The Vanishing of Krishna
BHAGAVATA PURANA DEEP DIVE - Edition 35 - Uddhava’s Tears and the Setting of the Sun
The Bhagavad Gita reveals Krishna’s words and instructions, while the Bhagavata Purana unveils His heart and nature—to know Krishna fully, one must hear both His voice and His story, and that’s exactly what this Deep Dive series offers: a guided journey into the soul of devotion.
For previous editions of the BHAGAVATA PURANA DEEP DIVE CLICK HERE.
Today, in this haunting chapter of the Bhagavata Purana (Book 3, Chapter 2), we meet a moment steeped in love, loss, and transcendence—a turning point not just in the narrative, but in the emotional life of its characters. Uddhava, Krishna’s dearest companion and spiritual confidant, is approached by Vidura for news. What should have been a simple conversation instead blooms into a deeply stirring outpouring of grief, reverence, and realization.
As readers, we are invited to feel not only the absence of Krishna in the physical world but also the enduring presence he leaves in the hearts of his devotees.
Let us journey through each turn of this poignant chapter and uncover its layers of spiritual truth and emotional richness
Uddhava’s Silence: Devotion So Deep, Words Cannot Enter
When Vidura asks Uddhava about Krishna’s welfare, something remarkable happens. Uddhava doesn’t rush to answer. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all. His heart, wholly entwined with the memory of Krishna, withdraws inward. His body, mind, and soul are caught in the flood of remembrance.
This is not forgetfulness—it is absorption. Uddhava, from childhood to old age, had been a tireless servant of Krishna, not out of obligation but out of unwavering love. Even as a young boy, he had neglected food because he was so immersed in Krishna's play. That same depth of devotion still lives in him now, years later.
For a full muhurta—about 48 minutes—he says nothing. His limbs tremble, his eyes shut tight, and tears run down his cheeks. This isn’t sorrow alone—it is the ecstasy of bhakti that overwhelms the senses, where even grief becomes sweet in the remembrance of Krishna’s feet.
Eventually, Uddhava composes himself, wipes his tears, and turns to speak—but what he shares is not news in the ordinary sense. It is a cascade of reflections on the departure of the divine from the world.
A World Without Krishna: When the Light Leaves the Sky
Uddhava begins with a metaphor so simple yet so devastating: “Krishna was like the sun—and now, the sun has set.”
The imagery is stark. Just as the world becomes cold and dark without sunlight, so too has the world lost its luster in Krishna’s absence. Even the once-magnificent city of Dvaraka has faded, its grandeur hollowed by the departure of its soul.
The Yadus, Krishna’s own clan, are likened to fish basking in the moonlight—close to a divine presence they could see but never fully comprehend. Though wise in many ways, they failed to recognize the boundless being among them, mistaking him for a fellow noble, a great prince among their own. The deeper truth—that he was the indwelling soul of all creation—remained hidden by the veils of familiarity and maya.
The Mystical Disappearance: Not Death, But Withdrawal
Krishna’s disappearance wasn’t like any mortal passing. Uddhava makes it clear: he didn’t die; he withdrew. By his own yogic power, Krishna removed his form from the vision of the world, like an actor stepping off the stage at the close of a play. The world lost access to his visible pastimes—but he himself did not perish.
His mortal form had been a marvel, a work of art unmatched in its divine radiance. At Yudhishthira’s grand rajasuya sacrifice, even the gods and sages were astonished by Krishna’s beauty, as if the creative powers of Brahma had reached their peak and had nothing left to give.
Now, that form is gone. And the world, in Uddhava’s eyes, is poorer for it.
The Gopis: Echoes of Love That Never End
No remembrance of Krishna is complete without invoking the gopis of Vrindavan—those cowherd women who gave him their hearts completely.
Uddhava recalls how they were so enthralled by Krishna’s laughter, his songs, his gentle pranks, that they would abandon all tasks mid-way, following him with their eyes and minds. Their love was not calculated, not ritualistic. It was raw, tender, and absolute.
And Krishna, who is known to be partial to no one, showed special kindness to those who, like the gopis, remained inwardly serene even as they suffered under worldly constraints. He grants himself most freely to those whose hearts burn with sincere love, even if they are socially ordinary.
The Infinite Humbled: When God Obeys His Parents
Some memories are too sacred to be told without reverence—and Uddhava’s voice trembles when he recalls Krishna’s behavior toward his foster parents.
Though he is the unborn one, the source of everything, Krishna bowed before Nanda and Yashoda and spoke words soaked in human emotion: “Forgive us, O Father, O Mother, for we have not served you enough. We fear for our safety because of Kamsa.”
Imagine that: the infinite humbling himself out of love. What could be more beautiful?
Even His Enemies Attain Him
Krishna's compassion knows no bounds. Uddhava reflects on how even those who hated him, like Shishupala, were ultimately liberated. Though they fought him with malice, their minds were still fixed on him. And Krishna, ever the generous lord, grants liberation even to those who oppose him if they are intensely absorbed in him.
What to speak, then, of those who serve him with love?
The Play of God in the Forests of Vrindavan
In what might be the most poetic portion of this chapter, Uddhava recalls Krishna’s childhood in Vrindavan. It is not just a place in the world—it is a place in the soul.
With Balarama at his side, Krishna wandered among the cowherds, his laughter mingling with the songbirds in the groves along the Yamuna. He danced. He herded cows. He played his flute, its melody causing the hearts of all beings to flutter.
His divine play was a mystery—both sweet and fierce. He casually destroyed demons sent by Kamsa, dismantling maya like a child snapping twigs. When the Yamuna’s water was poisoned by Kaliya, Krishna purified it by subduing the serpent and letting the cows drink again, showing his dominion over nature and chaos alike.
The Govardhana Miracle: Devotion Protected by the Divine
When Indra, swollen with pride, rained down his fury on the innocent residents of Vraja, Krishna responded not with counterattacks but with an act of divine play: he lifted the mighty Govardhana hill with ease, sheltering his devotees beneath it like a gentle umbrella.
It was not just a display of strength—it was a declaration. Krishna does not forsake those who love him. His protection is tender, total, and playful.
The Final Vision: Krishna as the Supreme Lord
Uddhava ends not with despair, but with clarity. Krishna is not gone—he has simply returned to his eternal abode. He was never merely a prince or a cowherd boy. He is the lord of the three worlds, worshipped by the guardians of the universe. He accepts offerings from gods and demons alike. He is the refuge of all beings.
But to those who loved him as a friend, a child, or a beloved, he was far more than even that. He was their everything.
And so Uddhava asks the aching question: Where can we go now? Who else can be our shelter?
Conclusion: Grief Transformed Into Remembrance
This chapter isn’t just Uddhava’s lament—it’s a meditation for all who feel the absence of divinity in a world grown dim. But within that sorrow lies the seed of awakening.
Krishna may have vanished from sight, but he remains present in memory, in song, in scripture, and most of all, in love. For those who have touched his feet, as Uddhava says, the fragrance of that dust never fades.
In the end, Krishna's departure was not the end of his story—it was the beginning of a deeper kind of presence. And this chapter, soaked in the bittersweet nectar of remembrance, offers us a glimpse into that sacred continuity.
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many thanks
This was heart moving.