A Lie Shall Set You Free

“’O naughty child, now try going from here, if you can.’ Having spoken thus, she returned to her household duties.” (Vishnu Purana, 5.6.15)

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यदि शक्नोषि गच्छ त्वम् अतिचञ्चलचेष्टित
इत्य् उक्त्वा च निजं कर्म सा चकार कुटुम्बिनी

yadi śaknoṣi gaccha tvam aticañcalaceṣṭita
ity uktvā ca nijaṃ karma sā cakāra kuṭumbinī

Was it really that bad? Did she really need to take it to the extreme? Would anyone blame her for letting the issue go? Set it aside. Move on. Live to fight another day. After all, that is what many parents would describe the experience as: a fight. In the case of the dedicated kutumbini who was Yashoda, there was a reason to show outrage. The person on the receiving end was expecting it, in fact. The subsequent punishment was so well received that it is still remembered, glorified, and sung about to this day.

It is a lasting memory from your childhood. Though it is difficult to put yourself back into the same situation, limiting your knowledge to just a few years since the time of birth, that one day happened to be captured in a photograph. It must have been a Saturday. This is because of the food you were eating. Actually, you were being forced to eat it. Your mother made this particular dish consisting of lentils and rice, with a little turmeric, every Saturday. It certainly wasn’t your favorite food.

On this particular day, you refused to eat. You were seated at the dining table. It was the middle of the day. Times were much different then. No smartphones. The television did not have a remote control. It received maybe four channels in total, through an antenna that had to be strategically positioned. There was no catering to the child’s every need. If you wanted to eat, you had to sit at the table. On occasions like this, you were instructed to eat. You had to stop whatever else you were doing.

It is like a tug-of-war. A game of give-and-take. The child wants to see where the line is. They are comfortable getting right up to that line, without crossing over it. On this day, you wanted to cross it. You wanted to see just what would happen if you didn’t listen. You voiced your refusal. You were not going to eat the food.

Your mother was not having it. She insisted that you eat. If you didn’t take a bite in the next five seconds, she was going to call the police. The police? Really? Would they actually care about something so trivial? You decide to call her bluff. You don’t move. Your mother picks up the phone and asks the police to arrive. Next thing you know there is the sound of sirens in the nearby street. Your mother says, “See, I told you the police are coming!” You have never eaten a bowl of lentils and rice so fast in your life. You downed that thing like it was a fire that needed to be put out.

Years later you look back fondly on the incident. Your mother played you. Well played, in fact. You tried to test her, too. She resorted to dishonesty in order to get a message across. That message was received. No one was harmed in the process. She was lucky with that fake phone call and those well-timed sirens, which were obviously responding to an unrelated incident.

In the ancient time period of the avatara of Shri Krishna, there is a similar interaction involving a mother trying to teach a lesson to her young son. This time, the violation is breaking something. Not by accident, either. Krishna was upset that His mother, Yashoda, left for the kitchen, to attend to something on the stove. She should not have diverted her attention. She would learn her lesson by returning to see a broken pot of butter.

Except Krishna knew deep down that He would get into trouble. Therefore, He absconded with the goods. He left with some of the butter, which happened to be on His feet, as well. This left a delightful trail of footprints made of butter. The law would easily trace out His location. Yashoda could apprehend the thief and then determine an appropriate punishment.

“Mother Yashoda was able to trace Krishna by following His butter-smeared footprints. She saw that Krishna was stealing butter, and thus she smiled. Meanwhile, the crows also entered the room and came out in fear. Thus mother Yashoda found Krishna stealing butter and very anxiously looking here and there.” (Shrila Prabhupada, Shrimad Bhagavatam, 10.9.8 Purport)

She ended up chasing after Him with a whipping stick. Would she really hit a small child? Would she really punish Krishna so severely for something so trivial? The distinction is that the child does not know right from wrong, serious from easily forgiven. It is the job of the parents to convey the seriousness of breaking something out of anger. As long as the child learns a lesson, the parents are doing their job.

Yashoda caught up to Krishna. She decided to bind him to a mortar. His naughtiness, cheshtita, and restlessness, chanchala, could now be tested. She rhetorically asked Him to try to move, now that He was bound to the mortar. Through that interaction, Krishna earned the name Damodara. That name has been celebrated ever since. It is the Supreme Lord giving way to a loving mother, allowing her to follow her instincts, in what the wise saints describe as vatsalya-rasa.

“When ecstatic love develops into the relationship of parenthood and becomes steadily established, the relationship is called vatsalya-rasa. The exhibition of this vatsalya-rasa standard of devotional service can be found in the dealings of Krishna with His devotees who represent themselves as superior personalities like father, mother, teacher, etc.” (The Nectar of Devotion, Chapter 43)

In Closing:

Through punishment’s way,
For seriousness to convey.

Despite only some butter stealing,
Through footprints revealing.

Mother with stick to chase,
Soon of crying face.

Krishna that beloved son,
Forever remembered what was done.