THE RETURN TO YĀVAT
After spending one restless night in the pilu tree, Śrī Kṛṣṇa could not bear the separation from Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī. His heart, bound by divine love, pulled Him once again to the courtyard of Yāvat. The stars above watched as the Lord of the Universe walked like a thief through the forest paths, His flute silent, His desire burning brighter than the moon.
This time, Kṛṣṇa approached from the opposite side of the palace, where a grove of ber (Indian plum) trees stood near the wall. That small woodland was called Dāha–ravaṇa, a place where the fragrance of ripe fruit mixed with the perfume of Rādhā’s presence.
THE SONG OF THE NIGHT BIRD
Standing beneath one of those ber trees, Kṛṣṇa began again to imitate the song of the cuckoo bird, the sound that only Rādhā could understand. The night air shimmered with longing; even the trees leaned forward as if to hear the divine call.
Inside Her chamber, Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī heard the familiar sound and immediately knew—Her beloved had returned. The thrill of love and the fear of discovery blended within Her heart like lightning in a storm.
JAṬILĀ’S SEARCH AND YOGAMĀYĀ’S MERCY
But the same call that awakened Rādhā’s joy also reached Jaṭilā’s ears. Grumbling and suspicious, she rose from her bed once again, took up her stick, and hurried toward the sound.
However, this time Kṛṣṇa was not in the tree but standing at its base, His form hidden by the shadows. When Jaṭilā reached the grove, her dim eyes scanned the courtyard but saw no one. Her breath heavy with anger, she muttered, “That deceitful Kṛṣṇa will not escape me next time.”
By Yogamāyā’s divine arrangement, Jaṭilā could not see Kṛṣṇa. The Lord of all creation stood only a few steps away from her, invisible to mortal eyes, smiling softly at the perfection of His beloved’s guardian.
THE NIGHT OF DIVINE SILENCE
Rādhārāṇī stood by the window, afraid to move, Her eyes searching for the shadow of Kṛṣṇa among the trees. Though They could not speak, Their hearts spoke through silence—the language that only divine love can understand.
The entire night passed this way, filled with longing, fear, and the sweetness of hidden devotion. And when dawn began to rise once more over Vraja, Kṛṣṇa turned from the ber grove and disappeared into the misty paths leading home.
REFLECTIONS
This lila shows how the Lord’s love is patient and humble. Though Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Master, He hides beneath trees and waits for a single glance from His devotee. Love makes Him small, love makes Him still, and love makes Him wait.
The ber tree, which once served as Kṛṣṇa’s shelter, still stands as a witness to this eternal truth: that divine affection cannot be obstructed by walls, guards, or fear. When love is pure, even silence becomes prayer.
Jaṭilā’s blindness represents the soul’s condition when covered by material vision. She could not see Kṛṣṇa standing near her, just as the conditioned heart cannot perceive God’s presence even when He stands close. But by the mercy of Yogamāyā—the internal energy of the Lord—the eyes of devotion begin to open.
PRAYER
O Śrī Kṛṣṇa, who stood unseen beneath the ber tree, please make me patient in love and fearless in devotion.
Let me not seek comfort but the chance to serve, not recognition but remembrance.
O Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, who waited through the long night for Your beloved, teach me the art of silent worship, where the heart speaks though the lips are still.
May every obstacle in life become like Jaṭilā’s stick—loud, clumsy, but powerless before divine love.
And may my heart remain always near that grove of Yāvat, where You and Kṛṣṇa exchange glances sweeter than all words.
Origin: Lecture by HH Indradyumna Swami – “Śrī Rādhā’s Legendary Beauty – Yāvat Part 1,” 12 Nov 2025.
