In the small, picturesque town of Vrindavan, something felt different that day. The Kadamb trees looked greener, the blossoms brighter, the peacocks jollier, the cows healthier, and the people, happier. Nobody knew why they couldn't shake off the smile on their lips. The winds whistled in their ears, softly rustling their locks, and the curve of their lips went even wider. This happiness was strangely similar to that of an era gone by - the pure, complete, and absolute blue bliss of Vrindavan. The young population there might not know it very well, but those who had lived through that earlier phase knew that something's different, yet insanely familiar.
On the boundaries of the town, Nand Baba and group awaited the arrival of people from Dwarka. Over the years, several visitors had come and gone, and the same party had received them all. That day, however, it wasn't the same. The eagerness in their eyes shone through their tired faces, while they bobbed their heads up and down to try and see as far as they could. Even the milkmaids kept turning around from the woods to check if they had arrived.
While such anxiety for Krishna's arrival would've been too less, for anyone else to receive such attention from Brijwaasis was completely unprecedented. And yet it was happening. The simple reason being hope. These people survived on hope. They hoped to see in the faces of Dwarka, some faint image of their beloved Kanha. If they were lucky enough, they might get a glimpse of one of his sons who looked like him. In that glimpse, they would look for the charming smile of their Kanha, his innocent eyes and his chubby little hands! In his princely voice, they would look for the nectarian words of their Kanha, words that used to melt them all. In the shining royalty of Dwarka, they would look for the charming simplicity of their Vrindavan. As silly as it might sound to those who don't know, to these cowherds the slightest shadow of their precious boy was equivalent to heaven. They would cling on to it like a drowning man clutches a floating log, and they would survive the rest of their lives solely on that one faint image in their mind.
...
On the other side, there was another party equally excited, perhaps more.
"Pitashree! Itni kya sheeghrataa hai? Rath pe baith jaaiye, aise paidal jaana aapko shobha nahi deta!"
Similar protests rose all around, but when had Krishna ever listened? Today, Dwarkadheesh Shri Krishna was Kanha all over again, and it showed in the glimmer of his smile. He had been blessed to remain ever youthful, and yet the ravages of time had slightly diminished the unfiltered glow of his grin. That day, both the smile and the youth was back, almost as if time had moved backwards! In his bright yellow attire, beautifully-flowered turban and glowing demeanour, all one could see was the young cowherd of Vrindavan back in his full glory.
He looked back at his surprised son, smiled a little, gave him a gentle pat on the back and said, "tum nahi samjhoge, putr!"
Before anyone could reply, Krishna had picked up the shoes he had especially ordered, placed them on his head with both his hands, and was already running away, leaving the chariot behind. He was, after all, going home.
...
Nand Baba couldn't believe his eyes for a moment. He thought he was seeing an image from the past – his little son, barely three or four years old, running towards him, holding his shoes on his head with both of his tiny hands. It had been a daily ritual between Kanha and his Baba. He would only wear shoes when Kanha brought them for him, and for baby Kanha, that was his favourite thing to do. The ritual had become a habit, and something of an inside joke between the two with time. And so, it wasn't surprising that Baba had remained bare-footed right since the day his little boy left.
The memories all came back to him in a rush, he briefly looked down at his uncovered feet and a tiny drop escaped his moist eyes. When he looked up again, he realized he wasn't dreaming. Someone actually was running towards him, way ahead of the chariot, with hands on his head. And although it wasn't a baby, it was obviously someone he knew. As the realization dawned upon him, as the eyes around him started to widen, as heaven finally seemed to be running towards the earth – he felt like he would collapse under the sheer weight of this extraordinary surpise. He wondered, for a brief moment, if this was all real.
And yet, there he was. His Kanha, his little baby, the very life and soul of the land he stood upon. All grown up now, and yet as pure as an infant. Years passed by him as he thought of the day he had first held the little blue boy in his arms. The first time he had looked into his twinkling little eyes, the first time he had heard "baba" in his voice, the first time his baby fingers had held his hand... and then that fateful day when he had looked at his precious little one for the last time. All of it came back to him in a flash that rendered him speechless. He could neither move nor speak. He simply stood there, taking in the image of his blue boy, making up for years and years of torturous deprivation.
...
Kanha, meanwhile, was already down on his knees, sliding his baba's feet into the shoes, all the while washing them with tears. He couldn't even bear to look up at that old, loving face he had been dying to see. Neither could he dare show him his own, all wet with tears and love and all sorts of feelings pouring out after decades. All around, Dwarkawaasis were gazing at each other and talking in hushed whispers. They had seen a similar meeting with Sudama, but nobody had ever seen Dwarkadheesh cry and melt like that, ever.
As he put his forehead to those feet, eyes closed in ecstasy, one single word escaped his choked throat.
"Baba..."
That was what brought NandBaba out of his trance, and the next instant he was already pulling Kanha to his heart. As the father-son duo clung on to each other, both of them crying their hearts out, years of separation melted away. Kanha was suddenly sixteen again, the mischievous teenager being pampered and protected by his doting father. In those warm arms, he felt his body relax and his muscles ease. It felt like snuggling into your favourite bed after a long and tiring day. Only that here it wasn't just a day, it was years of worrying and fighting... years of being homeless in a big, bad world.
All his life, Krishna had been the protective one for people around him. He had fought wars, guided, advised, comforted, listened and just been there. That day, after years of being the universal, undisputed pillar of strength, all he could do was collapse. Collapse into the warm, loving, protective embrace of his baba, someone he knew would be there, would listen, would fight the world for him and yet won't ever let him feel even the slightest discomfort. That blessed day, he was home.
...
After what seemed like ages, baba finally let go. He took one step back, looking directly at Kanha, and said, "tu toh abhi bhi waisa hi dikhta hai re Kanha!" The sheer admiration, relief, and love in his eyes was that of a man who had just got back his reason to live, after an eternity of living without purpose.
Smiling through the tears, almost chuckling at the innocence, he replied, "keval dikhta nahi baba, main swayam bhi bilkul pehle jaisa hi hun! Ekdum waisa jaisa aap apne Kanha ko jaante hain!" Although he had tried very hard to keep it hidden, by the end of the sentence the shiver in his voice was obvious. It is, after all, not very easy to hide your tears, especially when they've been shut and suppressed for decades.
Baba smiled a little at this. True, his boy hadn't changed at all. He was still their charming chhaliya, making them all dance to the enchanting tune of his witty words. Not knowing what else to say at this point, he simply stretched out his hand. Kanha almost jumped on to it, holding it as tight as he could, making both of them laugh through their tears.
As they moved towards the town, people came flocking in to have one look at their love. Some were simply too stunned to move, some had fainted, while some others were all around Kanha – touching his face, his hands, his feet just to make sure he was real. He had obviously expected such an overwhelming amount of love, but the reality had swept him off his feet. Not just their love, it was his own myriad of feelings that he hadn't expected. It was all as new for him as it was for them. All he could do was try to cheer them up by taking their names like he used to, joking around, asking if they had forgotten him, all the while barely hiding his own tears. The people of Vrindavan, knowing that their Kanha won't like seeing their misery either, were all playing along. There were taunts and jokes plenty, all mixed with tears of joy and relief. The milkmaids were telling him how they didn't even miss him one bit, even while their eyes never left his face and their tears darkened his peetambar. Such is love, and such is its depth!
Even the cows, peacocks, monkeys, and rabbits had gathered to see their beloved Kanha! Unlike humans, they didn't have the luxury of putting love into words. So while his favourite gaus licked his arms to tell him how much they had missed him, all he could do was close his eyes, smile, and feel their untainted love. He let his tears trail as far as they could, hoping they would tell these creatures how much he had missed them and their selfless love for him! All his life, Krishna had never been lacking in love. He had received it in abundance even after leaving Vrindavan, but there had always been human expectations attached. It is this pure, unconditional love of home that he craved for. Love that expected nothing in return, not even love. Love that knew only to give love. It was only here that he had been loved for the sake of love. It was, after all, home.
...
As this strange procession moved closer to its destination, the voices slowly died down and one single, quavering voice pierced through the silence.
"Kanha?! Mera Kanha aaya hai? Tumne theek se toh dekha na?"
But her Kanha didn't wait for anyone to respond. He was already running through the crowds, much like how he used to run on the streets of Brij once upon a time. The only difference being that those runs had been away from Maiyya, this one was towards her.
He stopped right in front of her, took one long look at his bholi Maiyya, and closed his eyes as if to imprint that image of happy disbelief in his mind forever. With a smile that only she could bring to him, he said,
"Haaan Maiyyaaa! Aapka Kanha aaya hai... keval aapka!"
She gave no reaction to those words, except slowly moving towards him. She stopped right in front of him, put out one hand, and began tracing the outline of his face. It was as if she was making sure if the very sight she had craved for all this time was finally in front of her... if he was real, and not one of the many illusions she kept having. As if she was measuring by her hands how much her little boy had grown, whether his cheeks were still as chubby, his skin still as soft, his eyes still as dreamy. Her hands stopped right at his neck, at the battered black thread that dangled there. It was the very same protective thread that she had tied to her precious baby's neck ages ago, in an attempt to ward off evil eyes. She touched the now wore down threads of it for a moment, then looked back up, straight into his shimmering brown eyes, and barely whispered, "lalla!"
In that moment, time seemed to stop for the very creator of time. The sound of that very familiar word felt to Kanha like rain feels to the desert, shade feels to the scorched and love feels to the hated. It was the first word he had ever heard in his life, and that day, he suddenly wanted it to be the last word he ever hears too. In the melody of its sound, he felt like losing himself and all that he knew. For the first time in years, he wanted to be a toddler all over again.
As he closed his eyes, travelling through his memories to those days of maiyya running behind him with a stick, a smile played itself on his lips. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the tumult of emotions that would engulf him soon after, and said the one word he had been dying to utter.
"Maiyya..."
Until now, her expression had been that of disbelief. As the syllables of this one word jolted through her senses, life seemed to be returning to her eyes. Tears brimmed in their corners and were soon flowing freely down her cheeks. Her hands shivered as she lifted them up to invite her heart to her heart. But Kanha needed no invitation. All these years, right since the day he had stepped out of Vrindavan, all he had been waiting for was to return to the safety of his maiyya's arms. He snuggled into the crook of her shoulders, much like a terrified child hiding from the horrors of the world in his maiyya's pallu. While he fit into her arms like a baby, she wrapped her precious little boy in the warmth of her love, with all the love she had.
As he felt the familiar touch wrapping him up in sheer love, years of worries, fights, politics, insults, betrayals, wars and curses seemed to dissolve in that unending ocean of motherly affection. In that moment, he was no longer an adult who had seen the world and ruled kingdoms, he was just a child who only knew his maiyya and the safety of the little warm cocoon he lived in. There was no big bad world outside, and even if there was, she was there to tie him up and make sure he never strays outside. He was that little Kanha again, whose world began and ended with his tiny home near the Yamuna.
...
Nobody had the heart or desire to disturb this heart-warming embrace. It was homecoming on either side. Both of them – the heartbroken, almost lifeless maiyya and the war-torn, burdened-with-all-the-worries-in-the-world, almost homeless Kanha – were finally home.
But maiyya is, after all, maiyya! She stepped back a little, surveyed him from head to toe, and remarked in a sad-annoyed-angry voice, "dekho toh kitna durbal ho gayaa hai mera laal! Kyun re kanha, dwarka waale tujhe bhojan nahi dete kya?"
At this, he just couldn't stop himself. He took one look at her adorable, annoyed expression and almost doubled over laughing. It was that characteristic Krishna laugh, so carefree and so contagious it would make a crying man laugh! He had no idea how many years had passed since he had laughed like that, and the freeing sensation that it brought along made him even more delighted. And that familiar realization hit him yet again – that he was finally home.
When he looked at Maiyya again, she was still there despairing over how much her lalla had had to suffer at the hands of the cruel world outside. The sight of her worrying over him like she used to all those years ago, when he was still a baby, softened him. It dawned upon him that to her, he was and will always be a helpless, innocent kid. He might've won wars and turned entire fates, but for maiyya, her kanha was simply an adorable little boy who needs to be protected, pampered, cared for and stuffed with as much maakhan as he likes!
His eyes shimmered with freshly formed tears as he cupped her tiny face in his hands and said, "bhojan toh sab dete hain maiyya, par aapki bhaanti prem se koi nahi khilaata..." His voice was barely audible, for it was choked with tears and so full of emotions he could hardly control them. But who was he kidding? Maiyya would've heard him even if he hadn't spoken at all.
She looked into his shining eyes, touched his cheek, and said, "tu chinta na kar... mai khilaaungi ab apne lalla ko maakhan! Fir dekhna kaise pushp saa khil jayega mera laal!"
And here it was – his breaking point. He had been trying so hard not to let sentiments overpower him, but much like Krishna, the heart never listens! He barely managed to say, "yadi aap khilaa dogi maiyya, toh kadachit moksh hi mil jayega!" before he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and just started crying. Like a baby, with sobs and tears and incoherent sounds. It seemed like he had a lot to say, but words weren't helping. Krishna, who would play with words like a magician playing tricks, suddenly had no words. Krishna, who had smiled and smiled and smiled even when pain pierced the deepest corners of his heart, was crying. He had smiled all his life, this was his moment to cry and let it all out. To gather enough strength that would enable him to smile for another eternity. Occasionally, he would say "maiyya" and then break down into sobs again. Years of supressed pain had finally found a release, and every moment of it was setting Kanha free. It is ironical how people look for freedom outside their homes. A fitting reminder that the world only knows how to cage, and if there's one place that sets you free in its truest sense, it's called home.
...
Maiyya had been surprised for an instant, but the next second her hands were caressing his back, saying "haan lalla" every time he uttered "maiyya", comforting him and letting him know she was, is, and would always be there. The realization that her little boy had been through so much had dawned upon her. He hadn't yet said anything, but when had she ever needed words to know his woes? The shiver in his voice as he said "maiyya", the deep-seated experience of the world in his eyes, the slight hesitance in his smile that had once been so free, the hidden layers of pain in his eyes, the heart-wrenching sobs and the tight grip with which he was holding on to her – like he never ever wanted to return to that world of suffering again – all of it told her stories that she knew Kanha himself would never tell her, in fear of hurting her with his own troubles. That made her wrap her arms around him even tighter, hoping to make all his pain hers. She knew she would sit and talk to him at length, pamper him and shower him with all the maakhan in the world, make him sleep to the sweetest lullabies, but all that would come later. In that priceless moment, she just held on to him tighter, knowing how much it would mean to him to be heard, to be held, to be himself, to simply cry like a baby does in his mother's arms. She knew the comfort it would bring to him, she knew it would feel like home. She knew he needed home, she knew he was finally home. She knew that his maiyya was his home, like he was hers, and will always be.
Kissing her little blue treasure all over his face, wiping his tears, consoling him like she had when he has still a toddler, she said - "Ab sab theek ho jayega Kanha... main hun naa!"
The sobs had died down, and the colour was gradually returning to his face. The abundant rains of love were drenching his parched soul in showers of delight, and it showed in the radiance of his persona. Every façade that had settled upon him over the years had come down, and he was truly Krishna again. The ever-joyful, charming young lad of Vrindavan – the beloved Kanha of Brij – was back. And most importantly, he was home.
He looked up at her once more, taking in the heavenly sight of home and letting it flow through all his senses and rejuvenate them. And then in one swift gesture, he wiped all of his tears, smiled his widest, and said, "Haan Maiyya!" – the curve on his delighted face widening as he spoke the last few words - "ab main ghar jo aa gaya hun!"
...
Author's Note - Events referenced from Chapter 40 of the Garg Samhita.
Radhe Radhe!