Vatsalya Bhakthi

My mother thinks she is Yashoda and takes care of my child as her own Krishna. My mother holds my child in her arms and tells me, "This is my Krishna!" I ask her, "Oh! Is it? Can I hold your Krishna for sometime?" She tells me, "You have got your little sparrows on your shoulders, go and play with them. I will play with Krishna."

My little kid laughs looking at me, covering her tiny eyes with her hands and peeking through her fingers to see my reaction. She has got a few tiny teeth, and looking at those tiny pearls, I remember the tiny jasmine buds trying to lift up their heads. I request my mom to hold her Krishna, she says "no." My little kid giggles and tries to grab my head, when I lean closer, she takes her hand away and then laughs even more at my surprised expression.

My little sparrows ruffle their feathers dramatically and chirp, "Don't worry, she's just being mischievous like Krishna!" When I go begging to my mother again, she asks her little Krishna, "Do you want to go with your Papa?" My kid looks at me, then at my mother, and nods her head acknowledging the "no" - but then covers her face with both hands and plays peek-a-boo from behind grandmother, making us all burst into laughter.

Now my little kid points her tiny fingers towards the home, and they both go inside. I sit on the floor looking dejected, and my little sparrows come to my rescue, dancing around me saying, "Don't worry, she is just playing with you!" I can't allow them to get worried because of me, so I smile at them. My little sparrows are very happy and smile back at me.

Since this is Krishna Jayanthi day, my mother has painted my little kid's legs with rice flour paste and made her walk around the house. The impression of my kid's tiny feet are all over the house, leading to the pooja room like a divine pathway.

My mother calls me inside with my little sparrows and says, "See how Krishna has entered our house through your kid! See how Krishna is laughing at us, playing with us!"

I looked at my little kid - my mother has decorated her like Krishna himself. She has placed a tilagam on my little kid's forehead, dressed her in a tiny dhoti and kurta, given her a flute to hold. The handcrafted soft paper crown keeps slipping over her eyes, and she pushes it up with both hands looking very serious about keeping it straight. A distinct soft peacock feather is tucked into the crown tickles her nose, making her sneeze adorably - we all laugh at this innocent scene.

She's wearing soft bead strings, nice rubber bangles, and gentle ornaments made of paper and thread. My mother knew if she used strong gold ornaments I would worry about my kid's comfort, so she decorated her beautifully without any discomfort.

My little kid smiled at me, turned her head upwards and asked, "What?" in her sweet baby voice. I asked, "Can I hold you for sometime?" She ran straight to my mother and laughed out loud, shaking her head "no" while trying to blow the flute - only tiny puffing sounds came out, making her look confused about why no music appeared.

Looking at me, my mother said, "Don't worry, it is your kid only, but also it is Shri Krishna." I told her, "It is also Baby Vinayagar." My little sparrows jumped in joy, my kid laughed as if she understood everything perfectly, and my mother smiled knowingly and told me. "You are the dumb candidate here, not your kid. She is more brilliant than you - she is the incarnation of wisdom itself."

My mother has prepared an elaborate feast for her Krishna - Sweet Aval with Jaggery and Coconut, Uppu Seedai, Vella Seedai, Murukku, Appam, Rava Ladoo, Bhoondhi Ladoo, Milk Peda, Coconut Burfi, Thattai, Malpua, Rabri, Kai Murukku, Paruppu Vadai, Rice Pudding, and homemade Butter.

When she offered this divine feast to my little kid, my child's eyes grew wide with wonder. She pointed at different sweets saying, "Dis? Dis?" (This? This?) inspecting each offering like a true deity examining her bhog. But then she spotted the butter and ran straight towards it, grabbing it with both tiny hands and immediately starting to play with it.

Within moments, there were tiny buttery handprints on the walls, butter smeared on her rosy cheeks, and she even offered me some butter to taste! My little sparrows fluttered around, hoping for butter crumbs too.

My mother looked at me triumphantly and said, "Didn't I tell you that she is our Krishna? Look at her butter technique - complete chaos with pure joy, exactly like Krishna!"

I nodded, completely convinced, watching our little Krishna create beautiful buttery chaos while radiating divine bliss.

As I watched my little Krishna playing with the pure white butter, something began shifting within me. The churning emotions that had been stirring in my heart started settling, like sediment finding peace at the bottom of still water.

I gently took the soft peacock feather from her crown and began playing with it around her face. She giggled as the feather danced across her cheeks, her nose, her forehead - completely absorbed in this simple joy, knowing nothing beyond this perfect moment.

The white butter in her tiny hands seemed to reflect something back to me. Each buttery fingerprint, the innocent smile on her face, spoke of a purity I had forgotten existed. Here was the pure innocence that I thought never existed suddenly weaved in my life, joy without reason, being without becoming.

As I continued the gentle feather play, watching her eyes light up with each soft touch, the weight I had been carrying began dissolving like ghee in a warm flame. The complexities that usually clouded my thoughts grew quiet in the presence of such simple contentment.

My mother watched us both with knowing eyes. "Krishna's butter," she said softly, "doesn't just nourish the body - it purifies everything it touches."

My mother gently wipes butter from my little Krishna's nose with her saree edge, whispering ancient lullabies under her breath. She adjusts the tiny crown with such tender care, as if handling the most precious jewel in creation. When my kid tries to toddle away, my mother follows on her knees, arms outstretched, her eyes never leaving her little Krishna's face.

I watch this divine dance between grandmother and grandchild, my little sparrows chirping softly in wonder. "Look at them," I whisper to my sparrows, "just like Yashoda herself." My sparrows tilt their tiny heads, watching my mother's every gesture of devotion, learning what pure affection looks like.

My little Krishna discovers her own reflection in my mother's bangles and starts having a conversation with herself - "Hiii!" she says, waving at her tiny reflection. When she sneezes, she looks around surprised, as if wondering where that sound came from, making everyone dissolve into giggles.

She offers butter to my little sparrows too, holding up her tiny palm with such serious concentration. When they don't take it, she looks puzzled and tries to feed the butter to my mother's bangles instead, thinking they might be hungry too.

My mother starts singing "Krishna Krishna" and Damodhar Ashtakam softly, and my little Krishna also begins singing, still clutching butter in both hands, creating a rhythm all her own. My little sparrows join the music with gentle chirping, and I realize we're all part of one sacred symphony.

I looked at my little Krishna, butter-covered and radiant, completely present in her innocent play. My little sparrows settled peacefully on my shoulders, and for the first time in so long, my mind was as still as a mountain lake.

In that sacred moment, surrounded by laughter and divine presence, something essential had shifted. The feather in my hand felt light, my heart felt lighter, and the world felt clean again. I completely lost my anger, ego and pride and I became unconditional, ready to just give everything I had without any expectations.

I again ask my mother and my kid if I can hold my little Krishna, and they playfully say no again. As I start to walk away with mock dejection, my little kid suddenly runs to me, wraps her tiny butter-covered arms around my leg, looks up with those sparkling eyes and asks in her sweet voice, "Are you leaving?"

My heart melts completely. "I won't and I can't," I whisper, lifting my precious little Krishna into my arms at last. My mother smiles knowingly - this was all part of the divine play. My little sparrows jump and flutter in pure joy, chirping triumphantly.

Now my little Krishna plays peek-a-boo with me, but instead of covering her own eyes, she gently places her tiny buttery palms over my eyes and removes them, laughing with pure delight each time she "discovers" my face again. In her innocent play, she's showing me how to see the world fresh each moment - how to find wonder in the simplest revelations.

As I hold her close, she suddenly stops giggling and looks directly into my eyes with that pure, ancient wisdom that only children possess. Without any words, she gently places both her tiny buttery palms on either side of my face, as if she's blessing me. Then, in the softest whisper that sounds like a prayer itself, she says "Papa" - not to anyone else, not as a question, but as a sacred recognition, as if her little soul has always known who I truly am to her.

My mother's hands fly to her heart, tears streaming down her cheeks as she whispers, "Krishna has given you the greatest gift." My little sparrows fall completely silent, as if even they understand this is a moment when heaven touches earth.

In that infinite pause, with butter-covered hands framing my face and those innocent eyes seeing straight into my soul, I realize she isn't just playing, she means it with her whole little heart. Time stops, breath stops, everything stops except the sound of my heart breaking open so vast it could hold the entire universe.

As I hold my heart's treasure, feeling her warm weight against my chest, I close my eyes and offer the deepest prayer of my soul:

"Oh Lord Vinayagar, Oh Krishna, Oh Divine Mother - the only expectation I have is for the wellness of my kid and my little sparrows. Let them always be protected, always be blessed, always know they are loved beyond measure. And please, let my little sparrows be blessed with their own Krishna soon - let them experience this same divine joy of holding their heart's treasure in their arms."

The butter on her cheeks catches the temple lamp's glow, my little sparrows settle peacefully on my shoulders, and my mother watches with tears of joy. In this sacred moment, I understand that this is not just play - this is pure grace made manifest.