Krishna - Blog Posts

Manifesting Sriya Reddy as Draupadi in the upcoming Palace of Illusions movie. This goddess got both the acting chops and the looks, Suzhal bears testament. Divine powers, please let it happen. Please

Meera

Rana vish ro pyala bheja

Piya magan hoya

Meera ri lagan lagya

Kodh ho jo gaya....

fav hindu mythology stories: Krishna and Kaliya

“Kaliya, in Hindu traditions, was the name of a poisonous Naga (snake) living in the Yamuna River, in Vrindavan. The water of the Yamuna for four leagues all around him boiled and bubbled with poison. No bird or beast could go near, and only one solitary Kadamba tree grew on the river bank.

Once Krishna and herdboys were playing ball, and while playing Krishna climbed up the Kadamba tree and hung over the river bank, the ball fell into the river and Krishna jumped after it. Kāliya rose up with his hundred and ten hoods vomiting poison and wrapped himself around Krishna’s body. Krishna became so huge that Kāliya had to release him. So Krishna saved himself from every attack, and when he saw the Brij folk were so afraid he suddenly sprang into Kāliya’s head and assumed the weight of the whole universe, and danced on the naga’s heads, beating time with his feet. Then, Kāliya began to die. But then the naga’s wives came and prayed to Krishna with joined palms, worshipping Krishna and praying for their husband.

Kāliya, recognizing the greatness of Krishna, surrendered, promising he would not harass anybody. So Krishna pardoned him and then let him go free to leave the river and go to Ramanaka Dwipa, his home.” (x)

credits: i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, viii, ix

This art is SO........

Artist unknown, dm if you know them

If you are still doing the six squared meme, can we have Animal Husbandry, Family Tree and Hours and Day for Krishna? [What can I say, he's a favourite. I think you can empathise. :-P]

(I certainly do :P Behind the cut because this is long)

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Hindu Mythology Moodboard:  KrishnaKali, the Kali avatar of Krishna

Requested by gulaabee.

Krishna : Now I’ll just casually tell Arjun that Duryodhan wants to marry Subadhra, and also drop hints about where she’ll be tonight ! What could go wrong ?

His phone the next day :

tagging @soniaoutloud @chaanv @bigheadedgirlwithbigdreams

Alphabet Fic Challenge: Y for Yellow, Draupadi

Prompted by me! Because if there’s something to celebrate being done with this project, it’s commemorating Team Krishna(a)!

Yellow means many things to Draupadi.

It is the smear of turmeric that always settles upon her silks when she cooks, no matter how careful she means to be. It is the soft splendor of sunlight, its warmth magnified by the windows of this grand palace Mayasura has built for them. It is the golden gleaming coats of her husbands’ horses; it is the fluttering banner of the karnikara tree that her darling Abhimanyu has chosen for himself.

But best and most beloved of all, it is always a sign of the approach of her dearest and most dependable friend.

@hindumythologyevent day 4 - Male characters / sources

Sometimes she wondered if the others could see it too.

The way he moved, with something more than just a warrior’s confidence and strength, more than just a prince’s grace and charm.

The way he smiled, the smile of a man who had seen everything there was to be seen, almost like he was watching the world unfold around him like a retelling of a beloved play.

The way he drew people towards him, commanded not just the respect but the love and adoration of those around him, almost effortlessly.

The way people turned to him for advice, approval, comfort, even in anger - how they always looked to him first.

The way his arrival would silence a room, make people hold their breath, make them gawk, not in fear or shock, but in admiration. He was beautiful, yes, but it was something more.

Were it anyone else, she might have thought him insincere, a man who put on an act, who rarely revealed his true colors, she might have even been envious - he cannot be this immaculate, not truly. But with him, there was no question of it.

She’d seen his mischief, his laughter, his practicality, his morality; his bluntness, almost outright rudeness towards those who didn’t deserve his respect, and his utter devotion and earnestness to those who did.

She’d seen him brighten her husband Arjun’s day with just a smile, lessen her own sadness with just a hand on her arm, calm even his hot tempered long suffering brother Balram’s anger with only a look.

She hadn’t often seen him rise to anger, despite the many situations that warranted it. She knew, of course, that his offenders were far beneath him, undeserving of not just his anger but his mere presence, but it made him all the more fascinating, the way their words had seemingly no effect on him save for amusement, how he so rarely acted in haste, or fell prey to his temper, yet how easy it was for him to smile, to laugh, to sing.

She’d heard the insults they threw at him - that he was only a cowherd, only a milkmaid’s son, no one to be respected, as if those were titles to be ashamed of.

She’d heard of eyes twinkling like stars before, but the stars she saw in his eyes felt real - too real.

She’d heard tales, from Subhadra, of his enchanting prowess with the flute. How his music would make the gopis dance, how everyone would flock to hear it, beg him to play it for them, how even the cows in vrindavan would come to him when they heard it. No , she’d wanted to say, it wasn’t the music, it wasn’t just the music, it was him.

She’d heard of the events that followed in his wake- of Pootna, of Mount Govardhan, of Kansa; she was no stranger to divine intervention, being born from fire herself, but it did not seem to her as if he had obtained boons from various gods, or as if he was under the protection of one, and that was what had led to the stories that followed him. Who was he, really? What was he?.

But for all her musings, he seemed almost inexplicably human, inexplicably mortal. She saw in him the sky, the stars, the heavens, but she also saw the dust from behind the wheels of his chariot, the blood his divine weapon left on his fingers, the love with which he held his wives’ hands, the tenderness with which he held her first son in his arms.

Krishna, Vasudev, Govinda , Giridhari, Keshav, Son of Devaki, Son of Yashoda, Son of Nanda, Her true friend, confidant, her partner in crime, the perfect match to her wit, and somehow, something more. More than anything she has ever known.

It’s why when she feels the most alone she has ever felt, the most angry, the most betrayed, the most helpless, the most afraid, she calls out to him.

Because she knows without a doubt he will hear her

Alphabet Fic Challenge: K for Krishna, Arjuna

For @fierarain as part of the Alphabet Fic Challenge!

They are a study in contrasts, these two cousins.

Arjuna is fair of face and forbidding, as Krishna is dark-skinned and disarming; Sabyasachi smiles only rarely, but Shyam has a mouth made for laughter. At times it is difficult to see what pleasure they could possibly find in each other’s company, but something, certainly, there must be.

Perhaps it is this: both of them know, all too well, what it is to be tucked in the middle of a trail of siblings, not responsible enough to be respected as the eldest should be, not careless enough to be coddled as the youngest should be.

Perhaps it is this: that one likes to give orders, and the other to obey. So at least Duryodhana jeers, and neither Jishnu or Janardhana offer any rebuttal. They need not; they know all too well that they are equally wise and equally wary, and there is no one else in the world who they trust as they do each other.

Perhaps it is as simple as this: that their joys are shared, as are their sorrows, and when Narayan reminds Nara that they are but one and the same, it can be nothing but the truth.

Meet the Plastics [Mahabharat version]

Duryodhana: That one there that’s Arjuna, he’s one of the dumbest guys you’ll ever meet.

Duryodhana: That big one over there, that’s Bhisma. Bhisma knows everybody’s business. He knows everything about everyone.

Dushasana: That’s why his beard is so big, it’s full of secrets.

Duryodhana: And evil takes a human form in Vasudev Krishna. Don’t be fooled, he may seem like your typical selfish backstabbing slut faced hoe bag but in reality…hes so much more than that.

Dushasana: He’s the queen-bee, the star, those two are just his little workers.

Duryodhana: Krishna. How do I even begin to explain Vasudev Krishna?

* Vidur: Vasudev Krishna is flawless!

Dhritirashtra: He has 16000 houses made of pure gold just for his 16000 wives.

Yudhisthira: I heard his peacock feather is ensured for 10,000 dollars.

Shakuni: I heard he does vimana commercials, in EGYPT.

Kunti: His favorite food is honey milk.

Dronacharya: One time I heard he met King Jarasandha on his vimana, and told him he was beautiful.

Kansa: And one time he punched me in the face…it was awesome.*

Alphabet Fic Challenge, C for Correspondence, Krishna/Rukmini

That first letter she writes because it is the right thing to do: because she can no longer tolerate sitting in silence at her brother’s side, hearing of him brag of the blows he has dealt a poor paltry kingdom that’s only just recovered from almost twenty-five years of tyranny. As Rukmini sees it, the Yadavas’ only crime is to have offended Jarasandha; and given what she knows of the man, she thinks she could do with offending.

Her tutor delivers the letter, after having been coaxed and cajoled and finally tricked into conceding that it is unrighteous to defy the Magadhan Emperor’s wickedness in whatever way possible; and when he returns with the answer, skeptical but gracious, Rukmini assumes that will be the end of it.

The Yadavas fight back the invasion barely, she gathers from Rukmi’s rants, and she looks down to hide her smile. What she doesn’t expect is to hear from

That night, she takes out her pen and paper again, frowning over the construction of a new code. Rukmi might have been her brother once, she knows, but now he is nothing but Jarasandha’s puppet; at times she wonders if it’s to avenge the loss of the loving, smiling, kind boy she once knew that she acts so recklessly against Magadha’s decrees. But even that excuse will mean nothing if she is caught, which she won’t be. She is cleverer than that.

She writes, and receives a rather more grateful reply: a gift, she supposes, from the low-level official her messenger had found to accept it. She dares not dream it might so received even by a high-ranking minister instead; Sunanda is a good man, and wise too, but no royal house, even one so humble as that of Mathura, welcomes strangers to its door.

Sixteen times in total the forces of Magadha attack, and sixteen times they are rebuffed. She cannot recall when she starts writing even without the excuse of imminent threat; but the replies are kind, and dryly funny, and genuinely interested in her thoughts and opinions. Rukmini cannot remember the last time anyone was interested in her thoughts and opinions, not since her brother decreed that it was unseemly for a princess to deal in wealth and confiscated her account books, but now—

Well. A low-level official might not be able to change much about his country, but he can certainly listen to her thoughts on how an economy ought to be run.

By the seventeenth time she overhears the plan for invasion, it is almost so as easy as to be child’s play: the armies will be roused months later, the formations they mean to make laid out in painstaking detail. It’s only after she sends her letter that she realizes what she should have seen before: it was too easy. A trap, then, to see how the Yadavas had always had prior warning for all Jarasandha’s advances; a trap she was careless enough to stumble into. And for the people of Mathura, a way of luring them into a false sense of security before an army presented itself at their gates, weeks early. They would have no resource but to surrender.

She watches Sunanda leave from her window, aghast, and knows it is too late.

Rukmini has no choice. She kneels before Goddess Parvati and prays desperately that her—correspondent? No, not only that; her….friend? Not quite. Oh, that whoever has been reading and receiving her correspondence is shrewd enough to realize what she has herself. She thinks he will. She hopes he will. Over the years she has fancied that while his face might be unknown, his mind is akin to hers; she cannot have that trust shattered now.

When Sunanda returns, he reports: “He instructed me to assure you the populace would be evacuated from the city by a week’s time.”

She sags with relief, and then, for the first time, is curious enough to ask: “Who says so?”

Sunanda is clearly surprised, and why should he not be? What sort of princess would write so shamelessly to a stranger without ascertaining his identity first? “Why, Vasudev’s son Krishna, of course.”

“The prince himself? Surely you can’t mean— surely he must only have heard—”

“It was he who greeted me since the first time,” Sunanda assures her. “He has always been most kind.”

Her brother might sneer that it is the cowherd in him, to investigate visitors himself, but to Rukmini it seems nothing less than the sort of rare courtesy that ought always to be respected. She smiles to herself, and blushes when she catches herself.

“Thank you,” she says hurriedly. “Please do allow yourself some rest, Teacher.”

Letters mean nothing, she knows; and certainly, the most she could hope for on his part was appreciation for her efforts. But still—when Jarasandha roars with rage to find his quarry has escaped, and when his beady eyes fall upon her; when Rukmi talks excitedly of how the Emperor means to betroth his beloved protege to his dear friend’s sister; when the noose tightens around her neck, and a lifetime as the Queen of Chedi means an end to all her freedom, there is only one place Rukmini looks to for escape.

Three holidays Krishna loves and one he hates (or vice versa)? - Really, I am so, so glad you're doing this again, Avani Di. I adored the prev. ones!

1. “Sometimes,” says Balarama, with what little dignity he can manage considering his ears are currently dyed bright green, “I think you only like this blasted festival because it gives you leave to cause as much trouble as you please.”

“Happy Holi, dau,” chirps Krishna in response, and salutes him with another handful of crimson powder to the face. 

2. To be certain, Yasodha thinks, her son seems to defer to the Great God, as much as he does anyone, but even that does not lessen her suspicion that he only piously parrots a desire to celebrate Sivaratri as the god intends to have an excuse to stay out as long as he pleases, indulging his wildness. 

3. Krishna does enjoy the Govardhana pujas that follow in place of Indra’s sacrifices, as the self-satisfied expression on his face suggests, but only Radha thinks to ask why.

“Because,” he says, and there is hope burning in the back of his eyes, “it tells me I can change what does not please me.”

&1. On the ninth day of Chaitra, the prince of the Vraj always wakes with a long-dead mother’s name on his lips, a lifetime of memories that hold no meaning for anyone but himself. 

It is only a day like another now. He has no reason to think it different than any other. He will not, ever again.