Kṛṣṇa Manifests as Countless Cowherd Boys and Calves

The lotus-born Brahmā became merely the occasion, and the door opened to the supremely rare good fortune of countless cowherd women and cows of Vraja. The creator's desires would certainly be fulfilled, and he would indeed taste the immeasurable sweetness and infinite opulence of the moon of Vraja's royal family. At the same time, all the motherly cowherd women of Vrajapura and the greatly fortunate cows who had borne the multitude of calves stolen by Brahmā would obtain what they had long desired. Like Śrī Yaśodā, queen of Vraja, those cowherd women would regard and experience Kṛṣṇacandra, the Supreme Brahman and highest Person, as a child born from their own wombs and thus fulfill their aspirations. The cows would become blessed by receiving him as a calf born from their own bodies.

Kṛṣṇacandra considered what arrangements should come next, while his power of omniscience seemed to draw pictures of the inner feelings of countless cowherd women and cows and place them before him. He remembered how, from the time of his appearance until that day, the longing within the cowherd women's minds and lives had steadily increased. The darkly beautiful Lord now directly saw the intense desire surging in their deepest hearts to hold him against their breasts and become fulfilled by feeding him their own milk just as the queen of Vraja did. Who can say how many times each day countless women of Vraja had come to Nanda's courtyard and entreated the lady of Nanda's house and one another to place her blue jewel in their laps?

Please give Gopāla to me for a little while. Let me gaze closely upon his lotus face, and afterward you may take your little one back.

His lotus hands and feet are exceedingly tender, and his lips, teeth, and nose are beautiful. Ornaments dangle from his head and a jewel shines at his throat. I would sacrifice millions of Cupids before him.

Day and night I wonder, dear friend, why I have never received this joy. You have attained through great fortune the treasure of the Vedas and the entire wealth of Sanaka and the other sages.

His form is the eye of the universe, before which millions of moons and suns grow ashamed. Sūradāsa offers himself to Yaśodā, whose child is the life of the gopīs and the enemy of Pūtanā.

And instead of becoming satisfied by holding him in their laps, they became more eager still:

Taking the darling again and again into their laps, their longing only grows. As they gaze upon him, they condemn the blink that comes between them and his form.

When evening came that day and Mother Yaśodā entered the sleeping chamber with her blue jewel, the treasure of her life, clasped to her breast, the gopīs also returned home. Yet they returned only after leaving their minds and lives with Yaśodā's son. Merely a shadow of mind and life accompanied their bodies, allowing their household duties to continue through force of habit. Whenever they regained outward composure, this prayer, soaked in the anguish of their lives, still filled their inner being: “O Creator, if you can grant me one fruit of the merits I have accumulated from beginningless time, grant this: may I too receive Yaśodā's son as my own child and hold him against my heart. May I tenderly raise him like the queen of Vraja, take him into my lap at night, and become absorbed in the bliss of loving contemplation. May I too possess an exclusive claim upon the blue jewel.” Since Kṛṣṇacandra began going to the forest to tend the calves, the distress of those motherly gopīs had grown still more intense. During the day Yaśodā's son was absent from Vraja, and at night he remained within the queen of Vraja's sleeping chamber. Only for a few ghaṭikās at morning and evening could they behold his moonlike face. Thus the ocean of their longing became agitated. Hundreds of thousands of waves arose at every moment, carrying the gopīs to unimaginable places within their current.

Such was the condition of the gopīs. But who knew the condition of the mute animals, those multitudes of cows? What means did they possess to express the motherly love that surged within them at the sight of Kṛṣṇacandra? When they saw the darkly beautiful Lord, they could offer their affection only through a strangely joyous lowing, the spontaneous flow of milk from their udders, and their action of disregarding even their own calves, running to Yaśodā's son, and stretching out their necks. If they extended their tongues and touched Nanda's son even slightly, they seemed at once to realize, “Oh, we may injure the supremely tender limbs of Vraja's darling.” They immediately drew back their tongues and became peaceful merely by smelling Kṛṣṇacandra's body. Only the indwelling Lord knew that just as they licked and cleaned their own calves until they shone, the desire also arose within them to lick the dust-covered limbs of Nanda's son, but that desire could not be fulfilled. Every natural movement of theirs made clear their ceaseless eagerness to keep Yaśodā's son beside them as long as possible. But they were mute and dependent animals. The wave within their hearts dissolved within those very hearts. The cowherds who protected them sensed this and were themselves moved by the cows' feeling, but their power too was limited. They could not transgress the laws of nature. How long could those poor cowherds keep the cows beside Kṛṣṇacandra?

But that day everyone's good fortune awakened. Kṛṣṇacandra, abode of infinite majesty, directly beheld every past and future feeling of the cowherd women and cows. As the indwelling Lord he had always seen them, but that day's seeing was something else. He was now prepared to give the full value of every feeling. His power of grace placed its seal of acceptance upon them all. Overcome by compassion, the Lord himself, son of the king of Vraja, was about to fulfill everyone's desire.

Kṛṣṇacandra does not truly need to consider what to do, when, or how, nor must he exert even the slightest effort. His resolve seems already embodied before it arises. Yet he delights in childhood pastimes, and waves of rasa cannot help enclosing every wave of majesty within themselves. Therefore, while remaining established in his true nature, the son of Vraja's king seemed to forget his infinite power and again became overwhelmed by pure friendship. He began to think, “Ah, how can I live without those friends? What shall I do?” Along with his desire to increase the joy of the children's mothers and the cows who had borne the calves, he seemed to become concerned for himself. But the time had arrived for a change of scene. The sun was about to touch the western horizon. Kṛṣṇacandra therefore ended this performance and unveiled the next scene. It was utterly extraordinary, for Kṛṣṇacandra, the Lord himself and Lord even of the creators of universes, was its one and only actor. The play began in a manner befitting him. Not even a moment passed. No, scarcely the smallest instant could have been completed before an unprecedented wonder took form. Where only Kṛṣṇacandra had stood moments earlier, all his friends, calves, and other companions of the pastime appeared exactly as before upon the same white bank of Yamunā. It was not that the cowherd boys and calves stolen by Brahmā had returned. Kṛṣṇacandra himself manifested in both classes of forms. So that the desires of the cowherd women, the cows, and the lotus-born Brahmā might be fulfilled, and so that each might receive what had long been cherished and become immersed in the ocean of bliss, he personally appeared as countless cowherd boys and multitudes of calves:

Then Kṛṣṇa, Lord of the creator of the universe, made himself into both forms to bring joy to their mothers and to Brahmā.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.18)

The wonder of this self-manifestation of Kṛṣṇacandra, Lord of the greatest lords, deserves to be seen. These cowherd boys and calves numbered exactly as many as the cowherd boys and calves whom Brahmā had stolen and deluded by māyā. The boys' childhood bodies measured the same number of hands and fingers, and the calves stood exactly as tall and long as before. Their hands, feet, and other limbs had precisely the same forms and dimensions. The herding sticks and canes used for tending the calves had the same shapes and sizes. Their horns, flutes, and lunch slings were identical in size and form. The ornaments of tender leaves, flowers, and other materials upon each limb were exactly the same, as were their garments. More than this, those who had been composed or restless by nature possessed precisely the same steadiness or restlessness in these forms. Every quality was identical. Their names were the same, their appearances perfectly alike, and each boy had exactly the same age. Their manner of walking, other gestures, voices, and ways of friendship with one another were just as before. In short, their forms, colors, shapes, marks, dispositions, voices, clothing, ornaments, gait, faults, virtues, preferences, and dislikes were exactly the same, without even the slightest difference of any kind. It was as though Kṛṣṇacandra, in the school of this self-manifestation, intended to reveal the true meaning of the statements of revelation and Purāṇa, “All this is indeed Brahman” and “The entire universe is filled with Viṣṇu.” To leave no trace of confusion or doubt concerning their meaning, he seemed to embody that meaning itself. Becoming the self of all and personally transforming into all the cowherd boys, calves, and every object belonging to them, he appeared as though for this very purpose:

Exactly matching the tender bodies of every calf and boy, their hands and feet, their sticks, horns, flutes and lunch slings, their ornaments and clothes, their dispositions, qualities, names, forms, ages, and every manner of play, the unborn Lord shone as the form of all, embodying the declaration that everything is pervaded by Viṣṇu.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.19)

Hari himself became both kinds of forms, the calves and their keepers, exactly as he wished.

Each one's feet, hands, and face were the same, as were his disposition, nature, speech, and laughter.

Their gait, cleverness, sticks, ornaments, names, ropes, bodies, and even small faults were the same.

Their food, clothing, and smiles were as before, as were their horns, ages, flutes, and playful ways.

Their sports, tastes, and hosts of virtues were the same. Hari, the blissful abode, became them all.

“Everything is pervaded by Viṣṇu,” the Vedas proclaim again and again.

The treasure of compassion made that declaration true, becoming everything according to the desire of his heart.

However many calves and cowherd boys there were, Prince Nandalāla himself became them all. Their blankets, clothes, garlands, natural food, and play were exactly the same.

Their names, ropes, fine qualities, horns, flutes, leaves, and lunch slings were the same. Their glances, speech, dangling ornaments, swaying movements, and gait were identical.

Nandalāla, the Lord, became every anklet, bracelet, girdle bell, and garland. All that the Vedas reveal within this universe appeared everywhere as pervaded by Viṣṇu.

The Lord visibly embodied the declaration sung by the Vedas.

No error remained anywhere in any detail. Why should there be one? This seemed a matter of long practice for the moon of Vraja's royal family. When creation begins after cosmic dissolution, the creators of universes fashion things exactly in accordance with the previous creation. The same sky and wind are formed, and the moon, sun, planets, constellations, and endless ranks of stars are fashioned just as before. The oceans, earth, mountain ranges, trees, shrubs, and vines arise in precisely the same way. Every being among the infinite multitude of living creatures manifests in the same process, carrying exactly that portion of karmic result which it had been experiencing in the previous creation and in precisely the same condition:

The Creator fashioned the sun and moon as they had been before.

Not even the smallest error occurs in all these works of a universe's creator. Throughout the beginningless current of creation, the creator never fails even once, anywhere. How then could Nanda's son Kṛṣṇacandra, ruler of infinitely many such creators, make a mistake? When he personally became every child, calf, cane, horn, flute, lunch sling, bracelet, girdle bell, anklet, little bell, and all else, could any defect remain? No, there is no possibility of confusion or error here. Indeed, words such as “creation” and “producing” lack the power to make anyone grasp even the slightest outline of Kṛṣṇacandra's self-manifestation. It is not like material creation, which can be contained within the bounds of laws. If it were an illusory creation, something might be said or heard about it. Yet an illusory creation cannot represent the eternal companions of Kṛṣṇacandra, enjoyer of eternal pastimes. Therefore, Kṛṣṇacandra accomplished it through himself. Beyond this one can indicate only that it is made of bliss and consciousness, that the entire manifestation is wholly pure and completely nondifferent from its cause. Yet because it serves the arrangement of the pastime, the dispositions of those companions arose within it, causing it to appear in different forms. Speech cannot define its shape. It is indescribable. It is simply wondrous. If one calls it a creation, then it is the highest possible form of creation, utterly distinct from every other:

That manifestation, made of bliss and consciousness, was accomplished by him alone. Though wholly pure, the entire effect is not different from its cause. Yet under the condition of the pastime it became diverse through the arising of their individual natures. Being indescribable, it was wondrous, the supreme creation and highest natural manifestation.

(Śrī Ānandavṛndāvanacampū)

Thus, after this manifestation, Kṛṣṇacandra's play with himself begins once more. He remains present in his original form, while through the forms in which he himself has become the cowherd boys, he begins calling the calves who are likewise his own forms and turning them homeward from the forest. “Śrīdāma! Brother Subala! Look how late it has grown! The sun is almost setting here in the forest today. Hurry greatly, or Mother will become anxious.” The enjoyer of pastimes gives this command to the friends who are his own forms. The company of friends fills the riverbank with calls of “Haio, haio! Are, re, re!” and drives along Kṛṣṇacandra himself, present in herd after herd of calf forms. At the same time the flutes and horns sound, and their mutual games, dancing, and singing all begin again. Moving onward in this current of bliss, they reach the end of the forest, and Kṛṣṇacandra, the Self of all who has himself become the boys and calves, enters Vraja:

The Self of all turned back the calves who were himself through the calf herders who were also himself. Playing through pastimes with himself, he entered Vraja.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.20)

The crown jewel of all rulers of the worlds assumed those very forms as sovereign Lord. He himself became the matchless calves and cowherd boys, grazing and causing them to graze.

He himself turned and gathered them, playing in countless ways, speaking all kinds of playful words, and becoming innumerable, went to innumerable homes.

Even after arriving in Vraja, every customary practice is observed just as always. “Here, at this four-way crossing, Śrīdāma's calves separate from the others.” Today too they separate there and proceed toward their own cowshed. At each boy's appointed place, his calves turn aside as usual and he follows them. After leading the calves into the cowshed, to the place always assigned for their residence, the boys fasten the tethering ropes around their necks in the same way. Accepting the wishes of their keepers, the groups of calves assume their naturally restless or composed postures just as they always do. When this task is complete, the boys enter their respective homes. In truth, today there is neither any cowherd boy nor any calf. Kṛṣṇacandra himself, in the forms of those particular friends, separates from the others upon reaching each appointed place, and along the customary route drives the calves, who are also himself, toward the cowshed. He himself, as each boy, ties the rope, and he himself, as each calf, accepts the bond. Having done all this, he alone enters innumerable homes in innumerable distinct forms.

O King, after leading each group of calves separately and placing them in its respective cowshed, he became each corresponding boy and entered each corresponding home.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.21)

Today's entry into Vraja and into the homes is stranger than on other days. On one side evening spreads her dark veil, while on the other the flute song of the darkly beautiful Lord reverberates through every particle of Vraja. The cowherd women wait with anxious eyes, for today the delay has been considerable. Some exceedingly tenderhearted and motherly ladies have begun imagining other causes for concern. What then can be said of Vraja's queen? Just then the sound of the flute is heard. Carrying the yearning of their very lives, every one of them comes to her doorway beside the ornamental arch. Some, overwhelmed, go even farther. As Kṛṣṇacandra draws nearer and nearer, the eyes of the women of Vraja begin to cool. But today their gaze is suddenly and irresistibly drawn toward the children born from their own wombs, who too come swaying along around Kṛṣṇacandra. On other days the cowherd women's eyes would truly disregard their sons. Kṛṣṇacandra alone would fill their vision, and every other sight seemed to disappear from before them. Nor could they patiently wait for him to reach their doors. They would run forward and gather the dark jewel into their laps. How this daily sequence could be completed for innumerable women of Vraja within a single daṇḍa of evening cannot be resolved by ordinary human intelligence. Yet it is certainly true that this happened every day, and the cowherd women became immersed in an ocean of happiness. Receiving the joy of everyone's loving offerings in this way, Kṛṣṇacandra would finally come into his own mother's lap. Today, however, the entire order seemed to change. Everyone's gaze did indeed go toward Kṛṣṇacandra once, but it instantly returned and became so absorbed in their own sons that they appeared to forget the darkly beautiful Lord completely. For some unknown reason, the longing to hold Kṛṣṇacandra in their laps did not arise today. In its place, affection for their own sons surged up, and their very lives danced with eagerness to touch them. They all ran forward, but today each lifted her own son into her arms and, pressing him to her breast with overflowing affection, became almost mad with love. Before even a moment had passed, the force of motherly love grew still more intense, causing milk to flow spontaneously from their breasts. They could not restrain the desire to place in their sons' mouths that milk, sweet as a stream of nectar and intoxicating like a divine elixir. Imprinting kisses of heart-piercing affection upon the children's cheeks, they caressed their soft curling locks and brushed away the particles of dust. At the same time, placing their nipples in the children's mouths, they fed them the nectar of their breast milk. They did not know it, but today they had truly received the supreme fruit for which they had longed through the ages. Their cherished desires were being fulfilled. Finding, regarding, and experiencing the Supreme Brahman, the Supreme Person, as their own sons, the motherly cowherd women held him against their breasts and nursed him, offering him the gift of parental love.

Hearing the flute, their mothers rose in haste. Lifting their sons with both arms, they embraced them fully and made them drink the nectar-like, intoxicating milk that flowed from their breasts in affection, regarding the Supreme Brahman as their own sons.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.22)

Hearing the melody of the flute, the cowherd women ran, clasping their children tightly around the neck.

Brushing off the dust, again and again they kissed their faces. The swirling force of their love is beyond description.

× × ×

Milk streamed by itself from their lovely breasts. They lifted their sons and pressed them to their hearts.

Thinking the Supreme Brahman to be their own children, they raised him, placed him in their laps, and held him close to their hearts.

They gave him milk like nectar to drink. Know this to be their supreme good fortune, O king among men.

When the surge of emotion becomes somewhat calm, the mothers turn their attention to other duties. It is the daily custom that Kṛṣṇacandra returns in the evening after tending the calves and that his friends come with him. Today too the darkly beautiful Lord has returned from the forest in the same way. The children have also come with him, and now their mothers are going to care for them. They cannot know that today Nanda's son Kṛṣṇacandra himself is present in the forms of these countless cowherd boys. How could they know? There would have to be some difference. Every child's behavior at home is exactly as it has always been. Each boy who delights his mother with his own charming manner continues today to fill the surface of her heart with joy through the same enchanting childhood gestures. The mothers are occupied in caring for Kṛṣṇacandra, who has assumed the forms of their sons. Evening has already arrived, the shadow of night has fallen, and they still have many duties to perform. Yet today their delight has increased hundreds and thousands of times of its own accord, so there is no agitation anywhere. They attend to their tasks with the utmost affectionate eagerness. Just as always, they massage fragrant oil into the limbs of their sons, who are actually Kṛṣṇacandra, apply cleansing paste, and then bathe them. Next they adorn their bodies with lovely fragrant preparations made of sandalwood and other substances, dress and ornament them, and apply protective tilaka to the twelve parts of their bodies, beginning with the forehead, while uttering the names Keśava and the other names of the Lord. After all this, they feed them many fine and delicious foods such as modakas and pūpas together with various prepared dishes. They listen as Kṛṣṇacandra in the forms of the children recounts the day's adventures in the forest. As he narrates, drowsiness begins to fill his lotus eyes, and the mothers lay him down upon pleasant, beautiful beds. In this way Kṛṣṇacandra, enjoyer of childhood pastimes in the forms of countless cowherd boys, is lovingly tended by infinite mothers in innumerable homes and experiences supreme bliss:

Then, O King, through massage, bathing, anointing, ornamentation, protective tilaka, feeding, and other acts, Mādhava was lovingly cared for. Having returned in the evening, he delighted them with accounts of his own activities and in due course passed the night.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.23)

They rubbed them with cleansing paste, bathed them in water, and fed them the foods that pleased them.

× × ×

Anointing them with sandalwood and beholding their lovely bodies, their hearts filled with exceptional joy.

With protective tilaka and fine food, they fondled their sons with ever-new love.

Thus beholding the play of their children, evening came amid deep affection.

Meanwhile, the condition of the cows who were mothers of the calves was also extraordinary, capable of captivating the minds of the greatest sages:

Now hear of the cows' love, at the sight of which even sages forget the discipline of their minds.

They too have only just returned from the forest, brought back after the adult cowherd men had grazed them there. But as soon as this herd of cows enters the cowshed and their eyes fall upon the calves, what more can be said? Throughout the entire settlement, their calls and soft, deep lowing seem to release a surging stream of maternal love. Seeing this unprecedented loving agitation in the speechless cows, the cowherd men who guard them are themselves melted with emotion. And then, oh, who can describe the haste of Nanda's son in the forms of the young calves, the wondrous effort to reach their mothers as swiftly as possible upon hearing the summons of their lowing, and their meeting in a single instant? These cows have still younger, milk-drinking calves present right there in the cowshed. Yet they seem not to notice them at all. Instead, they surrender their entire beings to these older calves who had been weaned, and upon seeing them and having them at their sides, they become intoxicated with love. These calves need make no effort either. Streams of milk begin flowing spontaneously from the cows' udders. The calves drink, while the cows, immersed in incomparable delight, repeatedly lick their limbs:

Then the cows hurried into the cowshed and called their own respective older calves to them with resounding lowing. As abundant milk flowed, they nursed their calves and licked them again and again.

(Śrīmad Bhāgavata 10.13.24)

When the calves called near the feeding trough, the herd of cows stirred into tumult at the sound.

Lowing again and again, they came with anxious haste, while from the other side the calves rushed toward them.

Suckling and nursing, licking and kissing, again and again came that surge of affection.

× × ×

It seemed that overwhelming love would swallow them whole, a love no yogī attains through many disciplines.

Thus ends the first day of Vraja's prince sporting with himself. It is only autumn now. Then the seasons of early winter, late winter, spring, summer, and the rains will come. Autumnal beauty will once again adorn the sacred forest of Vṛndāvana and the skies of Vraja. Until then, the prince of Vraja will roam alone through the forest and the streets of the settlement:

He himself is the calves, and he himself is the boys. Mohanlāla wanders through Vraja and its forests.