Of course, to some he is not simply a child, but a poweful god, the eighth avatar of Vishnu, in fact. To me though he will always be my little boy.
However, I am not actually Krishna's birth mother. That honor belongs to Queen Devaki, wife of Vasudeva. Krishna was born while the couple were imprisoned by Devaki's evil brother Kamsa, who was determined to kill all of Devaki's children because of a prophecy that said her eighth child would destroy him. To save this avatar from the fate of his elder siblings, Vishnu helped Vasudeva carry the infant from his parents' prison to the home of his foster parents.
I am Yasoda, the wife of Nanda, king of the cowherders, and chosen foster-mother of Krishna.
Raising a god-child was not as easy as it sounds. 'Why, Yasoda,' you might say, 'surely Krishna was a perfectly behaved boy, a model for other children. We would expect nothing less from a god.'But Krishna did anything but follow expectations.
Before he could walk and talk (which, being a god, he did very early), he was getting into mischief. His favorite question was "why?" or, more often, "why not?" He made no distinction between "no, you may not" and "yes, please do!" Given the amount of trouble he was always in, his motto might have been "Easier to ask forgiveness rather than permission."
One particular instance stands out in my mind.
It was getting to be early afternoon, and being a normal boy with a normal boy's appetite, Krishna was pestering me for a snack. At the moment I was very busy churning butter, and I was at a delicate stage in the process where I could not stop to take care of him. Besides, as I told him, he had had a snack only an hour ago, so he could very well wait for dinner.
The butter churning made me absent-minded, or I would have become suspicious of the good grace with which he accepted the refusal. His usual modus operandi was to throw a temper tantrum. Unfortunately I was so preoccupied that I did not notice the angelic face which he only wears when he is brewing some particular mischief.
Grateful when he sauntered away, I returned to churning, only to be shocked a moment later by a loud commotion coming from the yard. I rushed outside, only to find what I feared: somone had let the young goats out of their pen. They were running wild around the yard, crushing the garden, eating clothes from the line, and generally wreaking havoc. It took me a full hour to catch and return them all to the pen.
Finally, sweaty, tired, and more than a little irritated, I returned to the kitchen...to find Krishna, on the floor, with his hands in the jar of freshly made butter, and a look of contentment on his face!Not so innocent now, is he?
Well, of all the brazen things to do! After I had deliberately told him "no," too! God or no god, he had to be taught a lesson.
I tied him to a post in the kitchen, where he could watch me clean up the mess he had made. He squirmed and wriggled, but his protests fell on deaf ears. I think the worst part of the punishment was not actually being tied up, but having to smell the tantalizing aromas of the dinner being cooked and not being able to so much as lick a spoon!
Afterwards I was a little awed at my own daring. After all, Krishna is God, naughty or not. But every time I think about that butter...!
And I think a little punishment was good for him. He was beautifully behaved for a full three days, the longest stretch he had ever gone. (He made up for this by making his next misadventure truly spectacular, but my husband and I rejoiced in the peace while it lasted.)
And after all, even gods must learn that they can't always get what they want, don't you think?
Of course, it's impossible to stay angry with Krishna for long. One sunny smile from him and all was forgiven.
For that is the kind of person Krishna is-- stubborn and willful, yes, but so sweet and good-natured that one cannot help but love him.
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