{"id":12,"date":"2009-11-02T11:17:25","date_gmt":"2009-11-02T11:17:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.beliefnet.com\/omsweetom\/2009\/11\/celebrating-the-paradoxes.html"},"modified":"2009-11-02T11:17:25","modified_gmt":"2009-11-02T11:17:25","slug":"celebrating-the-paradoxes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/omsweetom\/2009\/11\/celebrating-the-paradoxes.html","title":{"rendered":"Celebrating the Paradoxes"},"content":{"rendered":"

Today marks the last day of the lunar month of Kartika (???????<\/b>), a sacred time of year chock full of holidays on the Hindu calendar. Some of these, like Diwali, are well-known and celebrated widely. Others — days like Karva Chauth<\/i> or Bhaya Duja<\/i> or Bahulastami<\/i> — are observed regionally or are specific to particular traditions or denominations. <\/p>\n

The month itself, also known by the name of Damodara, is considered holy in itself and is venerated by all Hindus, but especially cherished by devotees of Lord Krishna, the Divine in its most intimate, charming, and personal manifestation. <\/p>\n

The name Damodara — which denotes both the month and the particular aspect of Krishna that is celebrated within it — gives us a special glimpse into that intimate, charming, personal side of God. It literally means “He whose belly is tied up” (damo<\/i> = tied, udara<\/i> = belly), and honors the lila<\/i> (pastime) of Krishna as a naughty boy being tied up by his mother, Yasoda Mayi. So beloved is this episode, that to this day devotees place a picture or murti commemorating it on their altars and offer candles and oil lamps before it every day of the month. <\/p>\n

But how did this come to be? And what can it tell us about our own faith today? <\/p>\n

<\/p>\n


\n\"damodar_yasoda_diorama.jpg\"<\/a><\/span>A brief re-telling of the story:<\/p>\n

Once in a previous age, on
\nthe day we now commemorate as Diwali, Mother Yasoda had her darling son
\nKrishna (who was only a toddler at the time) in her lap and was
\nlovingly nursing him. The two of them were enjoying the sweet exchange
\nof mother and child, when suddenly Yasoda heard the milk she had placed
\non the nearby wood stove boiling over. Earlier that day, Yasoda had
\nresolved to put an end to the rumors that her boy Krishna was stealing
\nbutter and yogurt from their neighbors, by making such gourmet dairy
\npreparations for him that Krishna would forget all about anything else.
\nNow the milk she had set to boil was boiling over. As much as she was
\nenjoying Krishna’s company, Yasoda decided that her service to Krishna
\n(tending to the milk on the stove) was more important even than
\nrelishing his company; she gently placed him down and hurried to the
\nkitchen. Krishna, however, was not at all happy with this. His little
\neyes burned red with anger and welled with tears, and he bit his lower
\nlip to control his crying. Desiring vengeance, he quickly made his way
\nto the rafters where clay pots held the butter and yogurt his mother
\nhad painstakingly prepared, and began to break open all the clay pots.
\nHe literally dived in, eating to his heart’s content, and even sharing
\nsome with the chattering monkeys he liked to play with. <\/p>\n

Meanwhile,
\nYasoda returned from the kitchen to find Krishna missing. Her heart
\nfilled with anxiety, she soon discovered him at the epicenter of a
\nchaotic scene — broken clay pots, butter and yogurt strewn everywhere,
\nmonkeys happily munching away. Seeing Yasoda and knowing that he was in
\ntrouble, little Krishna began to run away from her in fear. Yasoda
\nchased behind him, externally angry with the mischief he caused but
\nsecretly wanting nothing more than to embrace him. Finally, she caught
\nhim and — to ensure he wouldn’t run away again — decided to tie him
\nup to a wooden grinding mortar.<\/p>\n

She found some rope and began to
\ndelicately wrap it around her son’s rotund belly. It was, she
\ndiscovered, too short by the length of two fingers. Quickly, she
\ngathered up some more rope and added it to that; still, much to her
\nastonishment, it was two fingers too short. She gathered up all the
\nrope she could find in her home (according to some tellings, she
\ngathered up all the rope she could find in the whole village), but it
\nwas always two fingers too short. Exhausted and unable to grasp how
\nthis could be possible, she finally just gave up trying to figure it
\nout. At the time, little Krishna (who had been secretly enjoying
\nwatching his mother’s efforts) relented and allowed himself to be
\nbound. Commentators have explained the mystery of Krishna being bound
\nlike this: the two fingers are faith and works, the divine grace of the
\nSupreme and our sincere efforts to know and serve him. The rope is
\nYasoda’s pure love for Krishna, a force so powerful that he has no
\nchoice but to allow himself to be bound by it.<\/i><\/p>\n

Materialists
\nhear the story and don’t know what to make of it. Atheists scoff at it,
\nconsidering it just  another fairy tale from backwards superstitious
\npeople. Even the pious might only be able to appreciate it as some sort
\nof divine play, or an extended metaphor perhaps. <\/p>\n

But dive
\ndeeper, the Bhakti saints and poets beg us, and try to hear the story
\nwith the heart, not through the filters of the mind and senses. What
\nif, in addition to the symbolic and philosophical significance, the
\nDivine really does<\/i> take the form of a small, naughty child. What if the power of love is really<\/i> so great that the Supreme Controller of all can actually be subdued by a simple village woman? Now that<\/i>
\nwould really be something, wouldn’t it? A God who acts like God —
\nruling, judging, officiating — is wonderful. But a God who can
\ntranscend even his own God-hood to enact pastimes with mothers and clay
\npots of butter and monkeys, a God who can cry and run and even be tied
\nup… now that is a God that is more wonderful still.  <\/p>\n

And so
\nthe Damodara story is all about marveling celebrating the paradoxes.
\nThere are many; here are a choice few to meditate on:<\/p>\n