Vamsi Kunj
The gopis [milkmaids] had the highest kind of bhakthi [devotion] in their hearts. Wherever they turned, they saw only Krishna. On their foreheads they wore blue kumkum [auspicious powder] to remind them of Him. Many husbands protested the color of the kumkum, but they dared not wipe it off lest harm befall them and the sacrilege recoil on them.
One day, Krishna laid His flute aside and declared that He would never play it again. The story, not found in books, is a long one. I am the only one who can tell it to you because only the one who has experienced the events can describe them.
A bride named Neeraja came to Gokulam as the daughter‑in‑law of a Gopa family. Her husband and parents‑in‑law warned her about Krishna and His pranks. They threatened her, on pain of dire punishment, to stay away from Him, to avoid Him by every possible means.
On Govardhana puja (worship) day, all the gopas and gopikas [milkmaids] had to go beyond the village limits to circumambulate and worship the Govardhana Hill, a festival they celebrated every year. Neeraja went with the others. In spite of the severest warnings, she peeked into a crowd of enthusiastic gopis who were watching the dance of Radha with Krishna in a flower bower near the hill. She was so captivated by the Divine presence that she was no longer the same person.
Another day, while on the Yamuna bank, she saw Krishna making a flute from a reed taken from vamsi kunj (a bamboo bower). Then she heard Him play. The music sounded overwhelmingly ecstatic—a call to transcend the material bonds and free oneself of the trammels of earthly endeavors. Neeraja did not care for anyone now; she became God‑mad. In fact, she was the first to hold the reins of Akrura’s chariot when he was taking Krishna away from Gokulam to Mathura. She even tried to push the vehicle back.
Krishna responds to the call of yearning
Neeraja’s mother-in-law drove her out of the house for that. She became an outcast. When the whole village rose up against her, she spent her days in the vamsi kunj, her whole mind fixed on the Lord whom she had installed there. Years passed. Nanda, Yasoda, and Radha left the world. When Neeraja was 52 years old, she prayed desperately to Krishna, “I can no longer bear this forlorn life. My eyes have gone dry; they have no more tears to keep this love green. My heart, too, is fast turning to a wasteland. Come, Lord. Come and save me. Take me unto yourself.”
Krishna heard the prayer. He responded to her yearning, calling her by name so sweetly that the very voice filled her with new life. The vamsi kunj was fragrant with divine glory. Krishna came near and took Neeraja’s palm in His Hand. “What do you desire?” He asked. She said, “What is the purpose of life?” “To merge in God,” He replied. “Then let me merge in You, but before that—before my prema [love] merges in yours—let me hear you play the flute for a short while.” Krishna smiled and gave the excuse that He had not brought His flute. But seeing Neeraja’s yearning, He plucked a reed from the vamsi kunj, broke it correctly and, in a trice, converted it into a flute. With Neeraja on his lap, Krishna played the flute so melodiously that the entire Gokula—and even the whole world—were bathed in ecstatic joy. When He stopped, Neeraja had attained final beatitude and was no longer a limited individual gopi separate from Him.
Krishna laid aside His flute and said He would not play it again. That is the story of one gopi. The story of each gopi is interesting in its own way for each was transmuted by the bhakthi she bore toward the Lord. In the Bhakthi Sutras (aphorisms on devotion), the gopis were declared by Narada to be the greatest among the bhakthas (devotees).
Source: Sathya Sai Speaks, Volume III
