"Caught White-handed!"

[Guest guest]

Srimate SrivanSatakopa Sri Vedanta Desika Yatindra

Mahadesikaya nama:

 

“Caught White-handed!”

 

Everybody loves a good tale. There is nothing like a credible

yarn, spun out with skill, to entertain, enlighten and educate us. The

erstwhile popularity of Tamil weeklies and monthlies was due in no

small measure to the serial stories that appeared in them, regaling

the reading public for long years. We hear of readers waiting for the

next issue with bated breath, getting through the week somehow and

rushing to the newsstands to grab their current copy of Kalki, to

learn what befell VandiyatEvan, the life-like hero of “Ponniyin

Selvan”. And even today, there are those who would miss even a

meal, rather than forego watching the current episode of their

favourite mega serial or soap opera. We see pitched battles being

fought at home between otherwise harmonious members of the family,

over which serial should be viewed at a particular time, when two or

more of them are on the air simulataneously in different channels.

All this goes to show the incredible power the story wields over

people.

 

However, we find that most of these hot stories and gripping

serials fade away from public memory as fast as they surface. If one

were to be asked today about supposedly immortal works like

“Kadal PurA” or “SivakAmiyin Sapatham”, one

would have to recall them with difficulty. If this is the state of

affairs within two to three decades of their appearance, one could

imagine what their fate could be a decade later--none would have even

heard about the works, leave alone remember their contents. Some

works survive longer in readers’ minds due to their worthy

contents, but again it is only a question of time before they too

take a bow, unsung and forgotten. Similar is the fate of serials and

motion pictures in the visual media . Whether it be “Sound of

Music” or “Chandralekha”, all these are destined

ultimately for the forlorn world of the forgotten classics.

 

On the other hand, we find that even today huge crowds throng

lecture halls where the exploits of Rama and Krishna are narrated.

The TV serials on Ramayana and Mahabharata were such crowd-pullers

that activity ground to a halt in the entire nation, with people

dropping whatever they were doing to watch eagerly the next episode

of the epic. When Homer’s Iliad and Kalidasa’s

Shakuntalam have ceased to enthrall us, within a few centuries of

their composition, we find tales of Rama and Krishna still gripping,

inspiring in us resolutions of good behaviour, whenever we hear this

or that exploit of Sri Rama, highlighting exemplary conduct. We are

still moved to tears when we hear of Sri Rama’s uncomplaining

acceptance of a sentence of extradition for fourteen long years,

added to the loss of throne, or of Sri Janaki’s clumsy efforts

to drape Herself with the deer skin on the eve of Her departure for

the forests, unused so far to anything but the most luxurious of

lives at Mithila and Ayodhya. We are fired by tales of Sri

Rama’s bravery in single-handedly disposing of fourteen

thousand rakshasas and moved beyond words at His preparedness to

grant assylum to the brother of His sworn enemy, and what is more

remarkable, to even the dastardly abductor of His beloved wife. All

these occurrences of YugAs past are still green in our memory, as if

they happened just yesterday. And when you come to think of it,

Srimad Ramayana is not that remarkable, as far as the story line is

concerned, and could be summarised in a few sentences. This being so,

why should it survive where other similar yarns are long dead and

gone?

 

When we analyse the reasons for this phenomenon of some tales being

forgotten quickly and others lingering on and on, forever, we find

that all accounts of mundane mortals, narrated by authors whose

calibre is but the same as that of the characters they create,

disappear without a trace after a short run of popularity, while all

legends of the Lord and His doings, irrespective of how long back

they happened, live on in people’s memories. While all objects

of enjoyment in this world are subject to what the economists call

the Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility, affording less and less

pleasure with every increase in the number of units consumed,

according to Sri Nammazhwar, the Lord is the significant exception in

this regard, the blissful experience He affords never palling upon

devotees—“appouzhudaikku appOdu en ArAvamudamE”. So

too, tales concerning the Lord appeal to us anew, everytime we hear or

read them. Irrespective of the number of times one has heard the Epic,

it never bores us, as would any other repetition. Can you imagine how

many discourses might have been delivered on the subject of Ramayana,

ever since the sons of Rama first sang the lilting verses of Valmiki,

holding spell-bound the first ever audience consisting of the citizens

of Ayodhya? We are unable to hazard even a guess at the billions of

recounting the Epic must have undergone, over several YugAs. And if a

recital of the same is able to grip even fickle-minded fireflies like

us even today, irrespective of the narrative skills of the

racounteur, the magic of the Epic and of its Immortal Hero are beyond

dispute. Would anyone listen to tales other than that of Sri Rama,

queries Sri Nammazhwar rhetorically, confessing his obsession with

the Prince of Ayodhya and His exploits—“karpAr irAma

pirAnai allAl mattrum karparO?”. If these tales have been

translated into innumerable languages spoken around the world, is it

not a testimonial to their undying appeal, cutting across national

and cultural barriers? If scenes from the Epic were depicted as

murals and sculptures in the ancient temples at Angkor Vat and if

such scenes are enacted every year not only in India but in distant

lands like Indonesia,Malaysia, Thailand, etc., it puts the universal

appeal of Bhagavat Katha beyond dispute.

 

When we speak of undying tales, perhaps the saga of Sri Krishna ranks

no lower in popularity. For sheer entertainment value, if not for its

instructive content, nothing can beat Srimad Bhagavatam and especially

the tenth skandam thereof, detailing the exploits of the Boy Wonder.

One wonders whether Mark Twain’s “Tom Sawyer”,

Richmal Crompton’s “William” and scores of other

mischievous and beloved characters might not have been created after

a perusal of the life and times of Sri Krishna. Though Bhagavatam

does chronicle the endearing misdemeanours of the Divine Cowboy, it

was left to Sri Periyazhwar and his illustrious daughter to portray

vividly the innumerable exploits of Kannapiran, who was at once the

darling and despair of Sri Yasoda. Tales of Krishna enthral us till

date, with our delight undiminished by any number of recountings of

His thievery of dairy products, His scant regard for property rights

as far as milk, butter and curds were concerned, His highly

unorthodox ways of obtaining objects of His desire, His romances,

sincere and otherwise, with the Gopis of Nandagokulam, His exploits

with the numerous asuras dispatched by Kamsa with the sole aim of

finishing off the boisterous brat and His growing up amidst cows,

calves and cowherds, reeking of dairy products. There are so many

tales of Sri Krishna, with sub-plots of their own, that we can easily

lose a lifetime listening to them with undying fascination.

And millions of authors, right from the venerated Sri Suka Brahmam

and Sri Vishnuchitta, to the modern day Kannadasan, accounting for

various shades of devotion and scholarship, have delighted in

writing of Krishna and His doings.

 

Here is one of the numerous anecdotes which at once entertain, educate

and enthrall. The following sloka from Sri Krishna KarNAmritam of

Leelasuka portrays the devious mindset of the mischievous brat,

especially when His misdeeds come home to roost. The sloka is set

against the background of Sri Krishna’s habit of barging into

other people’s homes, appropriating for own use the pots of

butter, milk and curds gathered by Gopis with considerable strain and

labour. Adding insult to injury, He not only consumes all these

delicacies, but also bangs down the empty pots with considerable

force, shattering them to pieces. His raids are not only nocturnal,

but carried out brazenly in broad daylight too, when the inhabitants

of the selected house are away or asleep. And the damage caused is

substantial, as the brat always moves about in gangs, of which the

other unholy members too have no less an appetite for butter and

curds. To avoid the little monster from accessing dairy products,

clever Gopis fashion slings and suspend the pots of butter and curds

from the ceiling, far beyond the reach of the short Krishna. However,

this hardly stops the ingenious infant, who fashions a human ladder to

climb and reach the pot. He puts His beautiful hand inside the vessel,

scoops out a handful of butter and stuffs it into His pearly mouth. It

is at this stage that the suspicious Gopi, who had gone just to the

backyard, returns and finds six or seven children in her living room,

standing one atop the other, to enable the black one at the top to

reach the butter pot. What they are up to is extremely evident, any

niggling doubts in this regard instantly dispelled by the large,

tell-tale smear of butter on the hands and face of the apple of

Yasoda’s eye.

 

This particular Gopi had been a long-suffering victim of these

resourceful raiders and had tried every ruse in the book to trap them

“white-handed”, engaged in the consumption of butter, so

that she could drag them to Yasoda, who was forever protesting the

innocence of her brat, never taking cognisance of complaints unless

accompanied by well-documented evidence. And what could be better

testimony than catching Him with a hand in the pot? Determined to

bring Him to justice today, the Gopi starts the court of inquiry

quite innocuously, as if unaware of Krishna’s identity.

“Who are you, my boy?” (“Ka: tvam bAla?”) she

inquires of the brat. The irony of the situation is brought out

extremely well by the poet, that of the unlettered Gopi demanding the

Parabrahmam to identify Itself. Perched precariously on the shoulder

of His accomplice, who has started shivering in anticipation of

imminent reprisal, Sri Krishna puts on a brave face, as if there is

nothing extraordinary about the situation in which He has been caught

and as if it is an every day occurrence for housewives to find Sri

Krishna in their living rooms, perched atop three or four urchins,

with His hand inside the butter pot. Lost in the contemplation of

ways and means to get out in one piece from the tight spot, Sri

Krishna still manages a wily reply to the Gopi, telling her that He

is the younger brother of Balarama. While indeed being the elder

brother, Balarama is quite a normal and adorable specimen of

childhood, respectful to elders and with a finely-developed sense of

meum and tuum. All that everybody in Gokulam has for Him are

affection and regard. Hence, by playing upon the unblemished

reputation of Balarama, Sri Krishna hopes to evade punishment,

indirectly pleading with the Gopi to spare Him (Krishna) considering

the impeccable conduct of His elder. (This reminds us somewhat of Sri

Alavandar’s prayer to the Lord to save him, if only on account

of his grandfather Sri Nathamuni-“PitAmaham NAthamunim vilOkya

praseeda mat vrittam achintayitvA”).

 

Marvelling at the little brat’s crafty reply, the Gopi says,

“Okay, Balarama’s brother! But what are you doing here,

in my living room, without my consent, where you have absolutely no

legitimate business? You have definitely not been invited in by me.

Then how come I find you here?”. She thinks she has got Him

cornered, for there could be no reply to this question, except

shameful acknowledgement of trespass, followed by profuse apologies.

Savouring her moment of revenge, she awaits Krishna’s reply, if

one could be made. However, she forgets that Krishna is never at a

loss for words, whether they be true or false. He tells her brazenly

that He entered her house, mistaking it to be His own. Even a little

child of AyppAdi knows Nandagopa’s palace, being the tallest

and most magnificent of residences in the locality, with beautiful

doors adorned with mellifluously chiming bells, high-flying flags and

fine-looking festoons (“kodi tOndrum tOraNa vAyil kAppAnE! MaNi

kadavam tAL tiravAi”). This Gopi’s residence is an

extremely humble one, with neither flag nor festoon and with an

ordinary wooden door that is unable to keep out mid-day marauders

like Krishna. There is thus no possibility of Krishna mistaking this

humble home to be His own. However, the Gopi decides to say nothing

about this incredible contention, deciding to give Krishna a long

rope.

 

She proceeds logically: “I can even accept that you have barged

into my house, mistaking it to be yours.Even if you entered by

mistake, you could have found from the interior that it is definitely

not yours, and having deduced that, it would have been expected of you

to have departed immediately, with appropriate apologies to me.

Instead of that, why do I find you with your hand inside the butter

pot?”

 

The Gopi is certain she has floored Krishna with this unanswerable

query. How could He reply? Anticipating and relishing in advance His

discomfiture in having been caught red-handed, the Gopi awaits the

brat’s reply, if at all there could be one. However, pat comes

the astounding answer, “Oh mother! One of my calves got

separated from the herd, while I was returning home from the hills

after grazing the cows. I am just looking whether the lost calf is

inside the pot.” It must have been for this particular piece of

falsehood, which crowns all others He had uttered in His illustrious

career as a facile fibber, that Sri Andal bestowed Him with the

sobriquet, “ElA poigaL uraippAn”—the incredible

fibber.

 

Amazed at the preposterous reply, the Gopi marvels at Krishna’s

ready tongue, ever ready to utter untruth with fascinating fluency. A

lost calf and searching for it inside the butter pot, suspended high

from the ceiling! This piece of incredible insolence is the last

straw and the Gopi’s patience runs out. Not only was the brat

stealing her butter in broad daylight, short-ciruciting all the

safeguards she had put in place, but He was also insulting her

intelligence with tall stories of calves in butter pots and humble

huts being mistaken for splendorous palaces! Nothing like a good

spanking to keep errant urchins in line, thinks the Gopi and raises

her hand threateningly (the hand would not have made contact, for no

one in Nandagokulam can bear to hit Krishna or to see Him beaten,

such was the overwhelming love everyone had for Him, despite His

misdeeds), when Krishna, feigning fright, starts crying in a shrill

voice, enough to rouse the neighbourhood. Even to this day, we find

children resorting to this ruse, when all else fails to move parents

to comply with juvenile demands. Tears are the ultimate and

invariably effective weapons in the armoury of children. The Gopi

being no exception to the rule, gets flustered by Krishna’s

tears, which have started coursing down His blooming cheeks, just a

second after he commenced crying. Her anger all forgotten, she tries

to pacify the child, who looks so sad and forlorn, with eyes swimming

in tears and uttterly helpless against adult harrassment. Her maternal

instinct becoming overactive, the Gopi takes sobbing Krishna into her

arms and consoles Him with large helpings of butter or what is left

of it after the little thief and His gang have had a go at it.

Krishna feasts on the offering with gusto and leaves, after

extracting promises from a mellowed Gopi for a repeat banquet of

bovine products, the following day.

Here is the beautiful sloka from Sri Krishna Karnamritam-

 

“Ka: tvam Bala? BalAnuja: kim iha tE? Man mandira AsankayA

Yuktam tat. Navaneeta bhAnda kuharE hastam kimarttham nyadA:?

MAta! Kanchana vatsakam mrigayitum. MAgA vishAdam kshaNAt

ItyEvam vana vallavI birudita: Krishna: sa pushNAtu na:”

 

What a wonderful tale! And there are practically hundreds like this

one, each displaying a particular aspect of the Paripoorna avatAra

that was Sri Krishna.

Azhwars have waxed extremely eloquent in recounting numerous such

episodes, moving even the stoniest of hearts and melting it with

Bhagavat guNAnubhavam. Listening to such tales of the Lord and His

exploits purifies the mind of its accumulated garbage, making it an

ideal abode for the Supreme Being. It is thus not for nothing that

Listening, to tales of the Lord and His devotees, is counted among

the best of ways to inculcate and imbibe devotion-“shravaNam,

keertanam VishNO:” Sri Kulasekhara Perumal exhorts his ears to

listen only to the glorious fables of the Lord—“Achyuta

kathA shrotra dvaya tvam shruNu”.

 

Telling tales might be bad per se, but when the tales are about the

Lord, they generate exquisite enjoyment in the teller as well as the

listener, says the Gitacharya—“kathayantascha mAm nityam,

tushyanti cha ramanti cha”.

 

Srimate Sri LakshmINrsimha divya paduka sevaka SrivanSatakopa Sri

Narayana Yatindra Mahadesikaya nama:

Dasan, sadagopan