In the intimate corners of Vrindavan, where divine tales unfold like blooming lotuses, a story unraveled between mother and son. Yashoda glimpsed her young Krishna, eyes darting with childlike mischief, planning his latest caper. As if led by the invisible threads of karmic design, she quietly tiptoed behind him, a stick of discipline grasped in her hand.
Just then, Krishna—the Supreme God, unreachable even by the penetrating focus of revered yogis—sensed her approach. His eyes widened, and his tiny feet broke into a scurry. The great cosmic enigma became, in that moment, a mere child, fleeing from the familiar grasp of maternal love.
Yashoda, her body sculpted by the years and the weight of earthly motherhood, pursued him in a chase. Her sari rippled like a cascading river, her hair unraveled, and the fragrant flowers adorning it scattered like stars tumbling from the heavens. Breathless but relentless, she finally clasped her elusive son. His eyes, outlined by kohl, wavered with apprehension.
Peering into Krishna's eyes brimming with fear and tears, Yashoda felt her maternal intuition knocking from within. “He is afraid. My Krishna is afraid. If fear overtakes him, what good will it bring?" she wondered. Abandoning her stick, she chose the silk threads of love over the hard edges of discipline. I will lovingly bind him to keep him from mischief, she resolved. Little did she know the vastness she aimed to bind.
Krishna, the boundless cosmic dance, the circumference of everything and the center of nothing, appeared before her as but a mere child. She endeavored to tie him to a wooden mortar, her rope falling two inches short. Astonished, she fetched more ropes, binding them end-to-end, and yet, the Universe chuckled—still two inches too short.
Sweat adorned Yashoda's brow like dew on a morning leaf; her floral garland lay surrendered at her feet. It was then that Krishna, moved by the tenderness of his mother's love, chose to be bound. The Supreme, who even time could not bind, consented to the shackles formed by a mother's love. Yashoda was finally able to tie him up lovingly.
This was not just a game of hide and seek; it was the proof of divine love between a mother and child. While yogis, scholars, and gods like Brahma and Shiva yearned for but a glimpse of Him, Yashoda found Him in her arms, touchable, holdable, and loveable. Such is the ineffable power of pure devotion and maternal love.
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