A Story of Dvapar Yuga in Prose: ( Part- 11 B)

A Story of Dvapar Yuga in Prose: ( Part- 11 B)

By Lokanath Mishra:

🌸 Krishna and the Magic Flute 🌸

Long ago, in the land of Vrindavan, two little boys, Krishna and Balarama, lived happily among the cowherds. They were the joy of everyone’s heart.
But Krishna’s flute attracted Radha by its exceptionally sweet, alluring, and mesmerizing melodies, which evoked an irresistible spiritual longing and devotional love (prema-rasa) in her heart. Unable to resist the music’s call, she abandoned her duties to follow the enchanting notes, ultimately leading her to Krishna, where their souls connected in a timeless moment of divine love.

One day, news reached Mathura: “Krishna and Balarama are well.”
This single message created two very different feelings.

In Mathura, King Kamsa trembled with fear. He had sent demon after demon to kill Krishna, but none had returned. Deep in his heart, he knew the child of Nanda was no ordinary boy.

But Akrura, Kamsa’s minister, was secretly overjoyed. He ran to Vasudeva and Devaki, Krishna’s parents, who were still locked away in prison. Whispering with a smile, he said, “Your sons are safe.”
Tears filled their eyes. They folded their hands and thanked the Lord for protecting their children.

Kamsa, meanwhile, was angry and restless. He thought, “People must never believe I fear a small child.” That is why he never sent demons in their real form. They always came disguised—once as a cart, once as a whirlwind, once as a calf. But Krishna had destroyed them all.

Now Kamsa called two new demons—Putana’s brothers, Bakasura and Aghasura.
He said, “Your sister was slain by Nanda’s son. Do you want revenge? Then this is the time. Krishna and Balarama are herding calves in the forest. Go and destroy them. But be careful—do not show your demon forms.”

Bakasura said, “I will become a crane and kill him with my sharp beak.”
Aghasura laughed, “I will become a huge python and swallow Krishna, his friends, and all the calves at once. Once I shut my mouth, none will escape. Between us two, he cannot survive.”

The brothers left with wicked plans in their hearts.

That day in Vrindavan, Krishna had grown tired while chasing after some calves. He sat under the shade of a tree to rest. His friends and Balarama played near the river Yamuna. They called out, “Krishna, come and play!”
But Krishna smiled and said, “I’ll come later.”

As he rested, he suddenly heard a sound—soft, sweet, and beautiful. It was the music of a flute. The tune floated through the air like a whisper of joy. Krishna felt pulled toward it.

He followed the sound until he found a cowherd boy named Dhaniram. The boy was selling flutes, and he played one with great skill.

Krishna stood silently, listening with shining eyes. When the music stopped, Krishna said, “Your flute is so sweet! Give me one, I want to play too.”

Dhaniram smiled. “Playing well takes practice. Only with the blessing of Goddess Saraswati can one truly master the art.”
“Then teach me,” Krishna said eagerly.

Dhaniram explained, “First, pray to her: ‘O Veena-bearing Mother, please live in my flute.’”

At once, Krishna closed his eyes and prayed. Far away in heaven, Goddess Saraswati stopped her own music and appeared.
“Lord, command me,” she said with folded hands.
Krishna replied, “Reside in my flute and help me play.”
Saraswati bowed. “As You wish, my Lord.”

Dhaniram, knowing Krishna was Nanda’s son, chose his finest flute and gave it to him. Krishna placed it to his lips. Dhaniram taught him the basic notes—Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, Dha, Ni. Then Krishna began to play.

At that very moment, magic spread across Vrindavan.
The river Yamuna stopped flowing.
Trees and flowers bloomed as if spring had suddenly arrived.
Birds fell silent and listened with tilted heads.
Peacocks spread their feathers and began to dance.
The calves left their grazing and gathered around Krishna.
Even the cowherd boys stopped their games and danced with joy.
And above in the sky, the gods themselves leaned down to hear the divine melody.

Far away in Vṛṣabhānu’s house, a little girl named Radha heard the sound. She was the daughter of Vṛṣabhānu and his wife Kirti. Beautiful and gentle, she was the pride of their village.

“Mother!” Radha cried. “Do you hear? Someone is playing such a beautiful flute in Vrindavan. It feels as though the music is calling my name—Radha, Radha…”
Kirti smiled kindly. “Child, I hear nothing.”
But Radha’s heart was restless. She did not know why the melody touched her so deeply.

Back under the tree, Krishna continued to play until his friends grew tired.
Balarama caught his hand and said, “Enough, Kanhaiya! All of us are hungry. Even the cows have not grazed. Stop playing now, let’s eat.”

Krishna lowered his flute and looked for his teacher. To his surprise, Dhaniram was lying on the ground, bowing at his feet.
“Teacher, why do you bow to me?” Krishna asked gently. “You are my guru. Please bless me instead.”

Dhaniram’s eyes filled with tears. “Divine child, who are you? God or Gandharva? I thought my flute was sweet, but your music touches the heart itself. You are no ordinary boy. My life is blessed today, and this flute is blessed too, for it has touched your lips.”

And from that day on, Krishna’s flute was never just an instrument. It became the song of love, peace, and joy—calling every soul toward the Lord.

🌸 Moral for Children: Krishna’s flute teaches us to be like the flute itself—simple, empty of pride, and open. Then God’s love can flow through us, bringing peace and happiness to everyone around.
( to be continued)

ମା’ ବିମଳାଙ୍କ ଦୁର୍ଗା ପୂଜା

A Story of Dwapar Yuga in Prose : ( part-10 A)