#puranas

[spiritualknowledges-blog]

MY PURPOSE IS TO ENLIGHTEN YOU WITH THE METHOD OF WORSHIP AS PRESCRIBED BY THE SCRIPTURES.

This is to protect you from the immense hardships of the future, specifically the agony of passing through the 8.4 million species of life and the torments of hell.

BANDICHHOD SATGURU RAMPAL JI MAHARAJ

[vishnu-art]

SRI PARASHURAM 🔥

[allthingsmythology]

Kannamoochi Yenada

A Rukmini-Krishna o/s Masterlist a/n: this literally popped into my mind the day after diwali, and I had to write it. slightly canon divergent and the tone of the song doesn't match the piece, but it makes sense. click here for the song

The garden was in full bloom, a riot of colour and life. Flowers of every hue lined the pathways, while ivy and jasmine climbed the stone pillars, their fragrance mingling in the warm air. Birds sang their songs in the distance, and the bees, intoxicated with nectar, joined in, buzzing as they moved from flowerbed to flowerbed. Squirrels darted playfully through the grass, chased by cats whose eyes gleamed with mischief beneath the golden light, while the peacocks perched on the branches of low trees, giving the mynahs and parrots company as they gazed at the sights below them. In the pond, fish traced lazy circles beneath the surface as the swans glided past, pausing now and then to smooth their silken feathers.

Usually, on such beautiful days, Rukmini would sit and spend hours on end just playing and enjoying the scenes in the garden she had so carefully curated over her formative years. Maybe she would have done it that day too, had her heart and mind not been racing with waves of restlessness she had seldom experienced. After all, it was one of the last days she could spend in her own home before getting married to Sishupala.

She scrunched her face in disgust at that thought. Marrying him was the last thing she wanted — her parents and brother saw it as a perfect strategic alliance, guaranteeing the kingdom with some more protection in case it was attacked. What no one considered though, was her opinion on this, even though her parents and brother knew that her heart had been stolen by none other than a seasoned warrior whose origins were those of a cowherd, one whose name carried so much power and charm that defeated an unjust king yet got sweet treats from his mothers, and one whose mere mention had her blushing more fiercely than the roses that adorned her windows. They had raised her to be the perfect queen, yet never granted her the right to choose the life she wished to live.

The voice of her handmaiden snapped her out of her reverie, and, reluctantly, Rukmini followed her to her personal chambers, where she was ushered into a chair amidst the excited chattering of her maidens as they began bedecking her for the puja that evening. None of them spotted anything wrong with their princess, and she wondered, as she stared at her reflection in the gold-laden mirror, whether anyone apart from her noticed the heaviness in her eyes and the tremor in her voice. 

En manam unakoru vilayatu bommaiyaa?

A melody played itself in her mind as her thoughts wandered to Krishna again. Did he receive her message? If he did, why hadn’t he replied? Did he think of her feelings as a toy, something he could play with till he was satisfied? Rukmini knew he liked to play pranks and tricks — that was one of the reasons why she fell for him in the first place — but this was a bit too cruel, playing them on her heart like she hadn’t put her whole life on the line to send him that one message. Were his feelings towards her the same as she felt for him? Did her confession stir even a flicker within him, or did it dissolve into the void between them, unheard and unseen? Or, worse, did he receive the message and deem it insignificant for him to consider freeing her of this torment? 

En manam unakoru vilayatu bommaiyaa? Enakena unarchigal thaniyaga illaiya? Nenjam alai urangadhu

Her heart had whispered only his name ever since the day Rukmi had described his exploits to her in the confines of her garden a few years ago. Although his description was not in favour of Krishna at all, she still fell for him, and who better to fall for? He was everything the ideal person was supposed to be — he wasn’t christened the Lord of the Three Worlds for no reason — and Rukmini wished, hoped and prayed that she was one of the lucky people who got to call him her consort. She envied people who had seen him in front of their eyes, who were blessed with even a glimpse of his dark skin or peacock feather. Would she ever have the same fortune?

Un idhal kondu vaai mooda vaa en kanna

She had become a shell of her usual self; she had lost her appetite, despite the efforts of her parents and brother, and while they chalked it up to ‘wedding stress’ to pacify the vassal kings who came to give their blessings, they knew that she was neither ready nor willing to marry the King of Chedi. Rukmi even mentioned that she was ‘getting ready for marriage’ in his formal proposal, even though that was the last thing she was doing. Sometimes, she lay in bed awake, wondering whether she should just kill herself and hope to be reborn as a tulsi leaf or a flower that could spend its days with Krishna, because the thought of her marrying someone that wasn’t him pained her.  

Un idhal kondu vaai mooda vaa en kanna Un imai kondu vizhi mooda vaa Un udal dhaan en udai allava?

Vaidarbhi’s arms and body were being scrubbed with an ubtan paste, something she usually enjoyed, but that day, her skin was pale and her forehead was lined with worry. The scent of sandalwood wafted through the air, and the princess took a minute to breathe it in, pretending that inhaling that comforting scent was enough to calm her nerves. The pace of her heart picked up, and even though she tried to steady her breathing, the only thing that could truly calm her down was his reassurance, his touch, and his words telling her that she was his and his only.  

Paar kadalil aadiya pinnum Un vannam maaravillai innum Paar kadalil aadiya pinnum Un vannam maaravillai innum

Her ears strained to hear any signs of commotion outside, any sign that her Lord was going to come and rescue her from the suffocating air of her room, her palace and her kingdom. She imagined him riding in his radiant chariot, his curly hair contained under his resplendent crown and his eyes blazing with the intensity and mischief that she had heard and dreamt about so many times. Maybe he would stand up to her brother and formally ask for her hand right before she left for the puja. Maybe, he would steal her that night, when the moon was shrouded by dark clouds. It was wishful thinking, but her heart and mind refused to accept anyone but him as her husband. 

En nenjil koodiye niram maarava En uyiril nee vandhu serga

Before she knew it, her eyes were lined with kohl, a new saree the colour of blood was draped on her, and her arms, neck and head were being weighed down with jewellery she didn’t remember owning. The cluster of necklaces suddenly felt suffocating, and the chain on her waist felt much tighter than she could bear. Her handmaidens, oblivious to her feelings, whispered around her, touching her face up and dusting her cheeks with something the same colour as the lilies that grew in her pond.

Mechanically, she rose from her seat and directed her maids to get the offerings for the Goddess ready. She took a look around her room — the room that had seen her tantrums as a child, her growth into a young woman and all her dreams about Krishna — for what was probably the last time, as, when she returned, she was no longer going to be the Princess of Vidarbha, but the person promised to someone else, or, hopefully, Krishna’s consort.

Udhadugal eeramaai vaazhga Kalandhidavaa

“Can he not come quickly?” Rukmini sighed, a rare fracture in her calm disposition. She looked into the mirror once again, properly seeing herself for the first time in three days. Her eyes, which had been described as petal-like by many poets, princes and sages, were dull, and her lips, although painted red, were stuck in an irritated pout which she corrected quickly, lest the public see her in such a state.

Straightening her posture, she left the room and got onto the chariot that was waiting for her, filled to the brim with flowers, sweets and other offerings she didn’t have the heart to properly observe. She took a seat as the chariot began to move, still consumed in thoughts of Krishna, the worry that some harm might have befallen the messenger she had sent, and the anxiety of her Lord not listening to her plea.

That was when she saw it — a fleeting glimpse of a singular peacock feather behind one of the pillars of the temple.

Heart racing, Rukmini sat at the edge of her seat, desperate to catch a glimpse of the feather again. Never had she seen anything so achingly beautiful; its hues shimmered like dawn caught in glass, a perfect echo of the feather that had drifted through her dreams since she was twelve.  Craning her neck, she looked behind every pillar she could, but the only thing she saw in the marble was her own reflection. Neither the peacock feather nor its wearer was anywhere to be found.

Kannamoochi yenada En kanna Naan kannaadi porul pola da

Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill with every step she took towards the main sanctum. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Had her brother and Sishupala decided to play a cruel prank, knowing how deep her love for Krishna was? Or was it her heart hallucinating, refusing to accept that her fate was tied with Sishupala’s and not Krishna’s?

She glanced at the huge army that flanked her way to the temple, and any hope she had started dissipating. The kings at the helm looked both envious and victorious, undoubtedly rejoicing in her wedding. The armies themselves spread as far as the eye could see, almost like they were ready for a war if anyone interrupted the puja or her engagement to Sishupala itself. 

How could Krishna steal her away when such a crowd was present?

Vaan mazhai vizhumbothu malai kondu kaathan

The skies darkened above her head, and Rukmini cast her eyes upward. It was highly uncommon for it to rain at this time of the year. She almost considered it a bad omen and a reason to return to the palace, but her feet didn’t stop, even though there was barely any sliver of light passing through the clouds. 

Vaan mazhai vizhumbothu malai kondu kaathan Kan mazhai vizhumbothu edhil ennai kaapai? Poovin kaneerai rasippan

The stairs and the main sanctum of the temple were lit with lamps that glowed brightly despite the roaring wind, and, despite the heavy weight that had settled on her heart, Rukmini found a sense of peace within its walls. Her hands carried a plate with flowers and lamps full of oil, and little flicks of her hair escaped her elaborate braid, finding purchase on her neck.

As she placed the offerings in front of the shrine, a single tear slipped from her eye and fell onto one of the lotuses that was offered to the Goddess. It was the only blemish in the carefully picked flowers, but before she could flick it away, a priest took the plate from her and started the puja, and Rukmini had no other option but to sit, wait and pray.

Around her, everyone was wishing her well for her marriage to Sishupala, but her heart, plagued with the thought of her rightful consort not saving her, was in no state to accept their words, much less thank them. She sat in silence, tuning the voices of the mantras out and just concentrated on praying to any and every deity out there who would listen. She just needed Krishna, even if it was for a split second, even if she would never see him again, even if he hated her for sending that letter, to acknowledge the love she had for him, even if he didn’t reciprocate it. Then she could die in peace.

Naan enna penn illaiya en kanna? Adhai nee kaana kan illaiya? Un kanavugalil naan illaiya?

Rukmini muttered a small prayer to the Goddess, begging her to reconsider her decision and let her be with her beloved. She had heard stories of the Goddess performing penance for many years before she united with her divine consort, and while she had not come even a fraction close to that level, did that mean she couldn’t be with her Lord? Did her love and devotion not account for anything? Did she not deserve an ounce, even if it was smaller than the smallest unit of matter, of affection? Had she committed such a grave sin in her previous life that her punishment was to bear this pain in her present one?

If he could read minds, he was probably enjoying her torment, she thought bitterly for a second before chastising herself. Who was she to him? Granted that he was known to be quite the charmer back in his younger days, but what obligation did he have to reply to her letter? And yet, perhaps stupidly, she hoped he was standing outside the temple, ready to make her his once the puja was over.

Dhinam oosal aadudhu en manasu Ada oomaiyalla en kolusu

Her mind swam in circles, each possibility worse than the last. Sweat gathered on her palms, and her fingers trembled as she reached towards the towel held out for her. Any efforts to wipe her palms and neck dry were in vain, so much so that one of her handmaidens suggested they get a fan to cool her nerves, something that had never happened in any of the other pujas she had attended in all her years of life. 

Suddenly, a flower fell from the right of the idol.

En ulmoochile uyir neengudhe

Rukmini’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes followed the movement of the flower as it fell, committing it to memory while not being able to digest that it happened. Her mother always told her that a flower falling from the right side of an idol was a good omen, that it meant good fortune, and that wishes would come from, sometimes even immediately. Could she dare hope, even when reality kept proving otherwise? Was this a sign that her prayers were going to be answered? Was this the Goddess’s way of telling her to hold on a little further?

Legs trembling, heart racing, and anklets playing a melody of their own, she rose and prostrated in front of the Goddess with her handmaidens. Her mind was far from calm — rather, it was churning out new theories at the speed and frequency of a hibiscus blooming — but the ray of hope that had dimmed shone brighter than ever, making her face glow with the radiance that was compared to that of goddesses. 

En uyir thudikkaamale Kaappadhu un theendale Uyir tharavaa

The scent of the jasmine woven in her tresses wafted through the air as Rukmini walked out with a soft smile, eyes flickering across the vast sea of faces gathered to witness her engagement. The murmur of the crowd was a low hum, a thousand whispers that seemed to claw at her patience. She scanned every person — from the mightiest of kings to the smallest of soldiers — but nowhere did she find the one face she longed for. No dark skin that gleamed like monsoon clouds, no yellow tunic that caught the light like a promise, no mischievous yet all-knowing eyes, no glint of the peacock feather that marked her Lord. 

The skies above rumbled; it was low, warning, heavy with more than just rain. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Every beat of her heart thundered in her ears, and Vaidarbhi could feel the tension in her very bones. 

Her petal-like eyes were fixed on the horizon.

Had she misread the signs again?

Her breathing quickened.   

Was he really coming for her?

Her coral lips parted in a silent plea.

Did he truly feel the unbearable pull too, the fire that made her defy kings and destiny alike?

Just as she felt her knees threaten to give out from the anticipation, adrenaline and anxiety coursing through her veins, a strong arm had found its way around her waist, anchoring her. A tousled mop of curly hair then came into view — dancing in the breeze like the weather was just another prop in this grand drama — and before she knew it, Rukmini’s eyes met the ones she had only dreamt about, only imagined a thousand and eight times, but, unlike her dreams or her wildest fantasies, they blazed with a love so intense that even the world’s greatest poets couldn’t come close to doing even a fraction of it justice.

“You didn’t need to toy with my heart like that,” she barely whispered, still in disbelief that he was in front of her, holding her like she was woven from moonlight. Her voice trembled between fury and longing, the weight of all the unanswered questions pressing against her chest. “Why play this game of hide and seek?”  

Krishna’s laughter flowed through her like divine nectar — the kind souls spent lifetimes seeking. He leaned closer and kissed her forehead, a quiet blessing that seemed to still the world for a moment. “Doesn’t my chief wife deserve a story that will go down in history? What better than a small game of hide and seek to cement it?”

[4kingsstar]

[vishnavishivaa]

My friends and I have been discussing how Sanatana Dharma, as such, is viewed in today's society- of course, we know there are a lot of skeptics and critics who mock.

But my post is not about them, not today.

It is about those who are genuine Sanatana Dharma followers, or so their bios, posts and everything else indicate: from what little I know, I believe this to be genuinely true.

However, despite all that, the kind of insensitivity I see with regards to characters from the epics is a bit insane- especially Mahabharata characters.

And even more so, Krishna.

I rarely call people out about this, as Sanatana Dharma is largely forgiving and accepting, but I also remember that we have to call out insensitive perceptions.

And it is not even about Krishna as Bhagavan- it is about understanding Krishna the human and the things He does.

The trend across social media (all platforms) is to use fictional dramatics on Krishna, and superimpose Krishna with those kind of fictional humans, without understanding Krishna, the human.

Yes, Krishna as the human is intriguing.

But to write Him as human, one does NOT need to use the randomest of TROPES and anything and everything. Krishna is not a fictional character, He is historical other than being the endless Divine.

I know everyone will say: It is our wish to write Him and represent Him as we want.

Sure, freedom of expression and all that, but is it right to take the One who is as human as He is Bhagavan, whose actions are clearly explained, and make INSENSITIVE jokes?

Well meaning jokes is common, but insensitivity? It is unfair to be insensitive about fictional characters only, let alone ACTUAL HISTORICAL CHARACTERS.

At least making jokes with care is okay, but to be insensitive to someone's actions and make it something grossly untrue? THAT IS A BIG NO.

Not with historical characters.

I don't even think it is all that fair with fictional characters, so there is that.

It is time we take action, and think before we post- is this what Krishna really did? Was this His meaning, even as a human?

This is not about Him being Paramatma as much as it is about Him being thought of as a character, as a human, and as the complete Purusha.

Krishna loves everyone, but should we not channel our love for Him to ensure that even jokes we make are respectful?

@ahamasmiyodhah @mahi-wayy @yehsahihai @theramblergal @krsnaradhika @ramayantika @achyutapriya @thegleamingmoon @nidhi-writes @houseofbreadpakoda @hum-suffer @kanhapriya @kaal-naagin @krishna-priyatama @willkatfanfromasia @celestesinsight @arachneofthoughts @idllyastuff @mahaswrites @braj-raj @krishna-sangini @krishna-premi @chaliyaaa @tripurantaka @writersiya @ambidextrousarcher @zeherili-ankhein @rang-lo @nushkiespeaks @sambaridli Let me know your thoughts, and we can have opposing views!

[krishna-art]

☀ SHRI KRISHNA GITA ॐ ☀

[drinkerofsoma]

“Bhasmasur Mohini”, by Raja Ravi Varma (date unknown, between 1894-1906)

In Puranic myth, it is said that the demonic figure Bhasmāsura was granted a boon by Mahādeva for his intense austerities. He had initially asked for immortality, but the god refused, so the asura requested for the power to incinerate anyone whose head he touches. Mahādeva, so easily pleased with his devotees as he is, granted him his wish, only to realize he had made a terrible mistake. For Bhasmāsura immediately attempted to set aflame the Lord's very own head! In response to this sudden betrayal, Śiva swiftly fled. He did not want to harm his own devotee, even given the circumstance of this situation.

While on the run in the forest, Mahādeva soon came across Bhagavān Viṣṇu and asked for his assistance. The god agreed and took on the form of a young maiden—the enchantress Mohinī. When Bhasmāsura finally caught up to them, his gaze fell upon the goddess and he immediately became entranced with her beauty. He was in love and overcome by his increasing lust, the asura pleaded with her to marry him. However, Mohinī, clever as she was, declared that she would only marry a man who could dance gracefully, urging him to follow her moves to assess his worth. She eventually posed with her hand above her head and Bhasmāsura followed suit, unknowingly incinerating himself.

[sorru1792]

नवरात्रि की शुरुआत देवी दुर्गा की आराधना से की जाती है, 9 दिन का व्रत रखा जाता है। जबकि गीता अध्याय 6 श्लोक 16 में कहा गया है कि व्रत-उपवास करने अर्थात् भूखे रहने से कभी भक्ति सफल नहीं होती।

#नवरात्रि_पर_जानें_रहस्य