed and must not be disturbed. Now, within her feeling, Nilamani appeared before her again and again. She therefore began singing at the top of her voice:

Here you are the ornament of the dynasty of Gokula's lord. Through your virtuous deeds and lilas in Vraja, you bring delight to the eyes of Vraja's joyful people.

"My darling, you are the ornament of the royal family of Vraja. Oh, you have performed supremely enchanting, beautiful, and sacred lilas here, each surpassing the last. Gazing upon them again and again, the people of Vraja are immersed in happiness. By granting the joy of your lilas, you forever increase their bliss."

Whenever the scene of the birth festival flashed upon the canvas of Mother's heart, she called Nilamani by a name befitting it:

O you whose blissful appearance and birth festival delighted the entire cowherd community!

Then, in an exceedingly graceful voice, she began describing the birth festival itself in detail:

Golden gateways were built and thick festoons hung, while banners waved upon the lofty mansions. Bards and heralds recited there, Magadhas chanted praises, and panegyrists proclaimed glorious titles. The courtyard was adorned in purity and sprinkled with fragrance; bright vessels were set out and jeweled designs filled the square. Green plantain trunks served as pillars, filled vessels held turmeric and unbroken rice, and splendid golden pitchers studded with jewels shone. Honoring the elder mothers and delighting the women of the lineage, they welcomed them and seated them for the household rites. They consulted the twice-born brahmanas, worshiped the gods according to rule, fell at their feet, and spoke humble words. Auspicious Vedic mantras were recited and family customs duly observed; then customary rites were performed and dharma established. Kinsmen were treated properly, friends' gifts accepted, and hearts heavy with love fulfilled every tradition. Nanda, Upananda, hosts of gopis, and cowherds met and forgot themselves in the colors of blissful rasa. Their hearts overflowed as they carried flowers, curd, and sacred grass, wore mental garlands and flower garlands, and blossomed in fine cloth. Wearing bright peacock feathers, they bounded upon the earth in delightful, intoxicated movements. They played by throwing curd upon one another, smeared bodies and faces, grappled arm against arm, and leapt high. The radiant cowherds shone, their bodies colored with mountain minerals, their hearts steeped in love as they roamed swiftly. Adorned with lovely yellow pigment and saffron, powerful cows and bulls ran beside them. Groups of joy-giving women shone as they danced and sang, honoring the occasion with full melodies. Golden bells rang at their waists, anklets chimed, bracelets clinked upon their hands, and bangles sounded together. Drums and vinas were arranged, conches and kettledrums sounded, and great drums thundered like masses of storm clouds. Mrdangas resonated beautifully, voices joined with instruments, and assemblies of skilled musicians displayed profound artistry. Some gave necklaces of diamonds and jewels, garments and strings of pearls, astonishing petitioners with their gifts. They gave golden hills of sesame, gleaming mountains of cows, and showered gifts by the cartload.

In her song, Maiya also described every sweetness Shri Krishnachandra revealed in all his lilas, including Putana's deliverance and the breaking of the cart. She sang of Nilamani's sweet crawling, his varied games, his dancing, and his grasping the calves' tails. She also portrayed Nilamani's lila of taking fresh butter with exquisite beauty.

The beauty of Maiya's sacred limbs while she churned the curd was itself worthy of beholding. At her broad waist shone a skirt tied with a silken cord woven from the softest silk threads. Through singing Shri Krishnachandra's lilas and through uninterrupted, supremely sweet remembrance of him, the ocean of maternal affection surged. In response, milk flowed from both Mother's breasts, which also trembled. Her arms grew weary from ceaselessly drawing the churning rope fastened to the churning rod. The bracelets adorning her hands and the pair of earrings beautifying her ears moved intensely. Drops of perspiration glistened on her forehead, cheeks, and chin from exertion, or rather, from absorption in love. The constant motion of her limbs caused the edge of her veil to slip from her head, and her braid loosened. Malati flowers woven into it began to fall and touch her feet one after another. It was as though these flowers from her hair, falling at the queen of Vraja's feet, indicated a true principle to the living beings of the phenomenal world: whatever rested upon someone's head only a moment ago takes shelter at the feet the instant that person becomes absorbed in Shri Krishnachandra. They seemed to reveal this supreme truth.

Although Mother's external awareness was nearly lost through absorption in love, within her inner consciousness the wish to feed Shri Krishnachandra fresh butter and milk remained eternally awake. The impression that she had left the sleeping Nilamani in the bedchamber was also fully present. Thus there was no interruption in the churning. At the same time, prompted by those inner impressions, Mother repeatedly cast her gaze in both directions, now toward the place where the milk was reducing and now toward the sleeping couch. Through this moment-by-moment movement of her glance, her pair of brows became deeply curved and looked exceedingly beautiful. Thus the queen of Vraja, a great ocean of maternal love, churned like a living image of restless beauty:

Beautiful-browed Yashoda wore a silk garment bound by a cord about her broad hips. Her breasts flowed with milk from affection for her son and trembled. Her bracelets and earrings moved as her arms labored to pull the rope. Her face perspired and malati flowers slipped from her loosened hair as she churned.

Holding the rope, she pulls with her arms; their movement rocks the heavy braid. The necklace upon her breast sways and slides as rows of flowers fall. Her earrings dance and the golden bracelets upon her hands ring. Drops of perspiration glisten, her limbs move, and her ornaments flash with beauty. Her full skirt swirls and sways, her lovely veil flies and ripples. The curd pot rumbles and resounds like proud, thundering clouds.

The night ended, dawn came and passed, and sunrise arrived, yet Mother had no awareness of time. She was absorbed in churning and in beholding Shri Krishna's lilas. Meanwhile Shri Krishnachandra had awakened in the bedchamber and was calling, "Maiya! Maiya!" But Maiya did not hear him. On other days she would repeatedly coax the sleeping Nilamani awake:

Awake, awake, O Gopala! One should not sleep so long. Listen, my son, morning is the most pure and sacred time.

But today Nilamani himself wished to awaken Maiya from her trance of devotional feeling, and Maiya would not awaken. When repeated calls brought no answer from Mother, Shri Krishnachandra climbed down from the bed himself and went toward her:

Breathing deeply, stretching his body, rubbing his eyes, and crying, "Mother, wake up," the child Shri Gopala heard the sound of churning and stumbled toward her while weeping.

"Long breaths came through his nostrils, he stretched and rubbed his eyes, and as soon as he awoke he began repeating, 'Mother, Mother,' while softly crying. But there was no reply. At last, hearing the sound of churning and thus discovering where Maiya was, the child Gopala went toward Mother with stumbling steps."

Shri Krishnachandra came and stood close behind Mother. Placing one hand around Maiya's neck and touching her chin with the other, he said, "Maiya, you do not listen at all! Look how hungry I am. Give me your milk." Only upon hearing this did appropriate awareness return to Mother. For a moment she remained confused as to whether this was real or the inner world she had been experiencing. The decision did not take long, for Shri Krishnachandra had put his arm around her neck and repeatedly pleaded in a tearful voice for her to take him into her lap and stop churning. Mother began to immerse herself in an ocean of supreme bliss millions upon millions of times greater than the happiness in which she had been absorbed until then. At the same time she remembered that she must feed Nilamani fresh butter. Maiya looked into the curd pot and saw the fresh butter beginning to float. "Perhaps I should turn the rope another ten times." Imprinting a kiss upon Nilamani's cheek, Mother said, "My darling, look what beautiful butter has appeared. I shall give you milk at once and feed you fresh butter." Saying this, Maiya turned the churning rope once more.

Then Shri Krishnachandra lost patience. His lips began to quiver. More than that, he seized the churning rod with his hands. "No, no, stop churning," he insisted. Seeing this action of her son, Mother's limbs began to lose all strength from an excess of love:

Desiring her milk, Hari approached his mother as she churned. Seizing the churning rod, he stopped her and filled her with love.

Mother tried once more, thinking that perhaps Nilamani might listen this time:

"Dear Kanha, son of Nanda, let go of the churn," Mother Yashoda, queen of Nanda's house, says again and again. "Wait just a little and I shall give you butter, treasure of my life. Do not be stubborn. I, poor as I am, offer myself to you again and again."

But this time Shri Krishnachandra pulled the rope from the churning rod and threw it far away, then climbed into Mother's lap. Overcome by love, Mother placed her breast in the mouth of Nilamani, who was dearer to her than millions upon millions of lives. Nilamani began to drink her milk.

When Shri Krishnachandra touched the churning rod, the curd pot, and the rope, Queen Yashoda's ocean of bliss began to overflow. But the hearts of the Ocean of Milk, Mount Mandara, and Vasuki trembled. All three remembered the churning of the ocean in the past. With widened eyes they watched this lila of Shri Krishnachandra and marveled again and again:

When Mohana grasped the churning rod and his hand touched the curd, pot, and rope, the ocean, mountain, and Vasuki grew afraid within their hearts. At one time he measured the worlds in three strides; at another he did not know how to cross a threshold. At one time gods and sages could not attain him in meditation; at another the queen of Nanda fed him. At one time the nectar of the immortals did not please him; at another he delighted in curd and butter. Surdas says that even Shesha cannot describe the glory of this lila of the Lord.