MURALI VADANA

Gopala Campu : “ He would sit in Vraja or the forest nourishing his joy and longing while playing the flute.”

“Krishna stood on pleasing Govardhan with a strong desire for rasa pastimes.”

"When the song of Krishna's flute spread out with a heart- touching raga, an indescribable confusion subdued the inhabitants of Vraja and produced obstacles (increase in desire)." Gopala Campu 17.73


Radha is remembering Krishna dressed as a cowherd boy and the blowing of His flute, which is the irresistible attraction for all the living entities. In another verse of the Caitanya Caritamrita 2.15 Caitanya speaks like Radha, overcome by Her love in a rasa of separation :

"Where is the Lord of My life, who is playing His flute [Murali Vadana]? What shall I do now? Where should I go to find the son of Mahārāja Nanda?"

So, Radha remembers Krishna when he plays the flute, and Krishna remembers Radha when playing His flute - He calls Her, He desires Her, He dreams to meet Her....

In the taste of water
is Krishna,
His blue skin
mirrors His infinity
in the oceans
and in the enveloping skies ~
for all rests in Him,
while in His mind
dwells beauty, pleasure and rasa.                                    
But only in Vraja

His love thickens
and His blue hue deepens
like a swollen rain cloud,
and only there
His flute, with an enchanting sound,
brings about the autumn
of playful breezes,
and on an inviting note
agitates the minds of those
He calls to dance
under the moonlight,
as a festival of scales,
tunes, tones, tinkling and trills
captures the hands, the bodies and the feet.
But this aeons-long night of rasa
seems to vanish
in just one note of His raga,
and when the horizon swallows
the secrecy of  His nocturnal mellows,
still inebriated by pleasure,
He gazes at the peeping light
and the beauty
of His lotus petal eyes
 paints pink the dawn
at the close of sleepless nights.

And once alone, on his own,
up there on the devoted Hill,
pensive, standing
shaded by the tree,
He remembers the White Lotus whirling,
adorned with a moonbeam,
oozing a fragrant dew
of shiny drops
which slipped like pearls
between His fingers
when caressed softly
by the cooling petal of His hand,
where now the notes of His flute linger
in  soulful melodic strains,
singing the thoughts
of His longing
to meet Radha once again.