Krishna: a character adored for over two thousand years, revered as one of the most significant political masterminds of the ancient world with his words forming the philosophical core of the country today. Concurrently, he is the god shrouded in inimitable domesticity- as a friend, a lover, and a child. No other deity in the Hindu pantheon has probably achieved as dear a position in the hearts of people as this flute-wielding cowherd of Gokula.
For generations, he has shined as the muse of countless poetfolk, of unfinished business, of unspoken desires and of repressed lovers' qualms. In Meera's longing for her marble beloved, and in Kothai's dulcet dreams of a celestial wedding, Krishna blossoms not as a warrior, but rather as a confidante of young women- the keeper of all secrets.
Curse, o ye, this wedding of devotion,
For I was better off unmarried,
Writes the lovestruck Nawab Sadiq Hilm,
I was well enough at my mother's;
Oh, why did I pine for him?!
Who am I, or what: go ask Rizwan, the gatekeeper
For heaven has been rejected by my forebearers!
He says, in a nostalgic ode to the cowmaids from old tales. To the ones that massage the dust off their feet on Krishna's fevered forehead to soothe his illness, even as the apparent disrespect dooms their afterlives.
Jayadeva notes a more rugged form of Krishna, one that is almost hungry for love. His Radha smiles down upon Radharaman Dutta's kalankini. Of course, she would accept even infamy if it was in relation to her Krishna. However, in time, this epithet has been reclaimed as a celebration of the meteoric, tempestuous love that this unseemly duo had carved out for themselves of the pages of a mostly unwilling history.
Tagore's Krishna is mysterious, eagerly anticipated but rarely seen. Rather, here Radha's pining is crushing and all-encompassing, inherited from Chandidas' virahini. Radha's guttural desire to transform Krishna into herself, subjecting him to the same suffering that she undergoes as a woman in love with a furious ideology more than a man, reverberates eerily against the lighthearted cross-dressing tale of Surdas'.
As often as bards favour the songs extolling the love of the cowherd and the wedded maiden, Krishna's wives are seldom accorded any thought outside of Vasudeva's family tree. Their silence speaks to the stringent rules of a typical patriarchal household. Some of them do speak, and hence Satyabhama becomes conceited and Kalindi wayward. However, the mere few lines that they are mercifully allotted in the text are enough to speak to their resilience. The lines inadvertently hold up a window to the million unspoken words and unexchanged glances. It speaks to the long years, happy and sad. It speaks to the nights of waiting for the beloved to return. It speaks to the quiet lunches in curtained rooms and taste tests in the kitchen.
Each of Krishna's eight wives has their own life, and their own equation with Krishna. Each of their distinct personalities, coupled with their unique introductions to the prince has the potential to bring a distinct flavour to the story of Krishna, the statesman. The understanding that Krishna's heart belonged first to Vrindavana and then to his ambition, must have weighed somewhat on their hearts and yet, the choice to patch up the battle-hardened cowherd, after every blow, sans complaint, and send him out into the world as the architect of history, must have demanded restraint.
The distinct turn of events that brings each of the chief eight queens to Krishna's is quite interesting. Rukmini, the first, demonstrates heart, even if it is born out of desperation. Seizing control of her life, she sends a message, relying solely on rumours of his compassion. Her gamble yields returns manifold as Krishna not only rescues her from an unwanted marriage, but instates her as his chief consort, elevating her, alongside himself, to a divine status. Far from the impulsiveness of her youth, Pandhari's Rakhumai, astute beside her beloved, proudly bears a conch-shell, calling for harmony and community. In life as well, Rukmini brings to Krishna much needed stability, and oversees the blossoming of the city of Dwarika as well as Krishna's growing household.
Jambavati and Satyabhama are given in marriage to the prince by their respective fathers and do not seem to have much of a voice at the time. Jambavati fulfills an ancient destiny, a forgotten promise, then going on to mother the child that ultimately brings about the demise of the Yadava clan. Satyabhama, though often maligned with unfair accusations, is self-reliant. Making no attempt to hide herself from the eye of society, takes her rightful place beside Krishna, not on a throne, but by his side in battlefields. Kalindi however, is an extremely interesting character in Krishna's story. Enmeshed between mortal and divine, she exists as neither. Chancing upon the prince, she unabashedly declares her intentions to be married, and yet she is uncharacteristically silent after her marriage. Lakshmana and Mitravinda, are both won in conquest. They might have been able to sympathize with Rukmini, given their kin had turned against them, on account of their choice of a life partner. Bhadra, on the other hand, has no fancy contests to boast of, or an adventurous rescue. She marries Krishna at the behest of her brother, the only highlight being the arduous journey she undertakes from Kekaya to Dwarika.
After their marriages, these women practically disappear from the narrative until their last moments. We can assume that they were all presumably content with a life outside the spotlight. One can only hope to be privy to their lives after marriage, to know their dreams, nightmares and daily chores. They enter Krishna's life at crucial junctions, and I choose to believe they each had a unique effect on Krishna's worldview, bringing with them a fresh outlook into the mostly stagnant golden city.
