The Cause of Longing
One bright spring afternoon in Yāvat, Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī sat with Her sakhīs beneath the shade of a flowering kadamba tree. The air was fragrant with blossoming malati and madhavi vines, yet Her heart was heavy.
“Lalite,” She sighed, “even the song of the cuckoos pierces Me today. Everything in Vraja sings His name — the river hums it, the wind whispers it, the bees buzz it — yet I cannot see Him.”
Viśākhā placed a hand on Her shoulder. “Do not despair, O Queen of Vraja. The Lord of Your heart will find a way. When love becomes unbearable, He Himself breaks every boundary to reach You.”
Rādhā looked out at the distant fields. “Let Him come, then,” She said softly, “for every moment without Him feels like a lifetime.”
The Problem and the Plan
Meanwhile, at Nandagrāma, Śrī Kṛṣṇa sat restlessly with Subala. “The guards around Yāvat have doubled,” He complained. “Jaṭilā has grown too clever. How can I see My beloved?”
Subala thought for a moment. “Jaṭilā loves music, does she not? And she often invites women singers to entertain her.”
Kṛṣṇa smiled. “Ah, Subala, you always strike the right note! Then I shall become Kalāvalī — a singer from a distant village.”
With great care, He prepared His disguise: a silk veil, golden bangles, and anklets that jingled softly. He painted His eyes with kajal, tied His hair with jasmine, and hung a vina across His shoulder. When He looked into the mirror, even He laughed. “If I did not know Myself, I would bow to this lady!”
Thus, Kṛṣṇa set forth toward Yāvat, humming a sweet melody.
The Arrival of the Singer
When Jaṭilā heard that a renowned singer named “Kalāvalī” had arrived, she became delighted. “Oh, how wonderful! Bring her in! I have been restless these days — let her soothe my mind with her music.”
Kṛṣṇa entered the courtyard gracefully, bowing deeply. “O venerable mother,” He said in a soft, melodious voice, “I am Kalāvalī, a humble musician from the east. I have heard that the ladies of Yāvat are lovers of sacred song.”
Jaṭilā smiled, enchanted. “You speak sweetly, my girl! Come, sing something devotional. My daughter-in-law, Rādhā, is unwell — perhaps your music will cheer her.”
Kṛṣṇa’s heart leapt. “As you wish, Mother,” He said, hiding His joy.
The Song of Divine Love
Rādhā entered slowly, veiled, accompanied by Lalitā and Viśākhā. When Her eyes met the singer’s, She paused. For a moment, the world seemed to spin — something familiar in the singer’s smile, something divine in the glance.
“Please, sing,” Jaṭilā said, settling down with a satisfied sigh.
Kṛṣṇa began. His voice was low at first, like the murmur of Yamunā at twilight. Then it rose, pure and tender, filling the courtyard with sweetness.
“The moon longs to see Her face,
The flute sighs Her name in every note,
The heart of Kṛṣṇa burns in separation —
O when will the eyes of Rādhā meet His again?”
As the song continued, the sakhīs exchanged glances of wonder. Rādhā’s eyes filled with tears; Her hands trembled. She whispered, “This voice… it is His! Only He can sing the pain of My heart so perfectly.”
Jaṭilā, charmed by the melody, closed her eyes in bliss. “Ah, such devotion! Even the gods would weep to hear her.”
Kṛṣṇa turned toward Rādhā, His tone now playful.
“The healer came as a singer,
The Lord hid as His own devotee,
Only love could see through the veil —
Only love knows who is who.”
At that line, Rādhā smiled through Her tears, understanding everything.
The Gift of the Song
When the song ended, the courtyard fell silent. Even the wind seemed to pause. Jaṭilā opened her eyes, wiping tears. “You have touched my heart, Kalāvalī. Tell me, what reward shall I give you?”
Kṛṣṇa replied softly, “Mother, grant me only one thing — that I may sing again privately for your daughter-in-law. The song was meant to heal her heart.”
Jaṭilā agreed at once. “Of course! Come tomorrow morning.”
As soon as she left the room, the sakhīs surrounded Kṛṣṇa, whispering, “Your disguise is perfect!”
Rādhā spoke softly, “O Kalāvalī, You have sung away My sorrow — but when You leave, will You take My heart with You again?”
Kṛṣṇa smiled. “The song remains with You, and in that song — I remain.”
He touched His vina and chanted quietly, “Rādhe, Rādhe,” before departing into the twilight.
The Hidden Meaning
This pastime reveals that divine love transcends all forms and disguises. Kṛṣṇa’s many veśas (costumes) are not deception but compassion — for He takes whatever form will bring comfort to His devotee.
The role of Kalāvalī, the singer, symbolizes the Lord as the bhakta, the devotee of His own devotee. Just as He sang for Rādhā’s happiness, He sings through our hearts when we glorify Him.
Music here represents nāma-saṅkīrtana — the singing of the holy names — which heals the soul’s sorrow of separation.
Lessons to Be Learned
- The Lord appears in countless forms to reach His devotee — even as a simple singer.
- The voice of devotion is more powerful than words; singing purifies the heart.
- To glorify Kṛṣṇa is to be touched by Kṛṣṇa Himself.
- When we hear the holy name with love, the Lord’s presence fills the space between the notes.
Reflections
In this līlā, Kṛṣṇa shows that love is creative — it finds endless ways to express itself. When the soul cannot see the Lord, He comes as sound, as remembrance, as inspiration.
Our own chanting is the echo of that divine song. When we sing the names of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa sincerely, the Lord sings back within us — turning our sorrow into sweetness, our longing into joy.
Just as Rādhā recognized Kṛṣṇa in the melody, we too must learn to hear Him in every note of life. Then every breath becomes a verse of that eternal song.
Prayer
O Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, whose heart is soothed by the song of Your beloved, please teach me to hear His voice in every sound.
O Śrī Kṛṣṇa, who became Kalāvalī to comfort Your devotee, please enter my heart as the singer of truth.
Let every word I speak be an offering, every sound a hymn, every breath a note of Your holy name.
May I never forget that behind every melody of the world, it is You who sing to awaken love.
Origin of the Story
Adapted from Śrīla Viśvanātha Cakravartī Ṭhākura’s Camatkāra-candrikā, Fourth Pastime – “Kalāvalī Veśe Milana”
