O Radhe, Please Give Me Back My Flute
( Collected from different Puranas and collected by Lokanath Mishra)
Lord Shri Krishna and His enchanting flute are inseparable. The melodious sound of His flute captivates the three worlds. That divine music reverberates and echoes in the consciousness of all beings. The pulsation of every life is but the resonance of that flute.
According to the Purāṇas, upon hearing the sound of Krishna’s flute, four states arise in sequence: distraction, paralysis, enchantment, and overwhelming attraction. How could the Gopīs, whose very life is Krishna, remain unaffected? Even inert objects seemed to come alive upon hearing the sweet notes of His flute. With that flute Krishna would charm the Gopīs, drawing them away from their homes and duties, making them rush towards Him.
Sometimes His flute called out to Rādhā, sometimes to Viśākhā, sometimes to Lalitā, or to Chandravali and Vṛndāvatī. Immersed in the music and lost in divine love, the Gopīs endured much scorn, ridicule, and suffering from society.
Shri Krishna and His flute were inseparable. He always kept it by His side. But how long could the maidens of Vraja endure this torment? One day they thought: “Let us steal away the flute and set it afloat on the waters of the Yamunā. Then Krishna will no longer torment us with it.”
But how could they succeed? The flute never left Krishna’s side. So they conspired to steal it somehow.
One night, after the Rāsa-līlā, seeing Krishna weary, the Gopīs requested Him to rest for a while. The omniscient Lord understood their intention, but pretending not to, He said, “Alright, since you all insist, I shall lie down.” He feigned sleep, keeping the flute beside His head.
The Gopīs seized this rare chance. With the help of her friends Lalitā and Viśākhā, Rādhā stealthily took the flute and hid it beneath a tree.
When Krishna awoke and found His flute missing, He smiled softly and asked the Gopīs, “Oh! I was only lying here — where could my flute have gone?” They all feigned ignorance. Then Krishna noticed that Rādhā was missing. On asking, the Gopīs replied, “We do not know.”
The playful Krishna began singing as He searched for His beloved. At last, He found Rādhā sitting in the shade of a blossoming tree. With affectionate words He said, “Dearest! I only wished to rest a little, but you disappeared and made me even more weary.”
Rādhā replied, “I wander wherever I wish. Why question me?”
Krishna said, “But, O Rādhe! It is you who rule over me.”
Rādhā retorted, “Stop this flattery! I know you — behind your sweet words always lies a hidden purpose. Speak plainly — what do you want?”
Krishna pleaded, “O Rādhe! Tell me where my flute is. I know that only you know its whereabouts. Take my bangles, my necklace, anything you wish — but return my flute. It is my very life. With great devotion my mother crafted it, setting golden bands upon it, and entrusted it to me. Now you have stolen it! What shall I tell my mother?”
Rādhā answered, “Why such grief over a mere hollow reed? Look yonder — there is a whole bamboo grove. Cut a piece and fashion another flute. Why torment me so?”
But Krishna replied, “Rādhike! This flute is not just a piece of bamboo. Through it I perform many deeds. Its sound unites the cowherds, delights the people of Vraja, and awakens streams of love in their hearts. Its music melts even stones into tenderness. Just as it gathers the cows together, so too does it gather devotees, inspiring them in their duties and blessing them with their due rewards. Through this flute I govern the moving and unmoving creation itself.”
He continued, “If one wishes to taste the nectar of my lips, they must first empty themselves of ego, just as my flute has emptied itself to become hollow. Only then may I keep them forever upon my lips.”
While He was speaking thus, Krishna momentarily turned His gaze away. In that instant, Rādhā and the Gopīs broke the flute. But wondrously, the fragments began to sing and dance, and from them blossomed an entire garden of flutes. The astonished Gopīs stood speechless, reaching out to catch the dancing flutes, but in vain.
Defeated, they admitted their failure. Finally, Rādhā returned the broken pieces to Krishna. As soon as He touched them, the flute regained its original form, and the dancing flutes disappeared.
The Vaishnava scriptures describe this pastime as “Rādhā’s Flute-Stealing Līlā.”
To this day, in remembrance of that divine play, at Rāsa-kuñja in Nidhiban, Vṛndāvan, Rādhārāṇī is worshipped as “Bansī-chorī Rādhā”, standing with a flute in hand, flanked by her sakhīs Viśākhā and Lalitā. Her form holding the flute is supremely charming and captivating.
The saint Arakṣita Dāsa has described this Flute-Stealing Līlā of Rādhārāṇī in beautiful poetry:
Beneath the Kadamba tree, while Krishna slept,
His flute lay by His side.
All the Gopīs came silently,
And stole away His flute.
O Rādhe! Please give me back my flute.
O Radhe, Please Give Me Back My Flute