Here is a rough rendering of Ch. 9 of the 10th Skandha. This is not part of my other project, namely, The Excellences of Hari, but a fuller narrative. Ch. 9 So now Yasoda, Nandas loving spouse, Set maids to various tasks within the house; While she herself, the pious cowherd queen, Laboured with love to churn the curds and cream; And as she churned she did in song rehearse, The deeds and pranks of her dear child in verse. A silken raiment round her bulky thighs Was girt around her waist with golden ties; From deep affection, while she churned, expressed Milk streaming from her oscillating breast. Her bracelets clashing made a tinkling sound, Flowrs in her hair dropped gently to the ground; The motions of her churning, and the pace, Made perspiration trickle down her face. Meantime, thirsting to suck, unto his dame, Where she was churning milk, child Hari came, And caught hold of the rod wherewith she churned, And all her heart with fond affection warmed. She stopped her work, and lifted up her child, And took him on her lap, by love beguiled; Her bosom streamed with milk, a mothers joy, Whenever she but thought of her dear boy. Now gazing on his smiles, oerwhelmed with love, The milk began to boil upon the stove, So suddenly she rushed off with a bound, And left her child, still thirsty, on the ground; And while she went to see if milk had spilled, With indignation child Hari was filled. He bites his trembling lips in rage, and cries, Which brightens the red lustre of his eyes. Incensed, he took a rolling stone, and dashed The stone against the jars, the jars were smashed, Whereon the liquid contents all did poor, In rivulets of milk across the floor. With feigning tears to some sequestered nook, He sat him down, and lumps of butter took, And ate his fill, with childish innocence, As though he had committed no offence. Meanwhile, Yasoda from the kitchen came, Saw broken pots, and knew who was to blame; She chuckled to herself, what time she thought, That her child could have such destruction wrought. She marked his foot-prints in the curds and cream, But he himself was nowhere to be seen. Nor sooner had she spied him from afar, Seated upon an overturned mortar, And doling out to monkeys in the yard, The tasty curds and cream, now off his guard, But glancing here and there, now and again, With guilty looks, the pots of milk did drain. When silently she crept up from behind, To seize him, who is not easy to find, Een by great contemplatives in the mind. But when his mothers swift approach espies, He leaps down from the grinding stone and flies; Though she had never scolded him before, This time, in wrath, a bamboo rod she bore; And so in mighty fear he fled away, And though she called his name, he would not stay. So while her child with haste she did pursue, The flowers dropping down, her steps ensue; Impeded by her bulky breasts and thighs, Most eagerly she still to catch him tries. Then suddenly she seized him by the hand, With scolding words her child to reprimand, But when she saw how he was terrified, She threw away the cane, and did decide To bind him fast unto the grinding stone, And thought thereby to teach a good lesson. Without the slightest knowledge of his might, This course, she thought, indeed would serve him right. That lord who has nor outside nor within, And nothing is before or after him; Who both inside and outside permeates; From whose own self the universe creates; Who is, and was, and shall hereafter be, The infinite and highest deity. Yet, deeming him as her dear darling son, She sought to bind him to the grinding stone! Now while to bind her son she did essay, She found, to her chagrin and deep dismay, The cord was short two finger-joints in length, So added more to give it further breadth, But even that proved utterly futile; Astonished thus, she could not choose but smile. Yet still she tried another cord to add To the first cord that she already had, And yet another to that one she bound, But still his abdomen would not go round. The cowherd dames and damosels drew nigh, Observed with joy to see his mother try Her naughty child with cords on cords to bind, But evry time the cord too short would find. At length, when her exhaustion he perceived, And flowers from her hair the ground received, The perspiration trickling down her face, Compassionate, he deigned to show his grace, And let her bind him to the grinding stone. Thus Hari by this wondrous deed has shown, Though he is always and forever free, He is subjugate to his devotee; Though hes the mighty ruler who confers Boons on the gods, his faithful ministers, But only to the pure who love him so, He condescends such favour to bestow. Nor Brahma, nor Bhava, nor goddess Shree, Who ever clings to him, such high degree Of favour won, or ever did achieve, As did this pious cowherdess receive. That mighty lord, son of the cowherd dame, The wise and self-realized cannot attain, But to his lovd is easy of access. Those who for him such ardent love possess. Thereafter, in her household chores employed, She left him there alone, somewhat annoyed; And while Krsna stood to the mortar tied, A pair of Arjun trees nearby he spied; Who were indeed two guhyakas of old, Sons of the mighty lord of wealth and gold, Nalakuvara was well known to fame, The other went by Manigrivas name; But due to pride of worth and affluence, Sage Narad cursed them for their insolence, Whose imprecation on their fate decrees, That they must wear, a term, the shape of trees.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Sep 2014 14:15:32 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015