She was always a devout lady.
Every morning with sheer allegiance she’d confine herself in her little temple and indulge in her fervent prayers.
Even the stone idol of little Krishna couldn’t elude from her unadulterated love. Her tenderness and endearment made him see Yashoda in her.
She was his revered mother, and she too adored him like her own child.
As the first ray of sunlight hit the dreary temple, he anxiously waited for his Maa to arrive.
But she didn’t come that day, neither the next day, nor the day after that.
He longed for her sweet bhajans that engulfed the temple with a divine aura, but without her nurturing presence, the temple reeked with desolation.
He wept like an abandoned child….
What little Krishna failed to comprehend was that, she too yearned to dote her distressed child…
But the society which sternly followed his every doctrine, didn’t permit his mother to enter the temple premises.
She was bleeding profusely, in a way, which was considered unholy.