When Even Glory Must End
BHAGAVATA PURANA DEEP DIVE - Edition 36 - Uddhava’s Continues His Heart-Wrenching Chronicle of Krishna’s Departure
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.
The conversation continues.
Vidura listens, but Uddhava is still not done.
He had begun with a trembling heart, remembering his beloved master—Krishna—not as a god above all, but as a friend who once walked this earth. Now, his remembrance deepens. The words flow again, more vivid, more intimate, as if he’s peeling away the last layers of memory before they, too, dissolve into silence.
The Final Triumphs Before the Curtain Fell
Uddhava recounts how Krishna, with Balarama by his side, went to Mathura—not for conquest, but for the fulfillment of duty. The chains that once shackled His parents had not just been physical. His return to the city wasn’t just the vanquishing of a tyrant—it was the healing of His roots. With calculated might and tender concern, He brought down Kamsa, dragging him from his self-made pedestal of fear and cruelty.
Krishna’s divine powers weren’t only expressed through warfare, though. Uddhava speaks of a moment that reveals something far more wondrous than even the slaying of demons: Krishna hearing the Vedas once from His teacher Sandipani and remembering them perfectly. And then, as a token of gratitude, He did something no human could—He entered the stomach of the mighty demon Panchajana and retrieved the guru’s dead son. This wasn’t just a miracle. It was a glimpse into Krishna’s promise to protect, to restore, to love.
Love, War, and the Dance of Destiny
He wasn't a cold ascetic god. He was passionate, playful, and unpredictable. Uddhava recalls Krishna carrying away Rukmini during her svayamvara (a ceremoney where girls get to pick husbands for themselves). Many kings were gathered, mesmerized by her beauty, but Krishna seized her as a love-struck hero claiming what was already His. Another time, He tamed wild bulls to win the hand of Nagnajiti, leaving rival suitors stunned, defeated.
And yet, He played the part of a simple lover too. For the sake of His beloved Satyabhama, Krishna even plucked the celestial Parijata tree from Indra’s heavenly garden. Indra, bristling with pride and fury, charged like a deer spurred on by his herd. But Krishna, ever smiling, subdued the storm and gifted the tree to Satyabhama—love, once again, wrapped in the garb of power.
Then there were the princesses imprisoned by Narakasura. Rescued by Krishna, they looked upon their savior with eyes full of bashful affection. They had suffered, but now, in Krishna, they saw shelter. And in His astonishing mystic power, He married them all—simultaneously—honoring each one through sacred rites in separate palaces, at the exact same moment.
The image is staggering: thousands of Krishnas, each equally loving, equally real. But it wasn’t indulgence. It was a divine expansion—a play of nature—to fulfill the desires of those who longed for Him. Through each queen, Krishna had ten sons, all bearing His divine qualities. Every one of them was a mirror, reflecting the original.
The Weight of the World and the End of a Race
But peace never lasts long in a world like this. Evil forces rose again—Kala, Magadha, Shalva—and Krishna and His associates stood tall, eliminating them. He dealt with asuras like Shambara, Dvivida, and Mura the way a child might crush a toy. But not all enemies were otherworldly monsters. Sometimes, it was those closest who betrayed the balance.
The great war of Kurukshetra was one such climax.
Uddhava speaks with pain about how Duryodhana, misled by Karna, Duhshasana, and Shakuni, perished along with his brothers. Krishna watched it unfold but felt no joy. The burden of the earth was being lifted, but the Yadavas—the very clan he had created, His own extensions—still remained.
Their power had grown unchecked. “They will destroy themselves,” Krishna predicted. “In intoxication, they will fall—each by the other’s hand. There’s no other way.”
An End Chosen, Not Suffered
And so it was. Krishna planted the seeds for the fall of His own race, not out of spite, but because the purpose had been served.
He installed Yudhishthira as king, restored dharma, and made sure that the world had a righteous ruler again. Abhimanyu’s son—Parikshit—was revived by Krishna’s grace after being destroyed in the womb by Ashvatthama’s weapon. Life had been snatched from death, once more. Krishna performed three great ashvamedha sacrifices on Yudhishthira’s behalf and established peace across the land.
And yet, having fulfilled every purpose, Krishna began to withdraw. Slowly, gently, He moved into a space of detachment. His eyes were soft, His words still sweet like nectar. But He was no longer tied to anything. He continued to live in Dvaraka, to engage with the people, to play the role of a householder. But His inner flame had changed.
He had walked the Vedic path to its fullest, but was rooted in the dispassion of samkhya. He gave joy to the Yadus and to the women of Dvaraka, offering them delight even in fleeting night hours. But a storm was gathering.
Pleasure, no matter how divine, eventually loses its charm.
The Curse and the Closing Scene
One day, the princes of the Yadus and the Bhojas, playful and proud, began to mock the sages. The sages, knowing Krishna’s deeper plan, placed a curse. Time passed. And then, as if gently nudged by fate, the Vrishnis, Bhojas, Andhakas, and others went to Prabhasa.
It was a beautiful farewell.
They bathed, offered libations to their ancestors and the gods, and honored the brahmanas with gifts of land, wealth, and cows. They gave away food, chariots, elephants—even garments and maidens—in acts of tremendous charity. They fed the poor, they worshipped, they bowed down in humility.
And all of it was offered to Krishna first. Everything was a final act of devotion.
They were joyful. But this was the joy of dusk, the last glimmer before nightfall.
The Memory That Hurts and Heals
As Uddhava narrates all this, one senses a heartbreak behind every word. It isn’t just the departure of a friend or even a god. It’s the vanishing of something more—a time, a presence, a love that once walked among men and women, laughed with them, danced with them, guided them through pain and confusion.
Krishna had been everything—teacher, friend, lover, protector, god—and now He had left.
But He hadn’t left completely.
The memory of His lotus feet, of His smile, of His play, remains like a fragrance that lingers long after the flower is gone. Uddhava speaks not to inform Vidura, but to relive Krishna—each incident a sacred re-entry into Krishna’s world.
For the devotee, this isn’t history. This is a mirror. Krishna still lives—in memory, in story, in heart. And Uddhava, through his tears, gives us a doorway into that eternal presence.
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What an absolutely colossal and moving piece. Jai Shri Krishna