Bhishma’s Vows, Krishna’s Vision

“Why aren’t you killing the Pandavas, Pitamaha? You have always loved them and hated us, Kauravas! You’re my army commander, but where does your loyalty lie?”

Stung by Duryodhana’s accusations, Bhishma declared:

“I will kill all five Pandavas tomorrow!”

He took five arrows, marked each with the name of a Pandava, and infused them with the tapas he had accumulated through a lifetime of brahmacharya.

Duryodhana was thrilled. But what if the old man changed his mind?

“I’ll keep the five arrows tonight and give them to you tomorrow morning.”

A little later, a veiled woman entered Bhishma’s tent noiselessly and fell at his feet.

Hearing her bangles jingle, the grandsire uttered the customary blessing for a married woman:

“Deergha Sumangali Bhava!”

As the woman rose, her veil slipped, revealing Draupadi!

Bhishma was stunned. He had just blessed with a long and auspicious married life, the very woman, whose husbands he had vowed to kill tomorrow.

“Who brought you here?” he thundered, rushing outside.

One glimpse of that familiar Pitambara, and he knew.

“Very well, Krishna! If you have made me break my vow, I shall make you break yours!”

Krishna smiled.

His task was only half done.

A hooded figure entered Duryodhana’s tent, startling him.

“You! How did you get here? Why have you come?”

“I have come to claim the boon you promised me,” replied Arjuna.

Duryodhana’s face paled. The memory of that incident still rankled.

During their vanavasa, Duryodhana had camped near the Pandavas, hoping to insult them. Instead, he was the one humiliated when the Gandharvas captured him. The righteous Yudhishthira had sent Arjuna to rescue him. Grudgingly, Duryodhana had offered Arjuna a boon for saving his life.

Arjuna had declined, saying he would ask for it later.

How had Arjuna remembered that boon now?

“What do you seek?”

“I want the five arrows Bhishma has empowered with our names.”

Bound by his own word, Duryodhana had no choice but to hand over the arrows.

Disaster was averted.

As the war raged on, Bhishma inflicted enormous damage on the Pandava army. Arjuna still hesitated to strike him.

Krishna could take it no longer.

“Arjuna, it seems you are unwilling to fight your Pitamaha. I will have to do it myself!”

Leaping from the chariot, His uttariyam (upper garment) trailing behind Him, Krishna picked up the wheel of a broken chariot, and charged towards Bhishma.

Bhishma immediately laid down his bow and folded his palms.

“I welcome death at Your divine hands, O Puṇḍarīkākṣa!”

Arjuna rushed and caught hold of Krishna, pleading:

“Krishna! Remember Your vow not to lift a weapon during the Kurukshetra war! How can You break Your own word? Come back!”

Krishna smiled. He is Śāntaḥ (शान्तः), the One who is eternally tranquil.

Bhishma had vowed to make Krishna break His vow.

Such is the compassion of the Lord that He is willing to break His own vow to uphold that of His bhaktas!

The battle continued, but Arjuna could not bring Bhishma down.

On the night of the ninth day, Krishna led the Pandavas to Bhishma’s tent.

With folded hands, Yudhishthira asked:

“Pitamaha, tell us how to defeat you.”

“I have a longstanding vow. I will not fight anyone who was born a woman or appears to be one. Let Arjuna stand behind Shikhandi and aim his arrows at me. I will not resist.”

Shikhandi was Amba in a previous birth and had taken an oath to destroy Bhishma.

And so, on the tenth day of the war, the grandsire finally fell, his body pierced by Arjuna’s arrows, decisively changing the course of the war.

Three different situations. Three different solutions. All orchestrated by One Protector of the Pandavas.

The Pandavas had to face danger. Arjuna had to fight. Difficult choices had to be made. But Krishna guided and delivered them from each crisis.

God’s protection does not always come as a miracle that makes every difficulty disappear. Sometimes, it comes as wisdom when we are confused, a timely reminder when we have forgotten, or a way forward when every path seems closed.

The question is – are we prepared to trust Him completely and surrender to Him, like the Pandavas did?

The Unbroken Yawn

https://youtu.be/l6184L76vGA

A Father, a Son, and a Test of Dharma

Kesini's swayamvara was approaching. Two suitors sought her hand: Virochana, the Daitya prince, and son of the famous devotee Prahlada, and Sudhanva, a Brahmana.



In the assembly, when Virochana invited Sudhanva to share his golden seat, Sudhanva refused.

Virochana declared himself superior and ridiculed Sudhanva, saying that a mat of grass was more fitting for him than a seat beside a prince.

The conversation soon turned into a contest of pride. Who was greater — the Daityas or the Brahmanas? Who deserved the higher place?

Sudhanva would not accept the insult. He insisted that wisdom and knowledge was far more important than the power of the sword. Words led to arguments and the two men were ready to stake their life itself on the outcome.

But who could judge such a contest fairly?

Virochana refused to approach either the gods or human beings. Sudhanva proposed an unexpected judge — Virochana's own father, Prahlada!

How could he trust the father of his rival?

Because Sudhanva believed that Prahlada would never speak an untruth, even to protect his own son.

The two approached Prahlada and explained their dispute.



Prahlada now faced a terrible test that no father would ever wish for. One contestant was his own son. The other was the man whose claim he had to judge. A false verdict might protect Virochana, but at what cost?

After some time in thought, Prahlada the judge, declared his verdict.

“Sudhanva is superior to Virochana.”

But the next moment, Prahlada the father turned to Sudhanva, to make one final appeal: “Spare my son's life.”



Sudhanva relented. “Prahlada, you have chosen virtue even at the cost of your own son. I therefore grant him his life.”

Thus, truth prevailed, and mercy followed.

In the Vidura Neeti part of the Udyoga Parva of the Mahabharata, Vidura narrates this story to King Dhritarashtra. His intention is to hold up Prahlada as a role model, and to warn the king against letting his attachment to Duryodhana to override Dharma.

What’s the lesson we can learn?

Prahlada upheld the truth even when his own son's life was at stake. This teaches us that we must not excuse wrongdoing just because it is done by a loved one. The real test of how dharmic we are comes when truth conflicts with our self-interest. If a loved one is doing wrong, will we still show the courage to stand by dharma?

Why Did Dharmaraja Gamble?

“How could Yudhishthira be called Dharmaraja when he gambled away his kingdom, his brothers and even his wife? Wasn't it adharmik of him to gamble?”

Many people ask this question. 

After the Rajasuya Yagna was completed, Vyasa Maharishi blessed Yudhishthira. But he also gave him a terrible prophecy.

“A great war will take place in the future. The entire Kuru race will perish, except for the five Pandavas. And you, Yudhishthira, will be responsible for this calamity.”

Yudhishthira was devastated.

That very moment, he took a vow.

“I won’t allow this to ever happen! From now onwards, I will never speak harshly or refuse any request or do anything at all to displease anyone, especially the Kauravas! I will be even more alert in following the Kshatriya code of conduct.”

Some time later came the invitation from Dhritarashtra to play the game of dice.

Yudhishthira accepted it - because it was against the Kshatriya code to refuse an invitation, and equally, because of his vow.

The game began.

Yudhisthira did not question the terms of the game.

He didn’t object to Shakuni throwing the dice on Duryodhana's behalf.

He didn't protest against the outrageous stakes. 

Why?

Because his whole focus was on not antagonizing the Kauravas. 

He was desperate to prevent the calamity that Vyasa had foreseen.

Yudhishthira was trying to control the future. He believed that if he acted carefully enough, he could prevent the prophecy from coming true.

He had taken doership upon himself.

His intention was to avert a catastrophe. But in trying to control what might happen tomorrow, he lost sight of what he should do today.

In trying to protect the Kuru race, he neglected the welfare of his own brothers and wife who were his responsibility!

What could he have done differently?

Instead of taking the onus on himself, maybe he could have sought counsel?

He could have turned to Krishna for guidance?

We also often behave in this way. In the sense that we try to control every outcome in our life only by our own efforts.

We compromise on what is right because we fear what might happen if we don't.

We say we are being wise, when it is actually fear that drives our decisions.

Like Yudhishthira, we become so preoccupied with preventing an unpleasant future that we fail to see the harm we are causing in the present.

The Bhagavad Gita teaches us the best way out – do what is right, recognize the limits of your own control, and surrender the outcome to the Lord.

Seven Days to Live

Sant Tukaram’s wife Avali was known to be short-tempered and critical of the way he spent all his time in devotion to Vitthal.

A young man once approached Sant Tukaram and asked him:

“Maharaj, how is it that you are always so peaceful despite your wife’s argumentative nature? You never seem to lose your temper. You treat everyone with love. What is the secret of your calm?”

Tukaram replied, “Forget that, but I know a grave secret about you.”

“What is it, Maharaj?” the young man asked.

“You have only seven days left to live.”

Stunned, the young man went away.

On the seventh day, he returned to Tukaram.

“Maharaj,” he said, “my time is almost over. I have come to seek your blessings.”

Tukaram asked, “During these seven days, did you quarrel with anyone? Did you lose your temper or hold on to anger?”

“No, Maharaj,” the young man replied. “How could I? Because I had so little time left, I tried to spend it peacefully with my loved ones.”

He explained how he had stopped shouting at his mother when the food had less salt or more spice. He had given up arguing with people over small things, trying to prove himself superior. He no longer got triggered by whatever people said to him, or how they behaved with him.

Tukaram smiled.

“Remember the question you asked me, about how I stay peaceful always? Now you know the answer. I live everyday with the awareness that death can come at any moment. Why waste the little time we have in anger, quarrels and resentment? Why not live with love and kindness instead?”

The young man understood.

Can we?

Amavasya With a Twist

“What is the best time?”

“The day after tomorrow, on the day of Amavasya. Get your royal elephant to start marching. This will guarantee that victory is yours!”

This was the shocking conversation between Duryodhana and Sahadeva just days before the Kurukshetra yuddha.

Bheema entered just as Duryodhana left. He demanded to know why their arch enemy had come to their camp.

“Duryodhana came to consult to me regarding the most auspicious moment to begin the war.”

“I hope you told him the wrong time to ensure defeat of the Kauravas.”

Sahadeva was angry. “Of course not! How can I abandon the ethics of my profession as an astrologer? I told him the exact right time that will ensure his victory!”

Now it was Bheema’s turn to fume.

“The elder brother destroyed us by playing a game of dice, and the youngest one by being a righteous astrologer!”

At that very moment, Krishna entered and was apprised of the situation.

He had just one question for Sahadeva:

“What made you tell the truth to Duryodhana?”

“The courage that You are with us, O Krishna, and that You always protect those who follow dharma!”

Krishna smiled. The ball was now in His court.

The next afternoon, Krishna went to the riverside spot where Duryodhana was sure to see Him. He began performing the tarpana – the customary oblations offered to ancestors on the day of Amavasya.

Duryodhana was perplexed.

“Why are you doing the tarpana today, Krishna? Amavasya is tomorrow!”

Krishna laughed, “Who told you that, Duryodhana? Today is Amavasya!”

Duryodhana was aghast. He ran to march the royal elephant, for that was what Sahadeva had advised.

Watching this, the deities descended from Swarga.

Chandra and Surya came forward, and asked Krishna why He was doing tarpana a day before Amavasya. He laughed and asked them a simple question.

“Define Amavasya.”

“It is when the Sun and the Moon are aligned together!”

“Well, just look at your positions right now!” quipped the Lord.

Surya and Chandra were in perfect alignment!

“Till now it wasn’t Amavasya, but now it definitely is!” laughed Krishna.

Duryodhana finished marching the royal elephant and was relieved. Victory, he thought, was now assured. But inwardly, he was fuming at the treachery of Sahadeva, who had given him the wrong day for Amavasya.

As he rushed back, he encountered the grandsire Bhishma.

“Where are you rushing in such a black mood, Duryodhana?”

“I’m going deal with Sahadeva. He told me that tomorrow in Amavasya, and marching the royal elephant would guarantee me victory! The liar! I won’t spare him!”

Bhishma was confused.

“But tomorrow IS Amavasya! Sahadeva didn’t lie!”

“I knew it, Pitamaha! You’ve always been a supporter of the Pandavas, and hated us Kauravas! You’re also lying now!”

Unperturbed, Bhishma asked Duryodhana,

“Who told you that today is Amavasya?”

“Of course today is Amavasya! Go and see for yourself! Krishna is sitting by the riverside, performing the Amavasya tarpana!”

The next question from Bhishma made Duryodhana realize his folly.

“For whom is Krishna performing tarpana?”

Duryodhana had totally missed this point. Tarpana is performed for departed parents and ancestors. Krishna’s parents Vasudeva and Devaki were both alive and well in Dwaraka!

Duryodhana was now full of rage. Rage born out of despair. He had hastily moved the royal elephant the day before the actual Amavasya. That cowherd Krishna had outwitted him. Victory had slipped away from him!

He reached the riverside. Krishna had just finished the tarpana ritual and was standing up. Sarcastically, Duryodhana asked,

“Who is that fortunate soul for whom you performed the tarpana?”

Krishna had a hard look on His face.

“It was for you, evil Duryodhana! Your destruction in the Kurukshetra war is inevitable, so I performed the tarpana in advance!”

Yet again, Krishna had saved the Pandavas who had unconditionally surrendered at His lotus feet!

What lessons can we learn from this story?

1. Sahadeva knew exactly who was asking him for advice. He also knew what the consequences could be. Yet he did not manipulate his knowledge to favour his own side. He stuck to dharma.

Dharma means doing what is right even when it may be inconvenient for us.

2. Sahadeva did what was his duty, and left the outcome to Krishna. This, in a nutshell, is karma yoga.

3. Perhaps most important of all, this story teaches us:

यतो धर्मस्ततो जयः — Yato Dharmaḥ Tato Jayaḥ– where there is dharma, there is victory

Note: This story appears in the Villi Bharatam, a Tamizh adaptation of the Mahabharata authored by Villiputhurar in the 14th century. This narration of mine is largely based on the explanation of this episode by Dr. U. Ve. Thirukudanthai N. Venkatesh in his upanyasams.

This episode explains the origin of the Bodhayana Amavasya – the New Moon day observed one day ahead of the regular Amavasya.

It Started with Some Spoilt Bananas

“These bananas are spoilt.”

“Discard them, give them to some cow.”

“Where will we find a cow now?”

And, with that last, seemingly rhetorical question, I went and placed the bananas near the Tulsi plant.

If you’re thinking that it’s strange of me to be reporting this mundane conversation, wait till you learn of the stranger event that followed.

It was a normal relaxed Sunday morning.

I had just finished purchasing vegetables from the vendor who comes by my house, and was turning to go back inside.

Just then, a man leading a Basava (bull), began passing by. Even as I had the thought that I should offer some money to him, the guy called out,

“Akka, do pooja for Basava! Offer him a banana, at least!”

I agreed, went inside, brought a banana – a fresh one – and started to offer it while also extending the money towards the man.

He stopped me, saying,

“Give Basava some rice and jaggery also, Akka!”

As I turned to go inside again to get those items, the guy declared,

“Wait, Akka, I’ll bring Basava inside your house! You can do the pooja to him there itself!”

Now, I know that a cow entering your house is one of the most auspicious events that can happen. But I wasn’t too sure about whether that held true for a bull, too. But then, the Basava was carrying a vigraha of some deity, so I guessed it was good only.

The next moment, it struck me that the vigraha was adorned with 3 horizontal lines on the forehead - a direction that was obviously not in alignment with the 3 vertical lines of the sampradaya we follow!

And because of my relatively liberal upbringing, I didn’t know if this should be a cause for concern. But then, haven’t we often welcomed people with those same 3 horizontal lines on their forehead into our home, who have come asking for donations, and never sent them away empty-handed? Then, where’s the question of doubt now when their presiding deity is at the door?

Even as all these conflicting thoughts ran through my mind, the decision was made for me. The man started walking in through the gate, following me into the house, pulling Basava behind him.

I powdered some jaggery, mixed it with some rice in a plate and offered it to him. Then both me and my husband respectfully did pradakshina of the Basava, and the next moment, there was the gurgling sound of a holy outpouring from Basava.

“Don’t worry, Akka, it’s a blessing, only!”

The guy spoke pacifyingly, perhaps because he was worried about what these city people thought of such things, little realizing that if someone knows enough to let Basava enter, they know that this outpouring was a sanctification of the home, too!

Next, we offered some money and the man started leaving, tugging at the rope to get Basava to move out.

Was it a special kind of tug that Basava recognized as meaning “Stay, don’t move”? or was Basava really waiting for something else? I don’t really know the answer but Basava kept resisting the move.

Now the man told us that he was taking Basava to a place where a temple (of that deity on Basava’s forehead) was being constructed. And followed it up by saying that perhaps Basava wanted us to contribute money to that temple.

Now someone who has been willing to offer pooja for Basava is not likely to refuse this request, right?

So, some more daana was given and now, Basava walked out peacefully.

The entire episode was surreal, and left us in a kind of daze.

Because, remember the earlier conversation I reported about offering spoiled bananas to a cow?

Was that us tuning into the universe’s plan, or was the plan orchestrated by the Lord to let us fulfil our wish?

Either way, it feels like yet another occasion where the Lord has showered His ‘nirhetuka krupa’ – unmerited, unconditional grace – on us!

The Lord Who Did Exactly As He Was Told: Yathoktakari Perumal

In any temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu in the shayana, or reclining, form, He lies from left to right, on Adisesha, on His back or right side, with His right arm supporting His head or resting on a pillow. His left hand extends along His side.

However, in the Tiruvekka temple at Kanchipuram, this form is uniquely reversed, giving it the name Maaru Sayanam — the “Different Sleeping Posture.” Here, the Lord rests from right to left, with His head on His left arm. Not only is His posture different, He has a unique name too.

In Sanskrit, He is known as Yathoktakari, and in Tamil, Sonna Vannam Seitha Perumal. Both mean, “The Lord who did exactly as He was told.”

What did He do? By whom was He told to do it? And who was it that dared to give instructions to the Supreme Lord Himself?

When Tirumazhisai Azhwar was living near the Tiruvekka temple in Kanchipuram, an old lady served him with devotion. Pleased with her service, the Azhwar blessed her to regain her youth.

Charmed by her beauty, the king married her. But over the years, he noticed that while he was growing older, she seemed to remain young without ageing.

When he asked her about it, she revealed the secret of how she had regained her youth.

The king now wanted the same boon. So he sent word for Tirumazhisai Azhwar to come to the court.

The Azhwar wasn't there, so his ardent devotee, Kanikannan, went to the king's court to find out the reason for the summons.

The king conveyed his wish to Kanikannan.

Kanikannan replied that his guru would not use his spiritual power to fulfil a petty worldly desire of the king.

The king flew into a rage.

“How can your guru disobey me? Tell him that he must come to court and sing my glories!”

“My guru, Tirumazhisai Azhwar, only sings the glories of Lord Sriman Narayana. He will never use his tongue to glorify a mere human being.”

“If your guru won't do it, then you, his disciple, must do it!”

“My tongue only sings the glories of my guru. It will not sing the glories of anyone else!”

Furious, the king ordered Kanikannan to leave Kanchipuram.

Kanikannan returned to his guru and reported everything. He then started walking away, obeying the king's command.

Tirumazhisai Azhwar began walking behind him.

And then, Azhwar turned to the Lord of Tiruvekka.

“Kanikannan is leaving. I am leaving. You too roll up Your serpent bed and follow us!”

And the Lord did exactly that!

He rose from His serpent bed and followed Tirumazhisai Azhwar, who was following Kanikannan.

The three of them left Kanchipuram.

And immediately, the town lost its brilliance and prosperity.

The king rushed to seek forgiveness from the Lord, whose departure had plunged the place into darkness.

The Lord directed him to Tirumazhisai Azhwar.

Azhwar pointed him towards Kanikannan, who humbly accepted the apology and prepared to return to Kanchipuram.

Kanikannan began walking back.

Tirumazhisai Azhwar began to follow him.

Then he turned to the Lord and said:

“Kanikannan is returning to Tiruvekka. I am returning. You too roll up Your serpent bed and come back with us!”

And the Lord did exactly that!

Only, when He returned, in a hurry, He lay down from right to left instead of the original left to right position.

Or, as some Acharyas explain, perhaps He lay down in this unique position as a permanent reminder of how He bends to the will of His dear devotee.

This story tells us something profound about the relationship between Bhagavan and His bhakta.

The infinite Lord becomes bound to the words of a finite being.

Out of overpowering love, the all-powerful Lord gives up His power and simply obeys the instructions of His devotee.

We often think of devotion as our effort to reach God.

We travel to temples, undertake pilgrimages, chant His name, offer flowers, and we fold our hands and pray. Which is wonderful.

But Yathoktakari Perumal reminds us of something even more beautiful.

When the relationship between the devotee and the Lord becomes deep enough, the direction can reverse.

It is not merely the devotee going towards the Lord.

The Lord comes after the devotee.

When Tirumazhisai Azhwar said,

“I am going. You come with me.”

The Lord quietly followed him….

That is why, even today, the name of this Perumal carries the memory of that astonishing moment.

Not simply Vishnu or Narayana or the Lord reclining on Adisesha.

Yathoktakari. Sonna Vannam Seitha Perumal.

The Lord who did as He was told!

The Lord does not become smaller by obeying His devotee.

He becomes more lovable.

He has been waiting for us since eternity.

All that remains is for us to turn towards Him.

 

Two Temples. One Reminder.

Mathura. Krishna Janma Bhoomi.

I stood in a fast-moving queue, carried along by the quiet urgency of devotees around me. The next moment, I was before the very place believed to be His birthplace—the small, unassuming prison cell where Krishna was born.

The Bhagavatam says that simply hearing of His birth in that prison loosens the fetters of our own existence—the endless cycle of birth and death, of samsara. Standing there, in that tiny space, the weight of that thought overwhelmed me. Tears came unbidden remembering the Sowlabhyam – the accessibility of the Supreme Lord. He chose to enter the world in chains, only to free us from ours.

I stepped out, still carrying that feeling within me, and walked past a small shop selling devotional items. I bought a tiny Krishna vigraha. When the shopkeeper handed it over to me, I was about to put it into my bag. He gently stopped me.

“Don’t just put Him inside like that,” he said.

 “Call Him lovingly—‘Lalla, come… let’s go home.’”

In that simple instruction lay a depth of devotion that gave me new vision. Through this simple shopkeeper, Krishna was reminding me that He was not an object to be carried but a presence to be invited.

Humbled, I lifted the small vigraha, touched it to my eyes and forehead, and silently did as he said. Lalla, come… let’s go home.

Today, He sits in my pooja room—quiet, compassionate, watching over the many things we do right and wrong. And yet, through it all, He continues to bless.

Another journey few days later.

Bhavishya Badri. The place where it is believed that Lord Badrinath will reside in the future, when the present-day Badrinath Dham becomes inaccessible.

Reaching there was a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage—a 45-minute jeep ride from the main road, taking us deeper into stillness. The landscape unfolded into an untouched, pristine space. There was no noise of the world—only the wind whistling through trees, weaving its way between mountain peaks and valleys. The air itself felt different—pure, gentle, filled with a kind of sattvik calm that is hard to describe.

At some point, I noticed that not only was there no internet connectivity, there wasn’t even a trace of a mobile signal.

After darshan, as we made our way back to the jeep, we came across a man selling hot herbal tea. He had a simple setup, offering samples for ₹20. A few of us tried it.

When it was time to pay, almost instinctively, my husband asked, “UPI?”

The man smiled.

“No phone network here, Sir,” he said.

And then, with a quiet conviction that made us all pause, he added,

“Here, everything is only Narayan network.”

We all laughed—but I was struck once again by the profound faith of this herbal tea seller that allowed him to feel and rely on the unmistakable divine presence. A connection that did not depend on signals, towers, or devices.

And it made me wonder… if only I could remain aware of this Narayan network—this constant, unbroken connection we carry within us—even after leaving Badri and return to the noise and rush of everyday life in Bengaluru… how different would my life be? How much lighter, how much steadier, how much more anchored would it be?

Perhaps the true purpose of this yatra was not just His darshan, but the realization that our connection with Him is constant wherever we may be.

A Night of Chaos, A Touch of Leela in Vrindavan

3rd June, 2026; 6.15 pm

We jostle through a sea of pilgrims flooding the narrow lanes of Vrindavan. The crowd is so great that e-rickshaws and cycle rickshaws have been stopped beyond a point. It’s the adhika maasa effect, we’re told.

For now, we’re blissfully unaware of what this will mean for the rest of our evening. They say that in Vrindavan, nothing happens by chance.

“It would be great if we had a bike to navigate these lanes,” my husband says.
“You don’t even know these roads—it won’t help,” I say.

I can’t see his reaction—I’ve taken off my glasses and stuffed them into my bag after a notorious Vrindavan monkey tried to snatch them.

We reach a small clearing when a lanky young man walks up to us. He’s overheard us asking for directions to Keshi ghat for the Yamuna arati.

“I’ll take you,” he says. On his bike.

Is this the handiwork of Krishna, deciding to grant my husband’s wish expressed just a minute ago?

But there’s no time to ponder because our biker is hurrying us up. He gets on first, and my husband sits behind him. I’m wearing a saree and can’t straddle the seat, so I have to struggle to fit myself into the leftover space, and I grab the rear metal rail for balance.

And then begins one of the most surreal, white knuckle rides of my life.

The bike twists and turns through blind-ended gullies that are barely wide enough for a pedestrian, yet crammed with bikes from both directions. The young men of Vrindavan seem to lack caution, but they more than make up for it with their devotion. Near-collisions only evoke a soft “Radhe-Radhe” from both riders.

Faces, houses, monkeys, movement—it’s overwhelming. I shut my eyes and begin chanting the Lord’s names.

Thirty minutes later, our biker drops us at Keshi ghat, and starts to leave. Some intuition drives my husband, and he asks the guy if he will wait and take us back. After a quick bargain, the deal is finalized by us paying him 1/3rd of the total cost as advance.

I take a picture of his vehicle.

I give a missed call to his phone to keep a record of his number in my call log for easy access later.

We get swept into the crowd and reach the ghat just as the arati ends. Moving further along, we find another pooja being set up. A young devotee guides us through a sankalpa and leads a recitation of the Yamunaashtakam of Sri Vallabhacharya.

After about 45 minutes, we decide to leave.

We reach the point where the biker had promised to wait.

And find no bike or biker waiting.

I pull out my phone to call him.

I open my call log and scroll once.

Then I scroll again.

The number isn’t there.

Doubting my own eyes because my glasses are still inside the bag, I hand over the phone to my husband.

He checks.

Nothing.

The number we had just saved has vanished.

We wait. Walk around. No sign of him.

An e-rickshaw driver nearby refuses to help. He says every road is completely jammed.

As we begin to worry about how we’ll get back, our biker suddenly reappears from a side lane, grinning. He says he waited, assumed we’d be late, and went to drop someone nearby.

We climb back on.

The return ride is even more terrifying. My slipper slips off at one point. We stop, retrieve it, and continue—squeezing past barricades meant to stop bikes altogether.

Hanging on for dear life, we marvel at our biker’s artful navigation through the labyrinthine gullies, a skill that would put even Google Maps to shame.

We reach our destination, but still need to cover almost 2 kilometres to reach our hotel. And impossibly, the crowd seems to have swelled even more.

Our biker says he can’t come beyond this point. We finish paying him. He then offers to find us another ride to the hotel, and engages another bike to ferry us there.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting in the cool environs of Govinda’s restaurant, eating our satvik meal.

As the noise of the evening settles, questions surface.

We wonder, “What was this entire experience for? Why did that biker’s phone number disappear from my phone? How did he miraculously appear, then disappear, and re-appear? What account from which past janma were we settling by riding precariously through these roads of Vrindavan?”

And then, I find my mind drifting to the numerous upanyasams I have heard, that describe how the Mischief-Monger ran around the houses stealing butter from the gopis of Vrindavan. 

We’ve been told that He stole not just the butter, but also the hearts of the Vrajawaasis. 

And that He steals the sins of those who listen to stories of His theft.

Maybe He brought us here and took us on this ride to steal our sense of doership, our feeling of being in control?

Was this biker more than just a biker?

Just as Parthasarathy guided Arjuna, he had been our saarathy—leading us through confusion, straight to Keshi ghat, to fulfil our wish for Yamuna darshan.

Who knows – perhaps he was some great-great-great-great-great-grandson of one of those gopis, or gopas, who had been fortunate enough to have danced and played with Krishna?

Maybe sitting next to him, and driving along with him, and offering him a small amount of money has multiplied our punya, and nullified our paapaas of some past janma?

Maybe the time spent with him has been the satsang we need to fuel our sadhana ahead?

Previously, I used to feel that our travels would be more fulfilling if we planned them with greater foresight instead of impulsively plunging into a trip. But after 25 years, you learn to stop resisting. So, this time, when this Vrindavan-Mathura detour got impulsively added to a planned Badrinath yatra, I went in without a murmur. Little did I know that this going with the flow would give me one of the most memorable yatra experiences of my life!

How boundless must His karuna be, to grant such wondrous experiences to ordinary people like us!

Krishna Returned for Him: Nammazhwar

Krishna had returned to Srivaikuntham after completing His avataram. The very next moment, Kaliyuga began on earth.

Sometime later, the residents of Srivaikuntham noticed that Krishna seemed upset. Before anyone could ask why, He disappeared from there and returned to Bhuloka.

He appeared before a young boy deep in meditation under a tamarind tree in Thirukkurugur.

The tamarind tree standing tall even today (Azhwar Tirunagari, Tamil Nadu)

Sensing Krishna's presence, the boy opened his eyes and smiled with joy.

Krishna smiled too.

This was the devotee He had missed meeting by a mere 42 days.

“Show me how You destroyed the asuras,” the boy said.

Krishna granted him the experience of Putana, Shakatasura, Keshi, Bakasura and more.

“Now show me how You stole butter from the gopis!”

The Lord complied.

“And when Yashoda tied You up? I want to see that too!”

He showed that as well. How the Lord of the Universe allowed Himself to be bound to a grinding stone by a simple gopika.

Overwhelmed by this boundless compassion, the boy fainted and did not wake for six months.

Can we even begin to imagine such devotion?

He longed for the Lord. And the Lord longed for him.

Krishna left Srivaikuntham just to grant His divine experience to this one devotee—the very “Mahatma” He described in the Bhagavad Geeta.

वासुदेव: सर्वमिति स महात्मा सुदुर्लभ:
vāsudevaḥ sarvam iti sa mahātmā su-durlabhaḥ (7.19)
Rare indeed is the soul who sees Me as everything.

How do we know this boy was that Mahatma?

Because he sang in ThiruvAimozhi (6.7.1):

“uNNum sORu parugu nIr thinnum veRRilaiyum ellAm kaNNan emperumAn…”

The food I eat, the water I drink, even the betel leaves I chew—everything is Lord Kannan.

To him, Krishna was dharaka, poshaka, and bhogya—everything.

This boy, to whom Krishna Himself appeared and revealed His leelas, is the great saint Swami Nammazhwar.

Blessed with an all-consuming, deeply personal love for the Lord, his outpourings from divine revelations became the Tamil Veda. So profound was his devotion that he is revered as the very embodiment of Krishna bhakti, and known as “Krishna-Krishnaa Tattvam.”

Today, Vaikasi Visakam, marks the birth star (Thirunakshatram) of Nammazhwar.

If you have visited a temple on Vaikuntha Ekadashi, you would have walked through the “Vaikuntha Dwaram” and received the “Shatari” blessing. Both are closely associated with Nammazhwar.

Vaikuntha Ekadashi is the day he attained moksha and ascended to Srivaikuntham. Walking through the Vaikuntha Dwaram reminds us that with sincere devotion and surrender, Nammazhwar leads us to that divine abode.

The Shatari placed on our heads represents Nammazhwar’s sacred feet. To receive it is to receive his grace—and through him, the grace of the Lord Himself.

Who’s the Best Devotee?

Have you heard this shloka being recited during bhajan sessions or pravachanas / upanyasams?

प्रह्लाद नारद पराशर पुंडरीक
व्यासाम्बरीष शुक शौनक भीष्म दाल्भ्यान् ।
रुक्माङ्गदार्जुन वसिष्ठ विभीषणादीन्
पुण्यानिमान् परमभागवतान् स्मरामि ॥

prahlāda nārada parāśara puṇḍarīka
vyāsāmbarīṣa śuka śaunaka bhīṣma dālbhyan
rukmāṅgadārjuna vasiṣṭha vibhīṣaṇādīn
puṇyān imān paramabhāgavatān smarāmi

Meaning: “I remember (meditate upon) these holy, supreme devotees of the Lord — Prahlada, Narada, Parashara, Pundarika, Vyasa, Ambarisha, Shuka, Shaunaka, Bhishma, Dalbhya, Rukmangada, Arjuna, Vasishta, Vibhishana, and others.”

This shloka lists some of the great bhaktas / bhaagavataas in Sanatan Dharma.

But there’s someone missing from this list – read on to find out who that is!

So, did you get the answer to the question of who was the greatest devotee of the Lord?

Yes, the gopis of Vrindavan!

Also, did you notice something in this story?

Narada is very proud that he is a great devotee.

Moments later, Krishna says He wants the foot-dust of a devotee to cure His headache.

Narada didn’t wonder at how the Omnipotent Lord can ever have a headache. Because he was a bhakta, he forgot his jnana for the moment. All he focused on was that the Lord was suffering, and something needed to be done very quickly.

But then, why doesn’t Narada offer the dust of his own feet?

Why does he instead rush to find other devotees?

Did he forget he is a devotee?

No – it’s more likely that like the rishis, he too was afraid of the “sin” – because this is what he cautions the gopis against.

The gopis were actually the most supreme devotees, because they were willing to even go to naraka if their foot-dust could ease the pain of Krishna!

And Krishna, what does He think about all this?

Here’s another story that gives us the perfect answer!

Once, Arjuna sees Krishna performing pooja to a box.

He is amused beyond words.

“Krishna, I know many people worship You as the Supreme Lord. But whom are You worshipping?”

Krishna’s headache was a pretense, but the tattva He teaches through this episode is a supreme truth.
The Lord values His devotees so much that it is their foot-dust (bhakta-pāda-reṇu) which is supremely sacred to Him!

What better way to please Krishna than to strive to become His bhakta?

Special Note: I had often read/heard the first story. The second story came as a pleasant surprise when my respected brother-in-law Sri. K. S. Venkatesh narrated it to me recently. Gratitude to him for the value-addition of the punch to this post!

 

Bharata's Arrow, Rama's Will

It was past midnight, but Bharata lay awake in Nandigram, tossing and turning, counting and re-counting the days left for Rama’s vanavaas to end.

Suddenly, he saw a huge-bodied asura moving across the sky, carrying a mountain in its hand. Worried that it would be a threat to his Rama’s Ayodhya, Bharata immediately lifted his bow, mentally praying to Rama, and shot an arrow at the ‘asura’.

The arrow struck its mark, and the being hit the ground hard, falling close to where Bharata stood.

In the stillness of the night, Bharata heard it cry clearly. “Raamaa…..”

Had he foolishly erred like his father by hastily shooting the arrow?

Aghast, Bharata rushed to the spot, and saw a huge monkey sprawled on the ground, carrying an entire mountain in his hand.

To his complete astonishment, the monkey greeted him by name.

“Pranaam, Bharata Maharaja! I am Hanuman, the daasa of Rama.”

Quickly, he outlined the entire set of events to the unwitting Bharata.

Ravana’s abduction of Seeta. The ongoing battle. The grave injury of Rama and Lakshmana and all vaanaraas. Jambavan’s bidding to carry herbs from the Sanjeevani mountain. His own inability to identify the herbs and hence, uprooting and carrying the entire mountain.

Bharata was distraught.

“How could I make such a terrible mistake? Why couldn’t I see your real form? How could I think of a devotee like you as being an asura?”

“Fret not, O dear brother of Rama! You were not wrong in what you saw.”

“What? But you’re a bhakta, not an asura!”

“In the moment when you saw me, that’s exactly who I was,” explained Hanuman. “As I sped across the sky with the mountain, for just one tiny moment, I worried whether I would reach on time. For that fraction of time, I forgot that Rama is the doer, and I’m nothing more than an instrument in His hands. I took on the kartrutva, the doership of the action. No wonder I appeared like an asura to you!”

Bharata, still filled with remorse, tried to smile.

“You were already in a hurry, and I have delayed you further. Let me make amends. I’ll shoot an arrow to carry you to Lanka at once.”

Hanuman had learned his lesson. He didn’t wonder if the tiny arrow of Bharata had the strength to support his mighty form and the huge mountain. He only bowed in gratitude, seeing the will of His Rama in the words of Bharata.

Invoking the name of Rama, Bharata made his sankalpa and shot an arrow.

The next moment, Hanuman landed in Lanka in front of Jambavan and Vibheeshana with the herbal mountain.

Even a humble devotee like Hanuman, steeped in the spirit of servitude, was touched momentarily by the sense of ego, the feeling of doership, which, we understand from this story, is an aasuric quality.

When Hanuman faltered thus, the Lord did not punish him; but rather, corrected him, through another devotee.

How much more important, then, is it for ordinary mortals like us, who are so full of self-importance, to seek the company of other devotees, through whom the Lord can correct us?

This incident does not appear in the Valmiki or Kamba Ramayana. It was narrated to me by someone who heard it from a genuine source who said it was probably in some other regional version of the Ramayana. We may not know the origin of the story, but that need not stop us from appreciating the value of this principle in our life and sadhana.

Women in the Ramayana

Women’s day is when we talk about aspects of women empowerment. So I thought of choosing the lens of the Ramayana to see what we women can learn and implement to elevate our lives.

First, let’s have a small quiz. Here are the names of the woman character, and you must give me the name of their husband – ready?
1. Seeta
2. Sumitra
3. Urmila
4. Ahalya
5. Sunayana
6. Sarama

(You probably knew all the answers, except 5 & 6? Sunayana's husband is Janaka Maharaja and Sarama's husband is Vibheeshana)

Now let’s consider the behaviour of some of these women in the Ramayana and talk about what’s the lesson for us in it.

1. Seeta followed Rama into forest for vanavasa – stand by your spouse through the tough times. Marriage is for sharing both joys and sorrows together.

2. Urmila stayed back in Ayodhya while Lakshmana went to vanavasa – sometimes it’s your duty to hold the fort at home while your spouse fights his battles elsewhere. Have the maturity to accept and handle such situations.

3. Sumitra blessed Lakshmana when he insisted on following Rama to vanavas – when your child chooses the right path, although it may be difficult for you to see him suffer, give him your blessings. 

Now let’s see what NOT to do

4. Kaikeyi – was fond of Rama – but when Manthara evoked jealousy against Kausalya, Kaikeyi lost her power of judgement. Jealousy is the greatest monster that destroys our ability to think and reason. Be wary of it. Associate with positive and broad minded persons who uplift us, not those who pull us down!

5. Ahalya – fell prey to temptation – recognized that Indra was not her husband Gautama, but lost her head thinking that her beauty had captivated Indra himself. Steer clear of those who approach you with unholy intentions. Character of the woman is the most crucial to moral behaviour in the family.

6. Shoorpanakha – her immoral desire became the vehicle to cause destruction of entire rakshasa clan. When the woman of the house has ever-growing demands, it can drive the family to destructive ways of life.

7. Sunayana – Janaka’s wife – mother of Seeta. No mention at all of what she did when Seeta chose to go to vanavasa – let your married daughters take their decisions – don’t interfere with their life in a negative way!

8. Sarama – wife of Vibheeshana – retained her good and satvik nature even when in the middle of other rakshasis in Ashoka vana. Didn’t allow their evil behaviour to change her attitude. Stay committed to the right values in life no matter what others around you are doing.

Finally, here are two stories.

Story 1

After the killing of Ravana, when Hanuman went with good news to Seeta, he asked her permission to kill the rakshasis. She refused, saying they had only done what their king had ordered. She further said that all of us make mistakes – it is noble to forgive. Seeta’s mistake – to want the deer, and then speak harshly to Lakshmana. Rama’s  mistake – to listen to Seeta’s words and ignore Lakshmana’s. Hanuman’s mistake also – to stand and listen with interest about mistakes of Rama and Seeta!

Story 2

When pushpaka vimana was bringing back Rama, Seeta and Lakshmana and all vanaras from Lanka, they decided to take with them the vanara wives too.

Those vanara women were very curious to see the famed beauty of Seeta for whom the entire battle had been fought. They judged her on the vanara scale of beauty.

One said “Such big eyes Seeta has!”, another said “Such small waist she has”, third one said, “Forget all that – she has no tail only!”

Seeta heard all this – but only smiled. She who had forgiven the rakshasis who tortured her was not likely to take offense at the jabbering of the vanara women!

What's the lesson for us here? There will always be someone who has standards different from yours. Understand that their viewpoint is valid for them – don’t get annoyed by their comments, but don’t let that dictate your standards, either!

 Learn to draw a protective armour around yourself – "Not my circus, not my monkeys!”

The Fourth Rama

The two young daughters of the Srivaishnava Acharya Uyyakkondar were returning after bathing in the Kaveri. The path was blocked by a wide stretch of thick, slushy mud.

The little girls stopped, wondering how they would cross it.

Just then, Rama Mishra, their father’s shishya, arrived there.

Without another word, he lay down across the puddle, and said, “Don’t worry. Please cross over on my back.”

The girls were shocked and hesitated.

He coaxed them in a loving, but firm voice, and full of reverence, the girls crossed over gently, using his body as their path.

News of this reached Rama Mishra’s acharya, Uyyakkondar, and he summoned the disciple.

“My child,” he said, “what a great spirit of seva you have! Tell me what you desire, and I will grant it!”

Rama Mishra replied, “Swami, I desire nothing but to serve you always.”

In that moment, the guru knew that this shishya was no ordinary soul, but one who could be trusted to carry forward the guru Parampara.

From that day, everyone began calling Rama Mishra as “Manakkal Nambi.” The word “Nambi” is a title for a man who is full of divine gunas. “Manakkal” means “the one who bore the sandy footprints on his back.”

Years later, as Uyyakkondar prepared to depart this world, he called Manakkal Nambi close.

“There is one task you must fulfill,” he said. “The son of Ishwara Muni – Yamunai-thuraivar – you must guide him to carry forward our sampradaya.”

This Yamunai-thuraivar had been a brilliant young scholar. After winning in an intellectual debate, he had won half the kingdom to rule and was known by the name of Alavandar. Administrative duties, royal comforts, and worldly responsibilities slowly distanced him from his spiritual path. This was the person whom Manakkal Nambi had to transform.

When Manakkal Nambi came to see Alavandar, the palace guards refused entry. Nambi did not protest. He simply found another way.

Every day, Nambi brought a type of spinach called thuthuvaḷai keerai and gave it to the palace cooks, requesting them to cook and serve it to Alavandar. They did so, and Alavandar began to enjoy the dish greatly.

One day, the cooks stopped making the dish. Alavandar enquired why, and the cooks replied, “An elderly Srivaishṇava used to bring it. He has not come.”

“Find him,” Alavandar ordered.

A few days later, Manakkal Nambi returned, and was immediately taken to meet Alavandar.

“Swami,” he said respectfully, “please be seated. Tell me what wealth I can give you for your service.”

Nambi smiled. “I don’t want to take your wealth. In fact, I have come to give you a wealth that has been bequeathed by my Acharya.”

From that day, Manakkal Nambi began teaching Alavandar the meaning of the Bhagavad Geeta.

Slowly, Alavandar became a disciple again.

One fateful day, Manakkal Nambi explained the meaning of the Charama Shloka of the Bhagavad Geeta, which preaches surrender at the lotus feet of Krishna. He took Alavandar to Srirangam for darshan of Lord Ranganatha.

As Alavandar stood before Ranganatha, his heart melted. In that moment, the king vanished, and the bhakta was born again.

Eventually, Alavandar took the Srivaishnava sampradaya ahead, and it was he who “found” Ramanujacharya to be annointed his successor in the Acharya Parampara.

But for the intervention of Manakkal Nambi, these events would have been impossible. Paying homage to him in his Yathiraja Saptati, Swami Vedanta Desikan says,

अनुज्जित क्षमा योगम् अपुण्य जन बाधकम् ।
अस्पृष्ट मद रागं तं रामं तुरीयम् उपास्महे ॥

Anujjita kṣamā yogam apuṇya jana bādhakam
Aspṛṣṭa mada rāgam tam Rāmam turīyam upāsmahe

Meaning:

We meditate upon this fourth Rama – Rama Mishra (Manakkal Nambi)
who never abandoned patience, who never caused harm to any being,
and who was untouched by pride or worldly attachment.

There were three great Ramas known to the world before him:

Parashurama (whose rage was uncontrollable)

Dasharatha Rama (who killed the rakshasas)

Balarama (who was filled with attachment)

But this was the fourth Rama. Rama Mishra.

A Rama of perfect patience, perfect compassion, and perfect humility.

He did not fight any great battles. All he did was restore one soul to the fold, and by this, he ensured that the world continues to be guided and led to liberation through the teachings of the Srivaishnava acharyas.

Today, on the tirunakshatram (holy birth anniversary) of Manakkal Nambi, let us offer our obeisances to him, and pray to be guided to lead a meaningful life, filled with the wealth of seva.

Katākṣham — The Glance That Liberates

Disguised as a wise mendicant, he stood before the two young men. They were dressed as ascetics, but their very aura proclaimed their royal lineage.

He spoke, determined to find out all about them without revealing anything about himself.

Yet, the very next moment, the truth slipped out.

Image

“I am Hanuman, minister of the great King Sugriva, and he has sent me to say he wants to have friendship with you.”

Before Rama had even spoken a word, His mere look made Hanuman give up the subterfuge.

This shows us the power of Bhagavat Kataaksham – the gaze of the Lord.

But how does this happen?

The Mundaka Upanishad explains:

भिद्यते हृदयग्रन्थिश्छिद्यन्ते सर्वसंशयाः ।
क्षीयन्ते चास्य कर्माणि तस्मिन्दृष्टे परावरे ॥ ८ ॥

bhidyate hṛdaya-granthiś chidyante sarva-saṁśayāḥ |
kṣīyante cāsya karmāṇi tasmin dṛṣṭe parāvare ||

“When the Supreme Lord is seen, the knot of the heart is untied, all doubts are cut asunder, and the chain of karma is destroyed.”

In front of those Divine Eyes, what chance did Hanuman stand?

Image

Nammazhwar knew this secret power of the Lord’s gaze. He begged the Lord repeatedly to bless Him with His darshanam.

Playfully, the Lord chided him, saying “You have so many paapas, how can I bless you?”

Desperate Nammazhwar pleaded, “You don’t have to bless me, at least just come and stand in front of me!”

Not realizing the ploy, the Lord acquiesced and appeared in front of Nammazhwar.

The very next moment, He found Himself pronouncing blessings!

The devotee had tricked the Lord. The obstacles posed by his sins were razed by the Lord’s own gaze! Now that the devotee was purified, the Lord’s blessings flowed spontaneously!

Image

Have you seen the large, unblinking eyes of Lord Jagannatha at Puri? Those are the eyes that constantly watch over the devotees, not in judgement, but in a continuous shower of compassion. It is said that His eyes are so big because He has opened them very wide to find the tiniest bit of good in us, so that He can bless us. His eyes can see all our faults, and yet, so great is His karuna that it blinds Him to our faults!

The Vedas say the Lord has the Sun and the Moon as His eyes. When He glances on us with the cool Moon-eye, we are blessed. But what if His blazing Sun-eye is triggered by our unending paapakarmas? Won’t He then destroy us as He did Shishupala and Ravana?

To ensure this doesn’t happen, He has created His own ploy.

Image

In Tirumala, where He stands patiently receiving the never-ending queue of devotees, His eyes are largely hidden beneath the broad Thirumann adorning His forehead. In yet another of His leelas, He the Omniscient Lord, has ensured that He “cannot” see our sins clearly!

Yet again, we are the beneficiaries of His unparalleled compassion.

And if we are fortunate enough to feel His grace, and turn towards Him with love, that too is His doing!

The Shanti Parva of the Mahabharata reveals this rahasyam.

जायमानं हि पुरुषं यं पश्येन्मधुसूदनः।
सात्त्विकः स तु विज्ञेयः स वै मोक्षार्थचिन्तकः॥

“JayamAnam hi purusham yam pasyet MadhusUdhana:

SAtvika: sa tu vigyEya: sa vai MokshArttha chintaka:”

“One who receives the glance of Lord Madhusudana at the time of birth, is known to be sattvik and becomes a seeker of moksha.”

Anyone who is a sadhaka, a seeker of the Lord, is so because of the causeless mercy, the nirhetuka Krupa, of the Lord, which He rains down through His glorious eyes.

So, the next time you go to the temple, don’t start reciting from your list of what you want from Him.

Don’t rush to complete the darshan.

Just stand quietly, offer thanks to Him, and pray that He should bless you with His Krupa Kataaksham!

Footnote: I was only halfway through this post, when it was time to visit the Ranganathaswamy temple at Rajajinagar, Bengaluru. Standing in front of Him, it felt as if He was smiling bemusedly and asking,

“Do you think you can really convey the full extent of My kataaksham through mere words?”

Well, dear readers, the answer is for you to say.

Kausalya Supraja Rama

The forest is silent. The eastern sky is tinged with a mild glow as the sun prepares to rise. The rishi sits up and glances at the face of the young prince sleeping near him. He finds himself unable to look away. Moments turn to minutes as he stares, mesmerized, flitting between emotions of love and awe, amazed at his great fortune to behold this beautiful sight.

Perhaps it is the lightening of the skies, or the chirping of the stirring birds, but now, the rishi wakes from his reverie.

Gently, he calls,

“Kausalya supraja Rama, Kausalya supraja Rama….”

And finds himself about to slip into a trance again….

Using the immense power of his tapas, the rishi finally pulls his eyes away and manages to complete what he was trying to say.

“Kausalya supraja Rama poorvaa sandhyaa pravartate,

utthistha narashaardoola, kartavyam daivamaanhikam!”

“O good son of Kausalya, the dawn is approaching in the east. Wake up, O tiger among men, it is time to perform the daily ritual duties!”

This is Brahmarishi Vishwamitra waking up Rama whom he has brought into the forest to protect his yagna.

Vishwamitra marvels at the great fortune of Kausalya who got to bear this divine child. He wonders how much tapas that mother must have done to be able to glance at this radiant face and wake up this dear child every day.

If he recognizes the divine identity of the young prince, why then is the rishi exhorting Him to perform the daily ritualistic duties? What duties does the Supreme Lord have to perform, and why?

The simple answer is – to set an example for us. Humans tend to look up to great people and emulate their actions. Rama is addressed here as “narashaardoola” – tiger among men. That means He is definitely a great man whom the world will hold up as an ideal for centuries to come.

By performing the nitya anushthaana, Rama must set an example for us to follow.

As Krishna aptly explains in the Bhagavad Geeta,

yad yad acarati sresthas, tat tad evetaro janah
sa yat pramanam kurute, lokas tad anuvartate

Whatever action is performed by a great man, common men follow in his footsteps. And whatever standards he sets by exemplary acts, all the world pursues.

- Bhagavad Geeta, 3.21

The acharyas also give another reason for Vishwamitra waking up Rama thus. Perhaps he is saying, “O Rama, You have taken this human form to annihilate the evil asuraas and rakshasaas. Now is the time for You to wake up from Your life as Dasharatha’s son, and begin to take steps to fulfil the promise given to the devaas!”

If we look closely at Vishwamitra’s call, we realize that he’s calling out to Rama alone. Why not Lakshmana? Because he didn’t see Lakshmana at all!

Well, Lakshmana never left Rama’s side, then where was he when Rama was sleeping?

Actually, this is the form that Vishwamitra saw….

Rama sleeping ON Lakshmana ! 

The Lakshmana who was none other than Adishesha!



Look at this beautiful form. Is it any wonder that Vishwamitra was so fascinated?

And once you come out of your reverie of gazing on this divine Lord, perhaps you will want to go back and yourself say those words uttered by Vishwamitra.

“Kausalya supraja Rama poorvaa sandhyaa pravartate,

utthistha narashaardoola, kartavyam daivamaanhikam!”

And just in case you haven’t recognized it yet, and are wondering why this sounds so familiar, it’s probably because you’ve often heard M. S. Subbulakshmi singing it as the first verse of the Venkateshwara Suprabhatam!