The Eternal Companion

My intrigue with him did not bloom from the verses of scriptures nor from the weight of philosophies. It began in the soft fragrance of childhood, in the quiet evenings of my Aaji’s home. My Aaji’s voice, though not sweet by the measure of music, carried a truth no instrument could match. When she sang “श्री कृष्ण गोविन्द हरे मुरारी,” or the gentle “वासुदेव सुतं देवं,” “आरती कुंज बिहारी की,” or even the heart-piercing Panduranga bhajans, her tone was rugged, uneven, and stripped of all ornamentation. Yet, in that very roughness lay a resonance so eternal that it still reverberates in my ears whenever I close my eyes. It was as if her voice was a bridge, carrying Krishna straight into our humble home, not through perfection of sound but through the purity of surrender. Those unembellished notes filled the puja room, echoing around the grand Vatapatrashayi portrait, the tender Yashoda-Krishna painting, the eternal Radha-Krishna image. In those moments, Krishna was not a distant deity, but a living presence breathing among us. That rawness became my first lesson in devotion: Love for Krishna does not need harmony, it only needs heart!

And then came the long afternoons of summer, when my Aaja’s voice carried me to Vrindavan, Dwarka, Mathura, Barsana and also Kurukshetra. Under the waning sun, stories of Krishna Leela unfurled like golden threads. I walked beside the Gopis, heard the low murmur of the flute, felt the mischief of butter theft and the weight of lessons hidden in play. In his laughter, I saw freedom; in his pranks, wisdom; in his flute, the ache of longing that never ceases. Slowly, imperceptibly, I fell in love with the divine. Not as a distant god framed in rituals, but as a living presence, both near and far, playful and profound, eternally present along my side!

Years passed! Curious childhood melted into the grayness of adulthood!

And yet, one summer, a simple rakhi gift from my brother and my sister’s companionship carried me into the living heart of Mathura-Vrindavan world. There, devotion was no longer an imagination. It was air, dust, and pulse. Temples thrummed with chants, the streets carried echoes of ages, and the very soil seemed steeped in his essence. In that sacred space, the Keshavdev of stories and the Kanha of songs became the eternal Manmohana of souls!

Today, when I hear songs like “ऐसी लगी लगन मीरा हो गयी मगन” or a simple "मदनः, माधुसूदनः, मनोहरः, मनमोहनः" from a Tollywood movie, I am carried back to those stories of him, as if time bends into melody.

What is it about him that holds us so spellbound? Why do Radha, the 16,108 gopikas, Meera, and countless nameless souls, lose themselves at the sound of his name, as if their very breath belongs to him?

Perhaps it is because Krishna never came as a single role; he came as complete life himself. As Yashoda’s mischievous child, he reminds us of the joy that innocence brings. As the slayer of Pūtanā and Kāliya, the lifter of Govardhan, he restores faith that protection lies near when fear surrounds us.

As Radha Krishn, he teaches that love is not possession but the dissolving of the self in the beloved.

He dissolves the self into the beloved as Radha Krishn, balances worldly bonds as Rukmini’s chosen one. Leads Satyabhama to face Narakasura, and protects Draupadi’s dignity when the world turns cruel.

If not, then how else could 16,108 gopikas see him as their prāṇanātha and how else could Meera drink poison as if it were Amrit,only for him.

He shows us that devotion weighs more than diamonds, as Sudhama's friend, while also bestowing us with the Bhagavad Gita as Jagadguru.

As Dwaraka’s ruler, he is the statesman who serves, not rules. In his silence when Dwaraka sank and in his retreat under a forest tree, he showed us that even the ultimate bows to impermanence, yet remains eternal in spirit.

Krishna embodied contradictions and resolved them with grace. In him, Meera saw not a man, not just a god, but the mirror of her own soul. He carried all shades of a being: the mischievous Boy, the teasing Beloved, the loyal Friend, the wise Guru, the fierce Protector and the detached Yogi!

Perhaps, we surrender not to his form, but to the certainty of his eternal presence. While songs like “खारो खारो जमुना जी को पानी लागे” carry the Vrindavan simplicity, Jayadeva’s Ashtapadi mesmerizes us with the eternal play of Radha and Krishna.

And when voices rise together to say,

कृष्णाय वासुदेवाय हरये परमत्मने।

प्रणतः क्लेश नाशाय गोविन्दाय नमो नमः॥

we realize the way to lead our lives.

Mathura did not give me Krishna. My Aaji’s songs did not bring Krishna. My Aaja’s stories did not create Krishna. They only unveiled the Krishna who was always within me. Krishna is not outside but, in the spaces between breath and silence, in the tug of longing and in the pulse of joy!

That is why the world stands mesmerized.
That is why Radha could never part from him,
and Meera offered her very breath to the dream of his embrace.

For he is the ultimate.
Not merely God, not merely Guru, not merely King.
He is the pulse of existence,
the rhythm beneath every heartbeat,
teaching us to play with childlike wonder,
to love with unshaken devotion,
to fight with the sword of truth,
to serve with hands of humility,
to surrender with faith unbroken,
and

At last, to let go,
like a river melting into the ocean!

Just as my Aaji’s voice once accompanied him into our small puja room, he now unveils himself in every walk of our lives.

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Manmohana!